The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Magic Break Can't Be Seen
Garrick Ollivander
Acropolis, High Earth Orbit
November 1st, 2017
Garrick Ollivander sat in the shade of a tree, resting his weary bones and mind. In front of him a small group of children played, rough housing underneath their caretaker's eyes, who was busy enchanting a small stone golem. With a wave of her hand, the golem sprang to life, and the children immediately began to chase the nimble stone creature. It was a perfectly normal sight, something Ollivander knew he would see the world over, save for one thing.
They weren't human.
Oh, they might have once been human, at least in the caretaker's case, but Ollivander knew it was highly likely the children were not, as they were born from a new species, the one that had replaced humanity. Lycans, immortal shape-shifting magicals, created by the hands of one wizard to save his people from the disaster that consumed their world. He succeeded, and they were saved.
Ollivander coughed. Well, not all of them were saved. He knew he was one of the precious few remaining humans, if not the last. The benefits seemed endless, and to deny was to invite death to take them. Better and greater wizards than Ollivander had fallen into the trap that was immortality, and he had no fear of the next great adventure, as Albus Dumbledore once said.
A shadow loomed over Ollivander briefly before passing. In its place was Alexander Dantes, the Lycan who had saved them all from nuclear war by bringing them to the Acropolis. Alexander was tall, impossibly tall for any normal human, but the average height of a Lycan in their human form far exceeded even those estimates. Even as Alexander sat next to him, Ollivander knew that if he stood, he would still be shorter.
"Good evening, Ollivander," Alexander said. "Enjoying the sights?"
Ollivander's eyes never drifted away from the playing children. "I am. I feel my time is approaching its end and I think I'd like to go with happy memories."
Alexander nodded. Despite his youthful face, he was much older than he appeared. Under their very gaze, the children and their caretaker turned into their Lycan forms, attacking the stone golem much more fiercely than before. "Are you sure you won't reconsider? I assure you we've refined the process to be almost painless, and you'll begin to feel better immediately."
Ollivander shook his head. "No. I was born a wizard and I shall die as one as well. I've lived a good life, and I'm not quite sure what I'd do with eternity at my fingertips, especially as you've taken it upon yourself to make wands unnecessary," Ollivander said with surprising bitterness.
Alexander eyed him out of the corner of his eye before reclining back on his arms. "I'd apologize, but in truth I never really understood the attachment to wands. But then again, I never even got to use mine."
That caused Ollivander to blink. "What? I know I sold one to you!" Ollivander panicked. Was his memory failing him?
Alexander quickly held up his hands to calm the ancient wandmaker down. "You did. But a few Purebloods took offense to my presence in Hogwarts, and on the very first night they attacked me. I was left broken and bleeding, and my wand was snapped under their heel."
The Lycan eyed Ollivander carefully. "For what it's worth, I do remember the first time I held it in your shop. It was like a part of me was missing my whole life and I didn't even realize it until that exact moment. But unfortunately, I was never able to use it to cast a single spell."
Ollivander leaned back heavily against the tree trunk. He stared into the distance with sightless eyes, pondering the wand he had crafted all those years ago, and the young child he had sold it to. And suddenly, many things began to make sense.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, you know," he whispered. Ollivander could feel Alexander's eyes on him. "Wandcrafting has been in my family since before even Hogwarts existed. They were meant to be tools to help witches and wizards harness their magic, bring it under their guidance. Different styles and designs rose and fell over time, but there was always a core, always a shell."
Some wands lingered in Ollivander's mind. Yew and Phoenix Feather filled him with sorrow at the thought of the evils that had been wrought with it. How many lives it must have ended as it did its master's bidding. But its brother, wrapped in Holly, helped put a stop to those deeds, helping to redeem its fallen family. And those were only two of the dozens that sprang to mind.
"I sold wands to children, and each was filled with excitement and joy at the prospect of magic. Some were more boisterous than others, some were more subdued, but I could always see that gleam of happiness in their eyes. No child is born evil in my opinion," Ollivander firmly claimed, "but that does not mean they will remain innocent."
"Life is cruel with how it molds some into beings greater and more terrible than others. Often I have wondered at the wisdom of my profession, of being a wandcrafter, of giving tools that could heal and rend, build and destroy. But it is not my place to judge. I can only craft the tools, not guide those who use them."
They were silent as they contemplated Ollivander's words. The caretaker created more golems, and each of the Lycan children was wrestling with them, pushing against enchanted stone that would be immovable to anyone else. The golems were pushed back.
"Sometimes though," Ollivander whispered. "Sometimes I look at the child and I worry. Often it is because of their family, as those with darker roots tend to stray toward darker paths. Sometimes I worry because the child is spoiled, with no appreciation toward the art that is magic. But rarely do I look at a child and worry because of the wand that chooses them."
"I remember a small family, muggles all of them, save one. A Muggleborn, the first magical in his family, came into my shop with his two younger brothers and his parents. I began the fitting as I always do, with the enchanted tape measure to distract them all."
Ollivander chuckled. "A little bit of misdirection, but it serves its purpose. I, and all proper wandcrafters, need to get a feeling of the child's magic so we may find their wand. We search for basic feelings; a need for comfort and safety most often means a unicorn tail strand will be at the heart of their wand, or a burning passion could signify a Phoenix Feather."
"But a dragon heartstring? Those belong to witches and wizards who have a strength of will. Certain breeds of dragons, like the Ukrainian Ironbelly or Hungarian Horntail, match better with wizards who have an even greater will than the average wizard."
"I knew the moment I felt that Muggleborn's magic his wand would have a dragon heartstring core. His magic, his will, could only be described as indomitable, even as a child. The intensity of the feeling was almost palpable, and I knew I had precious few wands that could be an ideal match for it."
"So I brought them out, one by one. The Ironbelly's protested most vehemently if I recall correctly, setting fire to both my robes, and my hair," Ollivander said. Alexander grinned beside him. "The Horntails were unsure to my senses, as if they hadn't made up their minds. But since neither of those breeds seemed willing to partner with the child, I turned to the third and final source, of which I only possessed one of in my stock. And to my complete lack of surprise, and growing dread, it was a match."
"Rarely does a wandmaker work with the heartstring from a Hebridean Black, and for good reason. Like all dragons, they do not die from old age, no. They only die when they are killed, and while many would argue the Hungarian Horntail is the most dangerous and vicious breed of dragon to ever roam the skies of our world, I would argue otherwise."
"You see, Hebridean Blacks are not solitary creatures like Horntails. They form flights, trusting one another against all outside foes, and their numbers give them the strength to overcome many obstacles. But this behavior is entirely unusual for other dragon breeds, as the young are often driven away as soon as they're capable of breathing fire, which occurs soon after their first flights."
"No, the reason for this behavior, and why the Hebridean Blacks are so dangerous, lays within their minds. While they lack a level of recognizable speech, they do communicate with one another quite effectively, and they're even capable of devising and laying out rudimentary traps and ambushes."
"But occasionally, through good breeding and chance, a single Hebridean Black will hatch with a much greater intellect than the others of its species, giving it what some would argue near human intellect. The heartstring in that young boy's wand belonged to such a creature, one who terrorized the British Dragon Reserve for almost three decades."
"Dragon Reserves are not what anyone imagines them to be. The wards are there to keep fools out, not the dragons in, as captive dragons often go on rampages to escape any prison we can devise. Better to protect their natural habitats from intruders, and to leave them be. But the Dragon Handlers are there to harvest the fallen dragons, those that die to their infighting and such. They dart from rock to rock, always on edge, always aware that if a dragon truly wanted to attack them, they would die."
"The dragons mostly ignore their 'handlers', treating them the same way a master ignores their bumbling servants. Something to squash for amusement, but only after they've been fed. But one dragon actively sought and hunted those poor witches and wizards, eventually killing so viciously that they were forced to retreat from the reserve entirely."
Ollivander laughed. "It kicked up quite a fuss in the Wizarding World, I recall. A single dragon sent a hundred witches and wizards fleeing." Alexander smirked but said nothing, listening attentively. Ollivander sighed.
"But without the wizards to play with, it turned its attentions to the other dragons. Unusually for its species, it never built up a flight, preferring to fight all by itself. By any measure, it should have been killed a dozen times over, yet it prevailed year after year, collecting scar after scar as it won its victories. The newspapers of the time named it King, as it without a doubt ruled the reserve."
"However, nothing can stand alone forever. The surviving dragons banded together and attacked King. I was unable to witness it as I was hunting for ingredients in Norway at the time, but I heard stories from those who witnessed it firsthand, how it seemed as though the very sky itself came alive with tooth, fang, wing and flame. The battle could be seen and heard for kilometers, and lasted for two days. Two days of unrelenting attacks against overwhelming odds."
Ollivander turned a tired gaze toward Alexander, who was listening calmly. "King still lived, but the wings were torn from its back. The other surviving dragons crowed their victory, but down below King roared his defiance. In the ultimate insult, the dragons left him for dead, self-assure that he would never be a threat again and that he would die without his wings. The wizards also thought this was the end of the threat King posed and moved back in to fulfill their duties once more."
He shook his head. "King survived though. While he lacked his wings he retained his mind, and worse, it was stoked with the knowledge that he had been crippled, left for dead. I could only imagine the rage that burned in that beast's heart, the sheer depth of loss that I have never experienced," Ollivander said. Alexander said nothing, but Ollivander could see how his hands tightened before relaxing. Ollivander nodded, as if a sad truth had been confirmed.
"Less than a week after the wizards had moved back in, King struck. He may no longer be able to fly, but a land-bound dragon is still a dragon and more than a match for any wizard. He slew dozens before the wizards wizened up and fled once more. And once they were gone, he turned his attention to the nests."
"He hunted his own brethren down, systematically purging them from the land. Who knows what was going on in King's mind, what his motivations were. But as the death count rose, the wizards knew they had to do something or else the entire species would go extinct."
"The minister at the time put forth an ambitious plan to flood the valley the reserve called home. She reasoned that while they would lose the remaining nests, the other dragons could fly above the water, and resettle themselves once the King was dead. Her plan," Ollivander took a deep breath to steady himself, "worked."
"I was there, watching the valley get flooded. The minister's plan worked perfectly. The Hebridean Blacks that could still fly took to the air, avoiding the dangerous wave of water. But King had no such luxury, he could not even outrun the oncoming wave. Death was coming for him and it would not be denied."
"Yet King still tried. He was a creature of the sky, not the land, and certainly not the sea, but he did not allow that to hinder him. He tried to blast the water away, spewing out flames so hot that they burned trees to ash in an instant. He dug down with sharp claws, trying to make a cave that could protect him. But these acts only delayed the inevitable. Slowly, King's body sank beneath the waves, roaring his defiance one final time."
Ollivander blinked tears from his eyes and was surprised to find Alexander offering him a conjured tissue. He took it gratefully and dried his eyes. "It's a terrible thing witnessing the demise of something so great. Almost humbling with how it reminds you how fragile our grasp is on this world."
It only took Ollivander a moment to gather himself. "It took us a week to empty the valley of its new lake. None of the other dragons were killed as they all possessed working wings. A few clutches of eggs survived, namely the ones that were higher on the hills. And at the very bottom of the valley, that's where we found him, the Drowned King."
"The Dragon Handlers began their job quickly, harvesting him for all parts they could. But my gaze appraised the dragon's final resting place instead. Even from a dozen meters away I could see how King tried to protect himself with his flames, burning rocks and earth into sturdy walls that stood even after the water was drained. I remember thinking if he simply had more time, King could have found a way to survive."
"It was then that I used my magic to sense King's corpse. It was a technique that any wandcrafter worth their salt knows, as it's what allows us to find the ingredients that make wands. It allows us to pair cores with shells, allowing a duality and intricacy that perfectly matches a witch or wizard."
"Much of the beast's magic was long gone, taken away by the crushing water or the Dragon Handlers as they stripped it of hide, flesh, and bone. But my focus was on King's heart, as was the handlers, as it contained the most valuable part of the dragon."
"But the Dragon Handlers uncovered it and were displeased. The crushing wave had damaged it too much to their eyes, leaving it too damaged to salvage. They tossed it aside for nature to reclaim and focused on the rest of King's corpse. But I could sense what they could not, of the single heartstring inside whose magic lingered defiantly. So I took it and left, to search the world for a tree to fit the core I found that day."
"I searched far and wide, and it was almost three years later that I found it, right before I was due back in London to take over my family's shop. The common hazel tree, but its location was anything but. For it was surrounded by destruction, as it was near a muggle military base. They used it to test explosives, and the broken and burnt trees all around the area bore testament to the dangerous area I found myself in."
"But I still found myself drawn forward. I found a single, trembling but ferocious, bowtruckle guarding the tree. It hissed in warning when I approached, and I cautiously began to befriend it, which was no easy task, believe you me."
"Three times I had to spell the muggles away, the final time resorting to curses in order to make it stick. My illegal actions seemed to endear myself to the bowtruckle, who finally allowed me to approach and offer woodlice to it. It eyed me warily but ate carefully, allowing me to examine the tree and its guardian."
"Despite the bowtruckle's care, the tree would soon die if things remained the same. Too much damage had been done to it by muggle explosives, and I did not have the potions on hand that would allow me to heal it. Besides, I knew the muggles would only destroy it again once I left, and that didn't sit right with me."
"So carefully, under the suspicious glare of the bowtruckle, I removed the tree from the desolated landscape with magic. I could not Apparate or Portkey it away, so I began the slow walk to safety with the bowtruckle glaring at me all the way. It only took a few minutes for the new sights it saw to distract its gaze, taking in the world around us. Finally, a long walk later, I found myself in a small forest. I dug a hole in the ground and placed the tree in its new home."
"As the bowtruckle explored its new location, I placed wards and other spells of protection on the area. Isolation would keep this tree safe, but for some reason I felt it was necessary to do more. When I was done I turned and to my surprise found a second bowtruckle, chittering excitedly with the first. They quickly made themselves at home in the hazel tree, eyeing me warily."
"I remember smiling," Ollivander said, a similar expression on his face. "I offered them another handful of woodlice and they were quick to take it. While their attention was distracted I discretely flicked my wand, causing a small branch of the hazel tree to fall off and into my hand. With a small bow to the bowtruckles, I left."
"Crafting the wand was almost simple compared to the story of how I gained the pieces to it. It took me only a day to make it, a week to let it settle, and then I packaged it up and allowed it to wait for the wizard it would one day claim as its own. Granted, I didn't expect to have to wait so long, but I'm glad it found where it belonged eventually," Ollivander said.
The two men were silent as the children played, each lost in their own thoughts. Ollivander allowed his gaze to wander to the rest of their surroundings, to the impossible architecture of the Acropolis and its even more impossible location in orbit over the world of his birth. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would one day be here.
"It is a shame I never got to use that wand. I can only imagine what using it would have been like," Alexander finally said. Ollivander hummed in thought.
"The wand is only a tool. The magic comes from the wizard, shaped and colored by his will, his past, and his intent. You would have done all that you have with or without a wand in your hand," Ollivander softly said. "Although I do wish another of my creations wasn't lost."
"Unfortunately, we cannot change the past. Of all the branches of magic that I know of and have learned, time is one that I am most wary of," Alexander said.
"Then you are a wiser wizard than most."
"Lycan," Alexander gently reminded the older wizard. Ollivander nodded.
"Lycan. What will you do with the other surviving wizards?" Ollivander asked.
Alexander pulled out one of his infamous Riddle Coins and began to roll it along his knuckles. "Some have already proven their worth and ability in this society and will be welcomed with open arms. The remainder will have to earn it, the same way we all have. The same way you have. I know why you never tried to solve this," he finished, holding the coin out to Ollivander.
Ollivander raised a long, bony finger and pointed it at the coin. The coin gently floated into the air above Alexander's hand. Another twitch sent it to spin slowly through the air. "The runes you invented are some of the most fascinating things I've ever come across. I could feel how they touched my mind, judging my intent, mind, and a dozen other things that I can't even quantify now. They are a work of art, truly."
"Thank you."
"But I allowed fear of the unknown to stop me. My mind belongs to me and I will never surrender it to any magic. It's why I will deny you once again, Mr. Dantes. I am prepared for death."
"I wasn't going to ask again."
Ollivander hummed. "Were that the truth, I'd believe you. You want me to be a part of your new world, to help push it forward. But wands have no place here, you've already surpassed them, and you're teaching others to do the same. Centuries of progress and effort made redundant by one man. You've destroyed my family's business."
"Sorry," Alexander insincerely said.
"No, you're not, nor should you be. Societies change, just as people and magic do. This is merely the next step on the journey. It may last longer than the ones that came before it, or it may not. But I've grown tired and weary, and it's time for me to rest."
"It's a shame though," Ollivander murmured, his eyes drifting shut. "I would have enjoyed studying the magic behind your creations. I would have..."
Alexander sat silently as Ollivander lost consciousness. The ancient wizard's breathing slowed down, as if the universe itself was taking note of the first wizard of Earth to die in space, or the last wizard to die from old age. But the moment arrived and passed, and time returned to normal as Ollivander moved onto the next great adventure.
Alexander gently waved his hand over Ollivander, using magic to rapidly decompose the wizard. He would become one with the earth here, and his body would help nurture this ground for future generations. A moment later Alexander rose and transformed, becoming a powerful Lycan, and he strode away.
After all, he had to lead his people.
Magic Break Can't Be Seen
AN: Surprise! I tried writing an epilogue for this story but I didn't like any of the three I wrote. So instead you get this to wrap it all up!
Wands: One of the biggest sticking points for many people reading my stories was how "dismissive" I was toward wands. To be honest, why are you surprised? In canon they're used as a Deus Ex Machinas, as is magic in general. Which means that wands can be as greater or lesser as you want. Personally, I lean to lesser. Magic is within the person, not the tool, and it's even mentioned in canon how "some wizards like to pretend they have a bigger and more powerful wand than others". Ignoring the blatant comparison there, that one line confirms that at the end of the day, wands are "equal", which again makes the Elder Wand a ridiculous plot point.
So why this chapter? Just because of my feelings on the subject doesn't mean I don't see how it could have been interesting. It's one thing to say "This is a Holly wand with Phoenix Feather core" and another thing to say, "This wand was shaped from a Holly tree that grew on the grave of a young man who sacrificed his life to save his family. The Phoenix Feather was given to me (Ollivander) on the darkest day of Voldemort's rise, on the day he slaughtered fifteen witches and wizards in Diagon Alley. The Phoenix cried and sang a defiant song, and it's what inspired me to create a new wand. I remember feeling hope that it might be used one day to undo the harm its brother wrought."
See the difference? The latter helps show what the eventual wielder might do (Harry sacrificing himself for his friends in Book Seven), while also reminding the reader that wands are created from the pieces of very interesting magical creatures who have their own motivations and feelings on things. Do you think Fawkes would feel guilt that a wand containing his feather was slaughtering innocents? Would he feel anger? We don't know, because proper wandlore isn't explained in canon at all. (The first, and in my opinion only, moment where we see Fawkes as the magical being he is, is during Book Two in the Chamber of Secrets. The rest of the series, he's a glorified post owl.)
Of course, there is also the issue with how such a description would put a great deal of responsibility on the child who received the wand. You know, like telling an eleven year old that a Dark Lord personally targeted your family, slaughtered your parents, then tried to kill you, only to fail. No expectations there at all, no sir.
Alexander's Wand: Considering how empty the wiki was of useful information, I took liberties with the core and behavior of dragons. Still, I wanted to show how there could be a form of resonance in the history and future of the wand and the wizard, and why some wands would choose to match with some wizards, or why others would refuse to work with their chosen's offspring (Longbottoms). The history of Alexander's wand was meant to match his tragic history. The dragon, alone among its peers, smarter and more lethal, but targeted. The tree, last survivor of its family, withstanding inhuman abuse to still grow and live.
The symbolism was enjoyable to write and I welcome you all to write down your thoughts on it. I'm curious if any of you will see and understand everything I put in there.
Future of this series: I still haven't decided if I will write another story. If I do, it won't be what any of you are expecting, especially as many of you seem to be hoping for a Mass Effect crossover. If you're curious about what a Mass Effect crossover would look like, feel free to check out the "Random Pile of Everything" story in my profile. It has what I think would be one of the most amusing first contact scenarios, but unfortunately I just can't think of a good storyline beyond "Alexander and his immortal Lycans killed everything." That's the issue with immortals, you need to either nerf their power or provide a foe just as vicious and immortal as they are. Unfortunately, everyone usually does the former, usually with emotions. And that's boring.
Reviews: I still read the new reviews on my stories. I appreciate the kind words and long rants in equal measure, although the latter usually causes me to roll my eyes. I'll consider updating this chapter again if you guys have any questions that you'd like answered.
Again, if you're curious about my other works, check out my profile where I give directions to find them. Thanks for reading guys.