Harry Potter: Red Weasley The Strange Red Wizard

"And what's its story?" Hannah asked, sensing the tension in the air, though she didn't fully understand its origin.

She knew me well. She was aware that I sometimes made risky decisions, that I had a dark side... but she couldn't imagine just how deep that side ran.

The question seemed to weigh down the room. The shop assistant's face, already serious, turned somber. It wasn't just about the Jarjacha core; as he himself had said, while rare, such wands weren't unheard of. The real issue, it seemed, was the story behind them.

"I don't know if any of this is true," he said in a grave tone. "But what I've heard... and what I've seen... made me believe it."

He cleared his throat and, without further delay, began to tell the tale.

"Centuries ago, there were a series of mass disappearances. Entire villages, wiped out. No survivors… just mangled corpses. The culprit, according to legend, was a Jarjacha unlike any other. A massive llama. Though her exact appearance remains a mystery, they say she was female—a Jarjacha Warmichasqa, from a legend not from around here, so I don't know it well."

"She destroyed everything in her path. Razed villages without mercy. She only spared newborns and pregnant women. As for the others..." he paused, tension rising, "...she tore out and devoured their hearts, livers, wombs. Some versions say the brain, too. She mutilated men, crushing their genitals and decapitating them without ceremony. As for children, she either devoured them or killed them outright."

"No weapon—neither magical nor Muggle—could stop her. And she wasn't alone. She was a queen, surrounded by other Jarjachas: her horde. All different. Some skeletal, some with wings, some humanoid. A living nightmare, each with their own twisted form."

The shopkeeper's tone dropped, as if fear itself lingered in his words.

"So many villages fell that even the great cities began to fear. The most powerful wizards from each region joined forces to stop her. But they failed again and again. When they searched for her, she was gone. When they found her... they were unprepared. More died than survived. Until she appeared."

More people had gathered, drawn by the story. Even other shopkeepers had stopped working to listen.

"No one knew who she was. Some say there were no records of her existence before that moment. A witch, dressed like an adventurer, perhaps religious, judging by the cross on her chest and her rituals. She became known as the Redeemer Priestess. Some say she knew the Jarjacha Queen beforehand. That they were old enemies. Or lovers. Or mother and daughter. The legends don't agree."

"She led the final battle. Wizards, witches, and even Muggles fought under her command. It was a short but bloody war. Hundreds died. But in the end, the Jarjacha horde was scattered. And the Queen... was slain by her."

We all remained silent, absorbed by the story. Though told in broken English mixed with Portuguese, the intensity of the tale transcended language. The shopkeeper had a gift for storytelling, and his voice carried a weight that felt more real than legend. Other customers and employees had gathered to listen; even people outside peeked through the windows, drawn by the unusual crowd. Within minutes, the shop was packed.

"After the defeat, the wizards and Muggles wanted to burn the Jarjacha Queen's corpse. A public pyre, a symbolic act of victory… and warning. But the Redeemer Priestess refused. She said destroying her wouldn't end the curse… only spread it. Her essence would find a way to return. And she couldn't allow that."

A murmur swept through the crowd.

"So she took the body. Alone, she brought it to a sacred place. She said it had to be treated, not erased. That to seal something so powerful and twisted, fire alone wasn't enough—you had to understand it, dismantle it, and divide it."

His voice grew lower, heavier.

"It's said she extracted hairs from the creature: from its head, chest, belly, pubic region, and tail. She also took its heart… still beating. Then she melted the body through means no one ever fully understood. Perhaps alchemy..."

He paused dramatically. It was easy to see how he'd become a salesman—he had talent.

"She submerged the heart, with the hairs inside it, into the pool where the flesh of the Queen was dissolving. She sealed the container for sixty-one days, letting it see the sun only on Sundays, and the moon only on nights of full and new moon. Meanwhile, she offered her own hair at the altar of a small chapel, where she prayed without pause."

"When it was over, and she opened the container, only a gray, dry heart remained—instantly reduced to dust… revealing the hairs, now dyed with blood. She intertwined them with the strands she had cut in the chapel, hoping that her will, her penance, and her faith would hold back the corruption. Then, she embarked on a journey across the continent, searching for woods worthy of sealing such darkness."

"She traveled far and wide, seeking materials capable of containing such dangerous power. In her quest, she obtained wood from two rare trees, grown in places imbued with ancient and powerful magic. With that wood, and the Jarjacha hairs woven together with intricate enchantments, she forged two wands. Their purpose: to ensure that the demon's immense power could never fully reunite again."

The shopkeeper finished his story, eyes cast down with a touch of drama. Maybe he'd gotten too into the tale... or maybe he had told it so many times that he no longer knew how to separate himself from it.

"But why make a wand from something like that?" a young man asked from the back, voicing the crowd's general unease. "I mean, that's basically a weapon that can use the power of that… jachaca or whatever."

"Because destroying or sealing her didn't work," answered another shopkeeper—an older man who had been silently listening. "It's said that the Jarjacha's essence couldn't be contained or destroyed without triggering its return—stronger than before. So they looked for a vessel... a wand. Not as destructive as the original creature, but still capable of great chaos. The trap is simple: as long as no one uses it, it can't cause harm."

"And why is it for sale?" a woman interjected, her expression alarmed. "Wouldn't it be better to throw it to the bottom of the ocean? Or take it to the Ministry to lock it away under a thousand magical seals?"

"All of that has been tried." The first clerk sighed bitterly before answering. "Many have tried to hide it, seal it, destroy it. But it's useless. If it's kept out of human reach... it disappears. And it always, always comes back. Sometimes to this shop, sometimes to others it has passed through. Wherever someone might find it."

The shop owner appeared then, pushing through the crowd, his expression tired.

"There are files at the Ministry with its complete history," he said in a low voice. "Places where it's reappeared, related incidents… If you have doubts, you can consult the records. We're required to report every appearance and every sale. And if we don't, the penalties are severe."

"And how do we know this wand is that wand?" asked an older man, skeptical, with a noble yet disheveled look. "What if this is just a tale to sell us a replica?"

"Believe me… or don't. But if you take it, you'll realize it soon enough. The story isn't the worrying part. It's what it does afterward." The older clerk snorted, not even trying to hide his irritation.

The owner then spoke, his tone firm but resigned.

"It's not a good idea to lay eyes on that wand," he warned. "Because of its magical properties, we can't simply hide it. We must display it, even if it's in the farthest corner of the shop, so it doesn't change location on its own. But we do everything we can to keep anyone from buying it. We don't make a single coin from it, and we prefer it that way."

The man didn't hide his frustration. They had to keep the wand until the end of the decade, when it would finally be transferred to another shop. That was how the burden of the cursed object was shared—so that no one was condemned to own it forever. Now, in the ninth year of their turn, an incident like this was unfolding, and his unease was more than justified.

He paused, and his gaze turned somber.

"It's been sold several times… and always returns. Do you understand what that means?"

"Have a lot of people died because of it?" asked Hannah, concerned, throwing me a sideways glance. I was still holding the wands, not realizing it.

"Yes… and no," the clerk responded in a neutral voice. "Many who buy it out of curiosity, research, or simple morbid fascination end up returning it. They change. They come back… different. Quiet. Broken."

Another clerk completed the explanation:

"These wands… whisper. To the pure-hearted, they tempt. They offer forbidden paths, unthinkable ideas. To those who've already crossed those lines… they push them further. If the wizard resists those urges, the wands punish with a persistent, high-pitched hum, like the wail of a Jarjacha. A sound that, over time, drives one mad. Some have taken their own lives just to make it stop."

And then, almost in a whisper:

"Those who give in to its influence, however… usually meet a tragic end—either destroyed by the vengeance for their victims or consumed while trying to fulfill the wands' insatiable desires, lacking the strength to do so."

A heavy silence fell.

"The only thing that could be considered 'good' about these wands," added the owner, "is that they're a bit more powerful than regular wands—more powerful the 'happier' they are—and that the Jarjachas, the creatures themselves, won't attack the bearer; they might even follow their orders."

The silence in the shop was absolute. Everyone was staring at the wands I held in my hands… just like I was.

I heard nothing. And that, apparently, was what disturbed the clerks most. According to their warnings, anyone holding those wands would begin to hear, after a few seconds, a faint hum… the omen of the Jarjacha's screech that would, in time, drive the victim insane. But I… nothing. No hum, no whisper. Only silence.

What's more, the wands didn't resist. They seemed cooperative. Not perfect, of course, but their power far exceeded that of the others I'd tested. Compatibility ranged between 60 and 70 percent, while the rest barely reached 40. And I'd figured it out: the problem had never been the regular wands. It's me. My magic requires materials few can offer. That's why this cursed pair felt so... efficient.

That's when I felt it: laughter. Not a sound, but a sensation. Like laughter deep inside my mind. Unexpectedly soft. Then came a subtle vibration from both wands. It wasn't a mental attack, and that puzzled me. I'm immune to those things. But this… this wasn't trying to pierce or harm me. It felt as though they were happy. As if they were laughing with me. As if—absurdly and disturbingly—they saw me as their ideal partner.

"Boy, give me those wands!" shouted the old man from earlier, his eyes gleaming with greed. He had ignored all the warnings and now thought only of adding them to his private collection.

"I want one of them!" said the young man who had spoken before. His tone was arrogant, as if he believed he could tame the darkness of one wand to satisfy his whims.

"Didn't any of you hear a word we said?! Those wands are evil!" roared the shop owner, outraged. The recklessness of those customers threatened the shop's reputation if anything happened to them.

Slowly, more people approached. Not everyone, of course—only some, drawn by power. The majority, more sensible, stayed back, watching with growing tension.

"Drop the wands," said Tiago and Silvanus almost in unison, faces serious and wands raised. They wanted to leave. They wanted to get me out of there before this became even more dangerous.

The laughter continued in my mind. It didn't hurt, but it was… irritating. And with my emotional mastery, I understood it… they were laughing at these people.

Without thinking, I made a swift, firm motion with both wands at once. They vibrated as if we were a giant tuning fork. They didn't emit the sound of one, as would be expected. Instead, a strange and guttural resonance filled the air:

QAR-QAR-QAR-QAR-QAR...

The faces of those present turned pale. Several froze, as if something had invaded their thoughts. Some remembered old sins they thought forgotten. Others saw themselves, unwillingly, committing acts they would never have dared to imagine: incest, murder, betrayal, sacrilege. And among the hallucinations, two monstrous figures—two Jarjachas—rose behind me. Tall, deformed, wreathed in smoke and fire. The world, for a few seconds, turned black and red.

The laughter that had once been only in my mind now poured into everyone else's. It was dominant. Relentless. As if it wanted to nest in their minds.

And then, silence returned.

Those who moments ago had desperately wanted the wands now hesitated, shaken by the way their essence had invaded their thoughts so effortlessly.

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From here, I'm rejoining the Patreon, increasing the amount to match the proper tier. Still, I'll round it up to ensure I get access to the two weekly chapters and don't miss out just for being one dollar short under the current payment.