The Last Protection: Harriett Potter's Legacy

Chapter 33: The Wand Chooses the Witch

The sky had turned a soft amber as the last remnants of daylight began to fade, and Harriett walked through the cobbled streets of Paris, the quiet murmur of the magical world around her a soothing contrast to the noise in her mind. Sirius, Andromeda, and Harriett had spent the day preparing for her first year at Académie des Sorciers, and now they were headed for the final and most anticipated part of the day: the wand selection.

Harriett’s heart fluttered in her chest with excitement and anxiety. It was one thing to have read about wands in the magical books Sirius had shared with her, but it was another thing entirely to feel the weight of this moment—today, she would choose the wand that would become her own, the one that would channel her magic for the first time. What if it didn’t work? What if the wand didn’t choose her?

Sirius, ever perceptive, nudged her gently with his elbow. “You’re worrying again, kiddo.”

Harriett gave him a small, nervous smile. “It’s just… a wand is such an important thing, isn’t it? What if it doesn’t feel right? What if I’m not the right match?”

Andromeda, who had been quietly listening, placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “You’re more than ready, Harriett. The wand is as much about your heart as it is about your skill. The magic will find its way.”

Sirius grinned. “And no matter what happens, if the wand’s a dud, we’ll just go to the best shop in Diagon Alley next year.”

Harriett couldn’t help but laugh, though a slight knot remained in her stomach. She trusted them, but the unknown was always hard to face head-on.

The streets grew quieter as they approached the narrow side street where the famous wand shop, Baguette Magique, was tucked away. Harriett had heard so much about the shop—a place where wands were not simply crafted, but chosen, as if each wand had its own personality, its own history. The legend went that each wand knew its witch or wizard, waiting patiently for the moment of connection.

The doorbell jingled as they entered the shop, and Harriett’s breath caught in her throat. The air was filled with the faint scent of wood, earth, and magic. Shelves lined the walls, each one filled with hundreds of wands, all displayed in velvet-lined boxes. The wands appeared ordinary at first glance, but as Harriett looked closer, she could sense the magic coursing through them, as though each one had its own heartbeat.

Behind the counter, an older man with silver hair and sparkling eyes looked up. His gaze immediately shifted to Harriett, and he smiled warmly. “Miss Black, I presume?”

Harriett nodded, feeling the weight of his eyes on her. He wasn’t just any wandmaker. This was someone who could tell a witch from a wizard with a single glance. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“I am Monsieur Gallier,” he said with a bow. “And I’ve been expecting you.”

Harriett blinked, taken aback. “You’ve been expecting me?”

Gallier chuckled softly. “Ah, yes. You have a particular… aura about you, Miss Black. The wand will find you, just as you will find it. Now, come. Let us begin.”

He led them to a table in the center of the room where dozens of wands sat, each one waiting for its chosen owner. Harriett felt a thrill run through her as she moved closer. She could almost feel the wands humming in the air, their power singing to her.

Sirius and Andromeda stepped back, allowing her the space she needed. Gallier stood by her side, his voice calm and patient.

“Pick one up,” he urged, “and feel it. The wand will tell you if it is meant for you.”

Harriett hesitated for a moment before reaching forward. Her fingers brushed against the first wand—an elegant piece of polished mahogany with intricate runes carved into the handle. The moment her fingers made contact, a surge of warmth pulsed up her arm, but it was fleeting, and the connection was weak. She let it fall back into its box with a small frown.

Monsieur Gallier smiled kindly. “Not quite. Try another.”

The next wand was made of ash, slender and light. Harriett felt a slight buzz as she took hold of it, but again, it didn’t feel quite right. She let it slip from her hand.

She tried several others: an oak wand, a vinewood one, even a wand made from phoenix feather, but none of them felt like the right one. Frustration began to creep in, and her nerves tightened in her chest. What if she didn’t find the one? What if she wasn’t magical enough to have a proper wand?

Gallier seemed to sense her growing frustration. He placed a hand on her arm, his voice soft. “The wand doesn’t choose based on power or skill alone, Miss Black. It chooses based on connection. Trust the magic within you, and it will guide you.”

Harriett nodded, closing her eyes for a moment to clear her mind. She took a deep breath, letting the quiet hum of the shop fill her senses. She couldn’t force this. She had to be patient, to trust in the process.

Her hand hovered over the next wand—a deep, dark oak, almost black in color. The wood was smooth, but with a certain weight to it. She picked it up carefully, her fingers closing around the handle.

The moment she touched it, everything changed.

A bolt of energy surged through her, a deep, powerful connection that sent a shiver down her spine. The wand seemed to resonate with something deep inside her, as though it had always belonged to her. She felt it in her chest, in her soul—a bond that couldn’t be explained, only felt.

For a moment, everything else in the shop faded away. Harriett’s breath quickened as she looked down at the wand, her heart pounding. It was perfect. She felt it in her very bones.

Monsieur Gallier’s voice was quiet, reverent. “This one… Yes, this wand has chosen you, Miss Black.”

Harriett smiled in disbelief, still holding the wand with both hands. She could feel its power, its connection to her. The wand was made of oak, a wood known for its strength, adaptability, and resilience. The core—a rare combination of phoenix feather and a dragon’s heartstring—was a perfect match for her magic. The connection she felt was more than just magical—it was personal. This was her wand.

“Congratulations, Harriett,” Sirius said, his voice full of pride. “It’s perfect.”

Andromeda stepped forward, her smile soft and full of warmth. “It’s beautiful, darling. Just like you.”

Harriett clutched the wand to her chest, feeling the heat of its magic fill her up. She had found it. The wand, her wand, was finally in her hands.

Monsieur Gallier nodded, his eyes twinkling. “A wand like this will carry you far, Miss Black. You have the strength and the magic to wield it.”

With a few more words of advice and a warm handshake, they left the shop. The cool evening air wrapped around them, but Harriett barely noticed it. Her thoughts were focused entirely on the wand now nestled safely in her pocket. It felt like she had been carrying it her whole life, like it was meant for her all along.

As they made their way back to their apartment, Harriett’s steps were lighter, her confidence growing with each passing moment. She wasn’t just entering a new world—she was ready to shape it, to forge her path with the wand that had chosen her.

And for the first time since the journey had begun, Harriett felt truly, completely at home.