The evening sun dipped low behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across Lucan's bedroom. The only sound in the small room was the faint scratching of quill on parchment as he copied down notes from Fundamentals of Practical Spellcasting, Volume I.
Lucan's brown eyes scanned the diagrams carefully, committing each movement and incantation to memory. His short brown hair was messy from running his fingers through it in frustration. Even after two months of daily study, magic remained stubbornly elusive. His control had improved, slightly, but he still struggled with even the most basic spells.
That didn't discourage him. It only sharpened his determination.
He paused, setting his quill down, and leaned back in his chair, staring at the fading light outside.
Two months ago, he had turned eleven.
The day itself had been simple. His family wasn't one for big celebrations. His mother cooked a nice dinner, his father, in a rare show of pride, had given him a new broomstick. It wasn't the latest Nimbus, but it was a solid, fast model.
A Swiftstar 80. Practical and reliable, not that he planned on playing much quidditch.
Thomas Reed, his closest friend, had given him a book: A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory.
Even on his birthday, Lucan had trained. A few quick physical exercises in the morning, some basic meditation, and more study in the evening. He hadn't allowed himself to slack off, not even for a day.
He had too much to do, and too little natural talent to waste time.
Lucan rubbed his eyes and glanced over at the window. The world he had been reborn into was so much deeper than the stories he dimly remembered reading as a child. Things like blood purity weren't just insults thrown in anger; they shaped lives, careers, even safety.
A sharp tapping interrupted his thoughts.
He blinked, turning to the window again. A tawny owl sat perched on the sill, a thick envelope tied carefully to its leg.
He stood and crossed the room quickly, unlatching the window and letting the cool breeze in. The owl extended its leg dutifully, and Lucan untied the envelope with careful fingers.
Mr. L. Hale
Second Bedroom, Second Floor
13 Oak Hollow Road
Little Wimbourne
Lucan ran a thumb over the seal before breaking it open.
—————————————————
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Hale,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
—————————————————
Lucan lowered the letter slowly, a small smirk forming on his lips.
He had a little less than two months left. Two months before he entered a new world, a place where he could learn without restrictions, where he could find the knowledge and strength he needed.
The cobbled streets of Diagon Alley bustled with life under the bright summer sun. Wizards and witches in colorful robes hurried from shop to shop, their voices mixing into a lively hum. Lucan walked beside his father, Marcus Hale, weaving through the crowd with steady steps. The smell of baked goods, ink, and old parchment filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of something burning from a nearby apothecary.
Lucan's brown hair was a little messy from the journey through the Floo Network, but he hardly noticed. His grey eyes were sharp, taking in every detail, the intricate shop signs, the strange creatures displayed behind glass, the magic woven into every corner of the alley. Even though he tried to appear calm, there was a constant excitement buzzing beneath his skin.
Marcus walked slightly ahead, a steady presence. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with the easy confidence of a man used to danger. His dark green robes were simple but well-made, and he carried himself with a quiet authority that made people instinctively step aside.
Their first stop was Flourish and Blotts.
Inside, the shop was packed. Towering stacks of books leaned precariously against the walls, and students wandered between the aisles with lists clutched in their hands. Marcus led Lucan straight to the school section, where they quickly found the required textbooks:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), Magical Theory, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and several more.
Marcus tossed in a few extras as well, advanced charmwork guides, a defensive dueling manual, and a book on magical law. Lucan didn't protest. In fact, he was thrilled.
Afterward, they stopped at Madam Malkin's for robes. Lucan stood on a stool, arms outstretched as the witch pinned and hemmed his school uniform. Other children were being fitted around him, their parents fussing over sleeves and cuffs, but Marcus remained silent, only nodding in approval when the job was done.
With his robes boxed and shrunk by a quick spell, they moved on to buy the standard equipment: a pewter cauldron, crystal phials, a set of brass scales, and a collapsible telescope. Marcus paid without comment, although he did raise an eyebrow at the outrageous price of the brass scales.
Their next stop was Eeylops Owl Emporium. Inside, the air was thick with the sound of hoots and the rustling of wings. Lucan wandered between the cages, studying the various owls, snowy whites, tiny screech owls, majestic barn owls.
Eventually, he chose a sleek, black-feathered owl with sharp golden eyes that seemed to watch him with a knowing gaze. He named her Nyra.
Finally, as the sun dipped lower and the crowd began to thin, Marcus led Lucan to the last and perhaps most important stop: Ollivanders.
The small, crooked building of Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. stood ahead, almost tucked away like a secret between grander shops.
Marcus pushed open the door, and the tinkling of an old bell sounded overhead.
The inside was dim, dusty, and utterly crammed with thousands of thin, narrow boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. The air itself seemed charged with some old, sleeping magic.
From the shadows emerged an old man, Garrick Ollivander, with silvery eyes that gleamed in the dim light.
"Ah..." Ollivander said, stepping closer with an almost eerie smile. "Mr. Hale. It's been some time."
He studied Lucan for a long, breathless moment. "And this... must be your son. Hm. Yes. I wondered when you would come."
Without another word, Ollivander turned and disappeared among the shelves, muttering to himself.
Moments later, he returned with a wand.
"Try this," he said, handing Lucan a slim wand of oak, phoenix feather core.
Lucan gripped it and gave a flick.
Nothing.
No warmth, no sparks, no ripple of magic. The wand remained dead weight in his hand.
Ollivander hummed thoughtfully and snatched it away.
Another wand was placed into his grasp, elm with a unicorn hair core.
Still nothing.
The wood was inert, almost cold.
This repeated several times. Hazel, cherry, even yew, each time Lucan gave the wand a polite wave, and each time there was... nothing. Not even the faintest spark.
Ollivander seemed neither surprised nor discouraged. In fact, he looked rather pleased, as if this narrowed down some private theory.
"Very curious," Ollivander murmured, disappearing into the back once again.
When he returned, he held a box carefully with both hands, almost reverently.
"This," Ollivander said, voice soft and grave, "is a wand rarely matched. Very rarely."
He opened the box to reveal a wand that immediately stood out.
It was a deep, rich dark mahogany, polished until it gleamed faintly under the low light. Fine, intricate silver veins threaded through the wood like living lightning, twisting down the handle and fading just above the shaft.
Redwood," Ollivander said softly, "with a Thestral tail hair core. Twelve and a quarter inches. Firm. One of the rarest combinations to exist."
Lucan hesitated only a moment before reaching out.
The instant his fingers brushed the wood, a spark of life shot up his arm, fierce but strangely steady, like gripping a sleeping dragon's tail.
When he gave it a light flick, a swirling ribbon of golden light erupted from the tip and hovered in the air, twisting itself into a series of symbols before fading away.
Marcus shifted forward instinctively, his eyes narrowing, then softening slightly as he watched.
"Excellent," Ollivander whispered. His eyes gleamed brighter than ever. "Excellent."
He turned slightly, addressing Marcus now.
"I daresay this will be a strong match, Mr. Hale. A good choice for a boy who may one day walk dangerous paths."
Marcus gave the faintest of nods. Not smiling, but there was pride in the way he straightened his shoulders.
Lucan remained quiet, his fingers tightening slightly around the wand. He didn't pretend to understand all of it yet, but the connection was undeniable.
Marcus stepped forward and laid down a small pouch of Galleons without hesitation.
Ollivander carefully wrapped the wand and placed it in a long, dark box before handing it to Lucan.
As they stepped back into the evening light of Diagon Alley, the first stars beginning to prick the sky, Marcus slowed his pace until Lucan was walking beside him.
"You did well," Marcus said gruffly, glancing sideways at him. "Not many get that kind of wood. And Thestral hair... it's not a core you see every day."
Lucan kept his expression neutral, but inside, a small flicker of satisfaction lit up.
"It doesn't make you stronger," Marcus added after a moment, voice low but firm. "A wand is only as good as the wizard holding it. Remember that."
Lucan nodded seriously. "I know."
He had a wand now.
And soon, Hogwarts would open its gates.
The real work was only just beginning.