Only when the completed wand finally rested in his hand did Robert truly feel the difference.
If the magic within his body were compared to water stored in a reservoir, then the wand was the valve that controlled its release. Previously, when he cast spells without a wand, it was like hacking a crude opening into the side of the reservoir with bare hands. Magic could still pour out, but the flow was unstable and wildly inefficient. A single mistake could cause the entire structure to rupture, releasing an uncontrollable flood of power that might result in catastrophic magical accidents—or worse, the loss of innocent lives.
A wand changed everything.
With it, magic no longer surged chaotically. Instead, it flowed smoothly, steadily, and with precision. Even more astonishing was the efficiency. For spells of the same power, casting with a wand consumed less than one-tenth of the magic required for wandless casting. The output was consistent, the difficulty dramatically reduced, and the strain on his body almost negligible.
Robert tightened his grip around the wand, his heart filled with unconcealed joy. With this wand, his potential had expanded significantly. His strength, control, and endurance would all rise together.
He had never been someone stubborn enough to believe that wandless magic was inherently superior to wand casting. On the contrary, Robert understood a fundamental truth: humanity's rise above other creatures came not from raw physical strength, but from intelligence and the skillful use of tools.
To a wizard, a wand was the ultimate tool.
It was precisely because wizards could wield wands that they were able to overpower magical creatures far stronger than themselves and establish dominance within the magical world. If wandless casting alone were considered the standard, then many non-human beings in the Harry Potter world possessed far more impressive innate abilities. Goblins and house-elves, for instance, could perform wandless magic effortlessly and even bypass powerful anti-Apparition wards, freely entering places like Hogwarts without restriction.
Yet despite those talents, goblins became bank managers serving wizarding society, while house-elves became servants bound to wizard families. Both existed in subordinate roles, reliant on wizards who wielded tools they themselves did not use.
Still, Robert had no intention of abandoning wandless magic altogether. After all, the world was unpredictable. If he were ever to lose his wand, he refused to become a Squib—helpless and unable to cast even the simplest spell. Balance, not blind devotion, was the key to true mastery.
Now holding his wand, Robert eagerly began testing every spell he had learned so far. One by one, the spells activated flawlessly, most succeeding on the very first attempt. Their effects were stronger, cleaner, and more refined than before, leaving no doubt about the wand's amplifying role.
Tom Bombadil and Goldberry had watched the entire wand-making process from the beginning. Seeing Robert now wield his wand so naturally, casting spell after spell with confidence, Tom's interest was immediately piqued. Like a curious child discovering a new toy, he asked if he could try the wand himself.
After a brief hesitation, Robert handed the wand over and carefully taught Tom a few basic spells. He was genuinely curious whether Tom—clearly not a wizard in the traditional sense—could use it at all.
Tom waved the wand casually.
Golden notes burst forth from its tip, shimmering like sunlight reflected on water. They danced through the air, weaving together into a joyful, magical melody. The music grew louder and richer as the golden notes spread outward, echoing through the Old Forest itself.
The effect was immediate.
Trees that once radiated resentment and ancient hostility slowly relaxed. Their twisted branches softened, and the oppressive atmosphere of the forest eased, as if the land itself were exhaling after centuries of tension.
Robert, standing closest to Tom, felt the impact most strongly. A profound joy welled up inside him—pure, gentle, and sincere. This was nothing like the artificial happiness produced by a Cheering Charm. This joy came from deep within his heart, as if the music had brushed directly against his soul.
Surrounded by the melody, Robert felt fearless. No sadness, no resentment, no negative emotion could take hold of him. It was as though despair itself had been gently but firmly pushed away.
What surprised him most was that Tom could clearly use the wand, producing magic just as real and tangible as any wizard's—yet he could not cast Robert's spells.
According to Tom, while he could generate magical effects through the wand, the underlying principles were entirely different. His magic did not follow structured spell theory or incantations. Instead, it flowed naturally, guided by emotion and harmony rather than technique.
Robert wasn't shocked by this revelation. If anything, it only deepened his curiosity—particularly toward Tom's music magic.
This magic had no apparent offensive power, yet Robert immediately recognized its immense potential. It could dispel negative emotions, soothe hostility, and fill hearts with warmth and joy. Such magic could serve as a natural counter to the corrupting influence of Dark Arts.
Though Robert had not yet learned Dark Arts himself, he understood them well enough. Dark magic was undeniably powerful, but it came at a cost. Prolonged use could twist a wizard's appearance, damage the soul, and erode the mind itself.
That was why the magical world so strictly prohibited Dark Arts. Unforgivable Curses like the Killing Curse carried automatic life sentences in Azkaban—not merely as punishment, but as a warning.
Robert had a strong premonition that as he continued traveling and signing in at more powerful locations, he would inevitably acquire Dark Arts spells. To grow stronger, he could not simply avoid them forever.
Which was precisely why Tom's music magic tempted him so deeply.
If joy could counter darkness, then this magic might become the perfect balance.
With absolutely no shame, Robert asked Tom if he could teach him.
Tom agreed without hesitation.
What Robert did not expect, however, was that Tom's very first lesson involved singing.
According to Tom, music magic had no fixed incantations. It was music born directly from the heart. To cast it successfully, one had to sing—loudly, sincerely, and with genuine emotion. The stronger the feeling, the greater the magical effect.
Robert's singing voice was… acceptable, at best. It certainly wasn't pleasant.
With his face flushed in embarrassment, he followed Tom's lead, singing line by line. Tom frequently stopped him, reminding him to sing with feeling rather than technique.
Under his patient but relentless guidance, Robert sang hesitantly, gradually letting go of his self-consciousness.
Nearby, Goldberry sat among blooming water lilies, weaving cloth with graceful hands. She watched the unlikely lesson unfold with a gentle smile, her eyes warm and amused.
At last, Robert succeeded.
When he waved his wand, nimble golden notes leapt from its tip, bouncing lightly through the air and weaving together into cheerful music. Though his melody was far weaker than Tom's, it was unmistakably magical.
Unlike Tom's song, which could echo across the entire Old Forest, Robert's music only reached a short distance. Still, he was more than satisfied.
Even more remarkably, Robert discovered that he could produce the same effect by singing without his wand. The difference lay in expression—singing aloud felt exposed and awkward, while using the wand was like singing quietly within his heart.
Given the choice, Robert greatly preferred the wand.
After spending a long, peaceful time with Tom and Goldberry, Robert finally prepared to depart. He now possessed his first wand and had learned music magic—his preparations were complete.
His destination was the Barrow-downs.
Part of the journey was practical. He needed the sharpest tools available to carve the iron-hard heartwood of the ancient tree. But another part of him hoped he might be able to sign in at the Barrow-downs as well.
Perhaps because they had lived for ages and witnessed countless farewells, Tom and Goldberry did not attempt to stop him.
When the time came to part, Tom handed Robert a hand-drawn map of the Barrow-downs. It clearly marked the locations of the tools Robert sought. The accuracy of the map made it feel as though Tom had personally visited every marked place.
Goldberry, meanwhile, presented Robert with a perfectly fitted black wizard's robe and cloak trimmed with silver. The fabric was woven from black swan feathers and silver thread, styled after the traditional wizards of Middle-earth.
She had personally enchanted them.
The robe possessed cleansing and anti-wear properties, while the cloak carried a subtle concealing enchantment. When worn, it made the wearer easy to overlook and less likely to attract danger.
Robert was overwhelmed.
"Mrs. Goldberry… this is far too precious," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He had done nothing to deserve such kindness.
"Take it," Goldberry replied gently, pressing the garments into his arms. "This is Tom's wish and mine. Your future will be one of constant travel. I hope this brings you warmth along the way."
Tom nodded. "Take it, Robert. Don't disappoint Goldberry's efforts. She spent several days weaving it."
At their urging, Robert changed immediately.
His old clothes—the ones he had arrived in—had only survived thanks to constant mending charms. Now, clad in black and silver, his presence transformed entirely.
Wrapped in cloak and robe, he looked mysterious, composed, and undeniably powerful.
At last, Robert truly looked like a wizard.
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