NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 16: The First Craft
The Room of Requirement was a perfect sanctuary. The silence was absolute, broken only by the soft, magical hum of the enchanted tools and the low crackle of the forge. Here, there were no suspicious professors, no political rivals, no prying eyes. There was only the task at hand.
Evelyn stood before the heavy workbench, her gaze fixed on the Whomping Willow branch. It lay there, pale and smooth, looking deceptively inert. But she could feel the chaotic, violent energy thrumming just beneath the surface of the wood, a low-frequency vibration that was more a feeling in her bones than a sound. It was like holding a lightning bolt that hadn't struck yet. This wasn't just wood; it was a vessel of pure, untamed aggression.
Her first task was to shape it. The ancient crafting manual, Artifice of the Ancients, was clear on this point. The outer form of the wand had to be carved before the core could be inserted. It was a process of imposing the wielder's will upon the raw material, a fundamental test of dominance.
She picked up one of the enchanted carving knives from the workbench. It felt perfectly balanced in her hand, its silver edge glowing with a faint light, humming in tune with her own magical signature. She held the willow branch firmly with her other hand and made the first cut.
The moment the blade touched the wood, a jolt of raw magic shot up her arm, fierce and angry, like a wild animal lashing out.
[WARNING: Material is resisting the carving process. High-level magical suppression required.]
The branch was fighting back. Its innate, wild magic was actively repelling the enchanted tool, trying to reject her influence. Evelyn gritted her teeth. This was exactly the kind of challenge the book had described. Ollivander chose passive, compliant woods that yearned for a partner. This wood was a beast that needed to be broken.
"Oh no, you don't," she muttered, her voice a low growl. "You're my loot. You'll do what I say."
This was no longer a simple act of carving. It was a duel of wills.
She set the knife down and placed both hands on the branch. Closing her eyes, she focused, drawing on her own immense pool of magical energy. She didn't cast a spell. Instead, she pushed her own aura, her own dominant intent, directly into the wood. She wasn't asking it to submit; she was commanding it. It was a battle of magical signatures, her controlled, max-level power against the raw, chaotic energy of the willow.
The branch trembled on the workbench, a low humming sound filling the room. For a moment, she felt the wood's violent resistance push back against her, a wild, splintering energy that threatened to lash out and shatter in her hands. But her will was like a fortress, honed by years of absolute focus in high-stakes digital raids. She pushed harder, her magic a crushing, suffocating force that slowly, painstakingly, began to overwhelm the branch's natural defenses, forcing it into submission.
The humming softened, the vibrations lessened. The branch grew still, its wild energy now sullen and subdued, but not gone. It was temporarily tamed.
[Target resistance suppressed. Crafting window: 30 minutes]
She had a timer. She worked quickly, picking up the enchanted knife again. This time, when the blade touched the wood, it cut cleanly, like slicing through firm butter. Shavings of pale, silvery wood curled away onto the workbench, each one carrying a faint spark of magical energy before fading into inert dust.
She didn't carve an elegant, polished design with swirls and flourishes. This wasn't an Ollivander creation meant for a shop window. This was a tool of power, a weapon. She carved a simple, functional shape, focusing on balance and grip. She whittled it down, shaping the hilt to fit her hand perfectly, tapering the shaft to a fine, focused point designed for deadly accuracy. The entire time, she had to maintain a portion of her magical focus on suppressing the wood's will, a constant, draining pressure that left beads of sweat on her brow.
After what felt like an eternity, but was only twenty minutes, she was done. Lying on the workbench was no longer a branch. It was the rough, unfinished body of a wand. It was pale, stark, and radiated a feeling of barely contained power. It was beautiful.
She ran a finger down its length. It felt electric, alive. It was still just a shell, an empty vessel. It had no core. The Cerberus whisker objective was still locked, and the Mermaid tears for the binding process were still swimming in the Black Lake.
Her work here was done for the night. She had the foundation. But holding the volatile, untamed body of her future wand in her hand, she knew one thing for certain. This wand would never "choose" her. It would be a weapon she had to conquer, every single day. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
She gathered the leftover wood shavings, intending to dispose of them, when a soft sound echoed through the silent workshop. It was a sound she thought was impossible in this place, a sound that violated the very rules of her sanctuary.
It was the soft, metallic click of a door handle turning.
Evelyn spun around, her eyes wide with shock, her newly carved wand clutched in her hand like a dagger. On the far wall, where there had only been solid, seamless stone, the ornate wooden door to the Room of Requirement was shimmering back into existence, its form wavering like a heat haze. And someone on the other side was trying to get in.