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Hogwarts
–Damian Hawthorne–
Following the gaggle of students into his first class, he couldn't help but notice the groups that had already begun to form in a single night, with most of them being two or three people clubbed together.
It was also very easy to see which ones were nobles and which ones were Muggleborns. The concern, unfamiliarity, and overall demeanour were enough to tell him who was being exposed to magic, real magic, for the first time in their lives.
In comparison, the nobles were casual, almost as if they had done this a hundred times over. Obviously, not all of them were this confident, but this being Ravenclaw, most had some idea of what was to come. Some had already opened the books to read through the material that was supposed to last them for the entire year.
After roaming around Hogwarts and finding nothing but abandoned classrooms, some more awesome magical weapon statues, and some more bathrooms, he had returned to the Great Hall, finding it full of students this time. Fortunately, there was no hazing, no bullying from the seniors in his house as they were handed their timetables, which was good, for them, that is.
He might not want to show too much of his magical might, he didn't think it would be right to act totally powerless, as that would attract its own set of attention. He mused that if he'd been in Slytherin, he'd have already established a pecking order.
Thankfully, as far as he could tell, no muggleborn had been sorted into Slytherin, and he hoped that this world was not one where students were freely brutalised by their housemates and nothing would happen to them as long as the Head of House vouched for them.
Speaking of Slythering, his first class was not with them. In fact, he did not have any shared lesions with them until Wednesday, Astronomy. Their first lecture today was Charms, with Gryffindor, and History of Magic with Hufflepuff.
As they entered the classroom, he took the seat that was stereotypically reserved for the loner MC, which he supposed he was, in a way. Atleast inside this castle, he fulfilled the requirements to occupy that position.
As he sat down, he noted the main cast, the so-called Golden Trio, hanging out together, sitting close by, with Hermione chatting the boys' ears out, with Harry listening with a smile and Ron making a face at her continued deluge of information.
Neville was sitting behind them as well, occasionally chiming in when Harry talked to him. He noted the used wand in his hand and sighed. Augusta Longbottom, that old crow. He could only hope that Minerva grew the spine to confront that old woman and explain to her the basic concepts of magic and how it worked or atrophied based on the medium of magic given to the magic, and how often one used said magic.
Speaking of wands, he looked at his own wand. A piece of wood that was, by all metrics, dead. When he'd received the wand from Ollivander, he had experimented on it and with it for days on end, trying to see what exactly was so special about this that the old monster had it specially stored in a stone casket.
Only to find out that there was a reason it was stored in a casket. It was dead. After some light research, he knew that the wood used for wands was taken from magical trees, and the wood taken from those trees did not behave like normal wood. It did not need to be part of a whole tree to survive for long. It could be sustained solely on magic. Magic that Ollivander provided as long as it was in his store, and after that, the owner of the wand provided the magic.
That property of ease of magic flow, and in some special cases, amplification for specific use cases of magic, had him declare the wands as alive. It was also a documented phenomenon, but not without any technical research. Nothing like the wand he was given. At first, he'd thought the wand to be a dud, that he had been scammed by the old wandmaker, but after some careful research and a deep dive into the wand, he realised that the wand's core was missing.
All wands had a core, be it a feather, a scale, or something from a magical creature or tree. Something that was responsible for the primary characteristic of the wand, something that helped shape the magic that will come out of the wand.
With a missing core, this could not really be called a wand, not at all. This was just a polished piece of magical wood that had been left to rot for who knows how long. He really had to either get a refund or try one of the other wandmakers on other continents. There were not many left of them, with most of them being on death's door. It was kind of concerning how the entire wandmaking profession right now consisted of a bunch of old geezers with no life, no other purpose besides wandmaking, and no heirs to speak of.
It was understandable since wandmaking was not just time consuming and expensive but also quite life threatening. Gathering the materials required for wands was always risky, but in some cases, if the wandmaker himself did not collect the material, the wand would not come out right. It was a whole fiasco, which is something the world's governments are aware of but are helpless about, since no one could tell if someone had the skill or not without literal decades of trial and error.
Swishing his wand around, he waited for the time to pass as a small ball of light appeared on the tip of his wand, changing colors, turning into a small rainbow ball that rotated on the tip of his wand.
As he watched that ball, he realised that the empty space inside the wand was also of similar shape and size. He did not want to believe he might have to hunt down his wand's core, because that would be such a cliche for an isekai protagonist. Find the wand's core, fuse it with the wand, and become so OP that no one could challenge you, not even the Elder Wand.
Snorting, he shook his head, rejecting those fanciful thoughts and letting the glow die down as–
"Whoa! How did you do that?" He froze slightly and turned to the side, cursing his brief inattentiveness, as someone got close enough without his notice.
"Hi! I'm Terry Boot." The friendly enough boy extended his hand as he shook it. Terry seemed to take that as an invitation to sit down next to him, ruining his prospects of becoming the Loner MC!
"I'm Damian Hawthorne."
"Oh, from the Hawthorne family. Your brother is kind of famous, you know." Oh, no, he was a chatterbox. Merlin help me.
"William?"
"Yes! He is the youngest Auror to become…"
His attention was diverted from Terry to the beacon of odd magic that was walking towards them. Due to the benches, he could only see the head of their teacher, Filius Flitwick as he came and stood on top of a stool already prepared.
"We'll talk later," Terry whispered as the first class of his Hogwarts life officially began.
If you would like to read ahead 12 chapters ahead, you can head to my P*treon.