At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

He leaned on his cane, turned, and walked toward Gringotts.

The snow-white Gringotts stands majestically, casting its shadow over all the surrounding shops.

The goblin guard in his scarlet and gold-trimmed uniform standing beside the bronze gate became obsequious when he saw the black iron key in Lucien's hand. He bowed deeply, a gesture of humility mixed with awe and fear.

"The Ashford family... This way, sir. Ragnark will personally show you the way."

Then a second door appeared before them, and Lucien saw the following inscriptions on both doors:

Please come in, stranger, but be careful.

What will be the consequences of insatiable greed?

To take without giving, to reap without sowing.

They will be subject to the most severe punishment.

Therefore, if you want to get from our underground vault

Take away a fortune that never belonged to you.

Thief, you have been warned.

Beware that what you attract will not be treasure, but retribution.

After passing through the door, the goblins led Lucien into a tall, marble hall. About a hundred goblins sat on high stools behind a long counter, some weighing coins on bronze scales, others examining gems with eyepieces, all hastily recording their findings in a large ledger. The hall had countless doors, each leading to a different place, and many goblins guided visitors through these doors.

At the counter, I noticed a striking pair: one man nearly twice the height of an average person, about five times the width, with hands as large as trash can lids and wearing enormous leather boots; and another, a dark-haired boy of similar age, looking around curiously.

He vaguely remembered that in the original Harry Potter story, there was a tall guide, and he figured this black-haired boy must be Harry Potter.

Lucian stopped and glanced at Harry's forehead. Deep within the lightning bolt scar, a filthy fragment of soul clung like a maggot, polluting the host's pure soul.

Seemingly sensing the overly sharp gaze, Harry subconsciously looked up, his eyes piercing through the crowded throng and meeting Lucian's eyes precisely.

Harry was stunned for a moment. In that instant, he felt as if he had been seen through from the inside out. Strangely, he didn't feel offended; instead, he felt a strange, lonely sense of being understood.

……

There were no queues or complicated procedures. Lucien was led directly to the deepest underground mine tunnel.

As the roller coaster-like cart passed through burning torches, past the thief-proof waterfall, and finally stopped in front of an ancient vault door covered in verdigris deep underground, a chill permeated the air, a chill only found in ancient tombs.

"Vault number nineteen." The goblin named Ragnack's voice was hoarse, seemingly unwilling to look at the door any longer. "It has been sealed off for thirty years since your grandfather passed away."

As the key was inserted, the complex clanging of gears echoed underground.

The gate slowly opened, and a hill made of gold galleons stood silently before us.

This is the embodiment of the Ashford family's resources accumulated over centuries. Countless gold coins are piled up haphazardly like grains of sand, stretching into the darkness at the edge of sight. Half-buried within this sea of ​​gold are countless ancient suits of armor, rare magical ores, and rare manuscripts sealed in crystal cabinets.

The wealth here is enough to buy half of Diagon Alley, or even to wreak havoc for a director position in the Ministry of Magic.

Faced with such an enormous fortune that could drive anyone mad,

He simply grabbed a handful of Galleons and stuffed them into his money pouch, which was enchanted with a smudge-free stretching spell, as if he were grabbing a handful of sand from the riverbank.

"Let's go." Lucien turned around, not giving the mountain of gold another glance.

After leaving Gringotts, Lucien avoided the crowds and headed straight for a shop at the end of Diagon Alley.

The shop was small and shabby, and the gold lettering on the door had peeled off, reading: Ollivander: Crafting fine wands since 382 BC.

In the shop window, there was only a lone, faded purple cushion with a magic wand on it. The gold lettering on the door had peeled off, making it look rather desolate.

As I pushed open the door, the wind chimes rang out with a clear, tinkling sound.

The shop was filled with the smell of dust and wood. This smell made Lucien feel at home; it was similar to the smell of the storeroom in the Forbidden City where Ming Dynasty furniture was stored.

"good afternoon."

A soft voice said, followed by a loud clicking sound from behind the mountain of wand boxes.

An old man stood in front of him, his large, light-colored eyes shining like two bright moons in the dimly lit shop.

But as soon as he glanced at Lucien, a look of doubt appeared on his face.

"Strange..." Ollivander muttered to himself, moving closer. "Very strange. Mr. Ashford, isn't it? I remember your father's wand, oak, dragon heartstring, strong but easily bent... but I can't see through you."

In Ollivander's eyes, the boy's soul was shrouded in a mist, lacking the curiosity and excitement of his peers, more like a silent forest shrouded in eternal night, where anyone who tried to pry would get lost.

"I've come to choose my wand, sir," Lucien said politely, his voice calm.

"Of course, of course." Ollivander took out a measuring tape and began measuring Lucian's arm length, the distance between his nostrils, and even the length of his eyebrows. "Wand selector, Mr. Ashford. Let's see..."

The next half hour was a disaster.

"Beech, Dragon Heartstring, nine inches... no, it withered as soon as I picked it up."

"Willow wood, unicorn hair... Oh my god, it's screaming! Put it down!"

"Redwood... is too weak; it trembles in your hands."

He tried more than thirty wands, and each one either did nothing at all the moment Lucian grasped it, like a dead piece of wood, or it was like being electrocuted and he was violently repelled.

The floor was littered with discarded wand boxes. But the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelf, the happier he seemed.

"A picky... extremely picky customer," Ollivander murmured, turning and walking into the back of the shop. "But I think I understand. The usual combinations can't bear your... special 'weight'."

After a long while, he came out carrying a dusty black box.

"This is a very dangerous wand," Ollivander said in a low voice. "Ebony, which isn't uncommon, and it prefers owners who are independent and don't follow the crowd. But its core..."

He opened the box.

Inside lay a completely black magic wand, devoid of any ornamentation, its surface as rough as a charred, withered branch.

"The tail feathers of a Thestral." Ollivander stared into Lucien's eyes. "Only those who have faced death and understand it can wield this substance. It is extremely unstable and possesses immense power; many consider it an ominous sign."

Lucian looked at the magic wand.

In his mental vision, the wand was not an inanimate object. Within it flowed a profound, cold, yet incomparably pure gray energy—a silent power.

He stretched out his hand.

When he touched the wand, there was no dramatic scene like the sparks and whirlwinds that other young wizards had.

Instead, the whole world suddenly came to a standstill.

The swirling dust hovered in the air. The noise outside the window vanished instantly. The air seemed to solidify.

An indescribable sense of oppression spread from Lucian.

All the wand boxes stopped shaking, as if paying homage to a king, or a tyrant.

Lucien felt a chill run down his arm and down his spine, then quickly merge with the black magic within him. It was submission, it was resonance. This wand was like an extended arm, the missing piece of his soul's puzzle.

A few seconds later, everything returned to normal. The dust settled, and the noise returned.

Lucian gently waved his wand. There was no light, no sound; a glass vase on the counter silently melted into its most primordial liquid state, and then reformed into a crystal lotus flower in the next second.

"Deconstruction and reconstruction..." Ollivander's eyes were pale and colorless as he stared at the lotus flower. "No incantation? That's impossible..."

Lucian put away his wand, looked at the unremarkable withered branch in his hand with satisfaction, and said:

"I love so much."

He paid seven Galleons and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, Ollivander suddenly called out to him.

"Mr. Ashford!" The old man's voice trembled slightly. "Beware of that wand. It will amplify the deepest qualities within you. If you seek the light, it is a holy sword; if you yearn for darkness... it is disaster."

Lucian stopped and turned around. Backlit, his expression was indistinct.

"I seek neither light nor darkness, Mr. Ollivander."

He pushed open the door and stepped into the bustling sunlight.

"Power is merely a means; the important thing is to seek truth."