Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

Harry glanced up at the faded gold lettering above the narrow, shabby shop: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The sign had probably looked impressive many centuries ago, but now it just looked old.

Which, considering how long the shop had been in business, made perfect sense. It wouldn't do to ruin the aesthetic of the place, would it?

He pushed the door open, causing a soft bell to chime somewhere in the depths of the store. Once inside, Harry lowered his hood that had kept his face hidden from the crowds outside.

There wasn't any point in causing a scene in Diagon Alley when he was just trying to buy a wand.

The shop was exactly what he'd expected from the stories he'd heard over the years. Thousands upon thousands of narrow boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling, creating walls of potential magical foci.

Harry looked around and smiled lightly. It was finally time.

He could tell that Ollivander was behind one of the walls of wand boxes, probably organizing inventory or searching for something specific. The old wandmaker had the same tiny baseline level of fear that all living beings carried, but Harry had learned to use that as a way to sense people's locations.

Harry walked up to the narrow counter and pressed the little bell sitting there to announce his presence properly.

Almost immediately, he heard the sound of a sliding ladder. Ollivander appeared around one of the shelves, moving his ladder along the wall until he became visible.

The old man looked down at Harry with pale, silvery eyes.

"Well, well," Ollivander said, looking Harry up and down. "I hadn't expected to see Harry Potter in my shop for a few more years yet..."

Harry chuckled and waved the letter Dumbledore had written. "This letter should explain everything, Mr. Ollivander."

"Hmm." Ollivander climbed down from his ladder.

He approached the counter and held out his hand. "Let's see what the Headmaster has to say about this unusual situation."

Harry handed the letter to Ollivander, who broke the wax seal and quickly scanned the contents. The old wandmaker's silvery eyebrows rose as he read.

"You're really not a normal wizard, are you?" Ollivander said, looking up from the letter.

"Well, it's not all that surprising by the look of you," he continued, studying Harry's face and build.

Ollivander opened his mouth as if to say something else, then paused. Harry caught the beginning of what sounded like "time" before the wandmaker clamped his lips shut, clearly deciding against whatever he'd been about to mention.

Harry let out a small chuckle under his breath. Did Ollivander suspect that he'd messed with time or something? Well, it was a reasonable suspicion given that the old man was probably wondering how he could be magically mature enough for a wand already at his age.

"I'm looking forward to finally owning a wand," Harry said simply.

Ollivander clapped his hands together, shaking himself free from his thoughts. "Yes, yes, let's see..."

The wandmaker turned and randomly picked up a wand box, sliding open the small case and lifting out a brown wand.

"Willow, unicorn hair, ten and three-quarter inches, quite supple," Ollivander announced. "Willow is known for its healing properties..."

Harry accepted the wand and gave it a small swing. Immediately, he could feel the wand trying to latch onto his magic. Since all of his magical energy was naturally being converted to World Power, he manually sent a small portion into the wand.

The wand greedily absorbed the power and released it in a completely chaotic manner.

Books flew off a nearby shelf, several wand boxes tumbled to the floor, and a small mirror cracked.

Ollivander rapidly shook his head. "No, that is surprisingly not the best match for you..."

Harry handed the wand back with a slight smile. "I don't really have any deep insecurities or whatever, you know..."

Ollivander's eyes widened in surprise. "You know your wandlore?"

Harry smirked and shrugged. "I would naturally do my research on wands. It's going to be a companion for a while, wouldn't it? If it's so important, I want to know all about it."

Ollivander's face lit up with genuine delight. "Ah! A customer who appreciates the art! How refreshing. Most young wizards simply wave whatever I hand them and hope for pretty sparks."

The old wandmaker rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Well then, let's discuss what we're working with, shall we? That willow wand you just tried… willow seeks a witch or wizard of great potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It's a superb wand for healing magic, but it does require the wielder to have some... shall we say, emotional depth."

In other words, it sought those with lots of insecurity or self-doubt.

Such a wand would find very little to work with in his case.

"Let's try something different," Ollivander said, pulling out another box. "Beech with dragon heartstring, eleven inches, reasonably supple."

Harry took the wand and immediately felt a much stronger connection. When he channeled World Power into it, the response was far more controlled. A gentle white light shone from the tip, and he could feel the wand's eagerness to work with him rather than against him.

"Much better," Harry said, giving it a few practice swishes. The magic flowed smoothly, without the chaotic energy release of the willow wand.

"Excellent!" Ollivander clapped. "Beech is a fascinating wood. It performs very weakly for the narrow-minded and intolerant, but it truly shines in the hands of those who are wise beyond their years. In older wizards, it seeks those rich in understanding and experience."

Harry wasn't surprised that the wand had responded well to him. He'd certainly gone through more events than any wizard or witch his age would experience.

But Ollivander was frowning slightly as he watched Harry test the wand's movements. "Hmm. Good, but not perfect. I can sense there's a better match for you somewhere in here."

The old wandmaker's eyes shone. "Let's keep searching, shall we?"

What followed was an extensive testing session. Ollivander pulled box after box from his shelves, each containing a different wand with its own unique properties. Harry tried oak with dragon heartstring, maple with unicorn hair, cherry with phoenix feather, and dozens of others.

Most of the wands gave him an average connection. The magic was accepted well enough, but there wasn't that ideal harmony he'd heard described. A few wands rejected him entirely, producing nothing but weak sparks or refusing to channel his magic at all.

"Interesting," Ollivander whispered after the fifteenth failed attempt. "You're quite selective, aren't you? Or perhaps it's the other way around."

Harry shrugged. He had heard from many Hogwarts students that this could take a while, and that Ollivander always liked to make it more exciting for the children by pretending that it was rare to find an ideal match.

Then Ollivander presented him with a walnut wand, thirteen inches with dragon heartstring.

The moment Harry grasped it, he felt a surge of compatibility that matched the beech wand.

"Ah!" Ollivander's eyes lit up. "Walnut! A wood of unusual versatility and adaptability. Walnut wands are often found in the hands of magical innovators and inventors. They're particularly good for those who seek to push boundaries and explore new magical territories."

But again, Ollivander didn't look entirely satisfied. "Still good, but I sense we haven't found your perfect match yet."

They continued testing. Harry tried elm, which Ollivander said preferred owners with presence and magical dexterity. The connection was decent but not exceptional. He tested rowan, which supposedly favored clear-headed and pure-hearted wizards.

Again, a reasonable match but nothing special.

Then Ollivander pulled out a box that made Harry pause.

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple," the wandmaker announced.

Harry took the wand and channeled his power into it. The response was... average. Just like most of the others he'd tried, there was nothing particularly special about the connection.

But Ollivander was watching him closely.

"That wand is rather famous, you know," the old man said quietly. "The phoenix whose feather resides in that wand gave just one other feather. Just one. And that other feather became the core of the wand that changed your destiny..."

Harry looked down at the wand in his hand. So this was the brother to Voldemort's wand. The weapon that had killed his parents and tried to kill him.

He felt... nothing special about it, really.

Was he supposed to be angry at a piece of wood? That would be pretty stupid. The wand hadn't chosen to be used for murder any more than a sword chose to be used by a killer. If Voldemort himself appeared in front of Harry right now, that would be different. Harry would happily capture the bastard and torture him until his mind broke beyond all repair. Who cared if the man had horcruxes protecting him from death if he ended up catatonic?

But taking out his anger on a random wand? Harry wasn't that crazy.

He handed the holly wand back to Ollivander without comment.

The wandmaker seemed slightly surprised by Harry's lack of reaction, but he accepted the wand and continued their search.

"Let's try this one," Ollivander said, pulling out another box. "Vine with phoenix feather, twelve and three-quarter inches, supple flexibility."

Harry accepted the vine wand and immediately felt a difference. When he poured a small measure of World Power into it, the response was unlike anything he'd experienced with the previous wands. Instead of the wand simply accepting his magic and releasing it, this one seemed to resonate with the very nature of his power.

The connection felt... complete. Like the wand had been waiting specifically for him.

Harry gave the wand a gentle wave, and the magic didn't release itself randomly like it had with the other wands. No. It obeyed his desires perfectly. The magic enveloped the wand itself in a soft white glow that looked extremely similar to the clouds of World Power that filled his Heaven-Earth Soul's Heaven.

It was as if the vine wand had become a wand of pure light.

Ollivander's silvery eyes widened as he stared at the glowing wand in Harry's hand. The old wandmaker blinked several times, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"Well," Ollivander said slowly, "I must say, in all my years of wand-making, I have never witnessed such a phenomenon. The wand appears to be... luminous."

"Is that unusual?" Harry asked.

"Unusual?" Ollivander let out a short laugh. "My dear boy, I've been matching wizards to wands for over sixty years. I've seen sparks, I've seen colorful lights, I've even seen a few wands that produced small musical notes. But I have never seen a wand do that."

The old wandmaker shook his head, as if clearing away his amazement, then focused on Harry. "But perhaps it makes sense, given the wand that chose you. Vine wands are among the less common types, and I have been intrigued to notice that their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best."

A vision beyond the ordinary. That certainly described his situation.

"What exactly does vine wood represent beyond just the basics?" Harry asked.

Ollivander's eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of someone discussing their favorite subject. "Vine is a most peculiar wood. It grows by reaching toward something, never content to simply exist where it is. It must always be striving, always seeking something greater than its current state."

That definitely sounded familiar. Harry had never been content with his current level of power or understanding. Even now, with combat power that far exceeded his original species, he was constantly looking for ways to grow stronger, to understand more, to become something greater.

"And the wizards it chooses reflect this nature," Ollivander continued. "They're drawn to purposes larger than themselves and they refuse to accept limitations that others take for granted."

Harry nodded slowly. "And the phoenix feather core?"

"Ah, phoenix feather." Ollivander's expression grew reverent. "The most rare of wand cores. Phoenix feathers come from creatures of rebirth, of transformation, of rising from destruction to come out stronger than before. They're capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn hair or dragon heartstring to reveal their true potential."

That fit as well, didn't it?

He'd survived Voldemort's attempt to kill him, even if it was done by some unknown alternate version of himself, and had come out continuously blessed with offers that had allowed him to break the ceiling of this world.

He'd faced the Oracle's attempt to possess him and in overcoming her, he had turned the Inner Eye from something external into something internal.

He'd consumed a Fear Spirit that had tried to break him and made it into his own power.

Even his recent transformation into a World had been a kind of death and rebirth… that of his old soul structure dying to make way for something entirely new.

"The combination of vine and phoenix feather is particularly interesting," Ollivander said thoughtfully. "Vine wood that seeks greater purpose, paired with a core that represents transformation and rebirth. It suggests a wizard destined not just to achieve great things, but to fundamentally change in the process of achieving them."

Harry felt something click into place as Ollivander spoke about transformation and rebirth. The words triggered a memory that made him pause.

Fawkes.

Dumbledore's phoenix had died right in front of Harry when he was younger. Harry could still remember watching as the beautiful bird burst into flames, reduced to nothing but ash and a few smoldering feathers.

He'd been horrified at first, thinking something terrible had happened.

But then Fawkes had been reborn from those very ashes. A tiny, ugly chick at first, but still the very same phoenix.

Death and rebirth hadn't changed who Fawkes was at his core.

Harry had watched this happen several times over the years. Every Burning Day, Fawkes would die and return. But no matter how many times it happened, he was always still Fawkes. Not a different phoenix who happened to look similar.

The same individual, with the same memories and the same relationships.

That was interesting, wasn't it? Phoenixes were immortal, just like Harry would be. They went through cycles of death and rebirth, constantly transforming themselves. But they didn't lose themselves in the process.

Of course, there were some important differences. Fawkes didn't grow stronger each time he was reborn. He just returned to the same level he'd been at before. And while Fawkes was intelligent for a bird, he wasn't accumulating vast amounts of knowledge over his immortal lifespan.

He wasn't wrestling with complex questions or making decisions that could affect societies.

Still, it proved something important. Being reborn didn't have to mean losing the essence of who you were. Transformation didn't have to mean becoming someone else entirely.

Maybe Harry's fears about losing his humanity weren't as inevitable as he'd thought.

Maybe there was a way to grow and change and become more powerful without losing the core of what made him himself.

But these thoughts triggered another train of thought entirely.

Within his Heaven-Earth Soul, Harry's Human Avatar opened his eyes. He was standing in the middle of his Core Texture, surrounded by endless seas of white clouds that stored his World Power. A few golden clouds drifted between them, containing his Virtue Power.

His gaze focused on one particular white cloud. On top of that cloud sat a small clump of snow that moved like liquid across the surface.

Snow in Summer.

Harry walked across the clouds toward that particular one. When he reached the cloud, he crouched down and stared at the snow.

It was beautiful, in its own way. Pure white, constantly shifting and flowing, but never losing its essential nature. No matter how warm the air around it became, no matter how much golden sunlight from the sky of his Heaven reached it, the snow remained snow.

"What is snow except water holding a shape?" Harry whispered, remembering Mohan's words from their time in India. "Does it have a true nature separate from what forms it?"

Back then, Harry had not completely agreed with him. He'd insisted that snow did have a true nature, something that made it fundamentally different from simple water. And in accepting this, he'd accepted that his own core nature was like that snow. Something that could change and flow, but never truly lose what made it essentially him.

But now, staring at this manifestation of his deepest self, Harry wondered if that was enough.

The snow could change its shape. It could flow and adapt to new containers. But it was still snow. It still yearned for summer while only being able to exist in winter. It could look at warmth and light and growth, but it could never truly experience them without ceasing to be what it was.

Was that his fate?

To be forever looking at humanity from the outside, yearning to connect but never able to truly experience what they experienced?

But the more he looked at the snow, the more questions started forming in his mind.

What exactly was this snow supposed to represent?

Supposedly his core self, but what was a core self, really?

When Harry thought back to who he'd been as a four-year-old, he could barely recognize that child. That version of himself had been focused entirely on survival. He'd played with his prey when hunting as an eagle, finding enjoyment in their fear.

Now? Harry still valued power, but he also cared about justice and protecting people he loved. He'd developed genuine friendships and romantic feelings.

The idea of torturing innocent creatures for fun made him feel disgusted.

So which one was his "true" self? The cruel child or the person he was now?

If his values could change that much in just a few years, what would happen over centuries? Over millennia? Would he even remember caring about the same concept of justice when he was ten thousand years old?

Harry's Avatar walked to another cloud and sat down heavily. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

Maybe Mohan had been right all along.

The old Buddhist monk had tried to teach him about the concept of "no-self" or anattā during their time in India. Harry had rejected the idea back then, insisting that there had to be some core part of a person that remained constant. Some essential Harry-ness that would always exist.

But what if that was wrong?

Harry's Avatar stood up abruptly, pacing across the clouds. His breathing was becoming shallow.

What if there was no real Harry at all? What if he was just a collection of experiences and memories that happened to think they formed a coherent person?

What if the Snow in Summer was just another illusion?

The snow continued flowing across the cloud's surface, but now it looked different to Harry. Instead of representing some eternal core of his being, it looked like... just snow.

Frozen water that would melt the moment it encountered real heat.

Was that all he was?

A frozen configuration of thought that would inevitably melt and reform into something completely different?

Harry tried to think of something, anything, that had remained constant about himself over the years. His desire for power? No, that had evolved from simple survival instinct into something more complex. His protectiveness? That was new… the four-year-old Harry hadn't cared about protecting anyone except himself.

His intelligence? Even that had changed. Not just in quantity but in quality from both lived experiences and the influence of various offers that expanded the way he understood the world.

What about his memories? But memories could be altered, couldn't they? The Oracle had tried to overwrite his mind entirely. And even without external interference, he knew that memories naturally shifted over time. The Harry of a thousand years from now might remember these events completely differently.

His body? That was obviously changing.

His power? His abilities had evolved so dramatically that they bore almost no resemblance to what he'd started with.

Harry's pacing became more frantic. His hands were shaking now.

If everything about him could change… his values, his thoughts, his memories, his body, and his power, then what exactly was supposed to be eternal? What if that future Harry felt no more connection to his current thoughts and feelings than he felt to those of a complete stranger?

This was worse than just losing his humanity.

This was the possibility that there was no "him" to lose in the first place. That consciousness was just an illusion of continuity, like watching a river and thinking it was the same water when every drop was constantly being replaced.

The snow continued its gentle flow, completely unaware of Harry's crisis.

Or maybe it was aware, and it was mocking him. Maybe it knew it was just frozen water pretending to be something special.

Harry forced himself to take deeper breaths. He needed to think about this logically, not just panic.

Okay. So maybe there was no eternal, unchanging self. Maybe he really was just a configuration of thoughts and experiences that would inevitably transform into something unrecognizable.

But... did that actually matter?

Harry thought about Fawkes again. The phoenix died and was reborn constantly, but everyone still considered him to be the same individual. Not because some essential "Fawkes-ness" survived the flames, but because there was continuity between each incarnation.

Each reborn Fawkes remembered being the previous Fawkes. He maintained relationships with the same people. He lived in the same office and responded to the same name.

Maybe that was enough. Maybe continuity was more important than some imaginary eternal essence.

But then Harry remembered stories from the other world's memories. Cultivators who lived for longer than the human race of Earth had even been alive and became so divorced from their original selves that they barely remembered their mortal lives.

Beings who had shed their humanity so completely that they operated on entirely different moral frameworks. Those beings had continuity of memory. They remembered their past selves. But they seemingly felt no connection to those memories beyond simple historical interest.

Was that his future?

To remember being Harry Potter the way he might remember reading about some historical figure?

Harry grabbed handfuls of cloud-stuff in his fists, trying to anchor himself. There had to be something. Some core principle or drive or... something that could serve as an eternal foundation.

What about his desire to protect people he cared about? That felt fundamental to who he was now. But he could already see how that might evolve. What if he eventually cared about so many people that individual relationships became meaningless? What if he started making calculations about acceptable losses for the greater good?

What about his pursuit of power? That had been constant, hadn't it?

But the four-year-old Harry had wanted power purely for survival. The current Harry wanted it for survival, growth, and protection.

Future Harry might want it for reasons he couldn't even imagine yet.

Harry's Avatar collapsed onto the cloud, staring up at the golden sky of his Heaven. His breathing was ragged from the stress of potential meaninglessness.

But as he lay there, something occurred to him. Even if his reasons for wanting power had changed, the wanting itself had remained constant.

Not just power, but the drive to reach toward something greater than his current state.

That was exactly what Ollivander had said about vine wood, wasn't it? That it "grows by reaching toward something, never content to simply exist where it is." The wand had recognized something in him that went beyond his current thoughts or feelings or even his reasons for growth.

It had recognized his direction.

Harry sat up slowly. Maybe he was approaching this wrong. Maybe the question wasn't what he fundamentally was, but what he fundamentally wanted to become.

Harry thought back to the memories from that other world. The cultivators there had something they called a Dao. A foundational principle that guided their entire existence. Some cultivators followed the Dao of the Sword, dedicating themselves completely to perfecting swordsmanship, but that wasn't the only one out there.

The Dao of the Inferno, Rainwater, Gale, Thunderclap… there were many possibilities.

The most powerful cultivators weren't those who accumulated the most techniques or artifacts. They were the ones who found their Dao and aligned everything they did with that principle.

But what was Harry's Dao?

What was the foundational principle that he could build his eternal existence around?

He didn't know.

The thought should have been terrifying, but instead Harry felt something like relief.

He didn't know yet. But that didn't mean he never would.

Maybe finding his Dao was the real journey. Maybe becoming immortal wasn't about preserving some static version of himself, but about discovering what he truly wanted to become and then spending eternity moving toward that ideal.

Harry looked down at the snow again. It was still flowing across the cloud's surface, but now it seemed different. Not like something frozen and unchanging, but like something that was constantly moving toward... something.

What did snow want to become?

Harry reached out and touched the snow with his Avatar's hand. The moment his fingers made contact, the snow seemed to pulse slightly.

Not with cold, but with... potential.

The snow wasn't trying to remain snow forever. It was trying to become something more. Something that could exist in both winter and summer. Something that could experience warmth without melting away entirely.

Harry felt his breathing steady. That was it, wasn't it?

The snow represented not what he was, but what he was trying to become. Someone who could grow and change and transform without losing the ability to connect with what he had been.

A bridge between his mortal origins and his immortal future.

Harry lay back down on the cloud, but this time he wasn't panicking.

He could find out what his Dao was.

Maybe not today, maybe not for years or decades.

But he had eternity to figure it out.

And in the meantime, he could keep growing. Keep learning. Keep protecting the people he cared about and pursuing greater understanding. Not because those things defined him forever, but because they were steps on the path toward discovering what he truly wanted to become.

Harry completely relaxed for the first time since the crisis had started. His Avatar's body sank deeper into the cloud as tension flowed out of him.

He could find out. That was enough.

Harry opened his eyes in Ollivander's shop to find the old wandmaker waving his hand in front of Harry's face with a concerned expression.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter, are you quite alright?"

Harry blinked and shook his head slightly, realizing he'd been standing completely still for what must have been several minutes. The vine wand was still glowing softly in his hand, but Ollivander looked worried.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I was just... entranced by the wand. The connection is incredible."

That wasn't entirely a lie. The vine wand really did feel perfect in his hand, and the experience had been connected to holding it, even if most of it had happened inside his Heaven-Earth Soul.

"I think this is the one," Harry said.

"Oh, I quite agree," Ollivander nodded. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a more perfect match!"

Harry smiled and reached for his Endless Wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

"Seven Galleons," Ollivander said.

Harry counted out the coins and placed them on the counter. Ollivander accepted the payment but didn't seem particularly interested in the money.

Instead, the old wandmaker was staring at Harry with those pale, silvery eyes. There was something almost hungry in his expression, like he was trying to memorize every detail of what he'd just witnessed.

"Mr. Potter," Ollivander said slowly, "I do hope you'll return someday to tell me about the magic you accomplish with that wand. I have a feeling it will be... extraordinary."

"I'm sure it will be," Harry said. "Thank you for your patience, Mr. Ollivander. This really is perfect."

"The pleasure was entirely mine, young man. It's not often I get to witness a matching quite like that one."

Harry placed the wand onto his dragon-hide belt, right next to his Endless Wallet.

"Have a wonderful day, Mr. Ollivander."

"And you as well, Mr. Potter. Do try not to set anything on fire with that wand until you've had proper lessons."

Harry chuckled and pulled his hood back up before stepping out of the shop. The bell chimed softly behind him as the door closed.

Walking through Diagon Alley with his face hidden, Harry couldn't help but smile. Finally, he had a wand. After years of watching other wizards casually fix problems with simple spells while he had to rely on more dramatic solutions, he could start learning the convenient magic he'd been missing.

But first, he needed to visit the Flamels.

Harry had been putting off explaining his transformation into a World for too long. Nicolas and Perenelle deserved to know what had happened to him, especially since they'd been so worried about his development.

More importantly, though, Harry needed to establish his first permanent Spatial Gate.

The Elder Blood was still completely unpredictable. It could activate at any moment and drag him to some random world for weeks or months. Last time, he'd been lucky that it hadn't been too long.

But what if next time he was gone for years?

Harry needed a way to stay connected to the people he cared about, no matter where the Elder Blood took him.

He pulled out the portkey that would take him back home and activated it. A hook of magic immediately pulled him into the sky and transported him to the cottage within seconds.

Harry spotted Nicolas and Perenelle almost immediately. They were both lying on comfortable-looking chairs in a sunny patch of the garden, apparently enjoying the warm sunlight. Nicolas had a book open on his lap, while Perenelle seemed to be dozing with her face turned toward the sun.

They both looked up when Harry appeared, and he could see the relief on their faces.

Clearly they'd been worried about him ever since his last letter, which had been deliberately vague about what had happened.

Harry walked over to them with a smile. "Good afternoon."

"Harry!" Nicolas set his book aside and sat up in his chair. "We're so glad to see you. When we got Dumbledore's letter..."

Perenelle opened her eyes and gave Harry a probing look. "We've been very curious about what exactly Albus meant when he said you'd become a 'World.' That's not exactly standard magical terminology, you know."

He felt his smile become a bit more awkward.

"Well," Harry said slowly, "it's a bit complicated..."