3 Chapter 3: I have never seen such a stiff cat.
Two years.
It has been almost two years since I've been given a second chance. Two years since I became a wizard.
Two years of practise and research, to expands my meagre magical capabilities. Two years of efforts and discipline, to build a healthier body and absorb as much knowledge before I'd ultimately the muggle world for more exciting horizons. Two years of torture, as I had to go to the perverse hell-hole they call 'school'.
Two years I spent preparing myself for a new life, one ruled by wondrous sights and mythical creatures and arcane knowledge; a life of magic.
'And it all starts now.'
I took a cold shower, put on my best clothes, preened myself up to perfection and planned a dozen different strategies. It would be perfect, it had to be.
Opening the door to a slightly less miserable room, one they would receive their rare guests in when the headmaster wasn't present to see them in his study.
Facing me was a tall, black haired woman clad in emerald-green robes. Her face was so stern it could make Eddard Stark ask for pointers. She would not take kindly to disrespect, I didn't need any foreknowledge to know that.
-BREAK-
Minerva McGonagall was the deputy Headmistress and Head of the Transfiguration department of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her duties were as numerous as they were varied.
One of them was supervising the introduction of new muggleborn wizards to the wonders of the magical world, she would usually delegate these matters to other members of the faculty.
But some situations demanded a more serious disposition.
She apparated at the dreadful institution, and using her considerable charisma and more than a few confundus charms, organized a meeting with one of the orphanage's residents.
"Good morning, Mr Arran. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy headmistress of Hogwarts; a boarding school for gifted children, children like you. "Professor McGonagall introduced herself as she put down the vile beverage, barely stopping herself from vanishing the fool thing. It was doubtlessly one of the worst teas she had been served in years. "You should take a seat, young man."
The boy did as he was told, keeping a watchful eye on her all the while.
"Gifted? I might do well in class but it's nowhere near enough to warrant sending a recruiter, much less the deputy headmistress, I did not participate in competitions nor I did I take any aptitude test." He spoke, his voice laced with curiosity and some suspicion. "I'm an orphan, I own nothing but my name and thoughts. So why would a prestigious boarding school be interested in me?"
The stern witch was mildly surprised by his reaction, but she had been deputy headmistress for a long time and a teacher for even longer. She has seen her share of children from all classes, natures and backgrounds; she knew that harsh upbringings would make children mature faster, while some would be flattered and surprised, other found only doubt in the face of attention.
Her stern face softened a bit, it was always sad to see children forced to care for themselves, her next words were spoken with utmost care and reassurance.
"You are gifted, Mr Arran. Gifted with something most peoples could only dream about, of that I have no doubt." She started, looking at Magnus's eyes to convey her sincerity. "You might have found yourself in strange situations before, seen things you thought impossible."
His eyes widened, as some muggleborns were prone to do when their 'secret' was revealed by a stranger.
"Do not fret, young man. As I said, you are gifted; it was not your mind playing tricks, nor was it a coincidence, and it was certainly not a curse." Her voice was firm but not unkind, leaving no place for arguments.
"What else could it be?" His voice was but a whisper, a hopeful gleam in his amber eyes.
"It is magic." She gave him the slightest of smiles before adding the fateful words "And you, Mr Arran, are a wizard."
His face twitched, not in disbelief she noted, his smile broadening. It was not the reaction of someone who heard such a ridiculous claim, but one of a person who finally had the confirmation of what he was.
He was a wizard
"No offense, ma'am, but I cannot believe you without proof." His blissful smile told her otherwise.
Before he could even notice, she drew her wand. Or did she carry it before? The boy could not tell, for she was a redoubtable duellist.
A firm, decisive move saw the tip of her wand glow slightly; magic so concentrated it became visible. The disgusting cup of tea was then transformed into a squirrel; or rather a pseudo-sentient magical construct mimicking a squirrel, not that it was less impressive.
"Is it enough proof, Mr Arran?" Her face didn't betray the amusement she was no doubt feeling.
"It is more than enough, Professor." He answered, finally out of his stupor "Now, you should probably tell me more about magic, and Hogwarts too, before I lose my mind trying to understand why this cup is eating all the biscuits."
It led to a long, enjoyable discussion where Magnus literally assaulted the transfiguration teacher with an endless amount of questions. The inquisitive boy only stopped when she told him she had to settle a few matters with the orphanage, before taking him to buy his supplies.
He realized once more just how amazing his situation was. He was going to Hogwarts. His ambers glowed with happiness, shaking with trepidation. Peoples might wonder why wizards were so obsessed with their school, how they saw it as anything more than a boring, if necessary part of their lives before adulthood. Like many things, it is something you need to experience to understand it. No word, no image would be enough to describe what he was feeling. It was simply, magic.
For seven glorious years.
(---)
I do not like apparition.
As I recovered from the barbarous magical transport, the feeling of being pushed down an insanely thigh rubber tube still clear in my mind. I felt my eyeballs being forced in the back of my head as the world went black. I felt intense pressure, compressing my body and putting a stopper to my respiration. It took all of my willpower and a fair share of luck not to vomit.
Several dozens of strangely dressed, pointy hatted, logic-lacking ladies and gentlemen were going about their day. Shopkeepers advertising their goods, be it food, potions, accessories and even multi-coloured umbrellas. The scent of fumes and cacophony of sounds threatened to finish what the apparition started.
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes, sextants and strange instruments, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon..
Diagon Alley. A cobblestoned wizarding alley and commercial district located behind a pub called the Leaky Cauldron, in downtown London, England. The economic hearth of the British wizarding world was hiding in plain sight, right there in the capital.
Inside the alley was an assortment of shops, restaurants as well as some of wizarding Britain's most important institutions like the Ollivanders wand shop and Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
An offshoot of Diagon alley was knockturn alley, a less popular, shadier part filled with dark wizards, hags, criminals and those unfortunate enough to be there. It is almost entirely dedicated to the dark arts, and considered dodgy at best by most wizards.
As the school year is about to start, the alley will be filled with Hogwarts students looking to buy supplies. It would be flooded with peoples while the residents make the most of the opportunity, selling their wares like there was no tomorrow. Which is why muggleborns are taken here earlier, they would be overwhelmed if their first experience was the school rush.
"Are you alright?" asked the transfiguration teacher, who already informed me of the effects of apparition, though it did little to help me.
"I feel like someone tried to squeeze me through a mouse hole, and actually succeeded." Was my honest answer
"You'll survive, Mr. Arran." Responded the amused witch, "Now we should get going, your supplies will not buy themselves. "
I honestly didn't know where to look, the whole place was magical. Spells were cast left and right, enchanted objects everywhere. I felt like Michael Jackson in a primary school!
Fortunately, the deputy headmistress was there to stop me from spending the whole day trying to figure out how every bit of magic worked. Through multiple explanations and ample threats, Professor McGonagall got us moving through the different shops.
She eventually left me to be fitted for robes at madam Malkin's shop while she acquired the rest of my supplies. I left with my cheeks utterly brutalized, the eponymous witch and her assistants fussed over me the whole time.
One of the downside of being a cute child.
If the animagus noticed, she didn't bother mentioning it; for that, I was thankful.
" Did you enjoy yourself, Mr. Arran?" She spoke, her face impassive. Though there was no hiding the mockery, it was a slight! A travesty!
"Give me my feelings back." I glared at her, though she was content to ignore me. This transgression would not be forgotten, I vowed to get back on her, in time.
(---)
Ollivanders was the sole wand shop of Diagon alley, peeling golden later over the door read "Ollivanders: makers of fine wands since 383 B.C.". It was managed by Garrick Ollivanders, current owner of this illustrious shop and Britain's best wand maker, his creations being reputed for their exceptional quality all over world.
It was a small, empty construct of the medieval style. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, and the whole place had thin layer of dust about it. A single, spindly chair sat in a corner.
The first Ollivanders wand makers arrived in the isle with the Romans, hundreds of years before Christianity was a thing. Garrick's ancestor would sell primitive magical foci to the ancient British peoples. As the centuries flew by, their technique became more and more refined. Wandlore was a highly esoteric, ever evolving art. And Garrick was proud to say his family contributed greatly to its development.
Feeling that a client was about to enter, he hid in the corner of his shop. Surprising peoples tells much about them, much more than any discussion or tool would.
As the doors opened, he leaped before the child. Taking in every detail about his reaction. Others would see the problem in this sentence, but Garrick Ollivanders was not just anyone, he was a man who gave shiny wands to eleven years old children.
"Welcome to Ollivanders! Makers of fine wands since times immemorial" The boy didn't react, beyond the normal reflexes that is. He knew it was coming, not reacting was a reaction in itself, it still told many things about the boy. He would be a difficult one, Garrick was certain of this much, he could feel it in his hairs.
"Hello, mister Ollivanders." Said the boy, a smile on his face. There was no hiding the excitement shining through his amber eyes. The boy was eager to receive his wand! Thought the wizard, it was an entirely inappropriate thought that he definitely shouldn't have.
Magnus looked at the ancient wand maker, his formal wizarding clothes reminded him of items from the Victorian era. His silvery eyes, wide open contrasted with the gloom of the shop, shining with almost fanatical interest. Though his pale, weary face and white hairs betrayed his age, he compensated it with the sort of professional fervor the boy couldn't help but admire.
Even if he was expecting it, the reincarnated wizard was still troubled when the wand maker started measuring everything from his full height, the size of his hands, head and even the length of his nose. Mumbling incoherently the whole time, before eventually rushing to the back of his shop. Coming back with a narrow wand box, which he quickly opened presenting it to his customer.
" Ebony, twelve and half an inch, unicorn hair, swishy." Informed the wandmaker.
The result was a complete lack of a reaction. Nonplused, he came with another one.
"Holly, ten inches, dragon heartstring, rigid." Said the old wizard.
Which ended up turning his hair green.
And another one. "Ash wood, nine inches, phoenix feather, rigid" announced the sorcerer.
Which preferred going back to its box on its own, taking said box to its previous emplacement.
And another one. "Applewood, ten inches, phoenix feather and rather bendy" ejaculated the wand expert.
Which decided Wandlore didn't require hairs. And that fire was the way to go.
The boy tried wands innumerable, so much that he started considering Gregorovitch. The old man though, was simply ecstatic.
" I knew you'd be a tricky one." He mumbled slightly more coherently, making his way back with insurance " This is what all wandmakers live for, a true challenge."
" Well, I'm glad one of us is having fun." Replied the exasperated youth, he was not the most impatient person but trying hundreds of wands wasn't exactly how he wished to spend his day. The shopkeeper only laughed at his plight.
" Don't be like that, my boy. I think I found the one you need. Or rather, you are the one it needs. Fir, thirteen inches, dragon heartstring, inflexible."
Magnus took it, expecting yet another incident. But as soon as he touched it, he felt their magic connecting, reaching out to each other's with abandon. It was like a part of him he never knew he needed, was finally returned to him.
It was strong. Enduring, unyielding, unbroken. Aggressive, but controlled. Violent, but restrained. Comfortable in its own paradoxes. It yearned for freedom, for the limits to be gone. But it knew it couldn't. Not yet.
It was his wand, the realization hit him like a speeding bullet. A wide smile appeared on his face, and this time he didn't try to stop it. What was the point of hiding? At this instant, he had everything he needed. His wand thrummed with appreciation, glad it's new master knew it's value.
"It's your wand, my boy. The wand of a survivor, particularly well suited for transfiguration." Said the wandmaker with a smile. It was a curious twist of fate that the one who brought him to this store, had bought a wand so similar to his own.
Magnus was surprised to hear that, he took note of the information, knowing a certain animagus would love to hear about it. When he inquired about the price, the elder wizard answered solemnly.
" Seven galleons, my boy. The price of each wand in this store." Said the old man, happy to have matched yet another tricky pair.
Paying him with the seven galleons the teacher had given him, he gave his best wishes to the wandmaker, and left to rejoin the waiting witch. The green-robed woman didn't waste time before taking him back to the orphanage his supplies stored in his trunk and his stomach nearly emptying himself.
Magnus Arran really didn't like apparition.
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Hey, cheese lord is here!
I am not too pleased with this chapter, and will probably rewrite it at some point. I think i could benefit from more precise criticism, so be as generous and caustic as you want.
Do you guys think i should put more space between paragraphs? less space? 1st person is more fun to write than general pov, but what do you prefer reading?
