THE LIQUID CORE
CHAPTER 19: THE LIQUID CORE
The rest of my week after the shopping spree flew by, filled with both excitement and a sense of purpose. After getting everything I needed for Hogwarts, I spent hours each day poring over the textbooks for the first and second years, eager to familiarize myself with the foundational aspects of magical theory. I found the material to be both intriguing and, at times, surprisingly complex. Still, I relished the challenge, knowing that understanding the theoretical side of magic was just as important as mastering the practical elements.
When my custom-ordered clothes and supplies arrived, I took my time inspecting them. The craftsmanship was impeccable, and each piece fit perfectly, exactly as I had envisioned. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing the results of my planning materialize in front of me. But it wasn’t just about having fine things—it was about being prepared, about ensuring that when I set foot in Hogwarts, I would be ready for anything that might come my way.
Of course, the highlight of the week wasn’t just the textbooks or the tailored robes—it was the arrival of my special order from Gringotts.
Carefully opening the package, my breath hitched when I saw it: a beautifully forged, goblin-made knife. Its gleaming silver blade was both elegant and deadly, the goblin runes etched into its surface barely visible to the untrained eye, yet powerful in their own right. The handle featured a subtle, yet intricate, carving of a Phoenix in flight, its ruby eye gleaming in the light.
I ran my fingers along the blade, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It was perfectly balanced, just as I had requested. A year ago, after much contemplation, I had placed an order for this knife as a precaution—something I could use for my own defense if, for whatever reason, I was unable to use magic or had my wand taken from me. The decision had not been made lightly, and I had spent months working with Ragnok to ensure every detail was precisely tailored to my needs.
"Unbreakable, bonded to you, and always returns when lost," I muttered, recalling the goblin's words as I inspected the blade. The enchantments were subtle but potent. There was also a clause I had insisted on: I wanted the ability to add further enchantments to the knife in the future.
My eyes drifted to the note included in the package. Unfolding it, I scanned the familiar goblin script, my pulse quickening as I read.
"To bond with the blade, simply make a small cut in your palm and allow the blade to absorb your blood. Once bonded, it will return to you upon command, no matter where you are. Additional enchantments may be placed on the handle or ruby, as requested. The blade is yours for three generations unless an extension is purchased, in accordance with goblin law."
A smile tugged at my lips. The goblins were always meticulous about their contracts, and I respected that. They had delivered exactly what I wanted, down to the last detail.
Not wasting any time, I took the blade in my hand and, with a steady breath, drew it across the palm of my left hand. A sharp sting accompanied the cut, but the pain was fleeting. I watched, fascinated, as the blood was quickly absorbed into the blade. The runes along the knife’s edge glowed faintly for a moment before fading back into their near-invisible state.
I flexed my fingers, the slight cut already starting to close. "Looks like we’re bonded now," I murmured to the blade. There was a strange comfort in knowing that I now had a reliable weapon, one that would never leave me, no matter the situation.
I attached the dragon leather sheath to my forearm, checking to ensure the enchantment worked. With just a thought, the knife shot into my hand, swift and effortless. I couldn’t help but grin, feeling a rush of satisfaction. It was exactly what I had hoped for—a perfect blend of craftsmanship and magic.
For the next hour or so, I found myself practicing with the knife, testing its weight and balance, throwing it across the room only to watch it return to my hand in a smooth, controlled arc. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I played with it for a while—after all, it was a beautiful piece of work, and I wanted to make sure I knew how to use it.
At one point, Tilly popped into the room, her wide eyes watching as I twirled the blade between my fingers.
"Master Ares is liking his new toy?" she asked, her voice both curious and cautious.
I smirked, sheathing the knife and sending it back to my forearm with a flick of my wrist. "It's not just a toy, Tilly. This could save my life one day."
Tilly nodded solemnly. "Tilly hopes Master never needs to use it. But Tilly knows Master Ares is very smart, always prepared."
"I hope so too," I replied quietly, glancing down at the knife. "But it's better to be prepared than caught off guard."
Satisfied with my practice, I leaned back in my chair, the cool surface of the knife resting against my skin through its sheath. My mind began to wander, drifting toward the uncertain future that lay ahead of me. The knife, while practical in design, had become something more—a symbol of my forward-thinking nature, my refusal to rely solely on magic or luck. In this world, power came in many forms, and the key to survival wasn’t just magical skill, but adaptability. And I had every intention of surviving.
As I exhaled slowly, I glanced at the clock on the wall and felt a strange chill settle over me. It wasn’t the usual excitement or apprehension that accompanied a new revelation—it was something else, a nagging sensation that I had forgotten something crucial.
Then, it hit me.
Today was July 7th, 1988.
A date I had circled in my mind weeks ago, yet in my excitement over the knife and preparing for Hogwarts, I had completely overlooked its significance. Today was the day of my magical maturation. The date had crept up on me, a quiet but monumental milestone that any wizard must pass through.
The reason why witches and wizards wait until the age of eleven to formally begin their magical training is tied to this event—it's the age at which our magic becomes fully accessible and controllable. For most, it means an increase in power, a greater sense of focus and ability, allowing young wizards and witches to properly start casting spells with more intent and precision.
But for me, things weren’t that simple.
If it were just a matter of gaining more strength and control like my peers, I would welcome the change with open arms. But no. My situation was far from ordinary.
I had already gone through my first magical maturation years ago—triggered not by age, but by the first ritual I had undergone during those dark, torturous days. It had fundamentally altered me, refining my magic far beyond that of a typical child. Then, my second ritual took that even further, pushing my core to the limits, sharpening it into something more potent and deadly than I had ever thought possible.
Now, I could feel the shift within me, something stirring in the depths of my being. According to everything I had read on the subject—and I had poured over every scrap of magical theory I could find on this topic—what I was experiencing was nothing short of extraordinary. Normally, at eleven, a wizard's magical core solidifies, gaining power as it reaches its first true stage of maturity. But what was happening inside of me now… it was far beyond that.
The dense, gaseous magic within me, compressed and refined by my rituals, was undergoing a second transformation—into liquid form. Liquid magic, a state that only highly gifted witches and wizards, like Aurors or hit-wizards, ever reach. And even then, it usually took them years of intense training and battle to achieve such a feat. This, I now understood, was why many wizards were limited in real combat—their magic simply lacked the power and refinement needed for true effectiveness.
I was far ahead of them, but that came with its own set of dangers.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to focus. I sank into my mind, seeking the familiar image of my magical core—a place I had visited many times before in my meditations. There, in the darkness of my mind, I could see the twin cores within me, glowing and swirling like twin stars, agitated and volatile as they began their transformation.
But something was wrong.
The two cores were colliding, their immense energy pulling toward each other in an almost magnetic dance. Each time they struck, a sharp pain lanced through my chest, as though my heart itself was being torn apart. Every impact sent ripples of power through me, and I knew that if this continued, the consequences would be catastrophic.
If my cores shattered… or worse, died… I would be left with nothing. Magic would abandon me. I would become a Squib—a fate worse than death for someone like me, someone who had fought so hard for control, for power.
Gritting my teeth, I tried to force the two cores apart, willing them to remain separated. The effort was excruciating, like trying to hold back the tide with nothing but sheer willpower. My heart pounded in my ears, the pain becoming a constant, rhythmic throb as the cores resisted my attempts to contain them.
Minutes passed. Or maybe it was hours—I couldn’t tell. The battle inside me was all-consuming, a relentless tug-of-war between my consciousness and the volatile forces that threatened to tear me apart from the inside. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my breathing became ragged as I strained against the pressure.
"This isn’t working," I muttered through gritted teeth, the realization dawning on me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep them apart by sheer force alone. They were too powerful, too chaotic.
I needed a new approach. But what? What could I possibly do to stabilize them without losing control?
And then, in the midst of my growing panic, a flash of inspiration struck me like lightning.
What if… instead of trying to force the cores apart, I allowed them to merge? Not in their current form, but by guiding them into a single, cohesive entity?
It was risky—dangerous, even. But it was the only solution I could think of.
Summoning every ounce of focus I had left, I shifted my approach. Instead of pushing the cores away from each other, I gently pulled them toward one another, but with intent, with purpose. The trick was not to let them collide chaotically, but to guide them in such a way that they fused into something greater than the sum of their parts.
I envisioned them melding into a single, liquid core—more powerful, more stable.
The pain flared, white-hot, as the two energies met. For a moment, I thought I had failed. But then, slowly, the tension began to ease. The cores no longer fought against me. Instead, they swirled together, like two rivers joining to form a single, unstoppable current.
I let out a shaky breath, the pain gradually subsiding as the transformation continued. My twin cores had become one, their combined energy settling into a smooth, liquid state. It was over.
I had done it.
Opening my eyes, I felt… different. Stronger. More in control. The magic within me no longer felt like a wild, untamable force, but something I could wield with precision and confidence.
The magical maturation had passed. But I knew that from this day forward, nothing would be the same. I wasn’t just a young wizard preparing for Hogwarts. I was something more. Something… dangerous.
And for the first time in a long while, I smiled.
It was a small smile, but it carried with it a sense of relief, a spark of triumph. After all this time wrestling with these forces inside me, I had finally found a way to make them work together instead of tearing me apart. It wasn’t easy, but then again, nothing worth doing ever is.
I thought about the two cores inside me—those swirling, uncontrollable masses of energy. If they wanted to move toward each other, why not let them? Maybe, instead of trying to force them apart, I could guide them—redirect their paths just enough to make them chase each other without colliding too violently.
It was delicate work. With a deep breath, I relaxed my mental grip and allowed them to move closer, feeling the tension in my chest build as the two forces neared one another. When they were on the verge of crashing into each other, I gently nudged them off course, just a little. They barely missed, spiraling away from each other, only to be drawn back again by the same magnetic pull.
This dance went on, over and over. Each time they approached, I adjusted their trajectory just enough for them to miss but still keep moving. It felt like a puzzle—like watching two celestial bodies orbit each other. They resembled magnets, constantly pulled together yet unable to fully merge. With each near miss, I could feel my concentration wavering, the mental strain building. But I had to see it through. I had come too far to stop now.
Eventually, something changed. Slowly but surely, the two cores started to merge. It wasn’t an immediate fusion but a gradual blending of their energies. The golden and silver liquids inside them began to swirl together, chasing each other like twin rivers. I don’t know how long I kept this up. Time seemed to lose all meaning. My mind was exhausted, my body felt drained, but I forced myself to stay conscious, to guide the process until it was complete.
And then, they found balance.
The two cores, which had once been chaotic and dangerous, now moved together in harmony. They slowed down, their once erratic motion settling into a steady, synchronized rhythm. They almost fused into one, yet remained distinct, a thin barrier separating the two. The result was shocking. Inside me now was a large, glowing orb about the size of a softball, filled with swirling golden and silver liquids. It looked like yin and yang, the energies inside constantly rotating but never quite mixing.
Relief washed over me. I had done it. I had survived. But just as quickly, the exhaustion caught up with me, and everything went dark.
I don’t know how long I was out, but the next thing I remember was the sunlight blazing directly into my eyes. I groaned, rolling over in bed, feeling stiff and disoriented. Blinking groggily, I sat up, only to hear a startled yelp from somewhere nearby.
I turned toward the sound and saw Tilly, our ever-faithful house-elf, standing there with wide, terrified eyes, wringing her hands nervously.
“Tilly? What’s wrong? What time is it?” I asked, my voice hoarse from sleep. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the lingering fog in my brain.
Instead of answering, Tilly’s eyes grew even wider. Without a word, she turned and bolted from the room, her squeaky voice echoing through the halls. “Mistress! Young Master Ares is awake!”
I frowned, still half-asleep, watching her disappear. “What the...?”
Before I could make sense of anything, a whirlwind of red hair and tears tackled me back onto the bed. “Big Brother, you’re okay!” Susan’s voice was muffled against my chest as she clung to me, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Susan!” I yelped, caught off guard. “What’s going on? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I wrapped my arms around her, trying to calm her down, but her tears didn’t stop.
“You’ve been unconscious for three days, Ares,” came a calm, measured voice from the doorway.
I looked up to see my Aunt Amelia standing there, her expression stern but with a hint of relief softening her usually strict demeanor.
“Three days?” I repeated, my eyes widening in shock. “You mean I’ve been out cold for three whole days?” My voice cracked with disbelief.
Amelia nodded, stepping further into the room. “You collapsed from magical exhaustion,” she explained. “I was worried we might need to take you to St. Mungo’s, but Tilly and I decided to wait, given your unique... situation.”
Susan sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve but still clutching me tightly. “We thought something terrible had happened, that... that your heart couldn’t handle it.” She hiccupped between sobs.
I swallowed hard. The idea of my heart giving out under the pressure of my magical energies had been a real fear of mine for a while now. But hearing it spoken aloud, hearing the fear in my sister’s voice—it hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’m... I’m sorry, Susan. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said softly, stroking her hair as I tried to offer some comfort. “But I’m okay now. I promise.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her tear-streaked face looking up at me, wide-eyed.
I nodded, trying to offer a reassuring smile despite the lingering fatigue I still felt. “Yeah, I’m sure. I just needed to rest after... well, after everything that happened.”
Amelia crossed her arms, her gaze sharp as she studied me. “You’re lucky, Ares. What you did was dangerous. You’ve made remarkable progress, but you’re not invincible.”
Her words were stern, but beneath them, I could hear the concern. It was typical of her—always the one to remind me of the risks, always pushing me to be cautious.
“I know, Aunt Amelia,” I replied, a little sheepishly. “I just— I had to see it through.”
She sighed, shaking her head slightly. “I understand that. But you need to be more careful. Next time, you might not wake up after three days.”
I grimaced at the thought. Three days... How close had I come to something worse?
Tilly suddenly reappeared, a tray of food hovering beside her as she nervously approached the bed. “Young Master needs to eat! Mistress says you must regain your strength!” she squeaked, setting the tray down carefully on the bedside table.
I glanced at the tray and my stomach growled loudly, making Susan giggle through her sniffles. “Okay, okay,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “I guess I could eat something.”
Amelia gave me one last warning look before turning to leave. “Rest and eat. We’ll talk more later.” Then, with a small nod, she disappeared down the hall, leaving Susan, Tilly, and me alone in the room.
As I began to eat, Susan stayed close by, her small hand resting on my arm, her presence comforting. The familiar scent of home—fresh sheets and Tilly’s cooking—grounded me in the moment. Despite the chaos of the past few days, things were finally starting to feel normal again—at least, as normal as they could be for me.
Susan watched me quietly for a while, but I could tell she was holding something back. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes were red from crying. “You really scared us, Ares,” she finally said, her voice tinged with frustration and relief all at once.
“Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean to...” I began, but she cut me off.
"We even had a healer come in to check on you," Susan said, her voice rising with a touch of anger. "They said you were keeping yourself asleep—that they couldn’t wake you up, not without risking making things worse. Do you know how terrifying that was?"
I winced at the intensity in her voice. It wasn’t often that Susan got angry, but when she did, it came from a place of deep care. “I’m sorry, Susan. Really,” I said, meeting her eyes.
She bit her lip, the anger fading as quickly as it had come. “So... what happened? Why did you collapse like that?”
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. How could I explain the complexities of my situation without worrying her even more? “Well... it’s because of the rituals,” I started slowly. “You know how my core is a bit different from most people’s? Because of what I went through, it's... let’s just say it's more complicated. When it started maturing, things didn’t go smoothly. I had to, uh, go inside myself to fix it.”
Susan’s gaze softened immediately, just like it always did whenever I mentioned my time in that dark, horrible place. She knew enough to understand the scars it had left behind, even if she didn’t know every detail.
She reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of my face, her voice gentle now. “Alright, dear. As long as you’re okay now, that’s all that matters.” She tried to smile, but I could see the worry still lingering in her eyes.
“I am,” I reassured her. “Really, I feel... well, better than I have in a long time, actually.” I smiled, hoping it would calm her down.
Susan blinked up at me from where her head rested against my chest, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “So you’re really okay?” she asked, her voice small and trembling, as if she were afraid of the answer.
“Yeah, I promise, Susan. I’m okay.” I gave her a gentle squeeze. “In fact, I kinda feel great right now. Better than before, if you can believe that.”
Her lip wobbled, but she smiled, a genuine one this time. “Good,” she whispered, nuzzling her head against me. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Before I could say anything more, Aunt Amelia’s voice interrupted from the doorway, her familiar no-nonsense tone cutting through the air. “Well, it’s a relief to hear that you’re feeling better, Ares. But I hope you understand the seriousness of what happened. You’ve missed an entire weekend.”
She strode into the room, her posture stiff, but there was something in her eyes that told me she was far more relieved than she was letting on. “And,” she continued, “I took a day off work to make sure nothing went wrong. As much as I enjoy your company, young man, you’ll have to wait until Saturday evening before we can go and get your wand.”
My heart sank a little at that. I had been looking forward to getting my wand, especially after everything. But I nodded, understanding. “It’s alright, Aunt Amelia. I understand. Thank you... for everything.” I glanced at Susan, then at Tilly, who was hovering nearby with a concerned look on her face. “Thanks to all of you. It means a lot.”
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Aunt Amelia’s expression softened ever so slightly. “We are family, Ares. And in this world, family is what we have left.” She paused, then stepped closer, her hands resting on my shoulder and Susan’s head. “I treasure you both.”
She pulled us into a hug, and for a moment, the weight of the last few days seemed to melt away. It was rare to see Aunt Amelia so openly affectionate, but when she did show it, it made everything feel a little more... grounded. Safe.
It was really nice.
But as warm as the moment was, reality set in quickly. I had to wait another week to get my wand. The disappointment gnawed at me for a second, but it was quickly replaced by determination. I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while I waited. There were too many spells I needed to perfect, too many things I needed to learn.
So, I threw myself back into studying. Without a wand, my focus shifted to wandless magic—a skill that, to my surprise, seemed to come more naturally than ever before. Every spell I tried seemed... sharper, more potent. It took less magic to perform, and the effects were stronger. Quicker, too. And the best part? My magical reserves recovered at a pace that was almost impossible to believe.
I tested everything. Basic charms, defensive spells, even more advanced transfigurations. It was as if my core—my newly stabilized core—was overflowing with power, eager to be used.
I must’ve cast dozens of spells a day, sometimes losing track of time as I experimented. The magic felt alive, pulsing through me, responding instantly to my will. The more I used it, the more attuned I became to the flow of magic around me.
Of course, there were limits. By the end of each day, the exhaustion would catch up with me, and I’d collapse into bed, drained but satisfied. Even Aunt Amelia seemed impressed by my progress, though she made sure to remind me not to overdo it.
“Pace yourself, Ares,” she’d say with that stern look of hers. “You’re not indestructible.”
But in those moments, as the magic surged through me, I almost felt like I was.
The week had flown by, filled with spells, lessons, and relentless practice. I felt ready—ready to get my wand and take the next step. But as Saturday arrived, the excitement was soon replaced with a strange sense of uncertainty as we prepared to go to Ollivanders.
Aunt Amelia, Susan, and I traveled through the Floo Network, emerging into the bustling energy of Diagon Alley. The familiar sights and sounds did little to ease the knot forming in my stomach. We walked down the cobbled street until we reached the narrow, shabby storefront of Ollivanders. The peeling gold letters over the door read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Amelia gave me a firm but reassuring nod. “Go on, Ares. Everyone goes through this little initiation. We’ll wait for you at Florean Fortescue’s,” she said, holding Susan’s hand.
Susan squeezed my arm before letting go. “Good luck,” she whispered with a smile, though there was still a hint of worry in her eyes.
I nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping into the shop. The bell above the door tinkled softly as I entered the tiny, dusty space. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were stacked right up to the ceiling, giving the place an overwhelming sense of history and age. The atmosphere felt heavy with magic.
From behind one of the shelves, an old man emerged, his pale silvery eyes sharp and curious, shoulder-length gray hair framing his wrinkled face. His white skin almost glowed in the dim light of the shop.
“I did not expect a new customer so late in the evening,” the man said in a soft, almost whispery voice. “But no matter, no matter. It is always a pleasure to match a child to their wand. I do hope you make things challenging for me,” he chuckled, his laugh airy, as if to himself.
The famous Garrick Ollivander. His reputation preceded him, and his presence immediately filled the room with quiet authority.
“Now then, young mister...?”
“Bones. Ares Bones,” I said, finishing for him.
“Ah, yes... Bones,” Ollivander muttered, his gaze suddenly more intense. “One of the survivors. A tragic fate... a shame about what was done to them,” he murmured almost as if to himself. “I sold wands to the whole family, you know.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I simply nodded as Ollivander began pulling wands from the shelves, his excitement almost palpable. What followed was a half-hour of testing wand after wand—each containing Unicorn hair, Dragon heartstring, Phoenix feather, the classic Ollivander cores. But nothing worked. The wands barely reacted to me, some even recoiling as if repelled by my magic.
“Well, I did ask for a challenge,” Ollivander said after yet another failed attempt, a smile playing on his lips despite the frustration. “You’ve certainly provided one, Mr. Bones.”
He paused, tapping a long, thin finger against his chin. “It seems,” he mused, “I may have to craft a custom wand for you after all. Fascinating.”
I had expected this. Given what was inside me—what I had become—it would have been strange if a normal wand had bonded with me. I glanced at Ollivander, knowing I had to share more if we were going to find a solution.
“Um, Mr. Ollivander,” I said carefully, trying to catch his attention. “If you can take a vow of silence, I think I can explain why none of the wands are working.”
Ollivander raised an eyebrow at my request, his curiosity clearly piqued. He was known for his obsession with wandlore, and I knew this would be irresistible to him. Without hesitation, he pointed his wand upwards.
“I, Garrick Ollivander, swear on my magic that the information given by Ares Bones shall remain between us and that I shall tell no one. So mote it be. Lumos.”
The tip of his wand lit up, signaling that the vow was valid. I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Alright,” I began, lowering my voice slightly. “Due to... certain events outside my control, I’ve been imbued with the essence of a Wampus cat, and I’ve deeply bonded with a Phoenix. I also currently have two magical cores.”
Ollivander’s eyes widened, his hand gripping his wand tightly. “My word!” he gasped. “A Wampus cat... and a Phoenix, you say? Two magical cores? This... this is extraordinary! No wonder none of my wands bonded with you. Your magic is... well, unique, to say the least.”
He paced excitedly for a moment, muttering to himself before turning back to me, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “Do you happen to have any feathers from said Phoenix?”
I smiled slightly. “Yes, I do.”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small, carefully wrapped package—the same one I had retrieved from Gringotts not long ago. Inside was a single, gleaming feather from the Phoenix I was bonded to, something I had kept safe for this very moment.
Ollivander’s eyes lit up as he took the feather from me with reverence. “Remarkable,” he whispered, turning the feather over in his hands. “With this, we shall craft something truly special. A wand that will be as unique as you, Mr. Bones.”
He glanced at me with renewed focus. “This will take time, but I promise you—this wand will be like no other.”
As Ollivander spoke, I felt the surge of anticipation deepening. Soon, I would hold a wand crafted specifically for me, one that would resonate with the unique magic I carried.
“I had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy,” I said, pulling out a few small boxes from my bag. “So, I prepared in advance.”
Ollivander’s silvery eyes gleamed with interest as I opened the boxes. “This contains a heart feather from my Phoenix friend, freely given,” I explained. “And these are Wampus cat hairs I ordered from America. I know they’re not commonly used here, but given my situation, I thought they might connect with me better than other materials.”
Ollivander examined the offerings, nodding slowly. “Yes, in Britain, we tend to favor Unicorn hair, Dragon heartstring, and Phoenix feather. But a skilled wandmaker knows that the match is more important than the tradition. If these resonate with you, then that is what you shall receive.” He motioned for me to follow him deeper into the shop.
We reached a workbench covered with various wood samples. “Now,” he said, gesturing to the wood, “I want you to close your eyes and feel which wood calls to you.”
I did as instructed, focusing on the subtle energies around me. As I moved my hand over the pieces, I felt a strong pull toward one in particular. When I opened my eyes, my fingers were resting on a jet-black block of wood.
“Ebony,” Ollivander said with a gleam of recognition in his voice. “A wood that thrives in many forms of magic, especially combat. It’s often drawn to those with great courage and those who stand apart from others. Interesting indeed.”
He then laid out the boxes of cores, each containing different magical substances. Once again, I closed my eyes and let my magic guide me. This time, I felt two distinct pulls—one warm and brilliant, the other more subtle and calm. When I opened my eyes, I saw exactly what I had expected: the Phoenix feather and one of the boxes of Wampus cat hair.
“Phoenix feather,” Ollivander mused. “A core that makes for very individualistic wands, strong and often unpredictable. Paired with Wampus hair, which lends itself to more subtle magic—magic that finds new paths and sees beyond the obvious. A fascinating combination, Mr. Bones.”
With a renewed energy in his eyes, Ollivander stood straighter, already mentally preparing for the task ahead. “Come back tomorrow evening, Mr. Bones. Your wand will be ready by then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander,” I said, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “I’ll leave the remaining Wampus hairs with you, in case you’d like to experiment.”
Ollivander’s lips curled into a smile. “I think I’ll take you up on that. It never hurts to keep one’s skills sharp,” he said with a chuckle.
As I left the shop and made my way back to Amelia and Susan, I explained the delay to my aunt. “My wand will be ready tomorrow. It took longer because we had to find the right materials.”
Amelia nodded, ever the practical one. “I’m sure it will be worth the wait, Ares. A wand is an extension of yourself, after all. It’s important to get it right.”
Susan, always the supportive cousin, beamed up at me. “I can’t wait to see it!” she said excitedly.
“Really, why is it so hard to get you a single wand, young man?” Ollivander teased, his voice a mix of mock annoyance and genuine amusement.
The next day arrived, and I could hardly contain my excitement as I stepped back into the shop. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and magic, a familiar comfort. Ollivander appeared from behind a stack of boxes, his pale eyes sparkling with anticipation.
He placed a sleek black box on the counter in front of me, and my heart raced. “Here it is,” he said, a proud smile on his face.
I opened the box slowly, revealing a stunning black wand nestled inside. It felt incredibly balanced in my hand, the handle smooth and comfortable, the body sleek and flawless. As I held it, I felt a surge of energy, and the wand seemed to hum with life.
Suddenly, multicolored lights swirled around me, and I heard the unmistakable cry of a Phoenix. It resonated deep within me, connecting to my cores in a way I had never experienced before.
“Ebony, Phoenix heart feather, and Wampus cat hair, 11.5 inches, slightly flexible,” Ollivander announced, his pride evident. “One of the finest wands I’ve ever made.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, overwhelmed by the moment. “It’s perfect.”
After completing the transaction and paying for the wand, an arm holster, and maintenance equipment, I felt a sense of accomplishment. This wand was more than just a tool; it was an extension of who I was. I carefully tucked it away in its holster, feeling a newfound confidence.
As I stepped outside into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, I couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t wait to show Aunt Amelia and Susan!” I exclaimed, my excitement bubbling over.
On the way back, I couldn’t stop imagining the spells I would learn and the adventures that lay ahead. With my new wand, I felt ready to face whatever challenges awaited me.