Chapter 117: Alexander's "Story"
Time: 5 p.m., Ravenclaw Common Room
Harry and Hermione were visibly flustered. Their expressions flickered with barely contained curiosity. They wanted to talk about what had just happened—but as soon as they tried, their mouths faltered, and only hesitant noises escaped.
"Harry, Hermione, you don't need to speak aloud," Alexander said calmly. "Just think it in your mind."
"Alexander, how can you fly? And even take us with you!" Harry thought in shock. This wasn't the average teenage wizard's skill. He wasn't the naïve boy from the original tale—he understood this kind of magic was beyond what most students—or even Dumbledore—could likely perform.
"You really can fly… but the book says—" Hermione's thoughts stumbled.
"Hermione, do you remember what I told you in Potions class?" Alexander asked silently.
"Books are written by wizards. Wizards aren't perfect. They can make mistakes," Hermione recalled.
"Exactly."
"Harry, Hermione... have you ever heard of the Terror Tour?" Alexander asked.
"No," they both thought simultaneously.
"Terror Tours is a wizarding travel agency, located at 59 Diagon Alley. If you're a young wizard and traveling without an adult, you can take a luxury magical journey for just seventy Galleons."
"From vampire castles in Romania, to zombie trails in India, to Atlantis beneath the sea," he explained.
"Seventy Galleons? There are wizards living under the sea? That's not in any of the books!" Hermione thought with disbelief.
"Yes. I later discovered a hidden society of wizards beneath the Bermuda Triangle. They refuse to be bound by the International Statute of Secrecy, but they aren't foolish enough to try conquering Muggles either."
"They discovered the ruins of the ancient city of Poseidon, believed to be founded by the god of the sea. With the help of merfolk, they restored the city, sealed themselves away from the world, and quietly recruited like-minded wizards through these 'terrifying' tours," Alexander continued.
"Then... how did you leave?" Harry asked.
"A contract. One tied not to magic directly, but to the human memory of Atlantis. The city's guardian doesn't mind people leaving—because the contract ensures that no one can speak about it unless they're allowed. Just like how you're hearing me now."
"In Poseidon, no one works jobs. Everyone studies magic. They live in balance, are self-sufficient, and bound by the contract to never harm one another," he explained.
"Then... why don't they just share this contract with the whole world? That would stop all the wars," Hermione thought with innocent logic.
"But the magic behind it is also limited," Alexander responded gently. "The contract draws its power from human belief. Not everyone yearns for that kind of isolated life. And if enough people begin to doubt it, the contract weakens... and eventually breaks."
"True peace doesn't come from just one spell. It needs education, law, and wise leadership," he concluded.
"So... is that where you learned all your magic?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. And I'm going back to Atlantis next weekend. Do you want to come with me?" Alexander offered.
"We'd love to," Harry and Hermione responded in unison.
---
By 6 p.m., Ron and Neville strolled into the common room looking cheerful, each carrying a bundle in their hands filled with the things they'd promised to bring back.
"Ron, you're finally back! I nearly ran down to the Great Hall myself," said Terry Boot with a laugh.
"Harry, check it out—my new wand! Fourteen inches, willow wood, unicorn hair." Ron handed the wand to Harry like a prized possession.
"Mine's cherry wood, unicorn hair, eleven inches—the same length as yours, Harry... and Alexander's too," Neville added, clearly excited. Alexander raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected Neville to pay such close attention. It was interesting, though—all three of the children mentioned in the prophecy had eleven-inch wands.
"Ron, your wand is so long. Fourteen inches? That's only two inches shorter than Hagrid's," Harry said, fingering the wand curiously.
What Harry didn't know was that most wands ranged from 9 to 14 inches. Anything shorter or longer usually indicated a very unusual magical core—or a flaw.
Take George Smith, Alexander's father. His wand had been only six inches long. His magic was volatile, powerful... and ultimately unstable. He died in an accidental magical explosion.
And then there was Rubeus Hagrid. A half-giant. His sixteen-inch wand was fitting.
Stone Hagrid I, known as The Thunderstorm of the Forbidden Forest, King of the Creatures, Mentor of the Dark Woods, Dragon Lord's Descendant—a man with unmatched might, who could tame beasts and lead the shadows. A sixteen-inch wand was truly worthy of him.
Still, why did Ollivander ever hand Harry a seven-inch maple wand to try?
Was it because he thought Harry had some hidden flaw? Was Ollivander subtly judging people through wand length?
Alexander had recently noticed that Ollivander was very selective about when he mentioned wand materials and lengths. That old man… was he casting curses with measurements?
His thoughts drifted to superstitions about holly and oak wands. There was a strange pattern.
Sirius Black had an oak wand—and he was struck down by Bellatrix right before Harry, who had a holly wand.
Harry "died" in the Forbidden Forest. Who carried him out? Hagrid—oak wand.
As a baby, Harry was taken from Sirius and given to the Dursleys. His miserable childhood began right after.
In First Year, Hagrid almost got arrested over a dragon egg.
Second Year, Hagrid was sent to Azkaban.
Third Year, Hagrid made teaching mistakes that almost got him sacked.
Fourth and Fifth Year, he was exposed as a half-giant and humiliated by Umbridge.
It was only in Sixth and Seventh Year that Hagrid seemed to avoid catastrophe. Had the curse simply worn off?
Alexander shook himself from his thoughts. He followed Harry and the others toward the Great Hall for dinner.
---
Along the way, Ron and Neville couldn't stop admiring their new wands, as if they were trying to squeeze magic out of them with every touch. Even when they passed Malfoy, Ron didn't bother provoking him. He even smiled politely.
Malfoy, still awkward after the "confession" incident, looked flustered—and then accidentally made eye contact with Harry.
He turned red and bolted like a bat out of the dungeons.
"Ron… what do I even do with Malfoy now?" Harry mumbled.
"What? Malfoy was here?"
"Harry, don't ask me. I want to call him a git, I really do... but after what he blurted out the other day, I just don't know."
Ron rubbed his stomach. "Let's just eat."
"Yeah... okay," Harry agreed with a sigh.
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