"Lys, what's this? Lys!"
Friedm's mouth never stopped for a moment. After Lulu left on business, seeing that Lys and Noah's conversation had ended, he picked up some curious items from the new shipment and peppered her with endless questions.
Lys's voice sounded rather cold amid the crisp childish chatter, yet she patiently answered every single one of his questions.
But when Friedm waved the Pygmy Puff hair wand Lys had casually rolled together out of sheer boredom, and that wand blazed with pale purple light whilst filling the entire room with an intoxicating fragrance...
Lys was absolutely in despair. The ice cream she'd been handing to Senna even tumbled to the floor...
Senna withdrew her outstretched hand. After learning the wand's composition, she too looked utterly helpless.
Only Friedm was delighted. He carefully cradled the wand in his arms, but Lys snatched it away directly.
"Absolutely not." Seeing Friedm's crestfallen expression, Lys amended, "At least not right now."
Back home, Lys and Senna began studying the wand. Their understanding still remained on relatively traditional grounds—they believed the wand core represented the inclination of power, whilst the wood represented the wizard's characteristics.
And this wand: Pygmy Puff hair... broomstick handle. Lys couldn't even remember what sort of wood this was...
She travelled all the way to Ollivander's shop in England with this piece of wood.
Indeed, there's nothing like professional expertise. Ollivander glanced at it and explained: "This is a type of Eastern timber, appears to be ironwood belonging to the chicken-wing wood family... extraordinarily, extraordinarily hard."
The old man's mouth fell half-open, then he pulled out a book.
"Ah yes, the locals also seem to call it 'old elm,' though looking at the grain, it shouldn't have much relation to actual elm trees..."
"Then if the core is hair from one's pet Pygmy Puff..."
Lys's words made Ollivander burst into laughter. "Ha ha ha... child, I haven't heard of such a combination in ages. This was still my great-great-grandfather's favourite thing to do."
He tucked away the book and explained earnestly with a smile: "Back then, many people's wand choices were the first branch that knocked their hat off when they ventured out, paired with whiskers from the cat-like creature they'd grown up with—they reckoned it would bring them good fortune."
Seeing Lys's expression still wasn't particularly cheerful, Ollivander suppressed his smile as well: "Your family's child has a Pygmy Puff hair core?"
Watching Lys bury her head in her hands with frustration, Ollivander offered comfort:
"Child, don't look down upon any existence. Wizards have their own way of choosing, and so do wands. I've always emphasised—it's the wand that chooses the wizard."
Lys felt an even worse headache. A broomstick handle and pet hair had chosen her brother, and her brother seemed genuinely fond of it...
Ollivander picked up the wand Lys had brought from the counter and examined it carefully once more.
"Unfamiliar technique, with hints of Italian influence. Though rather crude, it already possesses all the qualities of a proper wand. If they've chosen each other, I wouldn't recommend forcing the young wizard to change wands."
He gave the wand a flourish and incanted: "Avis."
The overly long wand made whooshing sounds as it cut through the air. A flock of birds burst from the wand tip, circling and chirping about the shop before soaring out the window.
"Hmm, minor flaws that can be corrected—issues with the crafting technique. But equally powerful. I don't believe there's any problem with such a wand choosing your child."
Ollivander examined the wand in his hand again. Suddenly a measuring tape sprang out, floating in mid-air to take the wand's measurements.
Ollivander glanced at the readings and murmured with mild amazement: "Diameter one and a half inches, length seventeen and one-third inches, remarkably hard and heavy... yet soft at heart. Truly a most peculiar wand."
"But Mr Ollivander, you just mentioned this sort of choice was how wizards selected wands back in your great-great-grandfather's time. Won't this genuinely cause problems?"
"You've misunderstood me, child. What I found amusing wasn't those combinations, but those wizards' casual decisions—their behaviour of not seeking wands that truly suited them, that chose them."
"Seeing your distress over the child's choice, I presume you've had him try other wands?"
Lys nodded. "I specifically took him to Gregorovitch's place. I'd been planning to bring him to England to see you in a couple of days, but then..."
Taking the wand Ollivander handed back, Lys shook her head. Right then, she'd prepare another wand for this child just as she had for herself.
Thus, Lys's brother came to possess a wand born from a cleaning broomstick handle, and treasured it extraordinarily.
To distinguish the grip of this stick that was thick at both ends, Lys personally carved intricate dark patterns and painted colours into them.
Friedm chose the colour himself—vivid purple...
From that moment on, Lys was no longer the person with the most questionable taste in the family.
Every time Senna glimpsed Lys and Friedm's wands, her brow would tighten, then she'd hurry back to studying Friedm's wand, trying to discern patterns so she could replace this ghastly thing as soon as possible.
She wasn't particularly keen on others witnessing that little pest waving a thick, garishly purple-patterned short stick when casting spells with ease...
Of course, if he fancied it, she'd pretend she never said a word...
Time flew by swiftly. Friedm stood on the dock bidding farewell to Noah and Senna.
He was off to school.
Lys didn't fancy seeing the ocean, so she hadn't come to see Friedm off. They'd meet at school the following day anyway.
But barely two days after term began, Lys found her brother in the adjacent office—for brawling...
Looking at the swollen nose of the second-year student opposite them, Lys felt her own nose ache sympathetically.
She asked the teacher beside her with perfect composure: "What was the cause?"
Friedm said nothing, his gaze wandering, simply not daring to meet Lys's eyes.
"Young Mr Lamb's speech patterns were mocked, then he lashed out. He used the wand in his hand to physically smash this child's nose bridge, and now I'm waiting for the school medic to arrive."
Lys raised an eyebrow, flicked her wand and simply recited two spells. The second-year's nose deflated like a punctured balloon, swiftly returning to normal size, though still rather red.
He touched his nose in astonishment before grudgingly thanking Lys.
But Lys paid him no mind, saying coolly to Friedm: "Though I'm exceedingly reluctant to call it this, that piece of wood in your hand is a wand, not a Quidditch bat. I expect you to use it for magic, not..."
Lys suddenly smiled. She couldn't help it—she'd remembered how her mother had once described her.
Suppressing her smile, she continued: "Not like some ape that only knows how to swing sticks about."
As a member of faculty at this school, other teachers would naturally show Lys proper respect. After simple copying punishment, both children were dismissed.
Lys returned to her office and gave her wand a flourish—
"Expecto Patronum!"
However, not the faintest trace of silver mist appeared at her wand tip.
That silverback gorilla Patronus had never materialised again after Lys had torn her soul, questioned her true thoughts, and blurred her former certainties.
Now, after all these years, she still didn't know whether she was protecting "home" or "family," her own "needs" or that unclear, intangible thing called "love"...
Lys muttered "Expecto Patronum" whilst taking a deep breath and opening the holiday assignments her students had procrastinated on until now.
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