Ollivander's expression was a study in awe and uncertainty. "To be honest, though this wand was crafted by the Ollivander family, it can't truly be called a complete wand."
"My grandfather once told me this wand was made for a special purpose. In most situations, it wouldn't compare to an ordinary wand."
Wyzett took the box and carefully lifted the velvet lining.
Resting on the silver-blue velvet was a wand of exquisite craftsmanship.
Its handle looked as if carved from a single piece of sapphire, gray crystalline structures spiraling upward to join the wooden shaft to the gemstone grip.
Ollivander gazed at it as though beholding a priceless treasure. "This wand is unique—so unique, in fact, that it defies the usual theories of wandlore. It has no true core, nor a clearly defined shaft."
An indescribable feeling washed over Wyzett. He knew, deep down, that this wand was meant for him.
Perhaps, as Ollivander said, from the moment it was created, this wand had been waiting for its destined companion.
Without a moment's hesitation, Wyzett wrapped his fingers around the wand.
A surge of silver-blue light exploded in his mind. The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide sprang open in his consciousness, pages fluttering like a storm of fish, swirling around the wand.
Suddenly, the wand faded from his hand and reappeared within his mind.
The swirling pages circled it, as if drawn to a lodestone.
The gray crystal at the wand's core ignited, radiating a brilliant silver-blue.
The dim shop was instantly flooded with light—streams of silver-blue pouring from every direction, converging on Wyzett's eyes.
In that instant, all of Diagon Alley shimmered for him, bathed in the same ethereal glow!
Ollivander's mouth fell open, eyes wide with shock as he watched Wyzett begin to float gently into the air.
Wyzett gazed forward, feeling as though he stood outside the river of time, a silent witness to Diagon Alley's rise and fall through the ages.
He saw Ollivander's ancestor arrive, erecting a humble stall and selling the very first wand.
He watched as goblins appeared, sensing the promise of prosperity, and began constructing a gleaming white building.
He saw more and more shops spring up, clustering around Gringotts and Ollivanders, giving birth to the bustling street known as Diagon Alley...
For a fleeting moment, he glimpsed the very essence of magic itself—how the earliest wizards drew their power, and even shadows of a more ancient past...
Wyzett strained to see more, to understand, but a sudden, overwhelming dizziness seized him, spinning the world upside down—
At the back of The Leaky Cauldron, Dumbledore sat with his fingers steepled, his gaze sharp as he regarded the figure lurking in the shadows.
"Professor Quirrell, as I understand it... you traveled to the Albanian Dark Forest to gain practical experience for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Did you find it enlightening?"
"O-of course!" Quirrell stammered, his words tumbling over one another. "I en-encountered vam-vampires. They were very un... unfriendly..."
Just then, a flash of silver-blue light swept through the Leaky Cauldron, rousing the drowsy patrons from their stupor.
"What just happened? Did you see that light?"
"I saw it, all right—and I believe in the light! Look—Lumos!"
"You're drunk as a skunk, mate. Hic! Tom! Another two dozen sherries!"
Dumbledore glanced toward the bar, his gaze seeming to pierce the counter, the courtyard, and all the way to Diagon Alley itself.
From that silver-blue glow, he sensed ancient magic stirring. He traced the current to its source. "Ollivanders? Could it be Wyzett?"
"And there was... there was this old witch... she was terrifying..." Quirrell continued, still stammering. "Headmaster Dumbledore, what were you saying just now?"
"Nothing," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head with a gentle smile. "I'm listening. Go on—what did this dreadful witch do?"
"She... she kept so many snakes... all venomous... She set them on me—sent the whole lot after me!"
Upstairs at the Leaky Cauldron, in the room Quirrell had rented.
Voldemort, inhabiting the body of a sharp-nosed viper, jolted awake. He felt a surge of strange power.
He poked his head out from beneath the covers, slithering swiftly to the window to peer into the distance.
"Such ancient magic!" he rasped, his voice harsh and grating. "This body is too weak... All I can sense is the source is here. Quirrell must get the Philosopher's Stone as soon as possible..."
Before he could finish, the snake's body collapsed—scales and flesh turning to ash, as a cloud of black vapor drifted free.
The smoky shadow glided across the room to a cage teeming with venomous snakes.
The snakes slept on, oblivious. The black mist hovered, then dove down, merging with a new host...
Wyzett awoke on the shop's old bench.
Everything around him was changed.
The ceiling was etched with countless lines, like dried brushstrokes, faintly shimmering silver-blue.
The wands on the shelves were the same—each one wrapped in glowing threads.
Some threads burned a searing red, others glowed with warm orange, still others shimmered with gentle silver...
"Child, you're awake!" Ollivander appeared at his side. "Does the world look different to you now?"
A mirror materialized before him, reflecting a delicate face still touched by the roundness of youth.
"What happened to my eyes?" Wyzett asked, studying his reflection as he raised a hand to his face.
His eyes were like moonlit lakes, silver-blue light swirling in his pupils with a mysterious, otherworldly beauty.
He blinked, and the silver-blue glow faded away. Blinked again, and the light returned, bright as ever—entirely at his command.
"Oculus Magicae—the Eye of Magic. An exceptionally rare gift..." Ollivander's voice was tinged with envy. "The most coveted talent in the Ollivander family!"
"The very first Ollivander wandmaker possessed the Eye of Magic. He observed the world's magic, uncovering its patterns and mysteries."
"He wove those patterns into his craft, making our wands unlike any others—and passing that legacy down through the generations."
"There have been many wandmakers in history, but when it comes to wandmaking families, there is only Ollivander!"
"That's incredible!" Wyzett breathed, his consciousness sinking inward.
The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide flipped open to a new page, inscribed with notes on the Eye of Magic.
Basic Eye of Magic: Perceive ancient magic nurtured by time... Absorb it to help the Eye of Magic grow... See the circuits of magic...
To see magical circuits meant to perceive the threads of light entwined around every wand.
And this was only the beginning—the power of the basic Eye of Magic.
If he could keep absorbing ancient magic, let the Eye evolve to intermediate, advanced... What new wonders might he witness?
Wyzett tried to channel his Obscurus, but the ancient magic it generated couldn't be absorbed by the Eye of Magic.
If the Obscurus path was a dead end, so be it. For now, the most pressing concern was getting his wand.
"Mr. Ollivander, the wand you gave me earlier—it disappeared. What should I do?"
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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