The Magic of Music

Only when the completed wand rested in Sylas's hand did he truly feel the difference.

If the magic within his body was like water in a reservoir, then the wand was the valve that controlled its flow. Before, casting without a wand had been like punching a hole in the dam, magic poured out, but without precision or control. A minor slip in focus could cause the entire reservoir to flood, risking magical backlash, burnout, or worse.

But with a wand, it was different. The flow was smooth, directed, and potent.

Sylas could immediately sense the change: spells now required only a fraction of the energy they once consumed. Magic coursed through the wand like a guided stream, stable and refined. Where before he would burn through his strength, now the same spells cost barely a tenth of that.

He gripped the wand tightly, unable to suppress the joy welling in his heart. This was no ordinary tool, it was a partner, a channel for his will, and a bridge between thought and power.

Sylas had never been the sort to stubbornly chase the idea that wandless magic was superior. No, he believed in reason and adaptation. Humanity's strength came not just from magic, but from its ability to think, to create, and most of all… to use tools wisely.

Wands were what made Wizards dominant in the magical world, even over creatures born with magic.

After all, many magical beings, goblins, house-elves, and even certain beasts, could perform wandless magic with startling proficiency. House-elves, for instance, could Apparate through Anti-Apparition enchantments even within places like Hogwarts, a feat Wizards couldn't replicate unaided.

And yet… goblins ran the banks, and house-elves served their masters.

It wasn't just raw power that made Wizards great, it was their wisdom in channeling it.

Of course, Sylas had no intention of abandoning wandless magic. Accidents happened. Wands broke. And he'd be damned if he ever ended up defenseless, like a Squib, just because he lacked a stick of wood in his hand.

But for now, with this wand…

He tested it eagerly, casting every spell he knew.

To his astonishment, nearly every spell succeeded on the first try, and many felt even stronger than before.

Tom and Goldberry watched the process with curiosity and delight. When Sylas began casting with fluid, wand-guided movements, Tom clapped with childlike enthusiasm and leaned in.

"Hey hey! That's quite the stick, young wizard!" he beamed. "Mind if I give it a wave?"

Chuckling, Sylas handed him the wand and showed him how to flick the wrist and intone the spell.

Tom didn't chant a spell, though.

He simply waved the wand, and golden notes burst from the tip like butterflies, glowing with warmth and song. A melody blossomed into the air, rich and joyous, swelling like a festival tune carried by forest winds.

Under the influence of Tom's music, even the Old Forest itself seemed to relax. The restless, resentful trees that once whispered threats and warnings now stood in calm silence, their grievances soothed as if by an unseen balm.

Sylas, seated nearest to Tom, felt it most vividly. The melody wasn't merely pleasant to the ear, it reached into his very soul, lifting a weight he hadn't realized he carried. It wasn't like the artificial elation caused by a charm. This joy was genuine. Deep. Pure.

Bathed in the golden notes, Sylas felt a lightness in his heart. Worry, fear, sorrow, those things lost their grip on him. For a moment, it felt as if he stood beneath the stars with no burden, no past, and nothing to fear.

What astonished him most wasn't just the emotional effect, it was the fact that Tom had done all this using Sylas's own wand.

And yet, Tom couldn't castle a single spell than Syals taught him.

According to Tom, while he could produce Magic with similar effects, the essence of this Magic differed in principle from Sylas's spells.

Sylas wasn't surprised. If anything, it only deepened his curiosity.

What was this musical magic?

It clearly lacked direct destructive power, no explosions, no bolts of lightning, but its effect was just as potent in a different way. It washed away fear. It instilled peace. It banished gloom. In its presence, even the darkest thoughts were silenced.

That, Sylas realized, was no small thing.

In the wizarding world, he knew that Dark Arts, while powerful, came at a cost. Their magic didn't just harm others; it corroded the soul of the user. Rage, obsession, bitterness, those emotions often became chains. Prolonged use of such spells could distort the mind, the body, even the very essence of a person.

There was a reason the Unforgivable Curses were banned. Casting the Killing Curse meant a one-way ticket to Azkaban. The laws weren't just moral, they were protective.

Sylas had a premonition that as he signed in at more places in the future, he would definitely acquire more Dark Arts spells. If he wanted to become stronger, he couldn't abandon the study and use of the Dark Arts.

Therefore, when he encountered this musical Magic that could generate positive and joyful emotions, Sylas was moved.

Sylas, never one to pass up a chance to grow stronger, shamelessly asked Tom if he could learn this musical magic.

To his surprise, Tom readily agreed.

What Sylas hadn't expected, however, was that the first step in learning this profound, magic... was to sing.

"Sing with me!" Tom had declared joyfully, strumming the air as if holding a harp. "Musical magic doesn't come from spells or wands, it comes from your heart! Let it soar!"

Sylas blinked. "You want me to... sing?"

"Of course! The melody must carry your emotion. The more passion, the stronger the magic!" Tom replied with a grin.

Sylas didn't have a terrible voice, but calling it magical might have been a stretch. So, with cheeks tinged red and pride quietly packed away, he stood beside the jolly old enigma of the forest and began to sing.

At first, he mumbled, trailing behind Tom's confident baritone. His voice cracked now and then, and he occasionally mixed up the words. But Tom clapped him on the shoulder with every effort, urging, "Louder! Feel it! Let the river of your soul carry the tune!"

Meanwhile, Goldberry sat serenely among the water lilies, weaving soft cloth from moonlight-colored thread. Her smile never wavered, and she watched their duet.

Gradually, Sylas improved. The words came more easily. His confidence grew.

And finally, something wonderful happened.

As he waved his wand, bright golden notes burst from its tip, playful and light. They danced in the air like fireflies, spinning in tune to his melody. The music wasn't nearly as grand as Tom's, its reach only extended a few paces around him, but it was music nonetheless. And it was magic.

Sylas grinned, panting slightly. "I did it…"

Moreover, Sylas discovered that he could channel the same musical magic either through his wand or by singing aloud.

The effect was similar, the magic worked, but the difference was like humming a tune in your heart versus singing it from the rooftops.

Still, between the two, Sylas much preferred using the wand. Publicly bursting into song wasn't exactly his style.

After spending a long and meaningful time with Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, Sylas had finally crafted his first wand and learned a rare, wondrous form of magic. Now, fully prepared, he was ready to take his next step: the Barrow-downs.

His reason for going wasn't just to find a blade sharp enough to carve the Old Willow's tree-heart. Deep down, he also hoped he might "sign in" there, gaining something mysterious and powerful, as he had in other places before.

Perhaps because they had lived through more partings than most, Tom and Goldberry didn't try to stop him when he said his farewells. They simply smiled warmly, sending him off with the quiet grace of those who understood the journey was his to take.

Before he left, Tom handed him a carefully drawn map of the Barrow-downs, complete with notes and markings, including the exact location of the ancient weapon Sylas sought.

It was almost unsettling how precise it was, as if Tom had been there himself.

Goldberry, too, had prepared something special: a wizard's robe and cloak, black as night with silver trim, elegant and refined. The robe was woven from rare black swan feathers laced with silver thread, inspired by the traditional attire of the Grey Pilgrims.

It shimmered faintly in the morning light.

"I've added a few blessings," Goldberry explained with a gentle smile. "The robe will never tear or stain. The cloak will keep you hidden when needed."

Sylas was stunned. "I—I can't accept this. It's too generous. I haven't done anything to deserve such kindness."

"Take it," Goldberry said softly, her smile as warm as spring sunlight. She gently placed the robe and cloak into Sylas's arms. "This is from both Tom and me. Your path will be one of many roads and shifting winds. We hope this gift brings you a little comfort along the way."

Tom, standing just behind her with his usual good-natured grin, added, "Go on, Sylas. Don't turn down Goldberry's kindness, she spent days weaving it just for you."

At their insistence, Sylas could no longer refuse. He bowed his head in gratitude, his chest tight with emotion, and accepted the gift with both hands.

Without hesitation, he slipped out of his old clothes, faded and worn from his travels, and dressed in the new attire.

The moment he fastened the cloak at his shoulders, something shifted.

The deep black fabric, laced with silver, settled around him like moonlight clinging to shadow. The robe fit as though tailored by fate itself, and the cloak billowed softly with every movement, like a breeze stirring through the trees.

In an instant, Sylas no longer looked like a traveler from another world, or a boy lost in someone else's story.

He looked like a true Wizard.

A figure of mystery.

...

Bonus Chapter