Chapter 5: The Search for Magic
Alex stood in the middle of the bustling street, his heart pounding with anticipation as the vibrant magical world unfolded before him. Diagon Alley—he had only ever read about it, but now, here it was, vivid and real. The cobbled streets, the swirling robes, the air buzzing with enchantment. His mind, always sharp from the effects of NZT-48, was now alight with excitement as he watched witches and wizards casually waving their wands, conjuring spells, and disappearing into shops filled with arcane wonders.
Magic is real. And I'm here. The thought raced through him, each heartbeat making the reality sink in deeper. This was more than power, more than intelligence—this was the ability to shape the world with a flick of the wrist. The possibilities felt infinite, like his ambitions had finally found a worthy outlet.
But amidst the thrill, a new realization hit him: he didn't belong here. He wasn't a wizard. Not yet.
Alex pulled his hood up over his head, trying to blend into the crowd as best he could. The wizards around him were so casual about it, their magic effortless, ingrained in their very being. He, on the other hand, had nothing—no wand, no spells, just the NZT-48 coursing through his veins, making him hyper-aware of every excited breath, every detail around him. I need to fit in. I need a wand.
He walked the streets for what felt like hours, taking it all in—the shops selling potions, robes, and broomsticks, the magical creatures on display, the towering walls of Gringotts in the distance. Everywhere he turned, there was something new, something fantastical. But he kept returning to the one shop he knew he needed to visit: Ollivanders.
The building was smaller than he expected, unassuming. It almost disappeared into the alley's backdrop, its windows dusty and cluttered with wands stacked in disorganized piles. But this was where it all began, where every witch and wizard received the most essential tool of their trade.
As Alex stood outside the door, nerves gripped him. What if it doesn't work? What if I can't use magic at all? The doubt clawed at him, cutting through the excitement that had fueled him all day. He had come here with the belief that if he could just get a wand, everything would fall into place. But now, staring at the shop, the reality felt much more fragile.
He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. You didn't come all this way to hesitate now.
The bell above the door chimed softly as Alex stepped into the quiet, dimly lit shop. His nerves surged again as he took in the scene before him—dusty shelves stacked to the ceiling with narrow boxes, the faint smell of wood and old parchment filling the air. This was the place where wizards were chosen by their wands, the very heart of what it meant to wield magic in this world.
But Alex wasn't a wizard. Not yet.
The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps made his heart pound harder in his chest. From the shadows behind the counter, Ollivander emerged. He was just as Alex had imagined—tall, thin, with a ghostly pale complexion, his silvery hair framing a face that seemed both ancient and sharply alert. But it was his eyes that caught Alex off guard—bright, piercing, and far too knowing.
Ollivander's gaze lingered on Alex for a long moment, scanning him from head to toe. It was as if he could see through Alex's every layer, down to his very core. Alex shifted uncomfortably under the wandmaker's scrutiny, his nerves tightening further.
"Good afternoon," Ollivander said in a soft, measured voice. He didn't blink. "Looking for a wand, I presume?"
Alex nodded, feeling the lump in his throat. "Yes," he managed, trying to sound confident. But the words came out weaker than he intended. What if it doesn't work? What if I'm not meant to have magic?
Ollivander's lips twitched into the slightest hint of a smile, but his eyes remained sharp, locked on Alex's. He stepped forward slowly, his presence almost ethereal as he moved closer. "A wand," he mused. "Yes, every wizard needs a wand. But you…" Ollivander tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. "You are not like the others who come through here. Are you?"
Alex's heart skipped a beat. Does he know? He swallowed hard, his nerves flaring. "I—uh, I'm just here to get a wand," he stammered, trying to keep his voice steady.
Ollivander studied him for another moment, as if trying to peer deeper, to unravel the mystery of Alex's very being. The air felt thick with tension.
"Curious," the old man finally murmured, turning slightly, though his eyes never left Alex. "Very curious."
Alex's mind raced. He could feel the magic in this place, all around him, but Ollivander's words sent a shiver down his spine. His palms were clammy, his mouth dry. What's curious? What does he see in me?
"Why do you say that?" Alex asked, his voice tighter now.
Ollivander didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved toward the towering shelves of wands, his long fingers brushing lightly over the worn boxes as if searching for something specific. "You see," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "the wand chooses the wizard… but I wonder…"
He paused again, his fingers resting on a box high on the shelf. His gaze flicked back to Alex, his eyes gleaming with an almost unsettling intensity.
"I wonder," he continued softly, "what a wand might make of someone like you."
"Someone like me?" Alex asked, his stomach twisting.
Ollivander smiled faintly, but there was something unreadable in his expression. "You are not from here, are you?"
Alex felt his breath catch in his throat. He knows. He scrambled for words, for some way to cover the truth, but the old man's knowing gaze made him feel exposed, vulnerable. His heartbeat thundered in his chest.
"I've fitted wands for a great many wizards," Ollivander said, his voice as soft as ever. "But every now and then, I come across someone… unusual. Someone whose connection to magic is not entirely…" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Natural."
The room seemed to close in on Alex. He's talking about me.
Ollivander stepped forward, holding the box he had retrieved. "It's fascinating, really," he went on, opening the box to reveal a slender, dark wand nestled within. "I've had customers who didn't know they were magical until they walked through my doors, and the wand chose them anyway. And then there are those who are drawn to magic… but don't quite belong."
Alex's stomach lurched. Ollivander's words echoed painfully in his mind. Don't quite belong.
"But," Ollivander continued, now holding the wand out toward Alex, "there are always exceptions. Magic has a way of finding its way into the hands of those who seek it, even if they don't quite fit."
Alex stared at the wand. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out to take it, his heart racing faster with every second. He didn't know if this would work. What if he's right? What if I don't belong here?
His fingers wrapped around the handle of the wand, and immediately, a surge of warmth shot through him. It was electric, pulsing through his hand and up his arm, spreading into his chest. The wand hummed in his grasp, like it was waking up after a long slumber, responding to him. The energy was undeniable—alive, almost sentient.
For a moment, Alex's doubt faded, replaced by sheer wonder. It's working.
Ollivander's eyes lit up, and his lips curved into a faint smile. "Interesting," he murmured again, but this time his tone was different—more intrigued, almost impressed. He took a step back, observing Alex with renewed intensity. "Very interesting indeed."
"What is it?" Alex asked, his curiosity rising despite the lingering unease.
"You've been touched by something," Ollivander said softly. "Something beyond this world, I think. A force not entirely aligned with our magic, yet… somehow compatible." He studied Alex's face carefully, watching for a reaction. "You have a hunger for magic, don't you?"
Alex swallowed hard, gripping the wand tighter. He knows. But Ollivander didn't seem threatening—just intrigued, as if Alex was a puzzle he was eager to solve.
"Yes," Alex admitted, his voice barely audible. "I want to learn."
Ollivander nodded slowly, the glint in his eyes still there. "This wand has chosen you, despite the odds," he said. "And that's no small thing. But magic…" He paused, leaning in slightly. "Magic is more than just a tool. It's a living thing. It doesn't just obey—it responds. It recognizes when it is being sought for the right reasons… and when it's not."
A heavy silence filled the air between them. Alex could feel the weight of Ollivander's words settling on him. He knows what I'm after.
"Be careful with your desires," Ollivander warned softly. "Magic is a powerful thing, but it's not something to be bent to one's will without consequence."
Alex didn't respond, his mind spinning. I'll be careful, he told himself, though the thrill of power hummed beneath his skin.
Ollivander gave him one final, knowing look before stepping back behind the counter. "Take care of that wand, Mr. Mercer," he said. "It may serve you well… or it may reveal more than you intend."
Alex paid for the wand, the weight of Ollivander's gaze still heavy on his shoulders as he left the shop. The excitement of wielding magic had filled him with a rush of possibility, but now, doubt and a strange unease gnawed at him.
He had what he came for—a wand, a connection to magic—but the old man's words lingered in his mind. Be careful with your desires.
For weeks, Alex immersed himself in the world of magic. Every day, he returned to Diagon Alley, searching for books, scrolls, and anything that could teach him how to cast spells. The wand gave him a connection to magic, but controlling it was another matter. He practiced in secret, flicking his wand at small objects, trying to make them float, move, or transform. Some spells came easier than others, but even the smallest successes filled him with exhilaration.
This is it. This is real power.
The feeling of casting a successful spell—however minor—was unlike anything Alex had ever experienced. The power wasn't just in his mind like the NZT-48; it was in his hands, in the world around him. With every wave of his wand, he felt more alive, more powerful. Magic wasn't just a tool—it was an extension of himself.
But there were moments of frustration too. Magic didn't always work the way he wanted. Sometimes, spells fizzled out before they even left the wand. Other times, his control slipped, and objects would explode or catch fire when they shouldn't have. His lack of formal magical education was becoming more of a problem than he had anticipated. He had the power, but no clear understanding of how to wield it.
One afternoon, while digging through a stack of ancient texts in the magical library, Alex stumbled across a revelation that stopped him cold: magical bloodlines. It was right there, in black and white. Magic in this world wasn't just about learning the spells—it was in your blood. Wizards were born, not made.
No. There has to be a way. Alex's mind whirred with the implications. He hadn't come this far just to be held back by biology. He had altered his mind and body before—why not again? There had to be a way to change his bloodline, to give himself the same innate connection to magic that the wizards here had.
It was a dangerous idea, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the only solution. He couldn't keep struggling like this, always a step behind. If he could rewrite his bloodline, fuse magical energy into his very essence, he would be unstoppable.
Weeks of research followed. Alex delved deeper into the darkest corners of magical knowledge, studying ancient rituals, forbidden potions, and spells that wizards spoke of only in whispers. He knew the risks were high, but the promise of power was too great to ignore.
Finally, he found what he was looking for: a powerful ritual that could alter his essence, transforming him into something more. It was dangerous, complex, and required rare ingredients—some of which he had to steal—but he didn't care. This was his chance to become truly magical, and he wouldn't let anything stand in his way.
The night of the ritual came, and Alex was ready. He had prepared everything meticulously, setting up the enchanted circle in an abandoned chamber deep beneath the city. As he chanted the ancient words and poured the ingredients into the cauldron, a strange energy filled the room, thick and suffocating.
But something went wrong.
The magic surged out of control, ripping through the chamber like a violent storm. The walls shook, and the symbols Alex had so carefully inscribed on the floor began to warp and twist. The air around him crackled with chaotic energy, and before he could react, the force of the spell knocked him unconscious.