To be honest, I always open gifts with trepidation. Any gifts. Because there is always a chance that it will be a bad gift. "Bad" in the sense of wrong. So far removed from everything you love and are passionate about that you immediately realise that the person who gave you this thing does not know you at all.
© Carol Brant
"Hello, master, I've had... ahem... an unexpected delay," I greeted Gregorovich as I entered the old building in Germany's magical quarter.
I was in a pretty crappy mood. The port key that was supposed to take me to Brandenburgtract (the name of the main magical quarter in Berlin, the entrance to which was located directly in one of the arches of the Brandenburg Gate) transported my body straight to the equivalent of Twilight Alley. Upon arrival, I was immediately attacked by three thugs who launched an Avada without warning. Still sensing something was wrong during the transfer, I managed to cover myself with transfigured shields as soon as I arrived, mentally praising Merlin, Morgana, and the others involved for not letting my concentration slip.
"Vocare ad tenebras!" — a foreign spell ricocheted off the roof, and black threads, this time appearing almost instantly behind me, passed through my shield like coal snakes, piercing the multi-layered steel like cardboard, and with the same ease pierced the bodies of the unsuccessful assassins.
It was immediately clear that they were assassins, given the clear organisation of the ambush. The only interesting question was the identity of the person who had organised this entertaining event and managed to bribe the ministry clerks, one of whom had just given me a perfectly legal portal. This time, there was no need for disguise, and I decided to use the official method of crossing borders through the international department. I didn't want any problems with the Berlin aurors. This wasn't the time for that.
"So who ordered me?" I approached the mage pinned to the wall in a simple cloth mask. His more unfortunate colleagues, unfortunately, could no longer answer, lying on the pavement of a small dark cul-de-sac and showing no obvious or hidden signs of life.
"Go away!" a pale, bearded man of Eastern appearance, most likely a Turk, tried to spit at me as soon as I pulled the mask off him with my wand. "Amini sikeyim, orospu..." he tried to continue, but the red beam of Crucio made the would-be assassin choke on his own words.
"Excellent, now legilimens," I pointed my wand at his head. However, as soon as I tried to penetrate his mind, the man shook even harder and then fell silent, staring into space with an expressionless gaze.
"Shit," I cursed, pushing away the now useless body. The freak had a mind shield, but not the usual kind that blocks thoughts from intrusion. This one turned the user into a vegetable if anyone tried to read their mind. It wasn't very popular or widespread because of that. No sane mage would ever use it on themselves, but for a one-time hitman... "Damn suicides. Putrescere!"
The curse of decay quickly cleaned up the area, leaving only dirt on the ground, easily removed with household spells, and a couple of artefacts, which turned out to be an anti-apparatus dome and another alarm. I didn't touch them; I didn't have any dragon skin gloves with me, and I doubted I would be able to track down the customer using this junk. Instead, when I got back to England, I would have a heart-to-heart with the employee who gave me this ill-fated port key. But for now...
"Yes... a delay," I stammered under the attentive gaze of the grey-haired wizard, feeling a little guilty for keeping the old man waiting. "I apologise for that."
"Don't mention it," said the master after a short pause, with a distinct iron accent, as was common among Germans, then turned his back to the entrance and headed deeper into the room. "Wait here."
His muffled voice could already be heard from behind the shelves. Gregorovich was either talking to someone or just thinking out loud, but in any case, I felt uncomfortable. Probably not very polite of him. Apparently, his grandfather had done something to upset him in the past, and his general dislike of the Blacks in all their manifestations had spread to me as well...
Or maybe he just really disliked people who were late, who would sort out these old people with their quirks and senile dementia. In any case, I only needed a wand, and since Gregorovich hadn't refused to see me from the start, I didn't care about the rest. Maybe he had agreed with the measuring tape, like Ollivander, to take measurements with special equipment.
I hope the manufacturing process won't take too long, as the wand I borrowed from Lycorus was already starting to "kick" noticeably and make me nervous. At the same time, the spells came out the same, without losing any of their power, as I had convinced myself less than half an hour ago, but the process itself...
If I had to compare this feeling to something, it immediately brought to mind writing with a bulky, heavy pen, one of those with lots of colours and a metal nib, which made children's fingers ache after a while, only instead of coloured ink, it was lead.
Yes, you would write exactly the same as with a regular ballpoint pen, but the process itself could not be called an enjoyable activity, rather the opposite, discouraging you from using it without a real need. It was clearly incomparable to something made to order according to your specifications, suitable just for you, expensive and comfortable... What the...
"Here," Gregorovich said, shoving two simple boxes with no patterns or engravings into my hands. "Now get out. I don't owe your grandfather anything else."
Then he walked to the door, ignoring me as I stood there frozen in confusion, opened it and stared at me again with an unreadable expression, making me shrug my shoulders in a not very pleasant feeling.
"Don't you need to take at least some measurements, determine the right materials?" I began to boil inside in response to such treatment. Whatever scores he had with Pollux, I was not going to allow him to treat me like this under any circumstances. "I was counting on a tool made specifically for me, or at least one that would suit me. You didn't even let me try it. What if this stick doesn't suit me? Why the hell do I need two, one spare in case it breaks, so I don't come back? And what are they made of — am I supposed to figure that out myself? I expected more professionalism from a craftsman like you! I don't know what kind of conflict you have with your grandfather, but I'm willing to pay for the best, and I thought I could find it right here.
"Is that all?" Gregorovich said impassively, looking into my eyes as if indifferent, but with some emotion that I couldn't quite grasp, though it was hardly the indifference of a recent corpse.
"Yes, that's all," I said, putting the boxes on the table, calming down and shrugging my shoulders, pulling myself together after a brief flash of anger and quickly making a plan of action. After all, the world didn't revolve around this old bastard, no matter how renowned he was throughout Europe; I could order a cane from someone else.
In France, there was a good workshop called de Chantal, not as famous as the Gregorovich shop, of course, but most pure-blood families ordered their wands from them if their family gift required an ingredient other than the three standard ones. If it didn't work there, no problem — there were wandmakers in Italy, as in many other European countries that had retained their former borders, unlike the Muggle part of Europe. And, of course, none of them wanted to give in to their neighbours, even when it came to something as food-related as their own artefact, which created magical concentrators...
Meanwhile, Gregorovich was still standing by the door, clearly reluctant to squeeze the words out through his tightly clenched teeth. It seemed that a little more and I could have heard the nasty squeak.
"First, and mark this well," the man said without any politeness, "measurements are taken either by amateurs or by those who like to make a show of choosing a magic wand. I don't need that to determine what will suit a mage, I'm experienced enough not to bother with such nonsense. Is that clear to you?"
I was somewhat taken aback by the flood of information and the fact that my questions had actually been answered, so I just nodded and stood frozen at the counter.
"The second one — two of them, because both suit you, and I'm not going to keep one for myself and risk not finding a buyer for it," continued Gregorovich a little louder, letting go of the door. Obviously realising that I had no intention of leaving, he folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin slightly, his whole posture seeming to say, "Go on, try to judge me now." Of course, I didn't do that, not when the wizard, albeit reluctantly, was sharing the information I needed.
"Third, the composition of the wands and recommendations for use and care are located in the cases. The first stick is made of snow sakura and kirin hair... It's something like a unicorn, only in Japan, a mixture of a dragon and a horse, if you don't know," Gregorovich generously offered an explanation, albeit accompanied by a dismissive glance, and shook his head slightly, while I nodded again, no longer particularly reacting to the stranger's behaviour and simply listening. "The second is made of ebony and heartwood... from a type of festral. You can use them both at once or one at a time, it's up to you.
And fourth, these sticks are the best I've ever made. Because of their dark orientation, they are almost perfect for you. Whether you take them or not is up to you, I've done my duty to your grandfather, is that clear? But if you do decide to take them, use them outside my workshop.
"Hmm..." Unable to find the right words, he nodded a third time, then looked at the cases and the old master with a different expression, albeit not a very enthusiastic one. He had hoped for a much warmer welcome, but perhaps this wasn't so bad after all; there was no point in not believing Gregorovich. "Very clear."
"Then I don't want to durch die Blume sagen{?}[(German) speak through flowers, meaning 'to hint, to speak indirectly'], but I'm closing up," nevertheless, the master nodded towards the exit with a clear hint.
"Auf Wiedersehen {?} [German for "Goodbye"]," I said with relief as I left the unwelcoming shop, leaving the old wizard behind. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, the door slammed behind me with a loud bang, as if someone had not just closed it, but kicked it with all their might. Looking back at the bang, I saw only a brightly flashing sign that had appeared outside with the words "closed."
"What a strange day," I said thoughtfully, lowering my head and looking at the unremarkable cases. Despite Gregorovich's performance, which surpassed Ollivander's skill in making the moment of receiving the first wand completely unforgettable, only adding a "minus" sign to it, I still couldn't wait to try the new concentrators.
True, I was confused by the ban on using them in the shop... Well, maybe he just didn't want to fix them after the vase, or whatever was going on at Ollivander's when choosing wands. Or did that happen with the wrong wand? I'll try it at home, I guess... But, actually, why not now? I've already left the shop, so consider my request fulfilled...
I moved away from the building a little and immediately transfigured a small table out of some stones lying around, placed the cases on it, and with relief put away the wand, which I had grown tired of and should probably return to Lycorus later.
Carefully sliding both lids off, he immediately fixed his gaze on the contents. In addition to the note, which was clearly a duplicate, the case, lined with dragon skin for some unknown reason, contained a snow-white, fifteen-inch wand with small grey veins on the handle, perfectly smooth, polished to a shine, and actually quite elegant. quite elegant stick. An exact copy, only anthracite black with white grooves and scars, lay next to it. Looking closer, I realised that the marks on both handles actually formed strange runes that I had never seen before.
My stomach lurched, and my heart did an uncertain somersault before beating wildly in my throat from a sudden wave of nervousness, so that I had to swallow hard before I could lift both wands to examine them more closely, and then...
"What the..." I blurted out involuntarily when the magic concentrators, now in my hands, immediately began to tear apart in different directions, creating the sensation that I was clutching two incredibly powerful unipolar magnets in my palms, striving to get as far away from each other as possible. As if that weren't enough, they began to vibrate so violently that I could barely hold them in my hands. Another second, and...
***
"Bang!" A huge shock wave, with the heavily breathing mage at its epicentre, swept across the pavement, reducing the perfectly fitted square paving stones to stone dust and throwing it into nearby buildings, smashing windows and tearing walls and roofs.
It looked most like a mixture of an explosion and a tornado, which suddenly, completely unexpectedly and as if by accident, formed in the middle of the magical quarter, lasted a few seconds and disappeared after the mage hastily lowered the magic concentrators back into their cases, which miraculously remained lying on the badly damaged table and were not blown away by the recoil.
"Fuck!" cursed the magician, quickly surveying what was left of the once carefully decorated space, and immediately disappeared in a whirlwind of transgression, managing to get away a few moments before the magicians in scarlet cloaks appeared with enviable speed on the devastated street. It was even somewhat ironic that the uniforms of the British and German law enforcement officers were similar.
***
The entire story has already been written at:
patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-sirius-142654970