HP: Ravenclaw's Obscurus Prodigy

"It's nothing to worry about—perhaps it has become a key, a key to unlock your Oculus Magicae," Ollivander said, his voice gentler than ever, the way an elder might comfort a child.

"Let's start your wand selection anew. This time... you might be in for a surprise. Do you have a preferred wand color? Any thoughts about the core?"

Wyzett blinked in confusion. "Didn't you say before that wands and wizards choose each other? Can I really make requests?"

"Well..." Ollivander mused, a thoughtful hum in his throat. "That's true for most people. But you possess the Eye of Magic! Go on, tell me what sort of wand you like!"

Recalling the many wands he'd tried earlier, Wyzett answered, "Elder wood, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches... and I'd prefer it to be quite sturdy."

"You remembered them all!" Ollivander beamed, his smile radiant as a sunflower. "To channel the power of an Obscurus, you truly need an extraordinary wand!"

He knew the precise location of every wand in his shop. With a flick of his own wand, a wooden box soared from the farthest shelf and landed gently in Wyzett's hands.

Inside lay a jet-black wand, unadorned and straight, as sharp and cold as a bayonet.

With the aid of his Oculus Magicae, Wyzett could sense the masterful craftsmanship within—the magical circuitry flowed smoothly throughout the wand.

The only flaw was at the tip, where the magical flow became thick and tangled, like a knotted skein of thread.

Wyzett grasped the wand. The handle was rounded and contoured, fitting perfectly in his palm.

Ancient magic stirred, surging along the wand's length.

Power gathered at the tip, merging with the muddled flow.

It felt like a game of cat's cradle, untangling the magical circuits to let the energy move freely.

He didn't know how long it took, but at last he smoothed out the circuits. Spiraling patterns appeared along the shaft, and the wand grew warm to the touch.

Instinctively, Wyzett let go. The wand floated in mid-air, singing a clear, melodious note.

He felt it calling to him—so different from its earlier silence.

And it wasn't just this wand; all the wands in the shop began to hum softly, echoing the same call.

"Remarkable! Truly remarkable! You've made it even more perfect," Ollivander said, his eyes shining with satisfaction. "Do you understand now? The wand chooses the wizard."

"You possess the Eye of Magic—you can make any wand better. No wand could refuse you!"

"In a way, these wands really are fascinating," Wyzett laughed, recalling a saying from his previous life: Today you ignore me, but tomorrow, I'll be far beyond your reach.

"Wyzett! I hope that after you graduate, you'll come study wandmaking with me," Ollivander said, full of hope. "And don't worry about pay—I'll match an Auror's salary. You won't be shortchanged!"

"Could I really do it?" Wyzett asked, uncertain. "Wandmaking must be a profound art, and there are your family secrets..."

"You have the Eye of Magic! That's what matters most!" Ollivander insisted. "Take your time to consider—just give me your answer before you graduate!"

"You can study on your own for now. Here—let me give you this!" As if worried Wyzett might refuse, he vanished into the back of the shop.

Moments later, he returned with a notebook bound in dragon hide.

"Hungarian Horntail hide, specially treated. Even in winter, it keeps your notes warm."

Wyzett felt the heat radiating from the dragonhide notebook, like holding a tiny stove—comforting and pleasant.

"Inside, you'll find the basics of wandmaking, along with some of my personal notes. Take it—flip through whenever you like."

"This must be a family secret, right? It's far too valuable! I can't accept it," Wyzett protested, realizing the significance of the gift.

He and Ollivander had only just met, yet the old wandmaker trusted him so deeply. It made Wyzett uncomfortable, and he instinctively tried to refuse.

"At least have a look before you decide," Ollivander urged.

With the conversation at this point, Wyzett could hardly say no. He opened the notebook and began to leaf through it.

It was packed with knowledge about wandmaking—enough to etch into his memory.

Once he was sure he'd memorized every detail, he closed the notebook and handed it back. "Mr. Ollivander, I've finished it. I learned a lot."

Ollivander's eyes dimmed. "You don't have to spare my feelings. I suppose you're not interested in wandmaking after all."

"It's not that..." Wyzett explained. "I read very quickly. I might not understand everything yet, but I've memorized it all."

"Really?" Ollivander brightened. "What do you think of hawthorn as a wand wood?"

Wyzett searched his mental notes. "If you use hawthorn, the wand becomes strange—contradictory, almost."

"It's a rather niche material, but I believe everything has its place. If it can be used, it must have a suitable owner out there."

"Excellent! Excellent!" Ollivander's eyes gleamed. "And what about sycamore as a wand wood..."

For every question about the notebook, Wyzett could answer fluently, so long as it was a matter of recall. Ollivander was deeply impressed.

"Wyzett, the world is wide open to you! I have to admit, making you a wandmaker would be a waste of such talent."

Evening had fallen, painting Diagon Alley in a vibrant orange glow.

With his Oculus Magicae, Wyzett saw the buildings transformed—like stained glass, the lines holding them together traced in nearly faded silver-blue magic.

"So I awakened the Eye of Magic by consuming Diagon Alley's ancient magic? If I want it to keep growing, the road ahead will be long and hard... but every step is worth it!"

Standing outside the wand shop, he turned his new wand over in his hand, admiring its form.

More than anything, this wand was a symbol—he had truly set foot on the wizard's path.

Ollivander had told him the seven Galleon price was a special offer for new students.

Later, wand prices would vary depending on the materials.

But for Wyzett, that was no concern.

If he ever needed a new wand, he could always return and trade in the old one.

For Ollivander, any wand improved by Wyzett was a treasure for study.

After a while, Wyzett tucked his wand carefully into his pocket.

He glanced around, a question nagging at him—where was Hagrid?

They'd parted that morning, and now, with the sun setting, Hagrid still hadn't returned.

After even a short time together, Wyzett felt certain—Hagrid wasn't the type to leave without a word.

"Could something have happened?"

He made his way to the apothecary and found the potioneer he'd met that morning.

"You mean Hagrid?" The potioneer frowned in thought. "I think I saw him heading that way..."

"You might want to check for yourself. But listen—just look at the street corner. Whatever you do, don't go into Knockturn Alley!"

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