Chapter Six: The Unusual Core
He watched, expectant. "Give it a wave."
Elian felt the warm, potent energy within the wand hum in sync with his own pulse. He gave it a gentle, experimental flick.
WHOOM.
A pulse of deep red light, visible for just an instant, expanded from the wand tip like a silent ripple. Every drawer in the shop gave a single, respectful shudder, a unified salute, and then fell perfectly still. The crimson light in the wand faded back to its dormant, ember-like state.
Elian paid the seven gold Galleons—a standard price that felt ludicrously small for such an artifact. As they stepped back into the busy alley, the normal sounds of Diagon Alley felt loud and jarring.
"Well," Hermione said, pulling her thoughts together with visible effort. "Madam Malkin's for robes is just there. Flourish and Blotts for books is across the way. Potage's for your cauldron is next to it. You should be able to manage from here. I… I really should find Harry and Ron."
Elian nodded. "Thank you, Hermione. Truly."
She gave him one last, deeply curious look, then turned and vanished into the crowd, her bushy hair bobbing above the sea of pointed hats
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of essential purchases. Elian was measured for robes at Madam Malkin's, bought his pewter cauldron, glass phials, and a set of brass scales. At Flourish and Blotts, he collected his first-year textbooks: A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. The weight of the books and the dwindling weight of his coin pouch made it all feel real.
Back at 12 Grimmauld Place, the temporary headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione found Harry and Ron in the dusty drawing-room.
"You will not believe what happened today," she announced, perching on the arm of a threadbare sofa.
Between Ron's interruptions and Harry's quiet listening, she recounted the meeting at Gringotts and the extraordinary scene at Ollivander's.
"A sixteen-year-old firstie? Pull the other one, it's got bells on," Ron scoffed, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. "Right, Harry?"
Harry, who was absently levitating a copy of the Daily Prophet with a flick of his wand, looked thoughtful. "The Goblet of Fire was fooled. Ancient magic can be tricked."
Ron's face paled slightly. "You don't think… you think he's a Death Eater? Sent by You-Know-Who? But Dumbledore met him!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Hermione said crisply. "If You-Know-Who wanted to infiltrate Hogwarts, he wouldn't use someone so blatantly unusual. Professor Dumbledore isn't easily fooled."
Harry nodded slowly, but a shadow remained in his green eyes. Distrust was a habit now, and strange occurrences were rarely good news. He let the newspaper drop. "We'll see tomorrow, I suppose."
Hermione, exhausted by the day's wonders and worries, soon retired. Sleep, however, was not quick to find Elian back at Carnaby Street.
His new belongings were packed neatly into a second-hand trunk he'd bought. His sandalwood wand lay on his bedside table, the faint red veins seeming to glow in the moonlight. Excitement thrummed through him, a live wire of anticipation for the Hogwarts Express tomorrow.
But instead of trying to sleep, he sat cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes, reaching not for the wild, instinctive magic he'd used before, but for the structured, disciplined energy the system in his mind hinted at. He focused on his breathing, on the image of a weapon—a simple shield of crackling orange light, like the ones he'd seen in the films of another life.
Over and over, he stretched his will and his magic, trying to coax a tangible form from the air. Sparks fizzled and died. Wisps of light flared and faded. It was frustrating, exhausting work.
But deep in his chest, the Eye of Agamotto felt warm against his skin, and the Zouwu wand on the table hummed in silent, steady encouragement.
(End of Chapter)
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