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"Try this one."
Ollivander slid a wand box across the counter after measuring Li Feng's height, wingspan, and head with an enchanted tape.
The wand inside was jet black, gleaming faintly. Li Feng's first thought: Ugly as hell. Still, the old man claimed the wand chose the wizard, so he pinched his nose and picked it up.
Before he could even give it a flick, Ollivander yanked it back. "No, no—that's wrong. One moment."
Didn't even let me try it? He just knows? Li Feng frowned, baffled.
The wandmaker vanished into the stacks and returned with another box. This time, he waited.
"Mr. Austin," Ollivander prompted, "aren't you going to try it?"
So now I'm supposed to? Make up your mind, old man.
Suppressing a sigh, Li Feng flicked the wand and whispered a Fire Charm. Power ripped through the wood with unnatural ease. A column of fire roared from the tip, scorching dangerously close to the ceiling.
He'd meant for a flame the size of a lighter. Instead, the entire shop lit like a furnace.
Li Feng hurriedly set the wand down, eyeing the smoke stains overhead. "Sorry. I'll pay for the damage."
Ollivander waved his own wand, and the soot vanished as though it had never been. "No matter. I think I know what you need."
From beneath the counter he produced a slim case. His voice lowered. "A peculiar accident. I once feared it would never find its match."
The lid opened on a pale-gray wand streaked with darker veins. "Wandwood: wutong. Core: a thestral foal's mane hair."
Li Feng frowned. Wutong he recognized, but thestral? Nothing. Still—he didn't care if the core was beetle legs, so long as it worked.
He raised the wand and whispered another Fire Charm. A warm flame no bigger than a pigeon's egg glowed at the tip, steady and responsive, dancing at his command.
Perfect. He quenched the flame, satisfied. "That's the one. Thank you."
Ollivander's gaze lingered, uneasy. "Ordinarily, wandwood must be alive when carved—vibrant, still part of a living tree. This piece died the instant I set the core. By logic, it should have failed. Yet life and death reversed, they fused."
He studied Li Feng with something like awe. "Wutong embodies rebirth. Yours embodies death. The thestral—creatures seen only by those who've witnessed death—yet this hair came from a newborn foal, symbol of life. Death in the wood. Life in the core. A contradiction made whole."
Li Feng scratched his temple. Feels nice in the hand to me. Out loud: "Maybe I've seen enough of both to balance it out."
Ollivander's expression softened. "Adventure, then. In my youth I longed for the same. But wandmaking claimed me. Perhaps after I retire, I'll travel. Just travel—no adventures. My bones wouldn't hold."
Li Feng gestured at Kreacher to pay. "You've got talent, old man. Where else would I get a wand like this?"
"Farewell, Mr. Austin," Ollivander said with a bow.
Fresh from the shop, Li Feng pushed into Flourish and Blotts. Kreacher trailed behind, shoving the man-sized trunk with grim determination. From across the street, it probably looked like the suitcase was chasing him.
Li Feng strode to the counter. "Full sets of Hogwarts textbooks. Every year. Past and present."
The clerk blinked. "All years, sir?"
Li Feng nodded. He had no choice. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a revolving door of professors, each reinventing the syllabus. This year? Gilderoy Lockhart—who'd stacked the shelves with his own glossy self-promotion.
Li Feng eyed Break with a Banshee and snorted. Banshee? I've fought worse. Pale skin and bad hair don't scare me.
Then came Voyages with Vampires, Holidays with Hags, Wanderings with Werewolves. He shoved them aside. "Pointless. I've got Solomon's Key. Enough exorcisms in there to make a vampire question its lifestyle."
The clerk staggered under the load, dropping them into the trunk. Li Feng glanced at his gold reserves, then told Kreacher, "Keep some for living expenses. Rest goes to supplies."
They hit the shops hard: cauldrons, enchanted tents, translation quills—the top-shelf models only. At the apothecary, Li Feng swept half the shelves of ingredients. His vault of Galleons shrank with every purchase.
The spree ended at Eeylops Owl Emporium. He hadn't planned to buy one, but Hogwarts had no phones, and he couldn't exactly knock on Lupin's quarters. He needed a messenger.
The air reeked of droppings. Shadows shifted on perches. Grimacing, he pointed at a gray-yellow owl with batlike ears. "That one."
Outside, he studied the strange bird. "Kreacher, bats and owls aren't even related. How do you end up with… this?"
The elf muttered, "Enchantment potions, Boss. Ordinary owls can't deliver mail."
Li Feng exhaled, sore from the spree. The trunk bulged with everything he'd need. Hogwarts loomed ahead, closer with every step.
Li Feng eyed the pathetic handful of Galleons left rattling in the trunk, then at the mountain of magical supplies stacked inside. Satisfaction spread through him. Better to turn money into weapons and tools. In the Marvel world, gold was just another metal. Here, it bought power. And besides—it hadn't been his gold to begin with. Spending it felt glorious.
Once he confirmed nothing crucial was missing, he waved Kreacher back to the Leaky Cauldron and wandered Diagon Alley with a few coins, taking in the bustle.
If he were stronger, maybe he'd push into Knockturn Alley and dig up something dangerous. But fresh out of the rookie stage? Not smart. He paused outside a broomstick shop and snorted. Broomsticks? In a world with radar and heat-seekers? One missile and you're kindling. Not to mention the windchill. Pass.
By evening, after enduring a magically cooked dinner that only reminded him how far it fell short of Kreacher's meals, he headed upstairs.
The elf was already waiting, arms stacked with neatly folded robes. "Boss, Madam Malkin's delivery. Would you like to try them on?"
"Yeah. But first—" Li Feng peeled off his coat, grimacing. "Day's worth of sweat. Draw a hot bath."
Kreacher scurried off. Soon Li Feng was submerged in steaming water while the elf scrubbed his back with dutiful efficiency. Clean and relaxed, he slipped into new robes and smirked at his reflection.
Kreacher tilted his head. "Boss, why four full sets? Two with warming charms would've been enough."
Li Feng froze, the grin slipping. Damn it. Why didn't you mention that earlier? I could've saved enough for half a shop's worth of ingredients.
That same evening, Grimmauld Place.
Dumbledore stepped through the door, robes dusty from the road. He'd come straight from Azkaban. Lupin met him, ushering him into the dim hall.
"Professor," Lupin asked quietly, "what did you find?"
Dumbledore's eyes shadowed. "Austin's control over Dementors is worse than I imagined. It's not loyalty—it's enslavement. Dark magic, though unfamiliar to me. I can't yet undo it. I may need old counsel… or to ask Austin himself."
They entered the dining room. Sirius sat slumped at the table, firewhisky half-drained, the remains of a scorched meal in front of him.
Dumbledore frowned. "What happened here?"
Lupin sighed. "We underestimated Kreacher. Without him, this place falls apart. Sirius can't even boil water."
Dumbledore arched a brow. "Kreacher? Did Sirius free him?"
"I gave him away," Sirius muttered.
The headmaster's expression flickered. He knew what a house-elf meant to a family like Black. To hand one over was to admit decline. He lowered himself into a chair, studying Sirius with quiet curiosity. "I seem to have missed much."
Lupin leaned against the wall. "More than you'd believe. We discovered the locket Austin carries is a Horcrux. And Peter Pettigrew… he's alive. Disguised as the Weasley boy's rat."
Dumbledore's eyes widened. "You're certain?"
Lupin's tone hardened. "We checked. That rat's lived twelve years—impossible for the species. And it's missing a toe."
Sirius slammed his glass down. "If not for Remus, I'd have torn him apart already."
Dumbledore turned to Lupin, approving. "Ron Weasley does keep a rat. And Harry shares his dormitory. Remarkable. I never guessed."
Sirius shot to his feet, panic cutting through the drink. "Harry's in danger. I'm going now—"
Lupin shoved him back into the chair. "Think! Pettigrew's lived in that dorm for over a year and never touched Harry. He's watching. Waiting for Voldemort's return. If you charge in, he panics—Harry gets caught in the blast. And the Ministry learns you're free. Do you want your recklessness to kill James's son?"
The words hit like a curse. Sirius sagged, knuckles white, then reached again for the bottle. The firewhisky burned, but dulled nothing.
Finally he rasped, "Professor… what do I do?"
Dumbledore's voice gentled. "For now, nothing. That is the only way Harry survives." He turned to Lupin. "Arrange a meeting with Austin. If he truly claims to glimpse time's currents, perhaps he knows how many Horcruxes Voldemort made… and where."
"That's dangerous," Lupin muttered, rubbing his temples. "Austin sells secrets. If you want answers, bring gold. Lots of it."
Sirius dug into his robes, tossing a pouch onto the table. A Time-Turner and several parchments spilled out. "Take these. He demanded them. Ministry stockroom won't miss them."
Lupin's scowl deepened. "Stealing a Time-Turner is risky."
"The Ministry has bigger problems," Dumbledore said grimly. "They already know of the monster attacks at Hogwarts. Some want the school shut down."
Lupin tapped his chin. "Then ask Austin about the creature. If he knows what it is, we'll be ready."
Dumbledore's smile was faint, but his eyes were steel. "Good idea. I look forward to meeting this 'False Prophet.' Arrange it, Lupin. Soon."
Lupin dipped his quill, scribbling the summons. "I'll call him under the guise of finalizing the locket deal. If he comes in peace, all well. If not…"
"Otherwise?" Sirius asked hoarsely.
Dumbledore's tone was calm, almost kind—but cold beneath. "Otherwise, I will prevent the rise of another Dark Lord. Merlin will forgive an old man his sins."
No bravado. No malice. Just resolve. And that was the most dangerous thing about Albus Dumbledore.
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