The Apprenticeship - Chapter 4
The sensation was as brutal as it was unexpected. Apparition, that mode of transport so lauded by wizards, was for Loki an experience of unbearable violence. Far from the graceful movements of the Bifrost, the journey through space and time was a sudden pressure, a feeling of tearing and crushing that threatened to reduce his body to pulp. He felt as if he were being sucked into a vacuum, his vision blurring into a swirl of dark colors and lights stretching into infinity. He didn't let his calm facade slip, but internally, he vowed he would never subject himself to such a form of travel again.
The next moment, the Apparition stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Nausea seized him, a swirling sensation that made his body's image waver before his eyes. For a moment, Loki panicked. While he was capable of transforming into an illusion, he wasn't sure his physical body could endure such a trial. The panic was replaced by a sense of power, an ancient magic that enveloped his body, stabilizing it. The journey had been tough on his disguise, but he had managed. He was safe again. He looked at Dumbledore, who smiled at him. The professor seemed amused, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. Loki smiled back, a cold, polite smile.
They were in a dark, damp alley. In front of them stood a run-down brick pub with broken windows and a worn sign above the door. The sign, barely legible, read: The Leaky Cauldron. Loki smelled beer and tobacco and heard the murmur of conversations coming from inside. Dumbledore opened the door and invited him in.
The pub's interior was dark and smoky. The ceiling was low, the tables were of dark wood, and the chairs were wobbly. An old bartender with a bald head and a white beard stood behind the counter, and small groups of wizards, men and women of all ages, were drinking, laughing, and talking. The conversations were unintelligible to Loki. It was a language he had never heard, a dialect belonging to a world he did not know. He smiled inwardly. He couldn't wait to learn their secrets.
Dumbledore walked through the pub, smiling and greeting people. Everyone seemed to know him. Everyone smiled at him, waved, and looked at him with respect. Loki observed the scene. The man was a figure of authority. He was the kind of person he loved to manipulate, a conductor who thought he was the only one who knew the melody. Loki followed him, his face once again impassive.
They walked through the pub and stepped out into a small courtyard. Dumbledore reached out to a brick wall. "Watch," he said. He took out his wand and tapped the brick. The bricks began to twist, bend, and fold in on themselves. Loki watched, fascinated. This was the magic he loved, the magic of transformation, the magic that changes the world. He smiled, and the bricks slid past one another, forming an arch that opened onto a cobbled street. Behind it was a world he could never have imagined.
The air filled with the intoxicating scents of potions, parchment, and sweets. The distant rumble of London traffic was replaced by a joyful cacophony of laughter, conversations, and the jingle of magical coins. Loki did not let his child-like face betray his astonishment. He was a god. He had seen entire worlds form and crumble. But this world, nestled in the heart of a mortal city, was a trick of such elegance he could only admire it.
Dumbledore slid a hand onto Loki's back, guiding him through the crowd. "Welcome, Loki, to Diagon Alley," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "The center of the wizarding world in Great Britain."
Loki looked at the storefronts. One was filled with cauldrons of all sizes and materials, another with owls, hoots, and eagles twitching in their cages. There were shops with brooms, school uniforms, and an imposing bank made of white marble, guarded by odd, sharp-eyed creatures that resembled small goblins. Loki smiled inwardly. He was eager to learn their secrets.
Dumbledore waved his hand, and Loki's eyes scanned the different shops. "We have a lot to do," Dumbledore said. "First, the robes. Then, the books. After that, we'll go to the wand shop, and finally, the wand."
The shopping went smoothly. Loki acquired his robes from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a small, bustling shop where black robes floated in the air, held by spells. The scent of new fabric and incense hung in the air. Madam Malkin, a small, round witch, measured Loki in the blink of an eye, and the measuring tapes floated in the air, moving around his body. Loki smiled inwardly. He was a god, but he was forced to wear the clothes of the enemy. It was a humiliation. But he took it without a word. He looked at another boy, a boy who looked proud and happy, his robes floating around him. Loki smiled. He couldn't wait to meet him at school, to manipulate his innocence, to make him slide into chaos. He couldn't wait to play his game, and win.
They then walked to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. It was a shop filled with shelves stacked to the ceiling. The scent of old paper, ink, and dust hung in the air. It was a feeling of knowledge, of wisdom. Loki felt a thirst for power that flooded his heart. He took his list of supplies and began to search for the books. He found Magical Theory, a book that detailed the laws of magic. Loki read it, a mocking smile on his face. There were no rules for magic. Magic was a raw force that could not be contained by words. He found A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. He found a book on potions and one on spells. He deliberately avoided books on mythological history, as he did not want to read the lies about himself. He then purchased a copper cauldron, glass vials, and basic potion ingredients. He felt a bit like a child running errands, and a prince preparing for a coronation.
The last stop was the most important. It was a small, dusty shop, with a peeling gold sign that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A chime rang as they opened the door. Behind a counter, an old man with milky eyes appeared, a look of both wisdom and madness in his gaze. He was the master of wands, the man who had the power to choose a wizard's destiny.
"Ah, Dumbledore," Ollivander said, his voice a dry, ethereal whisper. "I felt you coming. And you... Loki Laufeyson. A powerful name. Your hands are... different. They hold an ancient magic. A magic I've never felt. It is interesting."
Loki lowered his head, his usual ruse not working. This was the first time someone could see beyond his facade. He felt vulnerable, but he kept his composure. Dumbledore watched the scene, a slight tilt of his head.
Ollivander continued. "Every wand has its soul, my dear boy. The soul of the wand is made of three parts: the wood, the core, and the feather. The wand chooses the wizard. It knows what you need."
He made several wands appear, floating them in the air. Loki touched them, one at a time. The first was a holly and phoenix feather wand. Loki touched it and felt a coldness in his hand, a repulsion. The second was an oak and dragon heartstring wand. He touched it, and he felt a heat in his hand, a raw, unruly magic he disliked. The third was a willow wand. He touched it, and the wand twisted and almost broke in his hand. He was the God of Mischief, of Illusion, of Lies. These wands were too simple. They could not contain his power.
Ollivander looked at Loki, his milky eyes twinkling. He smiled and disappeared into the shelves. He searched for what seemed like an eternity. Then, he returned, a dusty box in his hands. The box was sealed with black wax. "I never thought I would bring this out in my lifetime," he muttered. "This wand is... special. It is made of a rare Scandinavian yew wood, the wood of life and death. And at its core, there is a thread from the web of an ancient creature from the Northern lands. It is made for a being with a gift for the arts of transformation and illusions."
Loki looked at the wand, his hand trembling. He reached out, and the wand floated into his hand. He felt a shiver, not of fear, but of power, that ran through his body. It was a sensation he had never felt. He raised the wand, and a green light illuminated the shop. A light that danced, that shone, and that took the shape of a snake. A snake that winked at Loki before disappearing. The wand's magic was a mirror of his soul. He had found his.
Loki bought the wand. He left the shop, his face impassive, but his heart was pounding. He was a god. He was back. The game was about to begin. And he now had a new weapon.
He looked at Dumbledore, who smiled. The professor said: "The wand chose you, Loki. It is a very powerful wand. Use it wisely." Loki did not reply. He put the wand in his pocket and looked at the world around him. He was no longer a child. He was the God of Mischief. And the wizarding world was his new playground.