"Loki's Fir?"
Lucien and Professor McGonagall spoke in unison, their voices tinged with surprise.
McGonagall, with her wealth of experience as a seasoned witch, had heard rumors of this rare wood but never expected to see it in person. Lucien, meanwhile, felt a flicker of unease. A sudden realization hit him:
This was the wizarding world. Could the gods and mythical creatures from legends—like Loki—have actually existed? Maybe they were powerful wizards or some kind of magical creatures. It wasn't hard to imagine ancient Muggles mistaking spell-casting wizards for deities.
Ollivander, the wandmaker, began to explain with a nostalgic glint in his eye. "Loki's Fir, also known as Trickwood or Phantom Tree. Legend says it sprouted when Loki, bound in a ravine, let his blood and enchantments drip onto a fir tree, transforming it into a magical wood imbued with the power of change."
"Wands made from this wood symbolize infinite transformation," he added.
McGonagall frowned slightly. "But I've heard that Loki's Fir is extinct. Its very existence is practically a myth."
Her unspoken question hung in the air: Is this wand really made of Loki's Fir, or is Ollivander getting senile?
Ollivander gave a wry smile. "Not just Loki's Fir—Sphinx feathers are nearly as rare. Sphinxes, born from Egyptian mythology, embody wisdom and an unrelenting pursuit of knowledge. They're on the brink of extinction worldwide."
He paused, then added, "This wand was crafted by my grandfather's grandfather's grandfather…"
Noticing the increasingly odd looks from Lucien and McGonagall, Ollivander coughed and cut his family history short. "Let's just say it's over a thousand years old. This wand is an antique, but its quality is beyond question. Ollivanders never lie about wands!" He puffed out his chest, radiating family pride.
Lucien glanced at the silver-black wand hovering before him, his thoughts drifting to his "Loki's Faceless" loan. Loki's Fir, even if it was just a legend, was tied to the trickster god. With Loki's magical talents now fused into him, it made sense that he'd feel drawn to a wand made from this wood. And a Sphinx feather? A symbol of chasing knowledge?
Well, learning more was never a bad thing.
Plus, a thousand-year-old wand? That was practically a relic. "A thousand years, and it's never been sold…" Lucien mused. "Er, never found the right owner?"
Ollivander's eyes gleamed as he looked at Lucien, as if he'd spotted a rare treasure. "Perhaps it has now."
"Lucien, my boy—er, Mr. Grafton—please, try the wand."
The silver-black wand quivered slightly, its faint runes glowing brighter, and a soft, mischievous chuckle seemed to emanate from it. Lucien reached out and grasped the handle.
In an instant, he felt an unprecedented harmony. His magic surged toward the wand, not wild or chaotic, but smooth and serene. The wand seemed to hum with joy, as if celebrating their connection.
At the same time, a new spark of magic ignited within Lucien, surging through him and channeling into the wand. Instinctively, he pointed it at a candle on the counter.
A black-green light shot out.
The candle trembled, then transformed into a hammer in a flash. The hammer sat still for less than a second before its surface rippled, sprouting bone-like armor. In the blink of an eye, it morphed into a black turtle.
The turtle poked out its head, its tiny green eyes glancing at Lucien. Then, its eyes widened, pupils shifting to slits. Its shell softened, becoming slick and smooth, and the turtle became a frog.
"Ribbit!"
The frog's loud croak echoed as it hopped across the counter. Its round body stretched, sprouting scales, and it slithered into the form of a snake. Feathered wings sprouted from its sides, and its head took on the sharp, elegant shape of a heron.
As if adapting to the space, the creature's body swelled, growing five or six times larger in moments.
Bang!
The expanding creature suddenly burst into a puff of smoke, reverting to the original candle.
The entire transformation had taken less than a minute. Ollivander stared in awe. "Transfiguration! I've never seen such talent for Transfiguration! I daresay, Minerva, you've found a genius student. The wizarding world may soon witness a master of Transfiguration."
He beamed at McGonagall, but she seemed oblivious, her eyes darting between the candle and Lucien. "That last form… a Thestral?" she murmured.
McGonagall had already sensed Lucien's potential for Transfiguration, but seeing him wield the wand confirmed it. His spell was instinctive, unstable, and fleeting—but that only highlighted his raw talent.
With proper training and study of Transfiguration spells, Lucien could master object-to-object transformations, object-to-creature changes, cross-species shifts, and even the pinnacle of the art: becoming an Animagus. McGonagall was certain he could achieve it all.
But why a Thestral?
Even if it only resembled one, the ability to resize its body based on its surroundings was unmistakably a Thestral trait. How could it be a magical creature? Wizards' Transfiguration could only produce mundane animals, not magical ones. The innate magical patterns of creatures like Thestrals clashed with a wizard's magic.
In her decades of studying Transfiguration, McGonagall had never seen anyone conjure even a hint of a magical creature.
"Is this… a new frontier for Transfiguration?" she whispered. "How could a child new to magic…"
She shook her head. "I need to talk to Dumbledore."
Dumbledore, one of the greatest Transfiguration masters alive, might understand what this meant.
Composing herself, McGonagall smiled at Lucien. "You have remarkable talent, Lucien. I look forward to seeing what you achieve at Hogwarts."
Lucien tucked the wand away, nodding. "And I'm looking forward to your lessons, Professor."
He glanced at his system panel:
[Magical Power: SS (Unlocked)]
Magical power was a key measure of a wizard's strength. Pure-blood wizards often looked down on Muggle-borns, not just because of their family resources or inherited magical knowledge, but because pure-bloods typically had greater magical reserves. In a duel, the wizard who could cast more spells or last longer had the advantage.
But with his SS-tier magical power now unlocked, Lucien had shattered those limitations. In both the speed of his magical growth and his total magical capacity, he'd leave his peers in the dust.
Bidding farewell to Ollivander, they headed to the next shop. As Lucien walked away, Ollivander sighed softly. "A legendary wand deserves a legendary owner. Today is a day worth remembering."
---
Lucien and McGonagall continued their shopping: a cauldron for Potions, a telescope for Astronomy, and a set of robes from Madam Malkin's.
Finally, they arrived at the magical pet shop, Magical Menagerie. The moment Lucien stepped inside, a cacophony of sounds hit him—croaks, meows, and all manner of creature noises.
"Looking for a magical pet?" the shopkeeper, a kind woman with thick black-framed glasses, asked gently.
Lucien nodded, scanning the animals. "That one's too ugly. This one smells awful. Wait, that's a cat?"
A ginger Persian cat with a bushy tail lounged in a cage, its flat face looking like it had been squashed against a wall. It gave Lucien a lazy glance.
He shook his head. Who'd want such an odd-looking pet? These animals were all so… ordinary.
[Ding! Detecting Host's needs. Applying for a loan…]
[Congratulations, Host! Loan approved!]
[Annual Loan: Qilin]