Phoenix From The Ashes

Three years had passed from the day he had conducted the rituals, and many things had happened. After his magic had stabilized, he had finally been able to start working on his Occlumency again.

Progress had been much slower than he had thought it would be because he hadn't accounted for an important factor. Regardless of the years of memories inside his mind, he was still a child.

He had never experienced trauma to m.a.t.u.r.e him early. His mind was disorganized and chaotic, like most children's minds. It made learning Occlumency challenging, but he found that there was no need to rush.

Pushing magic into the mind was a subtle practice that had no shortcuts. The human brain was sophisticated and got even more complicated once magical energy was added into the mix. If he rushed and made a mistake, it could have dire consequences.

Over the years of visiting Place Cachee for books and the occasional magical toy, he had noticed something interesting. Magicals seemed to have a much closer subconscious relationship with their magic than in his previous world.

He had theorized that this deeper connection was due to the unique method of spellcasting. By frequently interacting with the magic around them, it became an intrinsic part of them. This idea made sense if one considered the core as being an extension of the soul.

He first came across the notion when he saw an older teenager effortlessly levitating a teacup. The boy had looked like he was an upper-year in Beauxbatons. After careful observation, he had seen several other instances of store owners and a.d.u.l.ts using wandless magic.

In his old world, only exceedingly powerful magicals were capable of wandless magic. Men like Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort, Grindelwald, and himself were the only ones he knew. He had never encountered any other people able to use it.

Admittedly, there was no way to know if that was because people thought it impossible. All accidental magic was wandless after all. After children received their wands, it became harder for them to do.

Here, wandless magic seemed almost natural. From his research, there was even an elective class on it at Beauxbatons for fifth years and up. It annoyed him to think that something he had considered a deadly secret skill of his was so pedestrian to the inhabitants of this world.

His parents had started getting more involved with his education. They had brought in a bunch of private tutors to cover all the material leading up to university. Thankfully, the subjects were similar to what he had previously studied, so he was able to breeze through the curriculum.

His tutors had been stunned by how easily he had completed the middle school curriculum within a few months. They started on the lycee (high school) curriculum on the New Year after his 8th birthday.

He never had the opportunity to go to high school before, so he was excited to learn new things. With his daily Occlumency practice, he found it easier to remember what he had learned.

Every day, his mind became slightly more organized. This helped tremendously with recalling information. With his reading habits and intensive studying, he was breezing through the curriculum. His parents and tutors were ecstatic with his progress and encouraged him to pick up extracurricular activities as well.

He had always been interested in sword fighting ever since he learned from Weapon Master Swordbreaker, the goblin in charge of training the guards of Gringotts. He still remembered the numerous painful lessons Swordbreaker had ingrained into him.

Swords collided inside a stone room deep within Gringotts London Branch. The clash of steel reverberated around the room.

Rivulets of sweat dripped down Harry's back as he struggled to break contact. It had been a month since he started learning the art of sword fighting from Swordbreaker.

Their lessons started at 4 in the morning and went on for 5 hours. They always began with a warm-up and stretching before going into intense cardio and what Swordbreaker called battle drills. Harry affectionately referred to it as Hell on Earth.

Despite being ridiculously powerful magically, he had never bothered working out. Most magicals never did, seeing as their battles were primarily long-range in nature. Their magic also helped them retain their youth and fitness without much effort on their part. Something as simple as a well-balanced diet would keep them slim and trim.

Those who took up sports like Quidditch and trained would be fitter and healthier than most Muggle athletes. Other than standard Quidditch practice, he had never seen the need for exercise.

Swordbreaker had taken that as him being a lazy, good-for-nothing wizard. He took the initiative to whip Harry into shape by using pain as the motivator. The goblin version of Stinging Hexes was used to force him to confront his limits and surpass them.

For a split second, he lost focus, and the consequences were brutal. He felt his sword being wrenched from his hands, tearing several layers of skin and leaving them bleeding.

Before he could react, he was hit with a Bludgeoning Hex center mass. His c.h.e.s.t burned as he felt his ribs creak inward. The power behind the spell was enough to throw him back a couple of meters.

His hand found his way to the point of impact as he shakily stood up. The little bastard had cheated.

"What the bloody hell was that for?! You said this was purely sword fighting and no magic was allowed!"

Swordbreaker scoffed as he casually walked towards him. " Yes. I did say no magic was allowed. For you, of course. I was allowed to use whatever I deemed necessary."

"That's not fair! You can't just cheat whenever it suits your purpose."

Swordbreaker barked gruffly. "Tell me, wizard. Are your enemies going to play fair? Hmm? Do you think your Dark Lord Voldemort cares about honor?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out of it. Swordbreaker was making a valid point. Seeing as Harry wasn't going to reply, he continued.

"There is no honor in war. The Death Eaters are a terrorist organization. They will use whatever means necessary to win. If you want to stand any chance against them and their leader, you will have to abandon that childishly idealistic attitude of yours."

Harry had taken the time to collect himself for a proper reply this time. "I understand where you're coming from Swordbreaker. I really do. However, if you think that I'll give up my morals and debase myself like those bastards, you've got another thing coming."

Swordbreaker harshly snapped. "Did I ever tell you to give up your morals? Make no mistake, wizard. Honor and morals are two completely separate things. A warrior can be without honor but still have morals. An honorless, amoral warrior is nothing but a psychopath.

Take every advantage you have. Attack your enemies when they're least expecting it. In their houses where they feel safe, or while they are separated and vulnerable. Hell, ambush them while they're on the toilet.

It doesn't matter, because the outcome is the same. They will die, and you will live to fight another day. Fight dirty and never let up until your foes lie dead at your feet. Got it?"

Harry swallowed his pain and nodded. He caught the sword the elder goblin tossed at him, wincing as the metal made contact with his injured hand. Getting into his stance, he waited for Swordbreaker to attack.

The goblin chuckled. "Good. Your hands are wounded, and now you must fight while compensating for it."

"Again!" he yelled as he charged forward. The sound of clashing swords started anew in the chamber.

Archer shivered as he recalled the brutal training sessions. It had been one of the most painful crucibles he had ever gone through, and it had paid the most dividends. While he would never have called himself a master swordsman, he had used a sword several times to good effect.

His skill with the sword and dagger had made many a Death Eater think twice about fighting him at close range. Another factor in his combat ability was his skillful application of martial arts when magic or weapons weren't viable.

Before the magical world had been exposed, Death Eaters often liked to cause chaos in the Muggle world. There, magical dueling and sword fights would draw a lot of attention. To circ.u.mvent the limitations, Harry learned martial arts and turned his body into a weapon on its own. Combined with the enhancement rituals, he had taken down Death Eaters while keeping the Statute intact.

He didn't have many opportunities to use his martial art skills after the magical world was outed, but he kept them sharp nonetheless. There was something ther.a.p.eutic about full-contact martial arts. Beating the stuffing out of people never failed to rid him of the stress he was under.

'With how early I've started augmentation in this world, martial arts will definitely come in handy.'

With that idea in mind, he had expressed his interest in fencing and martial arts to Jean. Jean then used his connections to hire the best instructors he could find.

From the age of 8, Archer was instructed in fencing by a former Olympic gold medalist, and in martial arts by two world-renowned practitioners of Muay Thai and Pencak Silat. He had chosen Muay Thai due to the devastating and lethal strikes that put down enemies hard and fast.

By combining it with Pencak Silat, he added deflection and hand strikes to his repertoire. It also specialized in fighting multiple opponents, perfect for chaotic close range encounters.

He had found out something interesting in his research. Due to the unique spellcasting method the people used, one of the side effects was the natural ability to boost physical attributes with magic.

Magicals could channel magical energy into their arms for more strength, eyes to see better, and the like. Though they were temporary in nature, he knew that it would mean the Death Eaters wouldn't be physically useless, as he was used to.

Still, with the rituals, his base strength would be far higher than their magically boosted prowess. However, it would be careless to underestimate even the ordinary grunts. This ability would make hand-to-hand combat harder, but being trained would give him the advantage.

He had taken to it like a fish to water, according to all of his instructors. They all proclaimed that he was some sort of martial arts prodigy. He felt a little guilty, as he had been highly proficient at the arts in his previous life. Their training was more a review than anything.

That being said, the training worked wonders in helping him adjust to his new body. All of the problems he was initially encountering were erased completely. His agility, hand-eye coordination, and strength quickly improved under their supervision.

His fencing teacher, in particular, had pushed him to start competing in tournaments. He was initially extremely wary of the idea. He had refused multiple times until he saw his parents' faces.

They were so excited to be able to see him triumph and gain recognition for his talents. Their expectations weighed on him for some time before he gave in. They were doing so much for him by financing his training. The least he could do was give them a reason to be proud of their son.

It was difficult to reconcile the two incomparable childhoods he had memories of. Harry had been conditioned to not seek attention and avoid scrutiny as much as possible. Archer was raised to be proud of his talents, and his parents instilled a sense of confidence in him.

'It's time to let go of the past me. Harry had a terrible childhood. The slate was wiped clean. Now, there's only Archer. Jean and Sofia deserve a son that will make them proud.'

Agreeing to compete, he had decided to train in both epee and saber. The epee was a thin triangular bladed sword that allowed for lightning-quick thrusts. It closely resembled a traditional French smallsword and was great for training his reflexes and speed. He had never handled such a thin sword before, so he was excited to try it out.

The saber, on the other hand, was the only cutting weapon in fencing. While thin and light, it held the most resemblance towards the Sword of Gryffindor, which used to be Harry's main sword. Utilizing his refined combat skills would be straightforward due to the familiar shape, as all he had to compensate for was the smaller size.

After months of intense training, he made his debut at the French National tournament. To say that his fights were one-sided would be generous. It had been a massacre. His opponents didn't stand a chance against him, and soon everyone in the audience knew it too.

He had breezed through the competition without any problem. His final match was slightly harder than the previous ones, as he was paired against an older opponent with a longer reach. This was where his martial arts training shined, as he was able to use advanced footwork to close the distance rapidly and surprise his opponent.

He remembered the joy in Jean and Sofia's expressions when the officials gave him the championship trophy. From then on, he had gone out of his way to compete in fencing professionally. Soon enough, the whole world learned of the up and coming French fencing prodigy Archer Beaufort.

For the next 2 years, he competed at the national and international levels. Now, trophies decorated both the grand room and his bedroom. Whenever they had the occasional guest, his parents never failed to show off the numerous awards that spoke of his skill. Seeing their happiness made him feel like he had made the right decision.

His Occlumency had come a long way, and he had finished the entire lycee curriculum a few months after his 10th birthday. After finishing, he had taken the Baccalaureate exams.

Unsurprisingly, he had put in a lot of effort to study for them, and scored the highest in his year. With that exam finished, he had technically graduated from high school. With the final few months remaining before he got his letter from Beuaxbatons, he decided to solely focus on his magical studies.

He had managed to improve his wandless magic to a decent level. His wandless spell repertoire was on the smaller side, but he had trained himself hard enough that he could do nearly all of the spells in his sleep.

His studies in spell creation had been coming along very well. After he had learned both Runes and Arithmancy, he had wanted to start crafting spells. He learned early on that it was not as easy as it sounded.

He had been struggling for almost a year to create a practical, unique spell he could use. It didn't help that his physiology and spellcasting method was significantly different from that of the average magical.

The months flew by as Archer attempted to further himself in his studies until the fateful day came. His 11th birthday.

He had woken up early in the morning in anticipation of receiving his letter. He was beyond excited to start his magical education. After 3 years of being limited to wandless magic exclusively, he missed having a proper wand. Entire fields of magic had been out of his grasp until today.

He went through his morning routine two times as fast, vaulting down the stairs with his hair still dripping wet. His mother was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Seeing him approach, she came over and gave him a hug.

"Happy birthday Archer! 11 years old! My how time has flown by."

Withdrawing from the hug, she noticed a stain on her left shoulder. Looking back up, she saw the state of his hair and the droplets falling down.

"Archer! I know you're excited to get your letter, but you'll catch a cold if you walk around in this chill with wet hair! Go back and dry your hair properly."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The enhancement rituals made sure that he would be as healthy as a horse. Something as inconsequential as a non-magical common cold wouldn't affect him for the rest of his life.

Nevertheless, he listened to her and went back up to dry his hair. Her concern was touching, no matter how misplaced it was. If he could keep her happy by listening to her on certain small things, it was worth it.

He walked upstairs and waited a minute before casting a drying charm on his hair. All the water disappeared as his head heated up slightly. Thank Merlin for the book on beauty charms he had picked up out of curiosity. It still boggled his mind to know that there were so many different charms for styling hair.

Making his way down for the second time, he saw his mother give him a bright smile upon noticing his dry hair. He smiled back and sat down at the table. The smell coming from the kitchen was incredibly tantalizing. It seemed like his mother was making all of his favorites.

10 minutes later, his assumption was proven correct. A stack of double chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup and strawberry sauce was placed in front of him. On the side, there were freshly baked croissants and homemade raspberry jam. Rounding it all out was a piping hot cafe au lait.

He tore into the food with gusto. He noticed over the years that as his physical and magical training intensified, his appetite had increased exponentially. He knew it was the side effects of the ritual, and it would no doubt increase once he hit puberty.

As he was finishing up, an owl soared through the open kitchen window. He had made sure to tell his mother to keep the window open in advance. It majestically swooped down on the table and landed in front of him. Sticking its leg out, it gave a loud hoot.

Carefully unfastening the letter from its leg, he wandlessly summoned a freshly cooked strip of bacon that his mother had prepared for herself and his father. Breaking off a small piece, he presented it to the owl, which gave a chirp before devouring the piece.

"Would you mind waiting for a minute while I write my reply?"

The owl gave a hoot and a nod to his question.

Seeing it agree, he broke the rest of the bacon into bite-sized pieces and left the pile in front of it. Bounding back up the stairs, he went to his bedroom and opened up the letter.

It was a standard acceptance letter that mirrored one from Hogwarts. Perhaps there was some sort of international standard among the schools? He didn't know, but right now, his primary focus was on replying.

Taking a parchment from the large stack he kept on his desk, he grabbed a quill and wrote a quick reply. It was semi-formal and informed the sender that he didn't need a guide to the Place Cachee.

Reviewing it once, he folded it up and put it into an envelope which he addressed to Beauxbatons. He walked down and saw his mother petting the owl in delight. The owl seemed to be enjoying it, seeing as it was leaning into her touch.

Clearing his throat, he walked over and gently tied the letter to its leg.

"Thank you so much for delivering my letter. I hope the bacon was to your liking."

The owl gave a satisfied hoot.

"Excellent. Please get this back to Beauxbatons as quick as you can. I wish you a safe journey."

The owl gave a mighty flap of its wings before taking off back towards Beauxbatons. He tracked it until the horizon where it disappeared into the clouds. It was finally time to start his journey into the French Magical society.

He turned around and addressed his mother. "Maman. Can we go to Place Cachee today? I have a list of things I need to buy for school, and I can't wait to get my wand!"

His mother smiled. "Of course, my darling. Let's wait for your father to finish his breakfast, and we'll go right after. Promise."

Archer nodded and thanked her before heading up to his room. Sitting down on his bed, he started his Occlumency exercises. The childlike senses of excitement and wonder were affecting him again. He thought he had gotten a handle on it several times, only to be proven wrong afterward.

He didn't know how long he had meditated before he heard a series of light knocks on his door. His mother's voice came muffled from the other side.

"Archer. Time to leave for Place Cachee. Are you ready?"

"Coming, Maman. I just need to put on my jacket and shoes."

Leaping off the bed, he went into his closet and grabbed a navy blue hoodie and slipped on a pair of white sneakers. As he went downstairs, there was a pep in his step.

The family left at 10AM and drove to a spot near the Place Cachee. After entering, they decided to go through the list one store at a time. They first headed to Gringotts to open an account.

He had asked about creating an account a couple of years back. The goblins had told him that only when he started his magical education was he able to start an account. Until then, he was classified as a Muggleborn that hadn't yet officially entered the Wizarding World.

Now that the day had finally come, Jean had prepared a staggering amount of Muggle currency. A total of 1, 000,000 francs to pay for his tuition at Beauxbatons for all seven years, along with any other purchases he wanted to make in the magical world.

While that kind of money was enough to keep the average French family afloat for several years, it was but a drop in the ocean for Jean. The company was doing really well in the last couple of years.

The investment firm that handles Jean's portfolio had also managed to make a sizeable profit. Overall, they had not only retained their status as one of France's wealthiest families but also managed to increase their already massive fortune.

The goblins were pleased to be getting wealthy new clients with money to spend. Based on Archer's previous interactions, they were all too happy to start an account for him. The Master Teller had summoned a goblin who took them to an Account Manager.

Stepping into the office, they saw numerous weapons lining the wall. Swords, axes, shields, and spears were mounted onto the walls. Jean and Sofia became nervous, but Archer kept calm.

The decorations were just an intimidation tactic to give the goblins an advantage when people who didn't know any better. Such petty tricks wouldn't work on someone like him.

An older goblin was seated behind a large mahogany desk shuffling pieces of parchment. He noticed their arrival and gave a wide grin that showcased his sharp teeth.

"Ahh. You must be Monsieur and Mademoiselle Beaufort. Please take a seat. My name is Grimjaw, and I am a Senior Account Manager for Gringotts. I hear you wish to open an account for your son?"

Jean swallowed before replying. "That is correct. Our son Archer will be attending Beauxbatons this Fall. I wanted him to have an account that he could use to pay his tuition and anything else he needs to buy. After years of simply converting money, we felt that this was a sensible decision in the long term."

Grimjaw's eyes flitted over to Archer. He met Grimjaw's gaze with cold apathy. The first trick to dealing with goblins was to not show any weakness. If they saw you as weak, they would go out of their way to capitalize on it and screw you over.

Right now, they didn't know each other, so the only thing he would show was politeness. There would be no warmth or attempts to suck up. It was strictly business between them until Grimjaw showed how well he performed his duties.

Nobody spoke for several seconds as the tension in the room rose. Grimjaw was the first to break the silence as he gave a throaty chuckle.

"Your son is quite different from other children. He has the eyes of a warrior."

His parents were caught off guard by the compliment, but Sofia managed to mumble out a quiet "Thank you". Archer simply held his gaze unblinking. He had gained a small modic.u.m of respect from Grimjaw, but real business was yet to be addressed. Next came the discussion of the terms.

"We are aware of the extent of your holding in the non-magical world, Monsieur Beaufort. Suffice to say, we are happy to take your family on as a client. Let us discuss the terms of our arrangement."

He retrieved a few sheets of parchment before casting a Duplication Charm and presenting them copies. "This is the standard contract for all new accounts. Please read it and have your son sign if you accept the terms."

Archer started reading through the contract without missing a single punctuation mark. This would be one of the most important doc.u.ments he would sign in the magical world.

The only sound heard in the room for several minutes was the shuffling of parchment as they read the contract. Almost immediately, Archer started spotting cleverly hidden clauses and noticed that the fees were much higher than what a standard magical family would pay. Seeing as they were trying to screw his family over, it was time to take off the kid gloves and play hardball.

Without bothering with any pretense, he slammed the contract onto the desk. "What the hell is this?"

Grimjaw's eyes twitched slightly. "I'm afraid I am unaware of what you are referring to."

Archer's tone felt like it could freeze the Sun. "Let's be very clear here Grimjaw. This is not a contract for a new account, this is the Goblin Nation attempting to screw my family over. These terms are laughable. Whoever made this contract is either an idiot or thinks they are dealing with one."

He purposely addressed Grimjaw without his title to express his disp.l.e.a.s.u.r.e, and insult the goblin for thinking him so naive.

Grimjaw's mouth tightened as his eyes narrowed. "Careful how you speak, wizard brat. The only reason you got these favorable terms was because of your past conduct within our branch. Now I see it was a mistake on our part."

Archer gave a hearty laugh. "Favorable? If these terms are favorable, then what does everyone else sign off, their firstborn? 12% annual vault fees? Just for the privilege of storing our gold in a standard vault without security enchantments? An inheritance tax that takes 15% of the total liquid value if I want to bequeath it to my children? 2% fees on every transaction where I withdraw from the vault?

Do you think me feeble-minded, goblin? We both know exactly why my family was led to your office instead of a Junior Account Manager. If you don't start offering satisfactory terms, then my family will be happy to take our money elsewhere. Perhaps the gnomes in Switzerland?"

His parents were getting worried as Grimjaw tensed and shook with anger.

Grimjaw took out a knife and slammed it down onto the table, burying it almost halfway. "You insolent whelp! You dare to insult a Senior Account Manager of Gringotts within its walls?! Maybe tossing you into a cell for a couple of hours will make you more amenable."

Jean and Sofia jumped in their chairs when Grimjaw took out the dagger.

Archer stared back coldly. "Please. Unless you want to start yet another war, you won't dare to falsely imprison a wizard. Last I checked, insults did not count as a criminal offense."

Grimjaw sneered. "That's correct. Imprisoning you might be problematic. However, that same protection doesn't extend to your parents. After all, non-magicals don't have any rights in the magical world. This is especially true inside Gringotts, which is the territory of the Nation."

Archer almost thought he heard wrong. Did this motherf.u.c.ker actually threaten the lives of his parents to get him to sign the contract? Goblin cells were made to slowly torture and break the wills of magicals. No non-magical would ever stand a chance inside one of them.

Within a second, he dove into his mind. He had made an intriguing discovery since the incident in the library when he was 7. Deep inside his mind, there existed a remnant of his old personality. When he brought it to the forefront, he would become the feared Black Lich once more. He appropriately called it his Lich mode.

With a lot of practice, he was able to create a mental switch that acted as a signal to awaken his old personality. For whatever reason, his control and skill in magic were vastly different than his usual self.

Archer Beaufort struggled and worked hard to gain control of his magic. Harry Potter was a magical giant that seemed to have a near-impossible level of control and almost unlimited spellcasting potential. However, it was a double-edged sword due to the mental strain it put on him.

The switch was fueled by reliving the worst memories he could think of on repeat. His magic fed on his negative emotions to exert its full power. The psychological burden increased rapidly with every minute. Not to mention, his body was not physically able to handle the stress past a certain point.

He remembered a day when he had managed to stay in Lich mode for 30 minutes. He had collapsed shortly afterward and been bedridden for a week. That was when he stopped experimenting with it and treated it as a last-ditch resort.

Seeing as this goblin was threatening the lives of his parents, now seemed to be the perfect opportunity to show the Goblin Nation exactly who they tried to mess with. The memories flooded his mind as he closed his eyes.

The ambient magic in the room stilled. His eyes shot open, irises glowing brightly. Crackles sounded out as the surrounding magic roiled. An extraordinary pressure emanated from Archer. His aura flared around his body as he glared at Grimjaw.

Fl.i.c.k.i.n.g his finger, he put both of his parents to sleep and manifested a solid orb shield around them. Making sure they were protected, he brought his full strength to bear before addressing the quivering goblin in front of him.

Grimjaw felt like he had been submerged a thousand leagues underwater as he struggled to breathe. Goblins were very s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e to magic, more so than wizards. Archer Beaufort's magical power was awe-inspiring.

It was like facing a True Dragon. His life was no longer his own the moment he had threatened the lives of Jean and Sofia Beaufort.

His eyes flickered towards his hands, which were trembling. It was at that moment he realized just how badly he had f.u.c.k.e.d up. His excessive greed would be his undoing. His only hope was that someone higher up would come to his aid in time.

Archer hissed. "You dare to threaten the lives of my parents you insignificant little insect?! Touch them, and you will experience pain and suffering beyond anything you have ever felt. You will beg for the sweet release of death after I'm done with you. Give me a reason why I shouldn't throw down the gauntlet and end your pathetic existence right now."

Just as he finished speaking, the door burst open, and a bunch of silver armored guards stormed into the room. They formed a line as they pointed their spears at him. He could see some of the spears shaking slightly, as they regarded him with different expressions. The most prominent one among them, however, was fear.

Archer immediately summoned his parents over to him and stood protectively in front of them. Marshaling his magic, sparks of electricity started manifesting in his hands as he prepared to cast the Lightning Storm spell. A devastating high elemental spell that summoned magical lightning to strike the caster's enemies.

The standoff continued for several seconds as both sides waited for each other to make a move. Grimjaw had taken cover behind his desk. The strain on his mind was slowly increasing, but Archer pushed it aside. His family was depending on him being able to get them out in one piece.

That was when he heard a noise coming from the hallway outside. Metallic clanks of armor resounded as Archer noticed the guards outside making way for someone.

The goblins in the room started slowly moving back and separating. Two columns were soon formed on either side of the door. They leaned their spears forward at an angle, creating an archway.

A goblin in glistening golden armor entered the doorway. As it made its way in, the guards by the door clapped their fists over their b.r.e.a.s.tplates and bowed. This meant that the newcomer was a member of goblin royalty.

"What in the Mother's name is going on in here?!"

Archer withdrew his magic and stopped his casting preparation. Giving a shallow bow, he introduced himself. "Greetings. My name is Archer Beaufort. My parents and I came here today to open an account. We were led to Senior Account Manager Grimjaw, who presented us with what he claimed to be a standard contract for opening a new account. I found it to be absurd, with criminally unfair terms.

I pointed out how ridiculous the terms were, and he threatened to imprison my parents if I did not sign it. As he soon found out, threatening me with their lives was a grave mistake."

The goblin narrowed his eyes at the trembling form of Grimjaw peeking over the desk. Turning back to Archer, he spoke. "Well met, Archer Beaufort. My name is Ragnar Goldsword II, Prince of the Nation. I am appalled to hear that one of my Account Managers would resort to such underhanded means to secure a client. May I see the contract he presented you?"

Archer nodded, and wandlessly levitated the contract to Ragnar.

Grabbing the contract, Ragnar started reading through it. The further he read, the angrier he became. By the end, Ragnar was seething with barely contained fury. Taking a deep breath, he addressed Archer.

"Master Beaufort, you have my sincerest apology on behalf of the Nation for this breach of trust. I find the dishonorable conduct of Senior Account Manager Grimjaw unacceptable. Rest assured, he will be punished for his transgressions.

If you could accompany me to my office, we can sort out this situation without resorting to violence. You have my word as Prince that no harm shall befall yourself or your parents within these halls so long as you do not attack us."

Archer nodded. "I agree to accompany you to your office. Let us solve this issue."

He revived his parents as he dispelled the shield around them. Jean and Sofia were out of it as they stumbled upon awakening. Their eyes bulged out as they noticed the heavily armed and intimidating number of guards surrounding them.

Before they could say anything, Archer grabbed their hands. "Maman. Papa. Do not worry. Grimjaw attempted to cheat us and was caught. Prince Ragnar intervened on our behalf. You two were put to sleep to protect you from any magical harm. In fact, Prince Ragnar was just about to arrest Grimjaw."

Ragnar's mouth twitched in amus.e.m.e.nt as he looked at Archer. "That is correct Monsieur and Mademoiselle Beaufort. Your son showed courage by standing up to Grimjaw's treachery."

He waved his hand. "Guards! Arrest Grimjaw and throw him into a cell. I will deal with him personally after my meeting."

Grimjaw scrambled forward on his knees while begging for mercy. The guards promptly hoisted him up by his arms and dragged him out of the office f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y. His cries for leniency echoed down the hallway as they slowly faded out.

Ragnar gave them a smile. "I am sorry for the inconvenience. Please accompany me to my office and we will fill out the paperwork to start your new account."

Jean and Sofia didn't know what to think about the situation but took Archer's words at face value. They slowly filed out of the room, following Ragnar to his office.

Archer felt terrible. He hated lying to his parents. Unfortunately, if he told them the truth, it would cause them immense stress. There was no need for them to know how close to death they had come. It would be easier for both them and him if they never found out.

They arrived at Ragnar's office and were guided to their seats. Ragnar seated himself at the desk and snapped his fingers. A few sheets of parchment appeared in his hands.

"This is the actual contract for new account holders. You will find that the terms are much more favorable. I have taken the liberty to add in a couple of clauses that exempt you from the annual vault fee and any transfer and conversion fees for the next three years. Your vault will be upgraded to a high-security one with extra protections and enchantments.

Also, you will be given access to and discounts for services usually provided to an exclusive group of magical families for 3 years. I hope that this demonstrates how sorry we are for the ordeal you had to go through."

Archer chose to not bother reading the contract, preferring to stare down Ragnar. As he was goblin royalty, his honor, as well as the Nation's, was on the line. His parents started reviewing the contract with interest, and from the looks of it, they seemed happy with the changes.

Giving them a couple of minutes, he confirmed that they were satisfied. He turned back to Ragnar. "Do I have your oath that this contract is exactly as you have described? That there are no hidden or subversive clauses that are meant to harm me, my magic, my status, or my family in any way?"

Ragnar returned his gaze steadily. He stayed silent for a couple of seconds before replying. "I swear to the Mother upon my magic that this contract contains the terms as I have described them to Archer Beaufort.

I guarantee that there are no hidden or subversive clauses that harm him, his magic, his status, or his family in any way. So long as he does not knowingly commit a crime against the Nation, he shall be protected as a valued client of Gringotts. This I swear."

Archer replied. "So mote it be."

A tendril of magic came out from both of them. The tendrils met each other and tied themselves together. Archer felt the weight of the oath as both of their magic acknowledged it. Shortly after, the tendrils dissipated.

Without another word, Archer held out his hand. Ragnar handed him a blood quill and turned the pages as Archer initialed and signed on the designated lines. The contract was complete, and Archer became the proud owner of a new high-security vault that would hold the future Beaufort magical fortune.

Jean transferred over the money he had prepared, and the goblins had speedily converted the amount into Galleons, which were directly deposited into the vault. Ragnar handed him a Gringotts money pouch that was protected by a blood-enchantment. Only he could open and withdraw money from it. It would also return to him should it be stolen.

Ragnar gave a toothy smile after the contract was signed. "Thank you for cooperating with us, Monsieur, Mademoiselle, and Master Beaufort. Allow me to escort you to the entrance."

Archer, on the other hand, want to avoid bringing scrutiny onto himself and his family so early on. If a goblin prince was seen personally escorting them out of the bank, there was no telling how the public would react to the news.

Just as his father was about to accept, he interjected. "Actually, Prince Ragnar, we had plans that have been delayed due to the unfortunate situation with Grimjaw. We need to get to our destination quickly, so we will have to bid you farewell."

He gave Prince Ragnar a bow to indicate satisfaction and respect for his handling of the situation. Grabbing his parents, he focused on the entrance to the street and willed his magic to take them there.

Without a sound, the Beaufort family disappeared from Gringotts to Prince Ragnar's utter shock. Within ten seconds, a goblin came sprinting into the room.

"Your Highness, reporting! Something just punched right through our Anti-Apparition Wards without even slowing down! The entire outer ward scheme went down temporarily!"

Ragnar held up a hand. "Do not worry, Quillbiter. I know exactly what it was. Ignore it and keep it to yourself. Tell all others aware of it to do the same."

"Of course, Your Highness."

Ragnar continued. "Send a missive to the Council of Elders and my father. Request an audience regarding a client."

Quillbiter bowed deeply. "It will be done, my prince."

After Quillbiter withdrew, Ragnar stewed in his thoughts as he reflected on the meeting. "Archer Beaufort" he murmured. "Such magnificent potential for a young wizard. You will be an interesting client."

Getting up, he headed towards the dungeons, where Grimjaw awaited him. This whole situation had caused him a lot of undue stress and hurt the Nation's honor, not to mention the loss of profits. A feral smile adorned his face as he approached his destination. Grimjaw would pay dearly for his crimes.

The Beauforts had been transported from Gringotts to the entrance of Place Cachee instantaneously. Unlike standard Side-Along Apparition, Jean and Sofia did not experience any nausea.

Archer had found out that increasing the amount of magic used to Apparate could create a space wide enough to comfortably fit multiple people. It was less like being squeezed through a straw and more like walking side by side down a hallway just wide enough.

The downside was the drain on his magic, as well as the ridiculous amount of control needed to keep the passageway perfectly sized. It also tended to leave a much larger residue of magic.

This meant that it would be easier for pursuers to track his destination. He could only ever use it in Lich mode, as he had yet to perfect his control to the degree necessary.

He had chosen to f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y break through the wards to make a statement. It was a walk in the park for someone who had apprenticed under the Nation's Master Cursebreaker. Not to mention, the wards on the London branch were by far the oldest and most robust of all the numerous Gringotts branches around the world. This was because it was the very first branch, built during the days of Camelot.

While the wards around Gringotts Paris were secure, they were nowhere near as durable or complex as the ones around Gringotts London.

Reverting back to normal, he could feel his muscles groaning in protest as the exhaustion hit him all at once. By sheer strength of will, he managed to stay standing. He did not want his parents to notice that something was wrong with him.

They decided to start by ordering his uniform first, as it would probably take some time. While it was being made, they would pick up the other items on the list. After purchasing his wand, they retrieve his uniform and have lunch before heading home.

Walking into the clothing store, they saw measuring tape that was moving all by itself, as a quill and parchment on the side were writing suspended in mid-air. Scissors and needles were cutting and stitching up uniforms as the lady in charge walked up to them.

"Welcome to Sabine's Sartorial! How may I help you?"

Sofia answered as she was the fashion guru of the family. So Jean and Archer listened to her expertise when it came to clothes. "I would like three sets of uniforms for my son. He will be attending Beauxbatons this fall."

The lady nodded with a smile on her face. "Of course! Please step up on the platform. Your measurements will be taken, and we can discuss the extra features."

Archer nodded and stepped up on the platform. The lady waved her wand once, and the measuring tape shot into action. It wrapped around several different regions of his body, and a quill scribbled his measurements onto a piece of parchment.

The whole process was completed in only 20 seconds. Stepping down from the platform, Archer saw Sofia talking with Sabine while pointing at a pamphlet.

Sofia chose to have his uniform made of acromantula silk, with several charms added for convenience. Dirt and stain-resistant, wrinkle-resistant, temperature regulated, and others.

Sabine looked ecstatic and complimented his mother's expensive taste. No doubt, she would be making a sizeable profit on their order.

After Sofia was satisfied with the final selection, they were told it would take a couple of hours to finish their order. As planned, they went to buy the other items on the list.

They visited Magillard's Plumes and Tomes for his textbooks. Marcel was delighted that Archer was finally beginning his education at Beauxbatons. To celebrate the occasion, he offered them a generous discount, which they graciously accepted. Leaving the bookstore, they headed down the street.

All that was left to buy was a pewter cauldron for his potions class, two sets of ingredients, and his wand.

While he already had a pewter cauldron at home, he wanted to get a new one to use solely at school. They bought the cauldron and went to the apothecary next door.

As a frequent repeat customer, the owner had welcomed him with open arms. Archer told him what he needed, and the man quickly retrieved two sets of ingredients, swearing that they were of higher quality. Only for VIP customers like himself, of course. They were in and out in less than a minute.

Now was when Archer became nervous. A wand was an invaluable tool for magic. Memories of his holly and phoenix feather wand flickered through his mind. That wand was no doubt going to belong to Rose Potter in the future. Then came the images of his basilisk wand. Would his wand be something similar, or completely different?

It was a question that stumped him. Harry was a part of him, so would that influence his wand wood and core? Or was the wand only going to be based solely on Archer Beaufort's attributes, seeing as he was the dominant personality?

He opened the door to Cosme Acajor, the main wand store in Place Cachee. A bell tinkled, signaling their entrance.

"One moment please." They heard someone call out from the back.

Archer looked around as he experienced the inside of the store for the first time. Triangular-prism shaped boxes each encasing wands were stacked up on the shelves. There must have been at least 300 wands that he could see. There were probably more in the back.

A curtain was pushed aside and a short man wearing a leather apron. He looked to be on the older side, with his hair being predominantly grey.

"Hello! Welcome to Cosme Acajor. My name is Alair Lefevre. How can I help you?"

Archer smiled. "Hello. My name is Archer Beaufort. I am here to buy a wand."

Alair flashed a smile. "Certainly. Let us find your partner." As he made his way to a shelf, Archer heard someone else in the back.

"Alair! I have to say these are the finest specimens I have seen in a long time!"

An old man came out of the back, holding a jar that contained what looked like strands of hair. He was tall and gaunt, dressed in a red jacket and white shirt with black pants.

His hair was a shocking white and stood up in all directions. His fingers were long and tapered, and his eyes were almost entirely white.

Archer's pulse accelerated as he recognized Garrick Ollivander. 'You've got to be shitting me! Of all the people I could have possibly met, it had to be him?!'

Harry's first experience with Ollivander at 11 was one he never forgot. He had thought Ollivander was just another eccentric old man. That opinion was unchanged until he commissioned his custom basilisk wand, and realized the truth. Garrick Ollivander was an exceedingly intelligent man who knew a lot more than he let on.

Their gazes met, and something odd occurred. At that moment, Archer felt like his very soul was being viewed under a microscope.

It was as if his every secret was laid b.a.r.e for Ollivander to see. It was by far the most uncomfortable sensation he had ever experienced. Just as quickly as it came, the feeling disappeared.

'Damn! Did he notice something? My Occlumency was at full strength. Whatever that was, it wasn't a Legilimency attack.'

Archer warily observed Ollivander's reaction. The old man's eyes were shining with childlike glee. Almost like he had found an exciting new toy. It unnerved him quite a bit.

Alair turned around from the boxes he was rifling through and addressed the man. "Now, now, Garrick. You should know that I have nothing but the best when it comes to Veela hair. Unlike England, we actually have colonies to source them from."

Garrick gave a small chuckle. "I never once doubted you my old friend. I am curious though as to what you would like for it."

Alair put his hand on his chin, stroking it absently as he contemplated his price. "Maybe a pheonix feather? I've been meaning to pair one with an exotic wood I received recently."

Garrick's eyes twinkled as he smiled. "Deal."

With the conversation finished, Alair walked to the front with a couple of boxes when Garrick called him. "Alair? Could you ask them if I can observe this young man's search for his partner?"

Alair considered it for a moment before he turned to them. "Do you speak English?"

All three of them nodded, so Ollivander introduced himself. "Greetings Messrs and Madam Beaufort. My name is Garrick Ollivander. I am a wandcrafter from England, and I run a small shop in Magical Britain's shopping district, Diagon Alley. I frequently travel the Continent in search of new materials for my experiments.

As I'm sure you heard, I asked permission to observe your son's wand matching process. Would that be alright with you?"

His parents automatically looked to him as it was his big day. He felt anxious about the interest that Ollivander was showing. Nevertheless, he nodded his acceptance.

Alair clapped his hands. "Excellent! Now let us get started with this one. Vine with dragon heartstring, 9 inches. Slightly flexible."

Archer picked up the wand, but he could feel an unwillingness to connect when he tried to push his magic through it. He shook his head as he handed it back.

"No matter. Very rarely is the first one a match. Let us move on." He returned the wand to the box and took out another one.

"Try this. Elm with wampus cat hair, 11 ¼ inches. Rigid and unyielding."

Archer took the wand out of his grip and tried to push magic through it. Again, it refused to cooperate.

"Well, well, Mr. Beaufort. It seems that we will have fun searching for your partner."

With that proclamation, Alair kept handing out wand after wand for him to try. Every single one refused to work for him, and he was getting slightly frustrated.

After nearly 42 wands, even Alair was at a loss. "Well, Mr. Beaufort, you have tried enough of my wands for me to know that you will not find your partner in my store. I apologize for the inconvenience. I can give you a list of stores where you might have better luck."

It was at this point that Ollivander piped up. As the search had dragged on, he had gotten increasingly excited. "Perhaps, I may be of assistance. It does so happen that I have quite a few materials with me. Maybe Mr. Beaufort just needs to find the right combination."

Archer quashed the immediate refusal that came up. There must be a reason why Ollivander was here at the same time as him. Trusting his instincts, he accepted the offer.

Ollivander walked into the back room and came back holding a suitcase. Flipping it open, he revealed a set of stairs. He gestured to them. "If you will, please follow me into my home away from home."

They all followed him down the stairs and entered what seemed to be a decent-sized apartment. A hallway stretched out in front of them with two doors on either side. An ornate wooden door with a golden handle lay at the end of the corridor.

Ollivander walked forward and guided them to the big wooden door. Turning around, he addressed them. "Young Mr. Beaufort will be the only one accompanying me past this point. I must ask the rest of you to wait here.

The selection of materials is a highly private process. After the wood and core are selected, I will craft Mr. Beaufort's new wand, and you will be able to witness the bonding."

Archer felt a foreboding sense of unease as he heard Ollivander's request. He knew there was some ulterior motive behind Ollivander wanting to get him alone. He was convinced it had to with what he might have seen during their brief initial interaction.

Nonetheless, he desperately needed a wand, and Ollivander was indisputably the best in the world. He was confident enough in his ability to defend his secrets from him. Even if he noticed something off, unless he was told, there was no way for him to find out.

Stepping inside the room, he observed his surroundings. A white marble table sat in the middle of the room, with various instruments strewn across the surface. Tall shelves lined the walls. Wooden blocks and glass jars were everywhere.

He heard the door close behind him and instantly tensed as he prepared his mental defenses. He scanned for other exits and found none. Not ideal, but workable. His mind cranked into overdrive as it started accounting for different variables and scenarios, making slight adjustments to his plan.

Ollivander's voice sounded out behind him. "There is no need to be so defensive Mr. Beaufort. I simply called you in here to talk. No harm will come to you. I can swear an oath to that effect if you so wish."

Hearing him mention an oath, he relaxed slightly. No magical would ever offer to take an oath falsely. Even invoking the offer of one had to be done in good faith. Otherwise, there would be consequences for the invoker.

"There is no need for an oath, Mr. Ollivander. I trust that you will not harm me in any way."

Ollivander smiled brightly. "It's nice to see a young lad with a good head on his shoulders. May I call you Archer?"

Archer nodded. "You may."

"Well then, Archer. I'm sure you must be wondering why I went through such trouble to talk to you. There is a touch of Seer's blood in the Ollivander lineage that allows us to see things no other magical can. Would you like to know what I saw when we first met?"

Archer put in a lot of effort to keep his expression neutral. "I hope it wasn't anything bad, Mr. Ollivader."

Ollivander shook his head. "On the contrary, Archer. I was nearly blinded when I saw you. You have a power that lies deep within you. A power, unlike anything I have ever seen throughout my many years."

Archer couldn't help but be curious at Ollivander's words. "Power? Am I powerful for a wizard?"

Ollivander guffawed. "My boy, powerful is an understatement. You have the potential to surpass all others and reach the very pinnacle of magic. Keep in mind, that is just your potential. It will take time and effort to work your way up to the zenith, and no amount of rituals you perform will provide a shortcut."

Archer lost his composure momentarily. "How did you know?"

Ollivander gave a sly smile as he saw Archer's expression. "Do not worry, young Archer. Only those with the Sight will be able to see the actual traces left on you. Those experienced enough in the Art of Rituals will be also able to notice. Just that you have undergone them, not exactly what you gained, though they could always guess."

"Rituals are considered Dark Magic in Britain, are they not? Why are you not chastising me for my reckless dabbling in such dubious and dangerous magic?"

Ollivander stared at him. "The British Ministry of Magic is not the judge of what is Light and Dark. Rituals have been a part of magical history since Merlin and Morgana walked the Earth. They were the primary and only method of spellcasting in ancient times. At least that was the case before Merlin introduced the idea of using magical foci like his staff. That last bit is pure speculation though, as any written records have long since been lost."

Archer assimilated the information before asking Ollivander: "Will you keep the fact that I have enhanced myself a secret?"

Ollivander flicked his wrist, and his wand shot out of its holster. Raising it into the air, he intoned. "I, Garrick Gervaise Ollivander, swear to keep Archer Beaufort's usage of rituals a secret until such time he releases me from my oath. So I have sworn."

Archer finished. "So mote it be."

The oath settled onto their magic and dissipated. Their conversation halted as they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Archer cleared his throat. "Thank you very much for that, Mr. Ollivander. Though there was no need for an oath. Your word would have been good enough for me."

"Nonsense, my boy. When it comes to such things, it is best to secure an oath and speak freely, rather than beating around the bush.

Now then, we have spent enough time chatting. Time to do what we came here to do. Find your materials and craft your partner!"

He giddily alighted from the chair and walked briskly over to the nearest shelf. "Come here, Archer. I want you to walk along the wall and find the wood that calls to your magic."

Archer walked over to him and looked at the shelf. "Do I just stick my hand out and close my eyes?"

"There will be no need for that, just release your magic, and it will guide you to your wand wood."

Archer followed his instructions and relaxed the tight leash on his magic. Suddenly, he could feel so many different things. It was like a whole new world had been opened up to him as he expanded his senses.

He allowed himself to relax as he waited for his magic to tell him where to go. After a few seconds, he felt something, a tug on his magic that told him to walk forward.

He walked forward blindly as he ignored everything else. He ventured four shelves ahead before stopping. His magic told him to hold his arm out and call the wood to him, so that's what he did. A long block of black wood settled into his hand as he came out of the trance-like state he had been in.

Ollivander hummed. "Ebony. Not just any ebony, but African Gabon Ebony. The blackest of black woods. This one has quite the backstory. The tree this block came from was splattered with Nundu blood. The blood seeped into the tree and poisoned it, causing it to rot.

This was the lone piece that was able to be harvested from the heart. A wand made from this wood will inherit the nature of a Nundu, fierce and violent. Hopefully, the core will offset the wood and achieve balance."

Archer nodded and got ready for the repeat performance to locate his core. He relaxed with a deep breath and let go of his magic again. The same euphoric feeling washed over him, but this time, he was prepared for it and didn't lose focus.

He waited for the same pull he had felt with the wood. Time ticked by as he patiently waited for a reaction. Nearly 5 minutes later, he finally felt it. However, it was unlike the feeling he got with the wood. He was being pulled in two different directions.

"Mr. Ollivander. For some reason, I'm getting pulls from two directions."

Ollivander gasped lightly. "Two, you say? How marvelous. Trust your magic, Archer. It knows what you need."

Archer nodded and started walking towards the closest one. Stopping in front of the shelf, he reached out and picked up a jar near the back. Keeping it in his hand, he started walking towards the other feeling.

He didn't know how far he had walked when he stopped. The pull as too high for him to reach, so he asked his magic to summon it to him. As the jar settled into his hand, he heard Ollivander sputter.

"My word! To think that feather chose you. Can those two even cooperate with each other? Perhaps with a strong binding agent, it might be possible. I can feel it in my bones, this one will be a masterwork!" Ollivander exclaimed excitedly.

Archer recovered from the trance before observing the cores he had selected. One was a golden feather that was sparking with static electricity. Occasionally, small bolts of lightning would strike the inside of the glass, heating it up in his palm.

The second one looked like an ordinary, pitch-black feather. There didn't seem to be anything special about it. However, judging from Ollivander's reaction, it was undoubtedly a potent core material.

Ollivander came out of his musings with a grin. "Crafting your wand will be a challenge, Mr. Beaufort. Those cores you picked out are the rarest in my entire stock.

The golden feather is a Thunderbird tail feather from a fellow wandcrafter in the Colonies. It is suitable for all types of combat magic, with a leaning towards Transfiguration.

The second core is a mystery to me. It came from an avian magical beast that I could not identify. I distinctly remember the day I received it.

On July 31st, 1979, I was woken up by the alert wards in my store. I went to check out the disturbance when I saw it. Perched on a ceiling beam, was a creature that resembled a large black owl, but its magic clearly told me it was not just any mere owl.

The magic I felt emanating from it was overwhelming. I daresay that I thought my time had come when it turned its gaze towards me.

Fortunately, it was there for another purpose. It shook its body, and a single feather dropped to the floor in front of me. I bent down to pick up the feather, and when I looked up, the owl was gone.

I kept this core with me whenever I traveled, hoping to find someone who could help me identify the magical bird it came from. After all these years, not a single person has been able to tell me anything about it. To think that on this day, you would match with this core."

Ollivander's piercing gaze settled onto him. "I think it is safe to say that we can expect great things from you, Archer Beaufort. Great things indeed."

Archer gulped at the ominous tone Ollivander spoke in. His wand was going to be something special. One that could reach the level of his basilisk wand in potency and compatibility.

The mystery core from the magical bird did make him curious though. Perhaps it was unique to this reality? He wasn't aware of seeing any bird in his previous reality that matched the description Ollivander gave.

"Seeing as these are two powerful cores from multiple creatures, I will need a bit of your blood to act as a binding agent. This will also have the advantage of bonding the wand to you, ensuring its loyalty to you alone."

Archer walked towards the table. "Alright. So long as it is only used to make my wand, I will permit it."

"You have my word that is the only purpose."

Ollivander handed him a clear glass ball. "This is a Blood Draining Orb. Simply channel your magic into it, and it will start filling up with your blood."

Archer received the ball and pushed in some of his magic. A shiver went through him for a moment before he saw a few drops of blood appearing on the bottom of the orb. He kept the flow of magic steady as the amount of blood increased.

The principle for this object was similar to a Healer spelling potions into a patient's stomach. In this case, it was doing the opposite and spelling blood out of him non-invasively.

After half a minute, the ball was completely filled up. Archer handed over the ball to Ollivander, who set it onto the table next to the other materials he had chosen. "Alright, Mr. Beaufort. You can go join Alair and your parents outside. This next process is a trade secret. Give me half an hour to finish."

Archer smiled. "Thanks for all your help, Mr. Ollivander. I can't wait to get my wand!"

Ollivander laughed. "Think nothing of it, young Archer. It has been a while since I got the opportunity to craft a wand with such powerful materials. Not many customers are compatible with such exotic cores. I have no doubt that this will be one of my finest creations."

Archer stepped out of the room and met up with his parents. They were curious as to what had happened inside, so he gave them a rundown of how his magic helped him select his wand wood and cores.

Alair was surprised that his wand would have two cores. "No wonder there was no match for you in my store! Dual-core wands are not unheard of, but there are few and far between. Most magicals only need a wand with a single core.

If a magical's core develops past a certain point, they outgrow their wands. Thus, they require a dual-core wand to keep up with their channeling capacity. If they don't upgrade, then the chance of burning out the core increases.

It is rumored that Albus Dumbledore of Britain uses a triple-core wand due to the magnificent spells he used during the British Blood War in the 1970s."

At the mention of Dumbledore, Archer dove behind his Occlumency shields. He had successfully managed to avoid England entirely for 11 years, hopefully, his lucky streak would continue. Still, just mentioning the man got him heated. He owed Albus Dumbledore a lot of pain for all of the shit he went through.

Then again, this Albus Dumbledore was not the one he had experience with. If his counterpart in this world was a girl and his parents were alive, who's to say Dumbledore was still a massively egotistical, greedy, manipulative, goat-buggering bastard. If he was though, then Archer would get really creative with his spells.

The group made their way out of Ollivander's suitcase apartment and waited patiently in the store. After exactly 30 minutes had passed, they heard Ollivander walking up the steps. He held a shiny wooden box in his hands as he exited the suitcase.

Setting it down on the counter, he turned to them. "I have crafted young Mr. Beaufort's wand and it was as challenging as I predicted. It took some time to get the materials to cooperate for me, but in the end, it was your blood that allowed them to work together."

He released the tiny gold clasps on the front and lifted the lid, revealing Archer's new wand. Archer's breath caught in his throat as he saw it.

Laying on a bed of royal purple silk lining, was a black wand that gleamed in the store's lighting. There was an owl motif at the back of the wand, with it ending at a sharp beak. Feather like carvings decorated the grip section, and it tapered down to the tip.

It was so similar to the basilisk wand he remembered. Except this wand was giving him a distinctly different feeling.

Ollivander enjoyed their awestruck expressions for a few seconds before he launched into his explanation. "May I present to you, your new partner, Mr. Beaufort. 13 and 1/7 inches long. Made from African Gabon Ebony exposed to Nundu blood. Thunderbird tail feather along with a mystery feather from another magical bird.

This is a warrior's wand. Judging by the ebony and Thunderbird feather combination, this wand will be excellent for all types of combat magics both Light and Dark, with a particular specialty towards Transfiguration. I am not aware of the effects of the mystery feather on certain types of magic, but I have no doubt you will find out in due time."

Archer gasped. "It's beautiful, Mr. Ollivander."

Ollivander chuckled. "That it is, Archer. Well then, go on, give it a wave."

Archer reached out and grabbed the wand. As soon as he did, he felt his magic reach out to it. He gave a small wave as he heard a click inside his very being. Suddenly, black and gold sparks shot out of the tip. The roar of a Nundu, screech of a Thunderbird, and a hoot that shook their souls sounded out inside the store.

After the bonding, no one spoke for a minute. They were still reeling from their experience. It was Ollivander that broke the silence with a loud cackle. "Extraordinary! Simply marvelous! Never have I had the privilege of seeing such a unique bonding before. The very echoes of the animals were present, and all of them approved of you. To be able to get their approval, you are destined for great things, Archer Beaufort."

Archer kept his gaze on his wand as he spoke. "How much for the wand, Mr. Ollivander?"

"Not a single Knut, my boy. You provided me a unique challenge. It was a joy to craft yet another masterwork of my lifetime. All I ask is that you take good care of it, and if you ever find out about the mystery core, please tell me.

I have also included one of my deluxe wrist holsters to carry it in. I couldn't possibly have you carrying such a magnificent wand in your pocket."

Archer nodded. "You've got yourself a deal. I promise to take good care of it and tell you if I find out about the core."

The Beauforts exited the store, remarking in wonder. They went back to Sabine's to pick up their order and had lunch outside before heading home. All the way on the ride home, Archer was practicing drawing his wand from the holster. While Ollivander had still made him feel just as uncomfortable as he remembered, there was something odd about his appearance.

The bird that donated the feather gave it Ollivander on July 31st, 1979. That happened to be Archer Beaufort's birthday, from what the orphanage matron had told him. Was it a coincidence? Or was there some higher power at work here?

'Whatever the case, I've finally gotten my wand. Time to take things up a notch and get back what I lost. This mystery can wait.'