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Chapter 14: Receiving My Wand
As soon as we stepped out of Ollivander's shop, my father's expression darkened with frustration. He furrowed his brows and began scolding me for keeping Nemo—my phoenix companion—a secret. "How could you not tell us something so important?" he demanded, clearly more shaken than angry. His voice carried a mix of worry, disbelief, and awe.
But I barely heard him. My mind was spinning, consumed by the overwhelming aura of the wood I had just touched. That black wood, humming with otherworldly power, was no ordinary material—it radiated with divine energy. I was certain it had come from the legendary World Tree itself. I'd felt it the moment I laid eyes on it, the same kind of sacred essence I had experienced when Merlin used the divine orb to merge our souls.
It wasn't coincidence. The feeling was too familiar, too deeply resonant. Nemo had known as well. That's why he urged me to fuse his tail feather with both our blood. The ritual was more than symbolic—it was a magical covenant, one that would bind the feather to my very essence. When used as the wand's core, the fusion would ensure the wand wasn't just a tool, but a true extension of my soul. And with the World Tree's wood as its body, I could hardly imagine a more powerful combination. I didn't need to be told—I knew I had just made the most important magical decision of my life.
Snapping out of my reverie, I realized we had returned to the others. My mother and Professor McGonagall stood waiting for us nearby. McGonagall's eyes widened the moment she saw Nemo perched elegantly on my shoulder, his golden and blue feathers shimmering like embers. I could almost hear her unspoken thoughts: How could a Muggle-born child possess a phoenix? The disbelief on her face was fleeting but unmistakable.
She quickly composed herself, shifting her gaze to me and noticing the absence of a wand in my hand. "Where is your wand, Mr. Willson?" she asked, her tone curious but reserved.
Before I could answer, my father jumped in to explain everything that had happened inside the wand shop. When he described the phoenix—its colors, its rarity, and how it bonded with me—my mother looked equally astonished. She had clearly never imagined her son would walk out of Diagon Alley with a living legend on his shoulder.
"A custom wand from Garrick Ollivander himself?" Professor McGonagall exclaimed with genuine admiration. "That's an incredible honor. He hasn't made one in years."
I nodded, and from that point on, I found myself the subject of constant scrutiny. All the way home, I felt their eyes on me—curious, analytical, even a bit apprehensive. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. I didn't blame them, but I couldn't help feeling like some rare magical creature myself.
At least I hadn't chosen a pet. Nemo was far more than a familiar. He was a symbol of something larger. And as for Hogwarts rules? A phoenix can't be restricted. They're creatures of fire and freedom. If he wanted to come and go, no law or professor could stop him.
we picked up my newly tailored school robes from Madam Malkin's, then said our goodbyes to Professor McGonagall. Before she left, she handed me a golden ticket. "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," she reminded me with a knowing smile. I chuckled inwardly. At least she didn't forget like Hagrid did with Harry. She even gave detailed instructions on how to find the hidden platform at King's Cross Station.
That evening Once we arrived home, my parents were relentless with their questions. Most of them revolved around Nemo—what he was, where he came from, and how I had managed to bond with such a mythical creature. I answered the best I could, though some truths were still remained unreveled even for my parents.
After that, I threw myself into preparation. I read through all my first-year textbooks with enthusiasm. Astonishingly, I absorbed most of the content with just a single read. It was as though the knowledge flowed into me effortlessly. When I attempted wandless magic, the spells were rough and imprecise—but functional. I could feel the magic respond to my will.
More impressive still were the Occlumency exercises I had crafted from instinct. Compared to the standard techniques detailed in my books, mine were far stronger and more fluid. It struck me then: this must be the influence of Merlin's legacy—the intuitive mastery that came from sharing his soul.
"I really am different now," I whispered to myself one night, watching the stars flicker through my bedroom window.
The days slipped by, filled with study, quiet magical experiments, and time spent with my parents. I even began writing again—scribbling short stories, magical theories, and scattered thoughts in a notebook.
And then, finally, the day came.
July 31st.
I woke up early, too excited to eat properly. This was it—the day I would receive my wand. Every fan of the Harry Potter books must have dreamed of this moment, and here I was, living it.
My parents had planned to accompany me to Diagon Alley, but last-minute errands prevented them. When I told them I would teleport there with Nemo, they were a little nervous, but ultimately relieved. I assured them I would be safe.
With a deep breath, I called out to Nemo. He flew to my side, and the moment his feathers touched my shoulder, we vanished in a blaze of golden-blue fire.
We arrived at the front of Ollivander's shop. Flames curled around us for a second before fading, and I stepped inside. Mr. Ollivander was waiting.
"Mr. Willson," he said with a gruff smile. "I must admit, the wand I crafted for you may well be the greatest creation of my career. I will never make another like it. Even if I could, I wouldn't dare—it would dishonor the uniqueness of this one."
My excitement surged. "Please," I said, "may I have it?"
With great care, he lifted a box from beneath his desk. It was carved with elegant runes and radiated ancient magic. When he opened it, my breath caught.
Inside lay a jet-black wand, laced with shimmering blue and gold veins. The handle bore the detailed carving of a phoenix with wings outstretched. It was beautiful.
"Twelve inches," Ollivander recited, "crafted from the last known piece of the World Tree. Its core is a tail feather from your phoenix, bonded with both your blood and his. It will answer only to you—no other wizard can wield it."
With reverence, I picked up the wand.
Immediately, a burst of golden light engulfed the shop. The flame-shaped mark on my wrist began to glow in perfect harmony. Shelves trembled, boxes rattled, and the very air buzzed with energy.
Then, something extraordinary happened—the wand dissolved into my hand, merging with my body. My eyes shimmered with radiant light as an imperial aura enveloped me.
In that instant, I felt it—my soul expanding, rising to meet something vast and ancient. I was not just holding a wand.
I was becoming one with it.
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