The days after that dinner blurred gently together as Harry settled into the quiet rhythm of the manor. The constant edge of anxiety that had shaped his life at Privet Drive slowly began to fade, worn down by the steady calm of a house that had stood for centuries.
His days found their own pattern. Lessons with Jack in the library. Long walks through the gardens with Morwenna. Meals where warm food appeared without shouting, without tension, without anyone counting how much he ate.
Time moved strangely at Keith Manor. It did not feel as though the days were passing so much as folding into the life of the house itself, each one becoming another quiet thread woven into its corridors, routines, and soft evening silences.
Harry's hands, once always tense and ready to defend himself, slowly learned how to rest against polished wood, warm teacups, and thick blankets instead.
Tilly continued to hover at his elbow, her large ears twitching as he constantly asked if he wanted more rice or another dumpling. He stopped flinching when Poppy appeared out of thin air with a soft pop, and he even started saying thank you with a small, shy voice.
Every morning, Morwenna practiced her dagger draws in the armory. The room was cool and smelled of oil and cold steel. Harry often watched from the stone doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets, feeling too polite to interrupt but far too curious to leave.
The rhythmic shing of the blade leaving the sheath echoed against the high ceiling. She always pretended not to notice his presence, her focus entirely on the targets, and he never asked to stay, yet a silent understanding grew between them in the shared space.
Jack took charge of their education with calm, unwavering patience. History lessons filled the mornings while the light through the library windows was still crisp and pale. Mathematics came after lunch. Geography before dinner.
Harry approached every lesson with intense concentration, carefully recording everything in a new leather-bound notebook. His handwriting was small and precise, each line written slowly so the ink would not smear beneath his hand.
Morwenna, meanwhile, often answered questions without even looking down at her pages.
One afternoon, Jack paused in the middle of a lesson and watched Harry's ink-stained fingers moving carefully across the paper.
"You do not need to write everything perfectly," he said quietly. "You only need to remember it."
Harry kept writing. "If it is neat, I remember it better."
Jack's mouth twitched, "Then you shall have a very organized mind," he said mildly before continuing the lesson.
As August began to fade, the leaves on the trees outside the library window turned a brittle, dry brown at the edges, crunching underfoot during their walks. The shadows under Harry's eyes had not vanished entirely, but they were certainly lighter than they had been. The hollows of his cheeks were beginning to fill out from the steady meals. He stood at the edge of the hall, his fingers twisting the hem of his new jumper.
Seraphina spent her afternoons knitting in the morning room, the silver needles clicking in a steady, hypnotic beat. A small owl began to take shape in her hands, the brown wool soft and fuzzy. She had chosen two small black buttons for the eyes. She did not show it to Harry, wanting the toy to be perfect before she presented it to him.
Some nights, Seraphina sat by the fire, turning the owl in her hands, checking the stitches along the wings as if they were lines of a spell.
"Patience," she murmured, "is the best magic for mending a boy."
The owl, half‑finished, seemed to listen, its soft bulk resting against her knee.
A letter arrived on the final day of August, the owl's persistent tapping against the library glass breaking the afternoon silence. Morwenna was on the rug with Cinder draped across her lap, a book on wards open on the floor. She let the bird in and found a letter addressed to her in neat, precise loops that smelled faintly of jasmine.
- - -
Nimue,
My parents took me to Ollivander's yesterday. I have my wand now. I am sorry I cannot go with you, as I know we talked about going together.
It is holly, twenty-eight centimeters, with unicorn hair. It is very pale, almost white.
Write to me when you get yours.
Daphne
- - -
Morwenna read the message twice before lowering the parchment into her lap. She was not angry. The feeling in her chest was quieter than that, a small, dull disappointment that settled beneath her ribs without much force.
Her thumb traced absently along the edge of the paper before she folded it once, then again, and slipped it into her pocket.
She found Jane in the morning room, where pale sunlight filtered through a layer of thin cloud, washing the garden beyond the windows into soft watercolor shades of green and grey.
"We need to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow," Morwenna said, her voice echoing in the quiet room.
Jane looked up from her correspondence. "Your wand?"
"Daphne already got hers."
Jane gave a small nod. "I will tell your father."
. . .
The next morning, the entrance hall was bright and welcoming. Sunlight streamed through the high, arched windows, turning the drifting dust motes into tiny specks of gold that danced over the marble floor.
Morwenna waited near the fireplace with Jack and Jane. Harry stood at the edge of the hall, his fingers twisting the hem of his new jumper. His expression was a complicated mix of longing and a desperate attempt to hide it, his eyes fixed on the ceramic pot of Floo powder.
Jack noticed the look and let out a soft laugh. He crossed the room and ruffled Harry's dark, messy hair.
"Your turn will come," Jack promised, his voice warm. "You will receive your first wand when you are ready. Until then, you will practice with a trainer. Patience is part of the craft."
Jane nodded in agreement, her robes rustling as she moved. "Morwenna and you will receive your second wands together. Later."
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "Second wands? I thought a person could only have one."
Jane chuckled at the question. "Most people have only one because they do not require another. The second wand operates outside Ministry registration. It leaves no official trace of your magical signature. It is a family safeguard, and an old tradition among us."
Harry's eyes went wide at the revelation, his imagination clearly racing.
"Is it like a sword?" he asked suddenly. "The second one. Like a secret one."
Jack's smile softened. "Not quite," he said. "It's more like a second voice. One no one else hears."
Morwenna stepped forward, offering a small consolation to the boy left behind. "I will bring you ice cream and snacks."
"Promise?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses.
"Promise."
She paused, then added with complete seriousness, "And if you finish all your lessons today, I will bring extra chocolate."
Harry stared at her. "You can't be serious."
"I am," Morwenna said calmly. "I'm a menace when desserts are involved."
Jack took a handful of silver-grey powder from the pot on the mantel. "Leaky Cauldron!"
The flames roared into a vibrant, emerald green. Jack stepped through first, his silhouette vanishing, followed by Jane and then Morwenna.
. . .
Diagon Alley was packed with people, the atmosphere buzzing with frantic energy. With September first arriving tomorrow, parents were dragging their children through the cobblestone streets to load up on last-minute supplies.
A young girl was crying near the apothecary, her mother fruitlessly trying to soothe her, and a boy ran past them with a brass cage of screeching owls. The stones were warm underfoot, and the air carried the heavy scent of roasted chestnuts mixed with the sweet, floral aroma from the nearby flower stalls.
Morwenna held Jane's hand as Jack walked ahead to clear a path through the dense crowd.
Ollivanders was a narrow, unassuming shop with a faded sign and peeling gold paint. A single wand sat on a yellowed, dusty cushion in the window. Inside, the shelves stretched all the way to the high, dark ceiling, stacked with thousands of narrow, rectangular boxes. The air smelled of old wood, dust, and a faint, metallic scent that suggested ancient power.
A bell chimed with a soft, silver note as they entered.
An old man emerged from the back of the shop, his skin pale and his eyes a light, silvery color that seemed to glow in the dim light. His white hair floated around his head like a cloud of dandelion silk.
"Ah," Garrick Ollivander said. His voice was soft, almost breathless. "Nimue Keith. I have been expecting you."
Jack raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Have you?"
"Wands announce their preferences," Ollivander replied. His pale eyes moved over Morwenna with quiet intensity. "Not in words. In presence. Dogwood, I think. Yes. Honest, generous, and mischievous. Dogwood chooses those who cannot hide their nature."
He turned and climbed a spindly ladder. He pulled down a thin box, set it on the counter, and opened it with care. The velvet lining was a deep, faded purple.
"Dogwood, phoenix feather, thirty centimeters, and rigid."
Morwenna took the wand. The wood was pale, almost white, with a remarkably fine grain that felt smooth under her thumb. It felt heavier in her hand than she had expected. When she gave it a wave, the tip sparked with a silver-blue flame that felt cold to the touch, and a thin layer of frost appeared across the wooden counter.
Ollivander's eyebrows shot up. "Interesting. That is not the usual reaction for dogwood." He took the wand back and returned to the shelves. "No, not this one."
He tried several more, his movements quick and bird-like. "Yew, dragon heartstring, thirty centimeters, and unyielding."
Morwenna waved it, but nothing happened. The wood remained dead in her hand.
"No."
Another box followed. "Oak, unicorn hair, thirty-five centimeters, and swishy."
The wand felt too light in her hand, almost flimsy, like a twig. When she waved it, only a puff of grey, formless smoke emerged. Ollivander took it back and stared at her for a long moment, his pale eyes sharp and searching.
"Wait."
He climbed the ladder to the very top shelf, his fingers moving along boxes with labels too small for Morwenna to read. He pulled one down, blowing a thin layer of dust from the lid, and climbed back to the floor. This box was older than the rest, the wood dark and the edges worn smooth by decades of handling.
"Dogwood," Ollivander said as he opened it. "Phoenix feather, thirty-three centimeters, with rigid flexibility."
Morwenna took the wand, and she felt an immediate, pulsing warmth. It was not hot, but it felt like a friendly hand closing around hers in the dark. She gave it a wave, and a gold sparks erupted from the tip. They were bright and steady, filling the dim shop and refusing to fade. They hung in the stagnant air like tiny stars before drifting downward to pool on the floor and slowly dissolve into the shadows.
Ollivander smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That is the one. Dogwood can be stubborn and demanding, and it does not give its best to anyone who isn't truly dedicated to their craft." He tilted his head, watching the last of the sparks. "But once it chooses, it is fiercely loyal. It will produce extraordinary magic. Nothing subtle and nothing half-hearted."
He looked at the floor where the golden light still shimmered faintly.
"Phoenix feather is rare. It does not yield easily. It requires patience before it answers fully, but when it does, it performs what others cannot." He looked back at Morwenna, his expression grave. "Thirty-three centimeters, with rigid flexibility. It is a wand that won't bend. It will break before it ever bends."
Morwenna looked down at the pale wood and the simple, elegant handle. "Thank you," she said.
Ollivander bowed his head. "No, thank you. It has been a long time since a Keith came to my shop, and I am glad you did."
As she turned to leave, the glass of the door caught a sliver of sunlight, and the wand in her holster glowed faintly, almost imperceptibly.
"He's coming back," Ollivander added, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he weren't certain he should say it. "It's only a matter of time."
"So am I," she answered.
.
Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor was only a few doors down, its pink and white striped awning easy to spot amidst the grey buildings. They found a small table inside near the window, the air smelling of sugar and cold cream. Morwenna ordered a large bowl of chocolate and raspberry, while Jack had coffee and Jane had tea.
Morwenna ate slowly, enjoying the sharp tartness of the raspberries against the cold sweetness of the chocolate. She watched the street through the window, seeing children run past with new cauldrons and parents calling after them. When she finished, she ordered four more containers to take home.
Jane tilted her head slightly. "You have already finished one bowl."
"I am still growing," Morwenna replied, her voice firm.
Jane paid for the order. The coins clinked softly against the counter. They walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, the cold from the containers seeping through the paper bag. When they used the Floo to return, the entrance hall felt cool and peaceful compared to the noise of the Alley.
Harry sat halfway up the stairs, his knees drawn to his chest. He looked small against the stone steps. Cinder lay beside him, his russet head resting in Harry's lap. Harry looked up the moment they stepped from the flames. His eyes searched hers.
Morwenna walked over and held out a paper cup. "Chocolate ice cream. There is a flake on top."
Harry took it, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "A whole one?"
"Ice cream does not travel well. Eat it before it melts."
Harry began to eat with a small plastic spoon, while Cinder sniffed the air and let out a sneeze.
Morwenna took the strawberry container to the morning room, where Seraphina was finishing the owl. The wings were folded and the black button eyes were perfectly placed. Seraphina smiled and set the cup aside for later.
Next, Morwenna found Aldric in the library and gave him the vanilla. He gave a polite nod and set it on the table beside his heavy book. Finally, she sat on the velvet settee in the morning room and opened her own container of chocolate and raspberry. Cinder climbed into her lap and tried to sniff the cup, but she gently pushed his wet nose away.
Through the doorway, she watched Harry. He was still on the stairs, finishing his ice cream with a small, barely visible smile on his face. Morwenna looked down at her wand, admiring the pale wood and the powerful core. She gave it a small flick, and a few gold sparks danced in the air.
Harry looked up, his eyes catching the light. "That's pretty."
"It is," Morwenna agreed.
She put the wand away, and the sparks faded into the quiet air. She finished the last of her ice cream in peace.
= = =
Small update from the latest news.
Because I am still adapting to work, and honestly still can't fully focus on writing new chapters yet, I decided to spend this period doing something else for the fic.
I have been going back through older chapters to polish dialogue, add extra dialogue, and improve narration. The changes started around Chapter 147, The Third Maturity, mainly because of the accent writing. At first, I relied too much on things like replacing letters with "z" and similar tricks. But later I realized I should not make that the main focus or "anchor" of an accent.
Instead, I started adjusting the wording, sentence structure, and overall speech patterns themselves. I also tried to make each character's voice feel more distinct, so their personality comes through more naturally in both dialogue and behavior. I don't know if anyone noticed the difference, but yeah, that is one of the main changes.
Since this kind of editing doesn't take as much mental energy as writing completely new chapters, I decided to go through the earlier chapters too. So yes, this fic is getting another round of polishing.
I will still try to update every few days when my brain is not too exhausted. Truthfully, my current job requires me to "study" again, like digging up old dusty memories, and there is a lot I still need to catch up on. So things will probably stay like this for a while until I fully adapt to the workload and routine.
Sorry about this, and thanks for understanding.