Harry Potter: Red Weasley The Strange Red Wizard

We did a lot more shopping, going from store to store in different sections of the Passage of Arches. We walked quite a bit, but it was worth it: just as Tiago had told us, some of the more distant shops turned out to be true hidden gems—whether for their value or the uniqueness of their products.

Of course, as Tiago had also predicted, there were those who were drawn by the scent of our wealth... but none of them dared make a move. I suppose that the dark wizards and petty thieves of the Brazilian magical world met the invisible blade of some of my clones—literally.

We felt so safe, no one even noticed that several lives had been lost—so much so that even Tiago was surprised nothing had happened, and he hadn't had to draw his wand or call the sentinels. At least Helena now had new materials to work with.

At one point, as we were walking, Hannah was reading aloud the school supply list, checking off what we already had and what was still missing.

Then we passed a wand shop, recognizable by its sign: a huge, slowly rotating wand hung above the entrance.

"I believe you all already have wands, so we can cross that off the list too," Tiago commented, without stopping.

But we did stop. The window displayed a wide variety of wands, none of which looked anything like the ones we knew. Some had feather decorations at the base; others were wrapped in intertwined colored threads, like fishnet stockings; one even had a wooden ring over the handle, giving it the look of a ceremonial dagger or short sword.

We stared, puzzled by the… extravagant designs.

"Are they all like that?" Neville asked, a mix of curiosity and distrust on his face.

"Oh, that," Tiago said with a smile. "It's just for looks. Most of those decorations are pointless… and in some cases, they even interfere a bit. But kids love them."

He explained that in Brazil there's no centuries-old, monopoly wandmaker like Ollivander. There are good artisans, yes, but they're rare and their wands tend to be expensive. Most of the market is made up of smaller, often mediocre makers who offer affordable options for those who can't pay more. Because the competition among these second-tier shops is fierce, they often embellish their wands to attract customers—especially children—who tend to choose what looks better over what actually suits them.

I stood in thought for a moment, then said aloud:

"I think we should buy some new wands." (Red)

The others were surprised—especially Neville.

"Huh? But…" he stammered, confused.

"Neville," I said, looking at him firmly, "part of your struggles with spellcasting come from using a wand that wasn't made for you. That wand belonged to your father—it wasn't chosen for you. Now we're in Brazil, representing Hogwarts. We need to be at our best, and that starts with having the right tools."

Neville looked down, uncertainty on his face. I knew I couldn't force him—especially given what that wand meant to him. So I spoke more gently, acknowledging his bond with his parents but insisting that having his own wand didn't mean replacing them—it meant finding his own path.

Eventually, he nodded silently. He had accepted it.

"Hannah, I think you should also consider getting a secondary wand," I added, turning to her. "It never hurts to have a backup, especially when we have the opportunity."

She didn't argue. She was used to my advice being helpful and, like me, was curious to see how the pairing process worked here. After all, part of the charm of this journey was discovering how different magical cultures addressed the same needs in such unique ways.

Seeing that we were committed and without a reason to object, Tiago agreed to take us to get new wands. We had already acquired everything else we needed, so this would be our last stop before grabbing something to eat and finally heading to Castelobruxo.

However, our guide didn't exactly recommend the shop we had just seen. If we wanted wands with at least European-level quality, we needed to head toward the central zone of the passage.

As we got closer, the rise in luxury was evident: even the cobblestones seemed to get fancier with each step. The façades were more ornate, the display windows sparkled, and the clientele had a more elegant… and in some cases, arrogant air.

We finally arrived at a shop Tiago recommended. It wasn't the most prestigious one in the center, but it had a solid reputation and offered a good balance between quality and price. Plus, it maintained the tradition of customizing wands with small aesthetic details if the client wanted.

"Every child deserves a wand that's unique," Tiago said with a smile. "Something that makes it special."

As we entered, we were greeted by the soft chime of a sound enchantment and the scent of freshly worked wood. There were only a few customers browsing or chatting with the clerks, but we were attended to quickly.

After understanding the reason for our visit, one of the employees led us to a special section of the store. There, long and narrow boards were arranged along the walls, each with rows of evenly spaced holes. From each hole protruded the handle of a wand, ready to be tested.

The procedure was simple: grasp the wand's handle, and if a reaction was felt, pull it out and try a movement. If the wand responded, it was considered a candidate. In some ways, it was a more organized process than Ollivander's—none of those towering stacks of boxes or cobweb-covered corners.

Each of us went our own way. Neville and Hannah followed the clerk's suggestions and approached the shelves that felt most inviting, hoping intuition would guide them.

I, on the other hand, took a different route. I approached the most distant shelf, where the older, dustier, more forgotten wands were kept. I didn't intend to buy anything mediocre, but if there was a hidden gem—a relic among discards—I wanted to be the one to find it. Sometimes, true treasures are where you least expect them… or so the novels say.

Soon, the three of us were trying wand after wand. Fortunately, as we were assured, all the wands were magically cleaned after each attempt, which would certainly put any mysophobes at ease.

With the assistant's help, Neville and Hannah eventually found wands that suited them well. The vendor, with his experience, was able to intuit each person's magical affinities just by observing our reactions.

I, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. Nothing convinced me. Just like with my current wand, I didn't feel a true connection with any of them. But by now, my magic was strong enough to force synchronization, even if it wasn't ideal.

A little while later, Neville found his perfect wand. It was a deep reddish tone, made from Caesalpinia echinata wood—also known as Pernambuco or Brazilwood. Its core was a scale from a Boitatá: a gigantic fire serpent that burned and spat flames when provoked or enraged. I couldn't help but wonder how such a large scale had been fitted into such a small object.

When Neville waved it, an illusory figure briefly emerged from the tip: a majestic, serene fire serpent that swirled through the air before vanishing. Its presence was both intimidating and comforting, as if to say: "There will be no problem… as long as you don't cause one."

Neville smiled with a mix of surprise and pride. It was the first time he felt that a wand had chosen him, and not the other way around.

"Strength and resilience," explained the assistant, almost like reciting a ritual. "With great potential, but also a natural connection to wildlife and a strong protective instinct. It will be as steadfast as you are with it."

Neville nodded in silence, clearly moved. At last, he had taken a step that his past self would never have dared.

Hannah also found her wand. It had a dark brown tone mixed with ash and reddish streaks that gave it a warm and elegant appearance. According to her, it even had a pleasant scent, like sweet wood and rain-soaked earth. It was made from jacarandá, and its core was particularly curious: intertwined fibers extracted from a magical variant of Victoria Régia, the giant Amazonian water lily.

When she waved it for the first time, several ethereal violet petals swirled out, dissolving in the air like glittering drizzle. Hannah exhaled deeply; it was as if her body had been instantly revitalized, and all the fatigue from the long walk had vanished. The wand clearly had restorative properties.

They were both happy with their new acquisitions. However, that didn't mean they discarded their old wands. Hannah decided to keep hers as her primary and use the new one as a backup. Neville, on the other hand, made a more meaningful decision: he made the new one his main wand and relegated his father's to secondary use. It was a subtle, yet mature gesture. A necessary step.

I, meanwhile, still hadn't found anything truly special. A couple of wands were better than my current one, but none felt like the wand. Still, I noticed one of the assistants was watching me with a mix of curiosity, unease, and perhaps concern.

Out of sheer curiosity, I picked up the two wands that had managed to somewhat resonate with me. When I waved them gently, a strange sound and spiraling mist emerged from each: one a white fog with black sparkles, the other a black mist with silvery gleams. The energies felt opposite, yet complementary.

"They're twin wands," the assistant explained in a measured tone, though he involuntarily took a step back. "They share the same… peculiar origin. And not only that: they're old, with a dark history behind their creation."

"And what is it?" I asked, trying to sound disinterested.

I was almost sure it was just a sales tactic. I knew the type: "rare wood," "special core," "a forgotten relic"… all part of the show. I didn't think it had any "divine" origins or anything like that. That might've been plausible in the age of Morgana—not now.

Neville, Hannah, Tiago, and even Professor Kettleburn gathered around, intrigued by the assistant's reaction.

"Bulnesia sarmientoi and carob wood," he said, pointing to the materials. "The core… comes from a Jarjacha."

Silence. Silvanus and I widened our eyes in surprise. We both knew that Andean creature. For Muggles, it was a dark, nearly demonic legend. But in the magical world, it was more complex.

It was a being resulting from a failed human transfiguration or an ancient curse: half llama, half person. A situation similar to the Quintapeds. Wild, condemned, deformed creatures… although according to records, there were also "natural" Jarjachas in ancient times, now extinct. It was debated whether the current ones were born from attempts to replicate them, and whether the originals had been as malevolent as the modern versions.

"Few dare to use Jarjacha hair to craft wands," the assistant continued, his voice dropping a tone. "Very few people are able to wield them. Or, to be more precise, very few good people." He paused, loaded with meaning. "The bearers of these wands are often individuals who have already committed, or are dangerously prone to committing, forbidden or improper acts."

The words hung in the air like a verdict. Everyone looked at me. I kept a calm face, but inside… a cold pressure settled in my chest.

The image of the Jarjacha—this demon born from the dark curse of incest in Muggle legends—burned itself into my mind. As I stared at the wand, which seemed to whisper "forbidden and improper acts"...

My eyes locked on the "incest" it symbolized. Unbidden, images of my sisters flooded my mind, and a sudden urge took over me: to throw the wands back onto the shelf. I couldn't allow this to continue. Even if I often acted like a demon, I would never let these wands push me to cross that line with my sisters.

I would not allow it. They had to be protected from everything. Even from me.