"Loki fir?" Lucien and Professor McGonagall asked in perfect unison.
As an experienced witch, Professor McGonagall had heard faint rumors of this legendary tree, but she never expected to encounter a wand made from a material thought to be long extinct. Lucien, however, felt a different kind of unease, a dawning realization that shifted his understanding of the world. This is a world of magic, he thought. Could it be that the gods and mythical creatures from legends all across the globe truly existed here? Perhaps they were immensely powerful wizards, or unique species of magical beasts that ancient humans, witnessing their power, had mistaken for gods.
Ollivander's silvery eyes took on a distant, reminiscent quality as he began to explain. "Loki fir, also known as the Deceptive Branch or the Illusion Tree. Legend says it was born when the god Loki was bound in the great rift between worlds. His blood and his curses dripped onto a common fir tree, transforming it into a magical wood imbued with the very essence of change."
Professor McGonagall frowned. "But I've always heard that this tree has been extinct for centuries. Its very existence is considered a myth." Her unspoken question was clear: was this wand truly made from Loki fir, or was the old man's memory failing him?
Ollivander gave a wry smile. "Not only is Loki fir exceedingly rare, but magical beasts like the Sphinx are also on the verge of extinction. The Sphinx, a creature from Egyptian mythology, is the embodiment of wisdom and the unceasing pursuit of knowledge." He gestured vaguely at the wand. "The maker of this wand was my grandfather's grandfather's grandfather..."
Seeing the expressions on his visitors' faces grow increasingly strange, Ollivander cleared his throat and abandoned his genealogical recitation. "In any case, it has been many generations. This wand has existed for over a thousand years. And I assure you," he said, his voice firm with conviction, "its quality is genuine. An Ollivander would never lie about a wand!" He couldn't help but puff out his chest, the pride of his family's craft shining through.
Lucien glanced at the silver-black wand, still hovering patiently in the air. He thought of the 'Loki's Faceless' he had just merged with. A wand made of Loki fir, a wood whose very origin was tied to the same god, even if only in legend—it made a certain kind of sense. It was only natural that he, now possessing Loki's magical talent, would be drawn to it. As for the Sphinx's spinal feather core and its connection to the pursuit of knowledge? Well, gaining more knowledge was never a bad thing. Still, a thousand-year-old wand...
"It's been so long, and it hasn't sold...?" Lucien began, then quickly corrected himself. "I mean, it hasn't found its proper owner?"
Ollivander's eyes burned with a sudden intensity as he looked at Lucien, as if he had just unearthed a priceless treasure. "Perhaps," he whispered, "it has now." His voice grew more animated. "Child—oh no, Mr. Lucien, please, try the wand."
As if it had been waiting for this very moment, the silver-black wand trembled slightly. The ethereal runes on its surface pulsed with an active light, and the faint chuckling sound Lucien had heard before became more distinct. He reached out with his right hand and grasped the handle.
In that instant, he felt an unprecedented sense of harmony. The magical power within him surged into the wand, yet the process was not wild or violent; it was a gentle, silent flood. He could feel the wand itself cheering, exulting in the connection. Simultaneously, Lucien felt a new, immense reservoir of power erupt within him. That dormant, locked magic didn't crash through him wildly, but instead gathered and flowed, focusing through the wand in his hand.
Instinct took over. Lucien pointed the wand at a candle sitting on the counter. A beam of dark green light shot out. The candle trembled, and in a blink, it had transformed into a heavy iron hammer. The hammer remained for less than a second before bone-like armor erupted from its surface, twisting and reforming it into a small black turtle.
The black turtle stretched out its head, its tiny eyes about to focus on Lucien. But then those eyes suddenly grew larger, the pupils elongating into horizontal slits. The hard shell softened, becoming slick and damp, and the turtle was now a frog. "Croak!" it cried, hopping twice on the counter. Its round body then rapidly elongated, smooth skin giving way to shimmering scales as it transformed into the slender body of a snake. Feathered wings sprouted from its sides, and its head took on the shape of a heron. This strange, winged serpent, as if adapting to the space, began to expand, growing five or six times larger in an instant.
"Bang!"
The still-expanding creature suddenly imploded, bursting into a harmless cloud of smoke and reverting to its original candle form, which clattered softly onto the counter.
Watching the entire transformation, which had lasted less than a minute, Ollivander exclaimed in sheer admiration, "Transfiguration! I have never seen such raw talent for Transfiguration! I can already see a future Master of the art standing before me. Minerva, congratulations on finding such a genius!"
He smiled at Professor McGonagall, only to find her gaze fixed, shifting between the candle and Lucien, her expression one of utter shock. She hadn't seemed to hear his praise at all.
"The final transformation... was that an Occamy?!" she whispered to herself.
McGonagall had anticipated Lucien's talent, but seeing it unleashed with a proper wand confirmed her judgment on a level she hadn't thought possible. It was purely instinctual spellcasting—unstable and unsustainable—but that only further highlighted his incredible potential. All he needed was systematic learning and training. She believed he could master anything: object-to-object conversion, object-to-animal transformation, even the supremely difficult Animagus transformation.
But why had it turned into an Occamy? If it had merely resembled one, that would be one thing. But its signature characteristic—the ability to freely scale its body to the size of its container—was unmistakably that of an Occamy. A magical creature! Transfiguration performed by wizards was limited to ordinary animals. It was thought that the innate magical energy of magical creatures was fundamentally incompatible with a wizard's own. In all her decades of studying Transfiguration, she had never seen anyone transform something into a magical creature, not even partially.
"Is this a new, unknown branch of Transfiguration?" she murmured. "But how could a child who has only just begun to touch magic... I must speak to Dumbledore when I return." Dumbledore was one of the foremost Transfiguration Masters of the age; perhaps he would know what this signified.
Composing herself, Professor McGonagall turned a brilliant smile on Lucien. "Lucien, you are truly gifted. I very much look forward to your performance at Hogwarts."
Lucien carefully put away his new wand. "And I look forward to your guidance, Professor." He lowered his head, glancing at his internal panel.
[Magic Power: SS (Unlocked)]
He understood the significance of this. Magic power was a crucial measure of a wizard's strength. The prejudice some pure-blood families held against Muggle-borns wasn't just about tradition; it was rooted in generations of inherited magical knowledge and, often, a more abundant reserve of innate magical power. When skill levels were similar, the wizard who could cast more spells and last longer had the advantage. But now, with his SS-rank talent unlocked, he had shattered those constraints. In both the speed of his magical growth and the total amount of power he would eventually command, he would far surpass his peers.
After bidding farewell to a still-ecstatic Ollivander, they continued their shopping. They bought a pewter cauldron for Potions, a brass telescope for Astronomy, and had him fitted for robes at Madam Malkin's. Finally, they arrived at the Magical Menagerie. The moment he stepped inside, a cacophony of noises assaulted him. The croaking of bullfrogs, the hissing of salamanders, and the shrill meows of cats filled the air.
"Are you looking to choose a magical pet?" the shopkeeper, a kindly-looking woman with thick, black-rimmed glasses, asked.
Lucien nodded, his eyes scanning the cages. He wasn't impressed. "This one is too ugly," he muttered, looking at a toad. "This one smells... strong." He passed a cage of Flobberworms. "And, uh... is this a cat?" A Persian cat with long ginger fur and a bushy tail squatted in a cage, giving him a lazy, disinterested glance. Its face was so flat it looked as if it had run full-speed into a wall. Lucien shook his head. He couldn't imagine who would want such a strange-looking pet. The selection was all so… ordinary.
[Ding! Host's request detected. Applying for a loan on the Host's behalf...]
[Congratulations, Host, the loan application was successful!]
[Annual Loan: ?.]