Chapter 4 is out! Here there will be a little introduction to the Allomancy I mentioned back in the first chapter's notes.
All the credit goes to Brandom Sanderson. I'm just borrowing some of its mechanics to expand and introduce a bit more variety to the magical system of this fic.
Chapter 3 - The wandmaker
Thorough history, magic had evolved countless times, guided by the brilliant minds of hundreds of witches and wizards. Some of them had been treated with the respect they deserved, and their names had been immortalised in many books and tales, while others, those poor souls, had been persecuted because of some nonexistent heresy, their identities forgotten with the passing of the time.
In the present age, knowledge was very easy to access for every person who wanted to discover more, and many erudites even thought that magic had already reached a point in which there was very little to discover about it.
However, Pandora Lovegood could not be more against that theory.
No one knew how much Magic could evolve, and no one would ever be wise enough to draw that line. Moreover, this story was not about the future alone, for there was also the past. Countless branches of magic had been lost through history, let it be during wars or during those darker times in which the wizarding kind was persecuted and killed by the muggles. All that knowledge, all those sources of wisdom, could still be restored. It would only take time and dedication.
Normally, Pandora would wait for Xenophilus, her husband, to come home in order to perform one of her experiments. However, he was absent, out of the country for the entire weekend; which, in her humble opinion, was far too much time to lose. No, she needed to test this new theory immediately, and damned be whoever tried to stop her.
This was her real passion; experimenting and crafting.
The Lovegoods were not a rich family, but neither were they people who lacked money. Xenophilus' newspaper, The Quibbler, and the money she had inherited from her parents allowed them to survive, and even to have some luxuries from time to time. And most importantly, it allowed her to pursue her dreams.
Usually, her work resulted in failure after failure, but there were rare occasions in which Pandora achieved success. Those were the times when she could sell her work to some important investor, like a wealthy pureblood lord, which resulted in a huge amount of money in a very short time. Normally, the said money was used to cover the expenses of the many failed projects, but there always were some leftovers.
Either way, gold was just a bonus, shaded by those emotions which accompanied a successful project—amazement, pride and happiness. Even her parents told Pandora long ago to drop her dreams, to make a living of some normal profession, that she would achieve nothing, no matter how much she tried. Those words still walked by her side, getting louder and clearer each time she failed, but, oh, how incredible it felt to push them back every time she thought about how alive this made her.
Come on, Pandora, you got this. There was no time to get lost in her thoughts like that. She was a researcher; no one could tell her otherwise. Taking one slow breath, Pandora got inside the heptagon carved into the wooden floor. Each point showed some ancient symbol, a rune from the Ancient Times. Many of her fellow researchers had lost faith in those beliefs, but she still refused to turn her back on those wizards who preceded them, who achieved so much in ages when surviving was a hard feat itself. These carved symbols might be useless, but she will honour her ancestors even if no one else did it.
Wand in hand, Pandora activated some of the room's protective wards. She was alone in The Rookery, and Luna was far away, safe at The Burrow, but many things could go wrong during the experiments. She had committed those mistakes in the past, and she had learnt from them.
As she walked towards the centre of the heptagon, Pandora performed her silly ritual; each step was accompanied by a slow breath, and her mind did not think about anything else. Eyes still closed, she reached the centre of the heptagon, feeling at ease and confident. This would be a success. She would show the world how important it was to never give up on a dream.
Her magic roared inside her, also feeling triumphant, and it filled every inch of her body. No, it also filled the air around her, until the whole room resounded to her heartbeat. Oh, how incredible it was to feel one with magic! Not many people were blessed enough to experience this sensation; it took a lot of work and effort to reach that point, and not many could endure such an arduous process. She had never considered herself a special witch, and neither had she possessed any Talent, like other people were blessed with. However, unlike many, the word 'surrender' was not in her vocabulary.
Finally, Pandora opened her eyes, ready to achieve what many thought to be impossible.
After many years of research from herself and her colleagues, the time to experiment with one of those forgotten branches of magic had finally come. Particularly, it was time to experiment with the Metal Arts, a way for magic to interact with certain metals and to make them produce special and unique effects no spell could achieve that no one seemed to remember in the present age.
In some ancient documents, which had cost them months of work to translate, it had been called Allomancy. Some pieces of information had been found in those documents, like the mention of metals like brass and zinc and their relationship with the ability to alter human emotions, let it be to increase or calm them. However, that was only the beginning. One could read between the lines that there were many more wonders to discover.
Here, success would be translated into a new form of magic for everyone to enjoy, and failure would mean she, possibly, had discovered a new Talent. If so, all she needed to do was to find the adequate person to test her idea on. Either way it turned out to be, by the end of the day, she would have achieved her most brilliant discovery. A win-win situation, which was very good for a change.
Was it dangerous? Most likely, since the outcome could turn out disastrous. Was it worth the risk? Totally, for it was the only way to achieve the glory of the inventor—the way to write her name among those relentless figures who never surrendered.
Pandora just grabbed some glass vial which rested atop of a round, stone table. Its surface was scratched and nicked at many points, but it had been built with a very special kind of rock, and it would not break under any spell no matter what. The said vial contained a very unique solution, made of water, miniscule fragments of the purest zinc she had found, and some potion ingredients, like the mushed tail of a fire lizard that would allow it to combust. There was only one more thing to add, and it was the most important component.
She just aimed her wand at the vial and allowed her raw magic to flow through it; no spell was needed here, just a touch of magical excellence. It reacted, and warmed and vibrated to the rhythm of her magic. Hot to the touch, it felt alive! Embrace this feeling, Pandora, just like the Ancient Wizards did before you! She drank it all in one go. That warmth travelled through her body as the liquid went down her throat. Something flared inside her—she had done it. That flare expanded and reached every inch of her body, from the nails of her toes to the roots of her hair. Emotions and feelings so ignited they felt like fireworks.
That had been what the documents had described zinc to do, to make people drunk just by the strength of their own emotions, to make them feel fearless, reckless or furious. "I've made it," Pandora whispered, tears pouring down her cheeks. No one had believed in her, and she had proven them all wrong. She felt glorious! She felt above those shoddy colleagues of hers who had the nerve to call themselves researchers! Oh, she could not wait to see their faces full of envy!
Her entire body felt like a storm of fire, so loud that the witch could not even hear her own thoughts. Suddenly, the faces of Luna and Xenophilus came to her mind, but it was swallowed by that sensation of glory. "Wait, wait," Pandora mused, feeling a bit dizzy. "This… This is too much. I-I can't even t-think." Black spots started to appear in her vision, and soon enough they turned into colourful spots which could not stop spiralling around.
Pandora reached inside her, in search of the zinc, the source of her euphoria, but she found nothing; just fire and more fire. She took her hand to her face, and she found it painted in red, bathed in the blood that came out of her nose and eyes. Her grip on the wand tightened so much that it hurt, and her fingers felt so much pain she almost tossed the wand away. Yet Pandora endured it all, for she needed to feel the safety it gave her.
However, her limbs stopped answering, and the witch found herself on the floor in no time at all. Her eyes saw no more, her vision taken away by those colourful spots.
Suddenly, like a faint echo from afar, she heard the house's door opening. "Mum, I'm back!" Luna exclaimed from downstairs. "I had so much fun playing with Ginny!"
Once more, Pandora tried to extinguish that storm of fire which darkened every other thought or emotion. Yet again, failure was all she found. Her lungs ached, and those black spots had defeated the bright lights of her eyesight. All the witch could feel was the cold floor over which she was taking her last breaths.
"Mum?" Luna asked again, her voice still as chirpy as ever. Oh, her poor girl could not watch her mother in such a state. "Are you in the lab once again? Can I come in and see what you are working on? Pleaseee…"
The door was opened, and it revealed a very happy and excited Luna, with those big and bright eyes of hers. For an instant, her daughter's face became like a faint beacon of light that dispelled the penumbra of her eyesight. And just as fast as she came inside, her face changed. Silent shouts came out of her mouth, and her tears were all Pandora saw. Her tears would become her last memory from this world.
Pandora Lovegood lay over the floor of her laboratory as every thought and emotion abandoned her, certain that no one could save her, for her only possible saviour was no other than her own daughter. That poor girl who, at such a young age, had witnessed one of the most horrible scenes one could imagine, had nothing to do against the wards of protection she herself had activated.
Finally, one last thought rose above that void. My dear Luna… I'm so very sorry.
Quirinus Quirrell was considered by many a very mediocre wizard. Perhaps, a better person than most, but still a coward and a very indecisive individual. Yet he had set his mind on doing the unthinkable. A deed so great not even Albus Dumbledore, the Great Sorcerer, had been able to carry out.
To be precise, Quirinus wanted to track the Dark Lord down. Or, at least, what little was rumoured to remain of him; if there was anything to find, of course. A part of him wanted for all those rumours he had collected to be false, for it still thought this was a venture so great that a man like Quirinus could never face, but there had been far too many of them to think otherwise. First, it had been a wizard from Italy, who had led Quirinus to a german Hunter, who had a friend in Poland, by the name of Jessica, who was in touch with an expert on the matter.
Either way, it was far too late to repent—he could almost touch glory with the tip of his fingers!
It had all started a year and a half ago, when one of his childhood dreams became true the moment Albus Dumbledore contacted Quirinus to offer him the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Everyone knew it was a tough position, and even some went far enough to deem it cursed, but it had always been his favourite subject; in his opinion, it was worth the risk and the many headaches it would grant him. Because of that, Quirinus had decided to take a sabbatical year from Hogwarts, where he had been teaching Muggle Studies, in order to become a better wizard and to get practical experience in his new field.
True enough, there had been a few encounters with wild creatures he had barely survived—like vampires, mountain trolls and even dementors—and which had hardened his character. And it had not been all about magical creatures, of course. Plenty of wizards had tried to kill him, seduced by his pockets full of gold. However, those who had not tried to rob him had shared a warm meal and shady rumours with Quirinus. There was a shadow in Albania, one which had killed plenty of the local fauna and terrorised enough muggles to make them avoid the place where it rested.
Where the hell is that wizard Jessica told me about, Quirinus thought as he looked around. They had agreed to meet at some tavern of a magical settlement near one of the country's largest forests. It was one of those places in which it was better to mind one's own business and to not look at others for more than one instant. It was not the shadiest place he had ever spent a night on, yet it could welcome a nice cleaning; specially the wooden bar where a group of four witches drank and chatted in whispers.
Well, at least, the beer was rather decent.
"You must be Quirinus Quirrell," a voice suddenly said from behind.
It startled Quirinus, to a point in which he almost jumped out of his seat, but the young wizard managed to refrain that impulse. Quite calmly, even though his breath tried to rush out of his lungs, Quirinus turned around. There he found a man of black hair and blue eyes; his hair was styled backwards, with so much gel that he had probably used the entire bottle in one go. His robes were as dark as night itself, and the smile he wore on his face was ice cold.
"Yes, that's me," Quirinus replied. This stranger did not strike him as an evident threat, but it was long ago when the Professor learned that appearances were what fooled beginners the most. He was not a coward, just a cautious wizard. "And you must be the man Jessica told me about. You are late."
That comment seemed to amuse him. "My name is Ashram, and I will be your guide," the man replied. "Come on, Quirinus, we have a long way ahead of us."
"What are you talking about? I did not ask for a guide, I paid for information."
"And that is what you will get. However, I was told you were quite an ambitious man, someone eager to reach further than most. Well, why would you settle with some piece of information when glory is at the tip of your fingers?"
"What do you mean?"
"Follow me, Quirinus Quirrell, and I will lead you to the Shadow you have tried to hunt down for so long."
Quirinus was physically exhausted.
Ashram had led him through a dense forest of dark trees, where the sun rays could barely seep through the thicket, for more than ten hours; or so he believed, even though it felt like an eternity since they stepped into it. The young Professor had spent countless hours trying to polish his magical prowess in many different fields, yet he had completely erased any physical activity from his training program. That would change as soon as he was back in Hogwarts.
"Stop," Ashram commanded, suddenly. "Before we take another step, I must make a confession. I do not know what lies ahead of us." Quirinus was about to grab his wand and curse that man into oblivion, but his speech did not stop there. "Not long ago, a mysterious presence invaded this forest, and it terrorised the animals of the area, to a point in which the muggle authorities deemed it strange; after all, it is not every day when dead animals are found on a daily basis. One day, a muggle ranger was sent deep into the forest, an expert of the local fauna, to see if he could find the cause of that havoc. Yet he never returned." His eyes rose in search of Quirinus', waiting for a reaction.
"Tell me more," the young Professor said, almost shivering with anticipation. "Give me all you have. If this is as dangerous as I believe it to be, it can come in handy for later."
Ashram shook his head in disbelief. "If that is what you want, then so be it. I tried to prevent a disgrace today. My hands are clear." He let out a tired sigh. "Whatever. I was paid to carry out a job, and that is what I will do. Back to that ranger, as I said, he never returned, and when others were sent in his search, no trace of him could be found. I don't know how much you know about muggles, but their technology is terrific, much more advanced than ours in many fields, and I found their failure rather noteworthy. Because of that, I decided to investigate the case myself. It was not easy, just as it was not a fast task, yet I found it."
"What did you find?"
"A Shadow," Ashram whispered in response. "A dark presence, one so mighty and powerful that left me paralyzed. England is far from my home, Quirinus, but the Great War reached every corner of the world. I knew to whom it belonged, just as I know what you are really looking for. He is very weakened, enough to fool any of his persecutors, but, oh, I know it was him. Lord Voldemort, the true Dark Lord, is alive!"
There was a frenzied glint in his blue eyes, and it scared Quirinus. This madman thought he had found an ally who also wanted to help the Dark Lord!
"Good," he answered, instead. His wand felt heavy in the robes, but Quirinus refrained that impulse, that fear. Things had taken a turn for the worse, and every step would need to be thought with caution. There was a Death Eater in front of him, but Ashram considered him one of his kind. "Take me to him. Take me to our Lord."
Ashram just smiled. "Follow me, my friend. We shall make his name great again."
This is it, Quirinus thought. It was the moment he had both dreaded and yearned for. His way to glory, the achievement that would make everyone take him seriously, that would turn him into one of the most renowned names in the present age of the Wizarding World. Oh, what would all those who mocked him in the past say if they could see how close he was to making history! Stop this nonsense! Yes, he was getting far too excited. The job was not done yet, and his life was still in danger accompanied by such a company.
Quirinus did not look back once as he travelled through that sombre path through the forest. No sound could be heard there, not even that of the wind whistling through the trees, and much less of any animal. There, coldness replaced the warm sun of summer. Though none of that mattered. Quirinus was the Professor of Defence at Hogwarts. This was his duty, and he would not falter when glory was so close at hand.
However, a thousand lives could not have prepared him for what came next.
The magical aura of that Shadow came like a wave of dread, powerful enough to ice the blood in his veins and to erase any coherent thought from his brain but one. That of survival. To his side, Ashram let out a gasp as he took his wand out. Yet his quick reaction did not matter at all. A sudden cloud of black smoke came from the ground and consumed his body. His shrieks of pain filled the place, and they only stopped when that strange spell was banished; it left no corpse to retrieve.
Get a hold of yourself! His wand came blazing from the robes, throwing a barrage of stunners and much more lethal curses into the thicket. All I've sacrificed will mean nothing if I fail here!
The words came out of his mouth by themselves, spurred by fear and desperation. "Avada Kedavra!" Green lights lightened the forest, but they all missed. Some turned thick trees into ashes, and others left large holes into the ground, yet all took a toll on Quirinus. Exhausted and panicked, he was no rival to the Shadow that came at him.
The moment it enveloped his body, Quirinus fell to the ground, a burning pain in his back all he could feel. "Oh, what a fool you are, Quirinus Quirrell!" the Shadow gloated as the pain travelled through the spine. "You really thought that I, Lord Voldemort, could be hunted down as a rabid beast by the likes of you! Oh, the audacity…"
"Indeed, he is."
A new voice came into the field. For a moment, Quirinus thought he had lost his mind for good, for that voice belonged to Ashram. However, when a sudden kick to the guts made him lay on his back, his eyes found those cold, blue irises of the man who had died before him. They gleamed with malice and mock.
"Y-You, y-you have b-betrayed me," Quirinus managed to sputter as blood came out of his mouth.
"What can I say? You really handed me it all on a silver plate," he laughed. "Oh, you cannot imagine my glee when Jessica told me about you and your ambition." His feet sunk into Quirinus' ribcage. "Heed my words: even if he is just a shadow of what he used to be, no ordinary man should ever dare to go after Lord Voldemort. This is the price you must pay for your audacity. Rejoice, Quirinus Quirrell, for you have been granted the opportunity to become a tool for the Chosen One to use."
That cold pain travelled through every fibre of his body, accompanied by a cruel laugh. "I shall see how useful you can become," the Shadow said.
Then, the world became black. It ripped his mind apart with ease, and no Occlumency ever stood a chance against the intrusion. Memories flashed one after the other, like images projected into a screen. Pain consumed his body, and then a cold emptiness came. That cycle was repeated a hundred times. Or was it a thousand?
Quirinus saw himself graduating from Hogwarts, giving a handshake to Professor Flitwick, a man who had shown him plenty of trust and love. It disappeared, and then he stood at the Headmaster's office, the day Albus Dumbledore offered him a position in the decency of the school. It took the Shadow plenty of attempts, but at last he found the memory Quirinus tried to hide from him.
Darkness was replaced by a very vivid scenario, a large chamber illuminated by the light of a hundred torches. It was an empty space, with a wooden door at its end and nothing else. Yet a simple thought seemed to fill it up: the Stone of Life would be there.
"Oh, you have proven me so wrong, Quirinus," the Shadow said, its voice echoing around the chamber. "You tried to hide this memory from me, eh, filthy rat. That will bring you consequences, but I will spare your life. After all, you might be the key to the Stone of Life."
Oh, the Stone! Quirinus could have sentenced the world! He and his damned ambition!
Then pain came again, and darkness returned with it, though much worse. Every fibre of his body wanted to surrender, to embrace a mere instant of peace.
"Tell me, Quirinus, will you help me?"
When Quirinus accepted his fate, there was no ounce of shame in his voice. "Please, my Lord, I beg you to have mercy!" he managed to shout as the agony was reduced a little. "I will do it! I will do as you please and more!" Now he harboured no doubts about it. Quirinus had sentenced the world, but it was a worthy sacrifice if it granted him a second of peace.
Finally, it all stopped—the pain, the dread and that coldness. "Good decision, rat," the Shadow mused. "You will be a fine vessel, indeed. From now on, your body and soul belongs to Lord Voldemort and he alone…"
It had been a long wait, but the day Ron had always dreamt about was finally here. Today, he and his family would go to Diagon Alley to buy all the things he needed for his first year at Hogwarts. In all truth, he cared very little about books and basic equipment since most of them would be hands-me-down from his elder siblings, who once probably thought the same as he. However, it was the prospect of acquiring a wand, his own wand, that had kept him awake for the entire night.
His own wand, his key to the real Wizarding World.
As someone who was born in a pureblood family, Ron knew all about magic that there was to know, for he had lived with it since he had memory. However, seeing your family use it and doing it yourself were two very different things. A thought which had become more and more prominent since his talk with Percy two years ago.
Every of his notes Ron had read, the more and more he had been left amazed about magic and the many things it allowed one to accomplish, all the doors it opened. Spells his parents and siblings had never used in front of him, charms which could be used for many wonders. Magic had always felt as something out of his reach, a talent only his parents and siblings could enjoy, but it was then, a few months shy of going to Hogwarts, that he started to believe he was like them.
Oh, he could not wait to learn as many cool spells as possible and to amaze Ginny with them! Ron could almost imagine the jealousy in her eyes!
This year, his parents had decided to split the family into two groups, otherwise, it would have been a mess to buy everything in just an afternoon; after all, the twins were about to enter their third year, and that meant they had two new subjects. Because of that, Ron found himself at the entrance to Diagon Alley, with his parents, his brother Percy and his sister by his side.
"I always forget how crowded Diagon Alley gets this late into the summer," Molly complained.
She was totally right. The whole alley was packed, to a point in which there were lines of people outside some shops, like Flourish and Blotts or the Apothecary. Most of them were children like he himself, accompanied by either their parents or elder siblings, but there was also a diverse collection of wizards and witches who wore every kind of robes and who eyed the crowded shops with an amused look in their eyes.
Ron's gaze lingered on those children of his age, wondering if some would be his soon-to-be classmates. That thought made him smile—he was finally going to Hogwarts! All his brothers had told him wonders about the castle, incredible and legendary tales about the famous castle which did nothing but to excite him even more. He was almost there.
"Mom, I think we should split up," Percy suggested, suddenly. They were halfway through the main alley, and it had already become almost impossible to take more than one step without bumping into other people's shoulders. "Eeylops Owl Emporium is that way. We can go there while dad helps Ron to get the books and equipment he needs."
That seemed to excite Ginny. "Wait a moment! Is Percy really going to have an owl? His own owl? Why? I want one, too!"
Their mother just patted the girl on her head, affectively. "Oh, dear. We've decided to gift your brother an owl because he has been named Prefect. It's a reward for his years of effort. After all, not many people can say they achieved the perfect academic record in four straight years."
Those words made Percy straighten his back. He even looked a few centimetres taller!
"Woah, that's blimey," Ron whistled. He was happy for his brother. Everyone in The Burrow knew Percy had worked as much as he could and more to achieve those grades; even the twins, although it was not of their liking. Most of the time, that had brought way more bad moments than good, but yet he had pushed, because that was what his heart told him. "Wait a moment. Does that mean Scabbers will be my pet from now on?"
"Yes, he will," Percy smiled at his younger brother. "To be honest, although I'm very excited to get an owl, I'm gonna miss that rat. Many years have gone by since I found it by the creek's shore, but it still feels like yesterday."
Their father meddled in before the conversation could continue. "I agree with Percy," Arthur urged them. "We should split up. You'll go with Percy and Ginny to get that owl, whereas Ron will accompany me to get those books he needs."
So quick and faint Ron believed to have imagined it, Molly sent Arthur a look of pity. Although when she spoke, her voice came out as chirpy as always. "Oh, that is a good idea. Flourish and Blotts must already be packed-out, but surely it will get worse as hours go by. It is better to get it done as soon as possible."
And just like that, the two groups began their own way.
Many things could be said about buying books and equipment, but, over all, it was as boring and tedious as a task could be. At first, even so, Ron had found it very interesting and exciting. There he stood, at the country's most famous library, with countless of gigantics shelves full of books around him. Though that rush of emotion quickly went away as he observed the long line of people ahead of him.
However, not all was bad, for he, much to his surprise, would get a few brand new books. It turned out that some books, like those of Transfiguration and Charms, were torn and old beyond use, which was no surprise, given the fact Charlie had been the first one to use them, many years ago.
It took them almost an hour, but they finally made it out of the library. However, the relief would be a short one, for their next stop was the Apothecarium. Although shorter, the second venture almost ended Ron and his short patient. Yet the boy pulled through it with on thought in his head: his wand was next! The redhead had already thought of it plenty of times; about its colour and shape, about the patterns and ornaments its handler would have…
Yet it was all blown away with some simple words.
"For a moment, I thought we weren't getting out of that place anytime soon," Arthur complained, his forehead sweaty and pearly. The man carried two large bags in his hands, and their weight seemed to take a few inches out of his height. "Well, the worst is done. Come on, son, your mother should also be finished by now; if they were luckier, that's it."
Ron came to a halt in the middle of the pavemented street, so suddenly an old woman almost crashed into him. He ignored her curses as his shocked eyes were fixed onto his father. "Wait a moment, dad," he started. "You cannot be serious! We have yet to buy my wand! I cannot believe you forgot about it!"
Arthur seemed to shrink a few more inches as his eyes avoided Ron's. "Oh, your wand, right," the man sighed. "Ehm, look, son, how can I say this?" He had trouble finding the words, but when he continued, Ron thought the twins' spirit must have possessed him. This was a very cruel joke, just like those they loved to do from time to time. "I am so very sorry, but we do not have the money to buy you a new wand. I tried to ask for my next wage to be given in advance, but the official in charge of my department refused the petition. I-I'm sorry." His eyes finally stared back at the boy; pain could be seen in them.
Although that hardly mattered to Ron.
"What?" he mused. Those words could not have gotten out of his father's mouth, right? "Is this a joke? I mean, you and mom just said Percy was going to get a new owl all for himself. Why is there money for him and not for me?"
Once again, Arthur apologised. "I know, son, and I'm sorry. Please, believe me. Your brother has worked very, very hard for the past four years, and he has just been named Prefect. We just wanted to make him a good present for once, as a reward for all his effort. A good present to show him how proud we are of him. Merlin knows he's had rough days even at home."
Ron just refused to believe this nonsense. "But what about me? What about my wand?" he almost shouted. Around them, some people had stopped midway through their groceries to look at them; their whispers became like an echo of the conversation. "How am I supposed to do well at Hogwarts when I don't have my own wand? I've read that wands choose their wizards, that they are unique for each person! Tell me, dad, what about me?"
Arthur lowered his voice, nervous and sweaty. "We still have Charlie's old wand, Ron," he sighed. "I'm sure the wand will accept you like it did with Charlie. You are of the same blood, after all."
Tears were about to run down Ron's cheeks. No, this just can't be happening. I refuse to believe it! Like all his brothers, Ron knew and was used to not having money for many things, but this was a whole new level. For years, since he understood he also belonged to the world of magic, the redhead had dreamed about his future wand—about its shape and beauty, about all the wonders it would allow him to do. Feeble dreams, they had been. Feeble dreams shattered by an owl.
It was just too much.
"I-I need some time alone," Ron mused, tears already flowing down, just before running in the opposite direction.
The people he found in his way gasped, yet stepped aside to avoid the crash. From far away, Ron heard his father's pleas, his shouts, begging him to stop. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He took one corner to the right, and then one to the left. Street after street, corner after corner, it all became a blurry process. Soon enough, he lost all sense of direction, so he just ran forward.
Finally, his stride came to an end as the boy found himself on a large, beautiful square. It was formed by two big circles. In the outer one, there were countless wooden benches, polished and clean, surrounded by a sea of levelled grass; some people, their robes and dresses fancy and elegant, sat over large cloths, enjoying the bright sun of summer. In the inner circle, however, there was a large fountain, made of white and grey marble, in the middle; the water was being poured out from the wand of some tall wizard.
That majestic picture allowed him to know in which place his run had ended. It was the first time he visited the High District, where all the luxurious and unique shops were located. A place in which a Weasley did not belong.
At that moment, Ron realised how much he had run. Mainly because of the way his breath was rushed out of his lungs, but also due to how much his legs hurt; they felt so heavy that taking a single step became a challenge. I think it is time to rest for a bit. With that thought in mind, the redhead walked towards the nearest bench he could find.
To hell with Charlie's old wand. I want mine! It was all he could think about.
Ron wanted to laugh, and not out of mirth. Oh, to think he had woken up this morning with a bright smile on his face, already imagining how his fingers would close around his wand. What a comedown! On top of that, he did not know where Gerd was. If there was someone who could comfort him, that was her. As soon as they had taken a step into Diagon Alley, the Essentia had disappeared from his sight, curious and excited. Yes, Gerd would surely understand him.
Minutes passed, and Ron was so immersed in his own world that he ignored that a man had taken a seat by his side until he spoke. "You must be tired after that sprint. What happened? You look terribly upset."
Those words startled him so much he almost jumped out of his seat. However, he just acted as if they had not been pronounced. It was long ago when his father told him to not talk to strangers, even more so in a place he was not familiar with.
It did not seem to stop the man. "You are a Weasley, right?" he asked, which made Ron finally look at him. He was a man of average height, bald and with a dense, black beard. His brown eyes stared at Ron with curiosity. "You all look the same, tall redheads with loads of freckles."
"Do I know you?" Ron asked back.
"I don't think so, though I'm some sort of an old acquaintance to Molly and Arthur," he smiled. "Also, I once met your brother William many years ago, when he was a crying toddler. He must be a fine man by now."
This wizard, whom Ron had never seen around The Burrow, spoke of his family with a fond voice. "How so?" Ron went on. Long forgotten was his mistrust. All he wanted at that moment was to find out from where did this man know his family.
"Well, it is quite a long story," the stranger sighed as he leaned back onto the bench. "To be fair, I've never been close with your parents; not enough to consider them my friends, at least. However, your late uncles, Fabian and Gideon, were my brothers in all but blood. Even so, after the horrible fate they met at the War, well, I kind of lost contact with Molly and the Prewett family."
Ron knew his uncles had met a very horrible end by the hands of a very dangerous Death Eater, those who once faithfully served He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Although that was all.
"We never talk about them at home," the redhead said, instead. "Whenever we ask about them, my mother starts crying." His confession met no answer, so he just continued. "You studied at Hogwarts, right? How was it? Were you a Gryffindor like my uncles?"
"I'm gonna be honest with you, I don't really like talking about Hogwarts and its Houses," the man said. "From my experience, all they do is to divide people; that's where all the problems started. And no, I was not a Gryffindor."
Ron was left very confused after the confession, maybe just as much as he was taken aback. What was this man saying? To be a Gryffindor was something to be proud of.
The stranger saw his confused face, and he sighed in response. "Don't look at me like that, boy. Certainly, I do think all that nonsense about to which House a person belongs is utter nonsense. Most likely, you think being a Grffindor is the coolest thing ever, eh? That every person who gets sorted into Slytherin is a villain, right? That no Hufflepuff ever had the guts to do anything brave. That all a Ravenclaw cares about are books and knowledge. Well, tell me, did I hit the nail?"
Ron could do nothing but open his mouth in awe, but the stranger went on before the boy could defend himself. "If you do wonder about it, I was not sorted into Slytherin; just for the record."
"Most of the bad guys came from Slytherin," Ron argued back. That was a fact, and everyone knew it. This man just couldn't refute it.
"On that, I must give you the reason," he admitted with a nod of his head. "Despite my recent speech, I can't deny most of them were nothing but evil and cruel bastards. However, how could they not be like that when all they've ever met is hate and disdain? Still, one must never speak in absolutes. Trust me when I say I've seen Slytherins who fought the Dark Lord and gave their lives so others could live in a better world. Trust me when I say that I've seen Gryffindors betraying their own friends just to save their own neck. Trust me when I say that I've seen Hufflepuffs who were so cowards they couldn't even help their own friends when they needed it the most."
After that, Ron was left speechless. Those words went against all he had always heard, what he had been told by his family. Still, and maybe because of that, they left a huge impression on him. "I-I just don't know what to say," he muttered.
"Sorry," the stranger apologised as he scratched the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have rambled like that. There are memories which are better not to remember. By the way, where are my bloody manners? I did not introduce myself. My name is Gerard Stokes. What is yours, boy?"
"Mine is Ronald Weasley, though everyone calls me Ron."
Gerard's eyes twinkled. "Ah, I've heard that name before. Your aunt, Muriel, mentioned it twice or thrice last time I spoke with her. Although many years have passed since then. So, the last son of Molly and Arthur, eh?"
Ron just nodded his head in response. The conversation had helped him to forget—for just a few moments—his nonexistent wand. I can't still believe they chose to buy Percy a new owl.
His silence spoke for itself, because Gerard suddenly asked: "What is the problem, Ronald? I saw you running into the square, your eyes full of tears and not having a clue where to go. You can tell me about it. I owe your uncles a lot. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it with no hesitation. You have my word."
It took him a while, but Ron finally found his voice. "Father said we did not have enough money to buy me a wand," he mused. "However, they bought my brother Percy and owl this very same day. Because, of course, he has been named Prefect. Truly incredible, eh?"
Gerard turned his head to look at Ron; his eyes expressed utter disbelief. "What? That cannot be true." Yet when no response came from the redhead, he just let out an exasperated huff. "Oh, what have you done, Arthur? I cannot allow that. The nephew of Fabian and Gideon just cannot attend Hogwarts without a wand. They would just come out of their graves to drag me with them!"
To that, Ron's eyes perked up, yet those foolish hopes of his were quickly tossed away. He was a true Weasley, and they never accepted charity. But I could have my own wand… He shook his head. They accepted no charity.
Gerard just rolled his eyes, exasperated, as soon as he saw Ron's face. "Come on, boy," he sighed. "I know that look very well. I have seen it many times. You better not come at me with that no charity bullshit of yours. I'm far too old to hear it once more. This ain't no charity, Ronald, just a gift from a friend. Although it ain't necessary, you can pay me back in the future, once you have the money. I couldn't care less about a few galleons, but, on my grave, I will get you a wand. I will drag you by the ears if I have to."
"I… I just don't know what to say," Ron stuttered.
"Then don't say a word and accept my gift."
Well, if he insisted so much, who was he to refuse? Besides, Gerard had threatened him to drag him by the ears. "Does that mean we are going to Ollivander's?" he asked. "My family should be around, and I don't fancy meeting them on our way."
That seemed to amuse Gerard, who smirked at the boy. "Please, don't make me laugh. Ollivander might be good and famous, but that ain't the proper way. Certainly, that old man must have a thousand wands in his shop, waiting for some new wizard to form a bond with them. However, if you wanna get the adequate wand, you must have one made for you and only you; a custom-made wand. You won't find one of those in any wandmaker shop. Sure, you can be lucky enough to hit a good one which suits your body and spirit, but your wand is meant to be a part of you, and it must be treated as so."
"Well, you are supposed to be the expert here, so I'll have to trust you," Ron said. "So, how are we gonna do it? Again, I need to make this clear: my parents must not know this. They would kill me."
"Yeah, that would be a classic from Arthur and Molly," Gerard snorted. "There aren't many combinations out there like the Weasley-Prewett combo. You won't find many people as stubborn as your kin." For an instant, his face was brightened by a fond smile, yet he regained his composure even faster. "Anyway, we'll need to visit an old friend of mine, a wandmaker. Although it will have to be a matter for another day. I need to get in touch with her and pay in advance; this ain't very legal, to be honest. But don't worry about that. How about we meet again in five days?"
That made Ron laugh. "How am I supposed to leave my house for several hours just because I feel like it? Should I ask my mother about it? No, she would send me back to my room." Honestly, did Gerard think Ron could do as he pleased?
"We are doing it past midnight," the man stated. "I still remember where The Burrow is, so I can drop by and pick you up; it will be a little night adventure."
Going out in the middle of the night with a man he barely knew? Definitely, it screamed trouble, like all bad ideas did. However, if Ron wanted his own wand, a custom-made wand for him and only him, this was his one and only chance. Oh, come one. I cannot cower this time. I need to be brave. I'm sure Bill and Charlie would have jumped into this chance with no second thought.
"Okay, let's do it," Ron finally agreed. "In five days, as soon as everyone is sleeping, we'll meet at the creek near The Burrow. Do you know where it is?"
This time, Gerard's smile did reach his eyes. "Of course I do! I have nothing but good memories about that creek." The man stood up and stretched his back. "Ah, I'm not so young anymore; if I spend more than ten minutes in the same position, my back will surely protest. Come on, Ronald, now that we've settled it all, it is time for you to go back to your family. We don't want them to suffer a stroke out of worry, right?"
Ron just followed his advice, not so eager to see his parents again. Despite that, the man just patted his shoulder and took the lead. "You made the right decision, Ronald. Had they been alive, your uncles would have done the same."
The way back to Diagon Alley was done in silence.
On his behalf, Ron had far too many things to ponder about to start a new conversation, and Gerard just respected his silence. When they were about to leave the square behind, Gerdnyaram, a flash of blue, descended from the skies and took a seat over his shoulder; it had become her favourite spot to sit at.
"I've heard it all," the Essentia said. Her warm presence helped Ron to fight his anxiousness away. In all truth, he was really nervous to confront his father after the way he had run away from him. "He wishes you no ill, I'm sure of it. With enough practice, you can tell when someone is lying; most of the time, of course. Liars speak and act differently, as if they tried to be another person. This man was being himself during the entire conversation."
Of course, Ron did not answer, although those words made him sigh in relief. If Gerd thought of Gerard to be of trust, then it was settled—Ron would get his wand in five days.
It only took them five minutes to reach Diagon Alley, and also, to find Arthur. The man waited in the very same spot where Ron had ditched him, face sweaty and pale; his left foot tapped the ground in a frenzied rhythm. When he spotted them, his eyes opened in surprise. "Ron!" Arthur exclaimed as he sprinted in their direction. "Oh, Merlin, you had me so worried!"
Ron was enveloped in a tight hug; it almost crushed his ribs! "Eh, dad, I can't breathe!" he complained, yet his voice came out with no trace of pain nor of distress. No, on the contrary, it was relief what it showed. His father wasn't angry at him!
Finally, Arthur broke the hug to look at his son eye to eye. "Oh, you had me so worried! I looked everywhere, but there was no trace of you. Fortunately, I met a man who saw you, and pointed me in which direction you had run to-" He did not get to continue, for his eyes opened even more as soon as he realised there was another man by their side. "By Merlin's beard! Is that you, Gerard?"
"In flesh and bone," the man answered with a smile. "I lost my hair, but that's all."
Arthur looked stunned. "No one has heard from you since the War ended! We tried to reach out to you, but it was impossible to track you down."
"Didn't want to be found," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Until today, that's it. I saw your son storming into the Fountain of Prosperity, and that's when I decided it was a good time to show up once again. Ronald just needed some time alone, but he's fine now."
"Oh, that was what I imagined," Arthur answered, looking rather uncomfortable. "I'm glad he found you. Thank you, really."
"Well, the boy is safe and sound, so there is nothing to worry about," Gerard said. The man's eyes rose to the sky. "It is getting late, though. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ronald. Now, behave well and listen to your parents; they know what they are talking about." That being said, the man just left with no further farewell.
Ron and Arthur observed him until they lost sight of the wizard, as he took the first intersection he found on his way.
"Did he really know the uncles?" Ron asked his father, eager to talk about any topic but his nonexistent wand.
Arthur's eyes took longer to deviate from where Gerard had just disappeared. "He was their best friend," he answered. "But, like I said, he disappeared weeks after the War ended. Although he met Bill once, during one of our visits to Aunt Muriel in her manor." Suddenly, Arthur turned to look at his son. "Ron, about your wand… I swear that if Charlie's wand doesn't really suit you, then I will get you one. I'll move heaven and earth if necessary; even if that's the last thing I do."
Well, at least he was truly sorry. Still, it did not change the fact they had chosen to buy Percy a bloody owl. "Don't worry, dad," Ron said, instead. It was much easier to act sympathetic after Gerard's promise. "I understand it, really. I just needed some time alone. I'm fine now."
"Oh, thank Merlin," Arthur sighed, relieved. "Come on, then. Your mother must be wondering where the hell we are. Let's not make her wait. She wanted to prepare a big feast tonight, and I don't know about you, but I'm rather hungry."
Today had been the best day in Harry's life; nothing could change that.
When Harry went to sleep, back in that rusty hut lost in the middle of nowhere, he would have never guessed his life was about to change so drastically; for the better, for once. I am a wizard, just like my parents. It had been all he had thought about for the past twenty hours, since the revelation. It was so incredible he was afraid to even blink, afraid that he would wake up and realise nothing had changed.
His day in Diagon Alley, the area of London where wizards lived and met, had been fantastic; there was no better word to describe it. His eyes had darted from one shop to another, lost in that sea of endless possibilities magic offered. First, it had been Gringotts, the wizarding bank, where the boy had learned about the fortune his parents had left him. Then came the Owl Emporium, where he had been given the best birthday present ever: a snow-white owl of sharp, yellow eyes whose name had yet to be decided. And now, to finish the tour, Harry stood at the entrance of Madam Malkin's Robes; in solitude, since Hagrid had left to get a drink in the Leaky Cauldron, the local pub.
For almost a minute, Harry stood rooted at the entrance, observing the many robes displayed on the window—did wizards really dress like that? It looked oddly funny, yet, in the end, he just shook his head and stepped into the shop. Inside, he found a large room, floor made of green slabs and ceiling of a creamy, polished wood, with countless robes of every kind hanging from practically everywhere.
A squat, smiling witch, dressed in all mauve, came from the backroom. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asked, to which Harry just nodded in response. "Got a lot here. In fact, another first-year is being fitted up just now."
In the back of the shop, Harry saw a boy of pale and pointed face as he stood on a footstool, being measured by moving tape measure. His hair was blond, so pale it resembled liquid silver, and his eyes grey like a clouded sky.
He just turned to look at Harry with a bored face. "So another first-year, eh? I see you've already finished buying all the mandatory groceries. Well, my parents are taking care of mine; should be about to finish, I suppose. As soon as they come to get me, I'm gonna drag them off to look at the racing brooms. Oh, what broom do you own?"
The hell? Harry urged himself to find the words. This boy clearly knew way more than him about the wizarding world, and he did not want to look like a fool. Besides, he sounded just like Dudley and his friends, and that set all the alarms in his head. No, one could not allow these kinds of people to stomp over them. "I do not have a broom," Harry just said.
The blond boy just raised a brow at him. "Do you play Quidditch at all?"
"No," Harry answered, again. Quidditch? Was that a game? Or perhaps a sport?
"Well, I do," he went on. "Father says it would be a crime if I'm not picked for the Slytherin team. Oh, speaking of which, do you already know what House you'll be in?"
"No."
Harry felt more and more stupid as the conversation progressed. He had no idea what the boy was talking about! Besides, the fact he stared at him with a sneer on his face and a haughty look in his eyes did not help at all.
"Eh, why are you looking at me like that?" the blond boy snorted. "Do you even understand what I'm talking about? Wait a moment, who are your parents? Are they here?"
"They are dead."
"Oh, sorry," he said, yet his facial features had not changed at all. "But they were our kind, right?"
"My father was a wizard and my mother a witch, if that's what you mean," Harry replied, coldly. Definitely, this blond boy was just like Dudley.
Suddenly, the two boys broke their staring contest as a new voice cut into the conversation; a high-pitched one. "Hey, Draco. It's quite a bit early to be such a nuisance, don't you think so?" The voice belonged to a blond girl. She was very pretty, with her long hair styled into a ponytail and eyes of a deep blue. However, she walked into the shop as if she owned the place. Her clothes, some blue jeans and white t-shirt, looked simple yet far from cheap. She was, definitely, a rich girl.
"Greengrass," the boy, Draco, sneered at her. "I did not expect to find you here. Shame. By the way, who's with you? Oh, I do know you, right? You are Daphne's cousin, and your name was Martin Larsson."
At that moment, Harry noted his presence. A tall boy, he was, a head taller than Harry and the girl and just half over Draco. His hair, short and straight, was also blond, but a shade darker than his cousin's, just as his eyes, which were of a blue so dark they looked to be almost black. "My name is Marcel," he said with a scowl. "Marcel Larsson. Although you know it pretty well."
Harry almost sighed in relief—finally, someone who did not act like he was royalty!
"Oh, sorry," Draco apologised, once again rather effortlessly. Just at that moment, Madam Malkin walked into the back room, carrying some black robes on her hands. "Ah, it was about damn time. I didn't know you needed so much time to take some measurements!"
Madam Malkin just ignored the rude remark with the ease of someone who had dealt with countless crude customers. "You wanted those special ornaments in the neck and the wrists," she just said. "That takes time." Then she turned to look at Harry. "Come on, dear, it is your turn."
Harry followed her and hopped onto another stool; as soon as his feet touched it, the measuring tapes started to fly around him.
"What about you two?" Madam Malkin asked the blond cousins.
"I already got my robes," Daphne Greengrass replied. "I was giving my cousin a tour around Diagon Alley when I saw Darco."
The plump woman was about to answer, but Draco beat her to it. "Wow, look at that man!" the boy whistled, his eyes open in awe.
Harry turned his gaze in the direction Draco had just pointed, and there he found Hagrid, who grinned at him with two large ice-creams in his hands.
"That's Hagrid," Harry said. He had not liked the boy's tone of voice when talking about Hagrid; not a bit. "He works at Hogwarts, as the gatekeeper."
"Oh, I've heard of him," Greengrass piped in. "Father told me he was some kind of servant who lived in a hut right outside the castle. It seems he likes to get drunk from time to time."
"Well, I think he's brilliant," Harry grunted in response. Definitely, these children were just like Dudley and his friends—how many of those would he find at Hogwarts? Just at that moment, the measure tapes came to a halt, and Madam Malkin walked again into the backroom with a bunch of robes in her hands.
Harry, livid and frustrated, just jumped down the stool and gave the plump woman a bunch of golden coins—Hagrid had called them galleons, or so he remembered. That got a reaction out of the three children, who raised their brows, impressed, as Harry walked out of the store.
Unfortunately, the smug girl just followed him. "That was a lot of money, way more than those robes cost," Greengrass pointed out. She looked at Harry with curiosity, as if he was some strange creature she had never seen before. Still, the boy just pulled through it all and pushed her aside. It made her gasp in surprise, which felt like music to his ears.
However, Draco thought otherwise. "Hey, wait a moment. You said your parents were our kind, but I don't believe you. What is your surname?" As soon as they all stepped out, the shop's door closed behind them.
This time, Harry did turn around with a hundred curses in his tongue, ready to be unleashed upon those arrogant kids. Even so, someone else's voice triumphed over his. "Draco, what are you doing there, standing like a fool?"
The newcomer was no other than Draco's dad, for they looked exactly the same. The only difference Harry could find between them was a longer hair and a way more polished look of disgust, which became even more refined the moment his eyes fell onto Hagrid. "Oh, Hagrid. It is quite a surprise to see you here. It seems you have finally embraced your role as Dumbledore's errand boy, eh?" His cane, a long staff of black wood, with a snake head, of a silver shade, carved as the handler, tapped against the pavement street in a rhythmic tone.
Hagrid, commendable, managed to refrain himself, though his voice had a cold touch Harry had never heard before. "It's been a while, Lucius."
Then, just in case seven people were not enough, another man came into the scene.
He was very tall, maybe around the two metre mark, but his height paled when compared to his muscular frame, which could be seen rather well thanks to his sleeveless, grey robes. His hair was cut very short, almost shaved, which allowed him to show the tattoos that covered the side of his head. On the contrary, his well-trimmed beard, of a darker shade of blonde covered the entirety of his chin and jawline. His sheer presence was imposing, and just out of instinct, Harry took a step away from him.
"What do we have here?" the berserker asked aloud. "Lord Lucius Malfoy himself."
"Ludwig Larsson, the lordless heir," Malfoy senior hissed in response. "You are far from Sweden, Ludwig. You are not welcome here." His stance changed, way warrier, and so did the way he gripped his cane.
Oh, oh. Things are about to get ugly. And just at that moment, Hagrid grabbed his shoulder, whispering into his ear: "Come on, Harry, we gotta move. This ain't a problem of our interest."
As silently as they could, the two of them walked away from Madam Malkin's shop. When Harry turned around one last time, he found that only the blond girl had noticed their leave; she looked at him with a frown yet also with curious eyes.
Hagrid did not slow his stride until they were several streets away from those two wizards. By the time he came to a halt, in front of the Apothecarium, Harry was all sweaty and breathless.
"What a pity," Hagrid sighed as he tossed his long melted ice-creams into a trash can. "I wanted you to taste the best ice-cream in the country. Well, there will be a next time, I guess."
Lost in that weird encounter, Harry just realised the sun did not crown the sky anymore. Instead, the clouds had been painted in orange, like a fiery curtain, courtesy of the dusk. "Hagrid," the boy started, his breath yet to be fully regained. "That boy asked me something about which House would I be stored into. What did he mean?"
"Well, that's quite easy to answer," the large man replied. "At Hogwarts, all the students are sorted into four Houses. Gryffindor, the house of the brave. Ravenclaw, where those who seek knowledge above all else go. Hufflepuff, house to the kindest and friendliest lot. And lastly, there is Slytherin."
That had been the one House Malfoy had mentioned. "What's wrong with Slytherin?" Harry cut in.
"There is not a single wizard or witch who went bad who wasn't sorted into Slytherin," Hagrid said with a grimace. "In fact, You-Know-Who himself was one of them. And let me tell you something: that blond boy back there is going to be another one, just like his father before them, just like his entire family has been generation after generation. The Malfoys are some of the worst lot this country has to offer."
Oh, really? What a surprise! At least, Draco Malfoy had taught him one thing today—Harry would not ever be sorted into Slytherin, that was a given.
Hagrid led Harry through the streets of Diagon Alley, which were way less crowded at such a late hour. Still, lights brightened most of the shops they found on their way, and a few restaurants were filled to the brim.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked. He was tired, and his arms felt heavy due to the amount of bags they carried; some filled with books while others with robes and accessories. And to think he had wanted to buy that one thick book about the magical creatures of Europe! He could barely carry those mandatory for the school!
For an unknown reason, that question made Hagrid snicker. "Well, we have yet to buy your wand, Harry."
"My wand?"
"Yes, your wand," Hagrid repeated with a big smile. "The wand is a wizard's best friend, but also his key to the magical world. I wanted to buy it last because it, usually, takes the longest." He suddenly stopped in front of a narrow, shabby shop. Its facade was of black bricks, and above the door, in peeling, gold letters, could be read: Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since 382 BC. "The man is a bit barmy, but he's a god lad."
Harry's face was almost split in two by a large smile. Come on, it is time to turn into a real wizard, just like parents. With that thought in mind, Harry stepped into the last shop.
"It is time, Ron," Gerd announced in a faint voice. "They are all sound asleep. I've checked it twice." Unlike the redhead, she had no need to whisper, yet did it nonetheless.
Okay, let's do this, Ron encouraged himself. My wand awaits. The night he would meet with Gerard had finally come. For the past two days, the boy had been a bundle of nerves, to a point in which his mother, worried, had asked if there was something troubling him. His nonexistent wand had become a taboo matter, and because of that Ron had needed to keep his disappointed facade.
Well, that would change in just a few weeks, as soon as he was to catch the Hogwarts Express.
In theory, the plan was rather simple. First he would get to the lower floor, then he would meet Gerard outside; that was all. Although there was a little problem within the plan, and that was to avoid all the creaking stairs on his way down. Even so, Ron and his siblings had walked through those stairs countless times, and they all had learnt to travel through them silently because of one reason or another.
Even though it turned out to be an easy task, the redhead did not take a proper breath until his foot stepped over the grassy ground. Ron welcomed the cool air with a bright, excited smile.
"That was pretty easy," Gerd pointed out, also smiling. The Essentia had stood over his shoulder the entire way down. Her gleaming dress swayed to the wind's rhythm.
"Yes," Ron sighed. "Next time I'll try to not stress so much about it. Let's get moving. Gerard must be waiting for us."
Ron made his way towards the creek, which wasn't far from The Burrow. It was a road he had walked many times, yet always as the sun shone atop of the sky. This night, a full moon crowned the cloudless sky, accompanied by thousands of stars. Its light allowed him to follow that road which had been carved into the ground many generations ago.
The boy was so excited about his adventure that the ten minute walk ended in the blink of an eye. That night, the large surface of water reflected the moon, and some owls seemed to hoot in delight because of that beautiful picture.
However, there was no trace of Gerard.
Suddenly, Gerd turned around to look at their back, where a voice came an instant after her reaction. "You took your time, boy." It made Ron jump in surprise, yet by the time he turned around it had been replaced by annoyance. "Oh, you should have seen your face."
Gerard materialised in front of him out of thin air; his laugh still echoed around. "I've been waiting for a while!"
"Well, it wasn't easy, you know?" Ron shot back. He tried to look angry, but failed quite miserably. What Gerard had just done was wicked! "By the way, how did you do that?"
Gerard's smile got wider. "That was a very simple spell, the Disillusionment Charm. One day you'll be able to do it, too. Now, let's do what we came here for. Are you ready, Ronald?"
Ron smirked back at the older wizard. "Are you joking? I've been ready since you convinced me back in Diagon Alley!"
"Good. Have you ever done a side Apparition with any of your parents?"
"Yes," Ron grimaced. He would never forget that visit to Aunt Muriel; not in a hundred lives. "I did it once. It sucked a lot."
"Well, that would be a nice way to describe it," Gerard snorted. He then extended his arm towards Ron. "Grab my arm and don't ever let it go. Trust me, you don't want that to happen."
Ron did as told, already prepared for the worse. He knew very well what could happen to him, which did nothing but to increase his nervousness. Suddenly, the world spiralled; all the colours got mixed up, the ground touched the sky and they both became one with the pond. It was short yet intense.
A second after that, Ron found himself in another place.
Gerard landed perfectly on his feet. On the contrary, the redhead fell to the ground as soon as his feet touched the soft ground; a thick layer of green grass softened the fall. It wasn't the most graceful entrance, but he had tried his best.
Gerard helped him to get back on his feet. "You'll get used to it," the man just said. "Everyone starts just like you did. Hell, I myself ate a lot of sand the first time I used Apparition. Practice makes perfection. Carve those words into your mind and one day you'll be thankful. Come one, let's get moving. The place we are going to is not exactly close to here."
Indeed, the said place was far from there.
"Where is that bloody house," Ron grunted between ragged breaths. They had walked uphill for more than one hour, yet Gerard's pace had yet to change. In that forest, the vegetation was thick enough to cover the bright moon, and only a ball of light Gerard had casted allowed them to not trip with each step. Far away, the howl of some wolves broke the silence. "You could have tried to Apparate us a bit closer, don't you think so?"
"There are many wards around this manor which prevents unexpected guests from showing up," Gerard replied, his eyes set on the way ahead. "Had we tried that, we would have crashed against an invisible wall. Trust me, it would have been far from pleasant."
If you say so… His legs felt wobbly, and that uphill road did not seem to end soon enough. Despite that, the trees seemed to move away from the path, rather than closing around it as they had done since then.
"Wait," Gerard ordered, suddenly. His wand appeared out of nowhere, and he started to poke the air in front of him. "Hmpf, that cautious bastard! I told her we were coming tonight, yet she still keeps up the most aggressive wards." His wand was pressed further into the air, but it did not go very far. It seemed to have touched some invisible wall.
Ron just waited as Gerard did…, well, whatever he was supposed to do. A part of him was as tired as he had ever been, yes, but the other was incredibly excited. Since he was born he had been surrounded by magic, but not by any of this kind. Oh, if only Percy was there to see it!
The wait was a short one, for something changed in the air; it felt less heavy, easier to breathe. Even so, that was all the difference he could tell.
Then, out of the blue, the picture in front of him changed drastically. Where previously had been an uphill road through the forest was replaced by another man-made road, this one much thinner and way better delimited. There, the grass was cut much lower, and there were many kinds of colourful flowers all over the place. A few tall trees of dark logs tried to cover some large hut; light came from its many windows.
Also, there was someone waiting for them. An elf stood in front of them, hands crossed behind his back and a warm smile on his face. "I've been waiting for you, lord Gerad," the creature said. Unlike the one elf Ron had previously met, this one looked very well fed, just as his robes were far from being a dirty rag. It wore a red jacket and some white trousers of good silk. "Follow me, please. Lady Violet awaits."
"I'm no lord, elf," Gerard grunted with a furrowed brow. Despite that, he followed the elf, and so did Ron.
Once they were a few steps away from the hut's large door, the elf opened with a simple gesture of his hand. Ron whistled in awe. That was bloody brilliant! I didn't know elves were so good at magic. He knew they excelled in those charms used to clean and take care of the household, of course, but this looked different.
They stepped into the hut, and Ron blinked in surprise.
It greatly reminded him of The Burrow; just in terms of how warm and comfy it looked. At the end of the large corridor, which was covered by a red carpet embellished with golden thread, there was a huge fireplace of black marble. A few doors of black wood were at their sides, yet the elf ignored them and stopped right in the middle of the corridor, much to Ron's surprise.
With a snap of his fingers, the carpet was cut into two identical halves, and below it was revealed nothing but a wooden floor.
"What's he doing?" Ron whispered into Gerard's ear.
"Just wait and see," the older wizard replied.
The elf kneeled and palmed the floor as he muttered some words. A second after that, a large portion of it was removed. "Cautious bastard," Gerard snorted. "That's how a distrustful witch looks like, ha!"
"Please, follow me into the workplace," the elf said. "Lady Violet has already prepared everything." Without further preamble, he jumped down.
Instead, the two wizards got down by using the wooden ladder. Down there, the atmosphere was completely different. A floor of pure stone welcomed them, the same material the walls were made of. A few torches illuminated the place, yet failed quite miserably to warm it; the air Ron inhaled felt cold and humid. Many tables had been placed all over the place; over them rested countless jars, boxes and equipment he could not identify.
"It has been a long time, Gerard," a voice greeted from behind, from the darkness. "What's the matter this time? A wand which does not suit you anymore? Or perhaps a splintered one? In the many years I've dedicated to my profession, you are the first client who has ever requested a third wand."
"It ain't for me this time, Violet," Gerard greeted back.
Finally, the witch stepped out of the darkness. She was a rather petite woman of short, black hair. Her eyes were dark and small, yet seemed to stare through the redhead's soul. The tunic she wore was purple and long, while the wand she carried was short and of a reddish wood with many ornaments in the handler. "Interesting," she just said.
Gerard beckoned Ron to step forward, so the woman could study him better. Violet just walked in circles around him, musing words to herself. It made Ron very nervous, yet he endured it with no hint of fear. Gerard trusted this woman, and that was enough for him.
"Okay," the witch hummed, finally coming into a halt. "Let's see what I can do with him. Follow me here, boy, and don't touch anything until told otherwise. Well, this is gonna be quite simple. Do you see those jars over the round table? I'm gonna extract its content, jar by jar, and all you are going to do is to extend your arm and touch them, okay?"
Certainly, it did not look very hard. "Yes, I get it," the redhead answered.
The first item was a bunch of orange feathers; they were beautiful, simply and plainly beautiful. Ron hesitated, yet touched them. "They feel warm," he mused, surprised.
However, Violet did not share his awe. "Mhm. No, these do not fit. Come on, onto the next."
Then came a bunch of white strings, held together by a black, leather cord. He also touched them, but there wasn't luck either. "Next," Violet ordered.
Once again, Ron stood in front of another bunch of feathers, although these were of golden and silver shades. With not so much faith anymore, the redhead extended his arm and waited for the witch to call it off. Just at that moment he felt a spark travelling from the tip of his fingers to the hair of his head; it was sudden, yet also pleasant. A sensation which spurred him to grab those feathers.
Violet grabbed his hand just in time. "That will do, boy."
"The name is Ronald."
"Quite interesting, hmm," the witch continued, ignoring him. "Those feathers come from the tail of a Thunderbird. They don't connect with many wizards, and on those little occasions they do, it's the wizard who tries to find another core; such is the bad fame they carry. Now, if you were to ask me, I would say that those who refuse them are spineless cowards. All in truth, these wands are quite hard to master, but the rewards can be incredible. I'd take them, boy."
Bloody hell, what am I supposed to do? He had come here to be guided, not to take such an important decision. Incredible rewards yet also hard to master, she had said. Since when was choosing a wand such a difficult thing?
With the corner of his eye, Ron noticed a flash of blue. Gerd stood above the feathers, looking at them with curiosity. "You should take them," the Essentia said, eyes still set on the feathers. "I have a good feeling about them. I like Thunderbirds. They are majestic creatures; dangerous but incredibly loyal."
Ron raised a brow at her. Well, that came out of nowhere, but who am I to say otherwise? Not an ancient spirit who is made of magic in its purest form, that's for sure. "I'll take them," Ron finally said.
"Good decision, Ronald," Violet beamed. "Oh, how long has it been since I last used these feathers to create a wand? Well, the core is settled. Then comes the wood." She looked puzzled for a few seconds. "I might need your help here, Gerard. Which wood do you think will fit him the most?"
Gerard took a moment to reply. "Mahogany, perhaps. Rowan could also be a fit, and the same goes for yew."
"Mmh. Ebony was my first choice since it has good chemistry with the Thunderbird's feathers," Violet mused. She walked towards another table, a rectangular one, and grabbed a piece of dark-brownish wood. Ron had it in his hands in no time at all. "Say, do you feel something?"
Ron did not answer—what was he supposed to feel, in the first place?
"Most wizards cannot feel the magic that comes from these special woods we, wandmakers, use in our trade," Violet went on, her eyes set on Ron, like those of a hawk on its prey. "But when the wood is of the utmost quality—like this one is—and there is enough chemistry, it becomes possible."
Ron was about to shake his head in denial, yet Gerd landed over his shoulder just then. "Ebony is the best option. Trust me, I just know it."
He doubted, but it only took a look from Gerd to make him decide. There had been very few occasions in which Gerd had gotten so serious. Most of those times, it was due to some event from her past she could not remember; this did not seem to be one of those. Okay, I'll follow her advice. However, I will also ask her about this change of mood. I wanna help her.
"I can feel something," Ron lied. "It is similar to what I felt with the feathers, but not so intense." Well, there it was, the best lie he could make. Now it was time to see if his bluff had been bought.
Violet raised an eyebrow. "Well, ebony and Thunderbird's feathers are a very rare combination, but there is a bit of chemistry between them. Yes, it could work. Even so, I must warn you: your wand will be a very hard one to fully master. This being said, if you manage to connect with it… Oh, I got goosebumps just with the mere thought of it! Oh, the wonders you can achieve!"
Gerard cleared his throat, which brought the wandmaker back from her shell.
"Yes, yes," she waved, looking fairly annoyed. "I can work with this. Ebony is a unique wood; it can vary, of course, but the length and flexibility are quite similar in most of its wands. Now, about the payment…"
"What payment?" the older wizard huffed. "You owed me one service, Violet."
"Come on, where is your sense of humour?" she groaned. "Did you lose it alongside your hair? It was a joke. Well, not really. I had to try. These components are not cheap at all, you know?"
"That's a pity. When will it be ready? Around one week, just like the others?"
"Most likely. I have all I need to start tomorrow at first light. One week will be enough to also run all the safety tests and to verify all is in order."
"Great," Gerard nodded. "As soon as you are finished, have it delivered to me. Thank you, Violet. I know this was a sudden order, but you are the only wandmaker I trust. It was a pleasure to see you once again, but I'm afraid we must leave now."
"Now I owe you nothing," Violet smirked. "Besides, I'm glad you came. It ain't everyday when I get to work with such an interesting wand." Her eyes fell over Ron. "If you ever manage to master this wand, you must come here, Ronald. I want to see it with my own eyes."
"I guess I can do that," Ron said with a shrug of his shoulders. That woman still looked at him with a predatory glint in her eyes, but, at least, she called him by his name. "No promises, though."
Those words were followed by a quick farewell, and the elf walked them out of the hut. I'm gonna have my own wand! That's bloody brilliant! That was the one and only thought which filled Ron's mind. Not even the prospect of having to use side Apparition again could erase it.
They landed right at the pond.
This time, Ron did not feel over his butt. No, he just fell forward and kissed the ground with way more force than he would have liked.
"It takes time to perfect the landing," Gerard laughed as he helped the boy to get back on his feet.
"Say what you will, but I'm the one with his mouth full of dirt." Ron grunted back. That old man had not even bothered to hide his smile!
It was late; they had taken far more time than Gerard had first thought. Because of that, they started the way back to The Burrow with no further preamble. The walk was made in silence, and Ron found no reason to change that. He just couldn't wait to use his wand for the first time!
Suddenly, Gerard raised a hand to stop him. There was light coming from the kitchen. "It was far too beautiful to be true," Ron mused, sourly. "Great. How am I supposed to get back to my room now? Mum is gonna kill me!"
"Did you leave your room's window open?" the older wizard asked, instead.
"Of course. It's summer."
Silently, Gerard made his way towards the unique house; he stopped right under his bedroom. Then, Ron found himself in the air, slowly going up. Woah! This is incredible! It took the man a few seconds, but he managed to get Ron close enough to his window so he could enter his bedroom. Even so dark, those orange walls welcomed him back.
Ron found himself smiling. When he snapped out of his amazement, he stuck his head out of the window, ready to thank Gerard for all he had done. However, that man was nowhere to be seen. "That's just rude," Ron mused. "Well, it doesn't really matter. I'm knackered."
Gerd was also nowhere around, so Ron just did what his body ordered him. He let himself down onto the bed and closed his eyes with one thought in his mind—how would his wand look like?
