[Third Person's PoV]
After their trip to Flourish and Blotts, Arthur and Merlin strolled leisurely down the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. Just a few paces behind them, the Flamels—Nicholas and Perenelle—followed, taking in the magical sights and vibrant atmosphere that surrounded them.
"Have either of you decided where we're heading next?" Nicholas asked, his eyes scanning the shopfronts with interest. All around them, wizards, witches, hags, and warlocks bustled about—darting in and out of shops, bartering over cauldrons, and chatting animatedly over their purchases. The street buzzed with life, glowing signs, and the occasional puff of smoke or spell-spark flickering in the air.
As they passed one shop, Merlin abruptly paused. Her gaze had locked onto the storefront of Eeylops Owl Emporium, where the words were etched in elegant golden lettering across the window. Behind the glass, dozens of owls sat perched on various cages—some ruffled their feathers, others hooted softly or dozed peacefully, nestled into themselves. There were snowy owls, barn owls, tawny owls, and even exotic ones with iridescent plumage from distant corners of the magical world.
Merlin stared quietly, a pensive look overtaking her usually sharp features. Before she could say anything, Arthur glanced at her, noticed the way she was staring, and without a word, grabbed her hand and marched her into the shop. Perenelle followed closely behind, a curious smile on her lips.
"Wha–? Arthur!" Merlin yelped, startled as she was pulled forward by his sudden determination.
Arthur looked over his shoulder and grinned. "You were staring, so I figured you were interested. Come on—you want an owl, right?"
"I suppose I was thinking about it," Merlin admitted, her voice trailing off. "But that doesn't mean I was planning on getting one right this second."
Arthur blinked at her like she'd said something ridiculous. "Why are you being shy about it? You're acting weird."
Merlin's eye twitched. "Arthur," she said in a low, warning tone, "you have this very special talent for making me want to punch you."
"How is that my fault?" he retorted with a scoff, guiding her further inside. "You're the one acting all mysterious over an owl."
Inside, the air was filled with the distinct sounds of fluttering wings and soft, rhythmic hoots. Dozens—if not hundreds—of cages hung from the ceiling and lined the walls, each holding a unique owl. Their feathers shimmered in shades of white, gold, brown, and even deep purples and greens. Every one of them seemed to have its own personality, watching curiously or preening under the gentle glow of enchanted lanterns.
"Go on, pick one," Arthur encouraged with a playful nudge. "I'd get one myself, but I already have Cosmo with me." He pouted, kicking idly at the air and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Stupid rule about only bringing one animal. If it were up to me, I'd bring ten."
Merlin raised an eyebrow and smirked. "And it's because of people like you that the rule exists."
They walked slowly through the aisles, taking in the owls one by one. Arthur's eyes lit up each time they passed a particularly majestic bird, but each time he sighed dramatically and resisted the urge to take one home. Merlin glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, stifling a chuckle at how genuinely tortured he looked. She caught Perenelle also watching him with mild amusement.
"Want to help me choose one?" Merlin asked, casting a side glance at him with a faint smile.
Arthur stopped mid-step and turned to her. "Are you serious?"
She nodded with a light roll of her eyes. "We'll both be using the owl anyway. It'll be our joint companion."
Arthur's lips parted slightly in disbelief before curling into a wide, hopeful smile. His eyes sparkled with childlike excitement. "Really?"
Merlin gave him a long look before finally nodding again. "Yes, really."
His grin grew even wider as he practically bounced in place. Without another word, he took off toward a nearby perch and began pointing at owls excitedly, rattling off pros and cons with such enthusiasm that Merlin couldn't help but laugh under her breath.
…
Merlin soon stepped out of the shop, cradling the cage of a majestic Great Horned Owl in her arms. The owl's distinctive feather tufts, resembling prominent horns or ears, gave it a regal appearance. Its plumage was a striking blend of white, charcoal, and ashen grey, with feathers so fine they looked almost dusted in frost. The owl's half-lidded golden eyes, heavy with what appeared to be disinterest or perhaps judgment, scanned its new surroundings with slow, calculated turns.
"Have you two decided on a name yet?" Perenelle asked, peering at the bird with gentle fascination.
Arthur glanced toward Merlin before speaking, "Even though we'll both be using it, I think you should have the honor of naming it, Mel."
Merlin arched a brow, amused. "Why would I name it 'Mel'? Not exactly an inspiring name for an owl," she teased with a sly smirk.
Arthur gave her a blank look, unamused. "You know what I meant."
She chuckled, tapping her chin in mock thought before suddenly exclaiming, "Horny!"
A stunned silence fell.
"No!" both Perenelle and Nicholas shouted in perfect unison, their eyes wide in alarm.
Merlin tilted her head and blinked innocently at them, putting on her best expression of naive confusion. "What? It has adorable little horn-like tufts. It's appropriate."
"You'll understand—and thank us—when you're older," Nicholas said stiffly, clearing his throat. "For now, just… please choose another name."
"Fine," Merlin sighed with exaggerated disappointment, dramatically looking off into the distance. Her pouting expression quickly gave way to a mischievous grin that spread slowly across her face.
Arthur caught sight of her devilish smile and had to press a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.
"I'll name him… Mercury," she finally announced.
Arthur blinked. "After the Roman god?"
Merlin gave him a look of incredulity. "No, after the metal. Or maybe the planet—obviously the god, Arthur," she replied with dry sarcasm.
"That was uncalled for," Arthur muttered with a small pout, pretending to be hurt.
Behind them, the Flamel couple exchanged a glance of relief and chuckled softly.
"So, where to next?" Perenelle asked, watching the two young magicians bicker with fond amusement.
"Ollivanders!" Arthur declared with glee, practically bouncing on his feet. Although he didn't require a wand—his grimoire handled most of his magical needs—he still couldn't resist the idea. There was something thrilling, almost romantic, about owning a wand. It was part of the full wizarding experience, and he wasn't about to skip it.
The group made their way through the bustling street until they arrived in front of the quaint, crooked storefront of Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The moment Arthur stepped inside, he was struck by the atmosphere. The narrow shop was dusty and dim, but it radiated a quiet power. Wand boxes towered in haphazard stacks that seemed to defy gravity, reaching up toward the shadowy ceiling.
"Welcome, welcome!" a frail, energetic voice greeted them. An elderly man stepped forward from the back room, his silvery eyes brightening the moment he saw Arthur and Merlin. "New faces! Always a joy. But you two... I can feel something quite special about you both."
Ollivander's gaze narrowed slightly as he studied them. Years of crafting wands had honed a keen intuition within him. He had seen many witches and wizards in his time—but there was something different about these two.
Before the Flamels or Ollivander could inquire, Merlin raised a hand politely. "Sorry, I already have a wand. It's a family heirloom."
"Ah," Ollivander nodded with a wistful smile. "A shame... but a treasured wand is worth holding onto." He turned toward Arthur. "Then that means you are my customer today?"
"Seems so," Arthur said, stepping forward with eager energy.
"Excellent! Let's begin. Stand here—arms out, please."
As Arthur extended his arms, Ollivander bustled around him with a measuring tape that moved as if alive, taking precise measurements of his arms, fingers, and even the space between his eyes.
"You're oddly muscular for your age," Ollivander noted with mild surprise.
"I work out," Arthur replied casually, keeping it simple.
"Very well," Ollivander said, turning toward a row of wand boxes. "I think I have just the thing..."
As the old wandmaker moved to retrieve a wand, a sudden thought sparked within Arthur's mind—mischievous and curious. 'I wonder what would happen…'
He released a subtle thread of his magical energy into the room.
Instantly, the entire shop reacted.
A low hum filled the air as wand boxes began to tremble. The vibrations grew more intense until, with a thunderous rustle, every wand in the store launched from its shelf and soared into the air.
"What in Merlin's name—!" Ollivander ducked as dozens of wands shot past him, swirling toward Arthur in a storm of wood and magic.
Wands of all lengths, cores, and woods spun rapidly around Arthur, creating a cyclone of enchanted instruments. They twisted and twirled like leaves caught in a whirlwind, forming a glowing spiral with Arthur at the epicenter.
The others watched in stunned silence.
Inside the vortex, Arthur's eyes gleamed with awe and quiet reverence. He could feel the longing of each wand—each one buzzing, humming with energy—as if begging to be chosen.
They recognized him.
They weren't just reacting to his magic.
They were reacting to his presence—his potential.
They wanted to be wielded by a king.
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