3 Bad Omens
Shoulders squared, neck stiff, Thomas entered Ollivanders. By now, he could somewhat contend with the reality of things - he had reincarnated in the wizarding world.
He wouldn't be disabled, but neither could he ever see his family again. 'They must be in grief.' He frowned. Still, the fact that he could now walk without pain didn't change.
The sound of the windows in his bedroom shattering came to mind. It was a brief yet unforgettable memory - the drum in low frequency, expanding, contracting, colliding.
He could now do the impossible. He was a wizard. A cocktail of emotions hit him at that realization: awe, guilt, happiness, grief- before it all suddenly stopped.
His shoulders relaxed, and a quiet sigh echoed in the antique shop. Dust particles danced in the air, twirling around flashes of sunlight that streamed in from outside. 'Focus on what you can do. Nothing else matters.'
Just then, a loud bang came from his left, raising his hackles as a brief memory of chrome plating surged. He flinched for but one second, heart jumping just the slightest bit.
"I don't believe I've seen you before." A man with pearly silver eyes said. "Though that is no surprise." He then got off his rolling ladder, chuckling all the way.
"Well, come closer and let me get a look at you. My eyes hadn't been the best these past few years." The man had a bird nest for hair, his locks a dirty platinum.
"I'm guessing you are here for your wand? Yes, yes, that must be it. Start of the term, the best time of the year." Ollivander spoke more to himself than to Thomas, eyes unfocused as he got nearer.
"Garrick Ollivander, at your service. May I know your name, boy? And don't worry, I'm no fae." His mouth widened in a crooked smile as he said this, a few yellow teeth showing.
"Thomas Granger. Pleasure." Tom couldn't help but frown, smile thin. "I'm here for my wand, yes."
"That you are, that you are. It will only take a bit." Garrick's smile widened, and what followed could only be described as an invasion of personal space of the worst sort.
A magical tape measured his hands, arms, legs, nose bridge, and eyebrows even. And Thomas was sure it would continue had he not slapped the bloody thing away.
"A temper? Dragon heartstring, perhaps?" Garrick did not seem bothered, scuttling away to the back of the store.
If anything, the man looked excited. Soon, he returned with a dozen wand boxes, all held under his arms. "I can already tell you will be a difficult customer."
Said and done, not a single one of the wands meshed well with him. The first one he took jumped off his hand as if it was as poisonous as Basilisk venom.
The following one went back inside its old box like it was retiring. One had even exploded in wooden pieces when Thomas waved it, splinters flying everywhere. "I'm not paying for that."
"Of course, don't worry about that." Garrick only smiled, unconcerned about the damage done to the store. It made Thomas wonder how could such a business model even work when that much havoc was commonplace.
Then again, wizards were known to not play by the same rules as the mundane - when one could merely wave away their problems, such behavior wasn't that surprising.
"Shy and reclusive wands won't do. No, no. Then, perhaps- ah, yes! That ought to be the right one." The man went to the back of the store again, muttering gibberish.
This time, though, Garrick returned with only one box - its black color seemed somewhat faded, and dust coated its corners. 'An old wand, then.' Thomas gathered.
"Blackthorn, dragon heartstring, unyielding, 14 inches." Ollivander opened the box, smiling all the way. "Quite the combative wand, this one. While it lacks finer control, it makes up for it in raw power."
The thing looked more like a warped piece of wood than a wand. Root-like segments wrapped around its base, spiraling around the wand's length until the tip where they all converged in one sharp end.
"Blackthorn wands are known to adore the thrill of battle. They are the most reliable when in perilous danger and bond extremely well with owners drawn to combat." The man, excited as he was, blabbed on and on.
Thomas did not seem the least bit enthused, however. Mistaking his silence for interest in the wand's lore, Garrick did not stop. "Blackthorn trees symbolize war, death, misfortune, and overcoming adversity! And to pair that with a dragon heartstring - truly wonderful!"
"You know, dragons used to symbolize much of the same when they flew amok in the Isles. Such an extreme combination of traits in one wand? It is no wonder it could never bond well with anyone."
Thomas could feel it resonating in the air, immaterial waves colliding with his own. It was like heavy drums synchronizing, the sound growing louder. Deeper. Unmistakable.
That was his wand. Thomas did not need to touch it to know. Regardless, the last thing he wanted was to come near the cursed thing. Fate was a powerful agent in the Harry Potter universe, after all. To ignore that many red flags wouldn't be wise.
"Well then, what are you waiting for? I assure you this is the correct one." Garrick told him, gesturing the box closer.
'That's your sales pitch? What do you want? To scare away potential customers?!' Thomas couldn't help but hesitate. 'War? Death? Misfortune-'
His hand rose of its own accord, however, and took the wand in a tight grip. Thomas blinked - confused - before his right arm shot up again, cleaving a sharp line in the air.
Goosebumps rose over his skin, and a boiling current ran through his whole body like lightning. The drumming in his heart finally reached its crest, and a thundering boom echoed.
Lighting surged from the ground, dancing in the air in beautiful arcs. It lasted three brief seconds, yet the image engraved itself in Thomas' mind. The store remained silent, dust particles frozen midair with static.
"Ah, the bonding between a wand and a wizard truly makes for the most beautiful displays of magic." Garrick's voice broke the silence.
"Unyielding… that wand will accompany you till your grave, so treat it well. Regardless, that will be 7 Galleons."
[ - - - ]
Hermione's wand was the same as the one she had in the books, though it took just as long to find it as Thomas' did.
Thankfully, the rest of their scavenging for school supplies did not take long. McGonagall went through the whole affair efficiently and clinically.
Already fitted with school attire and equipment, only Flourish and Blotts and Magical Menagerie (or Eeylops Owl Emporium if looking for owls) should be left. And, seeing as his sister only got her pet during Prisoner of Azkaban-
"Now, I believe it would be best to buy a pet for each. Preferably an owl or some other bird to deliver messages. I recommend the owls of Magical Menagerie for their lower price." Minerva spoke from behind him, breaking his line of thoughts.
"While Hogwarts offers owls for student use, it won't be as reliable as a personal one. Of course, both could use one single owl, but-"
"Ah, thank you for your concern, Professor. But I believe we can provide one for each." His mother replied, ruffling his hair as she did so. "Go on, dears, we will be waiting outside."
'The first change to canon. Well, outside of my existence, that is. I hope this isn't some alternate universe. The things my sister told me about those-' He shuddered. 'The stuff of nightmares.'
The smell of spices - surprisingly - was the first thing to hit him as he stepped inside the store. Hermione stood to his left, still eyeing the wand in her pocket with wonder.
"Do you think they have magical pets here-" She began, only to be interrupted.
"Those are the only ones we have, dearies." A voice spoke, almost like a whisper, and they noticed an old lady sitting on the back.
Her outfit was entirely purple - robes and pointy hat - and her nose was lengthy and crooked, like the stereotypical witch. Thomas almost expected the woman to start cackling, but she did no such thing.
"Ollivander likes to boast about how selective his wands are, but I believe my pets are even more. So, be careful when near their cages - they might not like you."
'I'm starting to worry about these people's common sense.' Hermione looked terrified after the warning. 'Well, I guess they could just heal anything bad that might happen. At least, I hope so.'
"It will be fine." His sister suddenly said with a stiff smile, surprising him. "Just need to be careful, and they won't bite."
'Is she trying to reassure me?' For one brief moment, her face was superimposed by his older sister's. Both their smiles aligned almost perfectly.
"Don't look so pale when saying that." He flicked her on the forehead, errant thoughts thrown away. "You gotta look more convincing."
"Hey-"
"Come on, nothing bad will happen." He took her by the hand, ignoring her protests as he dragged her further inside the store.
The smell of spices intensified, and he could almost see the smoke of incense twirling in the air. 'Now, to pick a good, reliable owl.'
[ - - - ]
"Are you okay, dear?" Helen asked him as soon as they left the store.
Thomas couldn't help but meet her eyes with a resigned air, sighing. "Just tired is all." A raven sat on his left shoulder, pearly black eyes blinking as it, too, stared at Helen.
"After so much excitement, that isn't surprising!" The woman seemed a bit unsettled even as she smiled. "Quite the odd fellow you picked there."
'Trust me, I've tried taking an owl. But the bloody birds wouldn't get near me no matter how much I cooed or baby-talked.'
"Yeah, Bran is a smart little fella." He replied, ruffling the bird's feathers.
The bird croaked a deep and reverberating noise. It was a gurgling sound that rose in pitch from the back of 'his' throat. His feathers danced in abject happiness, clearly enjoying the caress.
'Present in Celtic culture, and holds a deep symbolism with war and death? Well, put another one on that list.' Thomas sighed, staring at his new pet in consternation.
"KRAA!" Bran cawed, unconcerned, beak pointed towards the skies as if in defiance to the heavens. 'At least one of us is happy.'
