Harry Potter 50 Shades of Gray

Cyrna checked her luggage one last time, straightened her Hogwarts robes, then hurried to the door where the Flamels were waiting for her.

"Don't forget to keep your magic hidden," Perenelle said sternly. Then she bent down, gently gripping Cyrna's shoulders. "I'm proud of your progress—You have achieved so much in a year."

Returning Perenelle's spare wand, Cyrna broke into a small but genuine smile. "I had good teachers."

"Well, aren't you sweet today!" Perenelle swallowed Cyrna in a hug, giving the child an affectionate squeeze. "Now, off you go! Be the best mediocre student there is to be!"

Nicolas grimaced. "I can't believe a student of mine is going to be mediocre," he muttered sourly. "Now, listen here, child. I had better not see Potions score anything below an O."

"O's the highest grade. Every other grade will be below it," Cyrna said dryly.

Nicolas grumbled as they threw him a look.

"Don't mind him, my dear," said Perenelle, "Just do what you think is best. And remember! Portkey over to King's Cross Station as soon as you've bought your wand—The train leaves at 11 o'clock sharp!"

With a nod and a farewell wave, Cyrna disappeared from their view. The Flamels stood watching the empty air for a while longer before they headed back into their mansion. "Good riddance," Nicolas muttered as he ambled down the hall with his wife. "Finally some peace."

"I'll miss her," Perenelle said wistfully.

Nicolas grunted in response. Walking into his lab, he set to work on his project; but unlike the past few months, no one asked him any questions while he brewed. And who would bring him his tea and scones now? The old alchemist sighed, deciding that he'd spend the day with Perenelle instead. The potions lab was just a bit too quiet.

.....

"Mreow," said Prince in response to his human's mutterings. They were heading back to the store where they had separated from the other human and the giant. It was just a stick. Personally, he thought that he had found a very nice one in their backyard. But no, his human hadn't wanted it. Prince's ears flattened, whiskers trembling as he silently huffed. His human was such a handful! He growled, darting towards the door of the shop that his human was about to enter. He gave the wooden door a scratch, impatiently trying to hurry the trip along so that he could go back to sleep.

Suddenly the door opened. With a yelp, he tumbled into the shop.

"Ah, a most unusual customer we seem to have today," spoke a soft, inquisitive voice.

Prince gave a tiny sneeze then jumped a foot into the air when bulbous silvery eyes were shoved right in front of his face—so close that he had felt the human's breath. The eyes stayed on him for a bit longer before they switched to his human as he tunnelled into his human's arms.

Cyrna laughed softly, combing back its fur as she glanced around the shop. The place was filled with rows upon rows of narrow wooden boxes—some of which looked new while others were covered with a layer of dust and had cobwebs forming over it.

"It would seem that I have startled the poor cat."

"Mr. Ollivander," greeted Cyrna. "I came to buy a wand."

"Of course you did," he murmured. His misty eyes suddenly turned piercing. "Right-handed?" he asked.

"Yes," said Cyrna, watching as the wandmaker wandered through the narrow, dusty aisles, quietly muttering to himself: "Haven't had a halfling in a while… oh, what fun." He flashed a smile at her, crooked teeth showing. "No, no... definitely not dogwood, hmm… perhaps pine…"

Making a decision, Ollivander retrieved the box from the shelf and scurried back. "Pine and unicorn hair. 10 inches. Very flexible. Go on," he said, eyes fixed on the girl, "give it a wave."

Cyrna flicked the wand. To her horror, a huge blaze of fire suddenly appeared in midair.

"Nope, no, no, no, definitely not the one." Ollivander snatched the wand from her hand and put out the fire with a quick Aguamenti. The wandmaker went back to the shelves. "Hm…" he said absentmindedly, "What do you make of the Dark Arts?"

"Well," said Cyrna, briefly stunned, "They're illegal."

"Yes, yes, of course," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. "But what are your thoughts on it? Do you despise it? Something to be worshipped? A temptation, maybe? Any curiosity at all?—ah." Ollivander picked up an old, beautifully carved ebony wand. "Here, give this one a try. Ebony and dragon heartstring. Rigid and unyielding."

She had just touched the wand when the door was violently ripped off its hinges, the windows shattering onto the ground.

"Definitely not." A quick Reparo later and everything was back to normal. The wandmaker calmly wandered back to the shelves leaving a slightly traumatized Prince and Cyrna in his wake.

After they ran through a few more wands and destroyed the small shop a few more times, Cyrna felt a yawn slip through her mouth. Bored, Cyrna took a lazy gander at the shop, spotting an old grandfather clock that sat ticking away in the corner of the shop. She squinted then rubbed her eyes—

She only had twenty minutes left!

Cyrna turned urgently to the wandmaker and saw that he had brought her yet another wand.

"Desiring stability yet drawn to change," the wandmaker murmured, gazing at the wand. "... proud yet ashamed... you deceive, but you're also quite straightforward, aren't you?... So much self-conflict… how interesting… My, you just love contradictions, don't you?"

It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, Cyrna flinched. He had stopped speaking to watch her, but she could hear the echo of his words in the dusty shop. Hidden in her robes, her hands clenched, her magic stirring with agitation. How could he know?

"The wood and core of the wand represent the intrinsic values of a person. The more wands you try, the better I know you," Ollivander explained, his luminous eyes seeming to peer into her soul. He watched her attentively as he gave her the wand. "Hawthorn and Thestral tail hair—the only wand I ever made with Thestral tail hair and one of the first wands I ever made. This hair," he said in a hushed voice, "was harvested as it died—as life transformed into death."

The wand—the moment Cyrna saw the wand, she already knew that it was hers. Her magic was drawn to it, and though she feared that she would simply be confirming Ollivander's guesses on her character, she couldn't help but reach for the wand. And when she grasped it, her magic sang, brighter and clearer than ever before. It arched against her restraint, begging to be freed.

Cyrna let go.

Her magic soared, and silver light flooded every nook and cranny of the shop.

Ollivander's mouth opened in silent wonder, a lump gathering in his throat as he stared at the young hand which held the wand—where the silver light was the brightest. His friend had finally chosen. Ollivander looked at the time. "You'd best be going soon," he said gruffly. "The train leaves in 6 minutes."

It took a while for her mouth to work. "How much for the wand?" she asked, willing to pay almost any price for it.

The wandmaker sighed. His gaze was no longer quite as piercing as he looked off into space. "The thestral and I had a strange friendship. Whenever it was wounded, hungry, or just trying to weather a large storm, it would always seek me—though it wouldn't let me approach it. Maybe something had happened to it in its past so that it was no longer willing to allow people or other creatures close to it… And only in its final moments did it allow me near." He turned to her, a faint sheen on his eyes. "Fifty years," he said softly. "I haven't been able to find an owner for my friend for fifty years. There is no charge—not when this has brought me so much relief."

Cyrna wasn't the sort to turn down free things, but this wand just felt too special. Too valuable to take for free. While the wandmaker made it seem like she had done him a favour, Cyrna personally thought that he had done her the favour for making this wand and allowing her to take it. How could she, on top of everything, take it for free? The favours didn't balance, and she didn't like being in debt.

Knowing that she hadn't much time, Cyrna took out seven gallons—the price she had seen for another wand—"Then thank you for the wand, Mr. Ollivander," she said, sliding the money over to him. "Consider this a donation." Quickly, Cyrna slipped her wand into the holster Perenelle had made for her and ran out of the store with her luggage, Prince trailing behind her.

Ollivander watched them go with amusement, and when his door swung closed, his thoughts went back to the Thestral wand. A wand filled with contradictions: as easily Dark as it could be Light. Supple grip, rigid body. He thumbed the gold coins lying in his palms, setting them down with a bittersweet sigh as he bade goodbye to his friend.

Miles away in King's Cross station, the wand gave a sudden throb before settling back into silence.

....

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