Ollivander stood frozen, head bowed, still reeling from the storm of magical pressure that had just passed. His heart pounded beneath his robes, his thoughts jumbled and fragmented. The boy—Cassian Drayke—had just demonstrated something that went far beyond normal magical aptitude.
The feeling was unmistakable.
That was domination.
Not merely powerful magic, but the kind of absolute force that could subjugate others. In all his years, Ollivander had only felt that kind of pressure once—when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named entered his shop, years ago.
And yet, this boy felt even more controlled… more terrifyingly refined.
This child, Ollivander thought with awe and a hint of fear, will one day rule the wizarding world. He might even become the king of wizards.
"That wand's not bad," Cassian said calmly, as if nothing had happened.
He pulled a few Galleons—seven, to be exact—from the coin pouch Lucius Malfoy had reluctantly given him, placing them neatly on the counter. Then he slipped his new wand into the sleeve of his robe.
"C-Child… you…?" Ollivander finally lifted his head, his voice uncertain. But as his gaze met Cassian's silver eyes—eyes like a cold, moonlit abyss—his words faltered.
A strange shimmer passed over Ollivander's face.
In that instant, his expression slackened. His shoulders relaxed. Then, his mind simply... blanked. The memories of the last few minutes—the Malfoys, the wand, the magic—all vanished without a trace.
Cassian had cast a flawless Obliviate. Silently. Without a wand.
A feat far beyond what even most Ministry officials could manage.
"Cassian, congratulations!" Cassandra beamed, stepping toward him—only for Cassian to suddenly grab her wrist.
Before she could question him, there was a soft crack, and the world warped around them, folding inward like a vortex. A moment later, the two reappeared in the dim, dusty parlor of an old mansion on the outskirts of London.
Cassandra stumbled, quickly regaining her footing. Her expression darkened.
"What are you doing?!" she demanded, drawing her wand with practiced speed and falling into a defensive stance.
Cassian raised a placating hand. "Relax. If we walked out the front door with this wand in my possession, it wouldn't take long before the wrong kind of people came sniffing around."
His tone was calm, logical, even a bit detached.
"That wand isn't ordinary. Even I can tell that much. And where there's power, there's greed. Dark wizards would hunt it. Hunt me."
Cassandra lowered her wand slightly but didn't drop her guard. "So you just decided to teleport us here without warning?"
"I'm not fond of trouble," Cassian replied. "And it's hard to make dark wizards stay dead unless you're particularly thorough."
Her frown softened, just a little. "Fair point. But what about Ollivander? Won't people just ask him who took the wand?"
"He doesn't remember us," Cassian said simply. "I used Obliviate. Silent, wandless."
Cassandra stared at him, stunned. "You... you didn't even say the incantation. And you haven't even started Hogwarts. How do you know that kind of magic?"
Cassian gave a half-smile. "I'm interested in magical theory. I've been experimenting with spell mechanics. Made some improvements."
"Improvements?" she echoed.
"My spells don't need wands or verbal casting anymore," he said. "They're channeled through my pupils."
"That's… impressive. Terrifying, but impressive."
Cassian gave a small nod. Her awe wasn't unfamiliar—but somehow, it felt different coming from her. There was no fear in her voice, only curiosity. That alone made her unique.
"And please," he added with a faint smirk, "don't tell anyone. It's a bit of a secret."
"Is that why you told me?" she asked, blinking. "Because I helped you back there?"
He hesitated for a breath before answering. "I trust you."
Cassandra smiled, almost shyly.
Cassian wasn't foolish—he knew the value of secrets. But he also knew the value of loyalty. If Cassandra proved trustworthy, there would be more he'd share. If not… well, his enchantments were more than sufficient to protect his mind.
She glanced around the parlor, wrinkling her nose. "Not to be rude, but... this place is kind of a dump."
Cassian shrugged. "It wasn't always. After the Aurors arrested me, they seized everything. What you see now is what's left."
"You lived here before Azkaban?"
He nodded. "Yeah. When you run with Death Eaters, you expect to get caught eventually. I kept all my research in my head—no journals, no scrolls. Nothing they could use against me."
Cassandra looked at him with something like admiration. "You really think ahead."
"Had to. I improved Occlumency too, made it so Legilimency doesn't work on me."
"So... you tested spells in Azkaban?" she asked, stunned.
"Of course," he replied. "It was the perfect place. Dementors aren't exactly known for asking questions. And my cell was isolated—no guards, no visitors. I had freedom, in a twisted sort of way."
She gave a low whistle. "What did you work on?"
"Apparition, mostly. I got caught once because the Aurors had wards set up. Took a nasty hit."
"You mean… you modified Apparition?" she asked, eyes wide.
Cassian nodded. "Fixed the disorientation, eliminated the nausea. Made it smoother. Faster. More precise."
"You could use it in combat?"
He didn't answer directly. Instead, he gave her a sly smile.
Cassandra grinned back. "Remind me never to duel you."
---
Meanwhile, back in Diagon Alley...
The pressure had vanished from the air like a storm breaking.
Wizards and witches who had frozen in place moments ago rushed into Ollivander's shop, desperate to see what had caused the earlier magical surge. But by then, Cassian and Cassandra had vanished.
Ollivander, dazed and polite as ever, could only offer blank stares.
"I'm sorry," he kept repeating. "What surge? I don't recall any magical disturbance."
Lucius Malfoy stood outside, his face pale and thoughtful as he watched the crowds.
That oppressive force—he had felt it too.
But unlike the others, he knew precisely what it was.
It wasn't like the fear and chaos that Voldemort commanded. That had always felt like a storm waiting to swallow you whole. No, this was colder. Cleaner. Like a mountain of magic pressing down on your soul.
Lucius's mind raced. That boy… Cassian… He's not just talented. He's dangerous.
He thought back to the Death Eater who once tried to enslave the boy. The man hadn't lasted long.
And the curses—the ones that should've worked on Cassian—had failed.
Lucius clenched his fists.
Voldemort had been a tyrant. But Cassian?
He might become something else entirely.
A king.
---