We spent the next hour shopping for various items listed on Harry's Hogwarts letter, with both professor and student agreeing to save the best item, his wand, for last.
I explained to Harry, in no uncertain terms, my suspicions about his physical changes to him.
The boy denied my vampire theory resolutely, calling it a shot in the dark at best.
His reasoning was backed up by the fact that his eyes were still a soundly emerald green - Something he had discreetly checked out by removing his glasses and using them to stare into his own reflection.
In parallel with this fact, his teeth, too, hadn't changed at all.
Harry wasn't feeling especially inclined to 'Drinking the blood of the innocents' as he had so aptly put it, either.
His points were sound, it was true - But his denial was probably born more of worry than anything else, something which I could fully understand. So, I held off on insisting on my point for now, even if I didn't fully agree with him.
Harry did however, recognise the fact that something had been done to him, as his magic was still wholly and utterly unreactive.
Only with my help did his power begin to flourish once more - And even then, his reservoir's flames didn't burn for long enough to accomplish anything significant before they completely destabilised.
Neither of us could figure out what the problem was, no matter how many sneaky experiments we conducted within Harry's closed fist.
I was only willing to risk enough power to create a few small embers, firmly disregarding how much Harry wanted to test otherwise.
Such things would have to wait until we were in a more private setting, a fact that my brother reluctantly began to agree with after a few minutes of targeted persuasion.
It was because of this that Harry couldn't quite manage to keep the worry off his face for the remainder of the trip, and although he did try his best to play off the feeling, he couldn't fool the highly observant McGonagall.
We were just fortunate that she considered asking after his poorly concealed feelings impolite, otherwise we would have had another very awkward conversation on our hands.
"Here we are." Said McGonagall, stopping just outside of a narrow, shabby-looking establishment. "Ollivanders. The best wandmakers - Or should I say, wandmaker, in the British Isles."
The building labelled Ollivanders wasn't quite on par with the cracked red brick and blackened windows of St Mungo's Purge & Dowse, but it was still a far cry from possessing the basic level of cleanliness exhibited by both shops that lay on either side of it.
Harry eyed the peeling golden letters mounted above the dusty shop's entrance with a well-deserved scepticism.
His chaperone noticed this look and let out a ghost of a smile in response. "I would ask you to not judge a book by its cover - But in all honesty, the inside doesn't look much better." Her smile suddenly vanished as she fixed him with a firm stare. "However, Ollivander's merchandise is sound. I bought my own wand from this very shop just over eighty years ago, and it hasn't once failed me yet."
Harry was grudgingly reassured by McGonagall's words.
The woman then turned around and pushed the shop's door inward before stepping inside.
'Hang on a second.' Gawked Harry, only now realising what McGonagall had just said. 'Did she say eighty years ago? She's ninety years old? What the hell?'
"Professor-" Harry started, hastily hurrying after the older woman and following her into the dark shop.
As my brother crossed the door's threshold, he stopped dead in his tracks, instantly donning his usual mask of indifference.
"Ah. I think I see what you meant now." The boy muttered quietly, staring around at the state of the shop's interior.
It was dusty and unkempt, with a large number of rectangular boxes strewn across the carpeted floor. It was an array of disorderly chaos that put even the boys' dormitories back at the orphanage to shame.
The boxes had no doubt fallen from the duo of large, and all-but-empty, sectioned shelves that were both nailed to opposite sides of the interior's lengthened walls.
As to exactly how the mess had happened, I could take a relatively sound guess.
There were already three other customers standing inside the shop: An older woman and a duo of boys, both of whom looked to be around Harry's age.
The latter two of the group had likely caused this mess during their choosing ceremonies, judging by the wands held in their hands.
McGonagall stiffened up upon noticing the group's presence, her demeanour turning first apprehensive, before landing on slightly apologetic.
The woman's gaze visibly lingered on the shorter of the two boys; her blue eyes sliding across his long black ringletted hair.
The other boy stood beside him, twisting his head toward his fellow just enough so that I could see the practised smirk widening his pale face.
I recognised that clean-cut, pale-blonde hair immediately.
The boy clapped his fellow on the back appreciatively. "A fighter's wand, huh?" He mused. "Now that does sound about right."
A woman who looked to be the latter boy's mother pivoted around to take in the newcomers, her gaze visibly narrowing upon spotting McGonagall and my brother.
"My apologies for the intrusion Mrs Malfoy." Said McGonagall, clasping her hands together over her sternum. "I wasn't aware that there would be other prospects here so early in the year."
The two boys jumped, startled by the sudden, unfamiliar voice. They both whipped around to stare at the older witch, eyes widening in a clear recognition, their gazes sliding down to land on my brother.
The two exchanged a quiet look. The blonde one tutted, shaking his head in a mocking regret, while the long-haired boy just sneered.
Harry's gaze flickered between the two. The boy bristled inwardly after seeing their derisive expressions, not appreciating their disdain-loaded gazes in the slightest.
"Fourteen galleons then." The woman said crisply, giving McGonagall a curt nod in acknowledgement before turning back to face the aged wandmaker.
"Precisely." He answered, giving the woman a half-hearted attempt at a smile.
She nodded again, this time in acceptance, and placed the agreed number of coins onto the polished antique desk that separated her from the aged wandmaker.
"Draco, Corvus." Mrs Malfoy directed, extending a single arm toward the door commandingly.
The two boys looked at each other again before shrugging, with the long-haired one of the two pocketing a curved, dark-coloured wand.
The three strangers exited the shop, leaving just Harry, McGonagall, and Ollivander alone in the shop.
I didn't bother listening to Harry's questions to McGonagall, nor her later introduction of Garrick Ollivander, the shop's owner. I was too deeply lost in thought to care.
『 That boy. 』I murmured, referencing the black-haired youth who had just left.『 That ringleted hair. Those sharp, angular features. And the family he was with. He can't be anyone else. 』
Bellatrix Lestrange had a son, I was sure of it.
Even after ten years, I couldn't forget that face.
He looked just like her.
'Art? Any day now.'
Harry's hissing voice dragged me back to reality.
My brother held a long pale-coloured wand in his hand, grasping at it loosely.
I poured my magic into his reservoir again, feeling an odd sense of pushback in return as my brother yelped in pain, dropping the wand to the ground as if stung.
"Definitely not." Commented Ollivander, ducking down to the ground and sweeping up the dropped wand in one fluid motion. He hummed loudly before darting over to one of the many shelves and retrieving a dark purple box.
"Here," He said, a tad too eagerly for my brother's liking. "Try this one. Twelve inches - Surprisingly springy, made of Blackthorn, and dragon heart-string."
I idly noticed that the floor was no longer littered with boxes, with every single one having been returned to its rightful place - Likely while I had been zoned out puzzling over the Lestrange boy.
His existence was yet another deviation from the original storyline. How many more could I come to expect?
"That's far better," Harry answered, staring at the wand's glowing yellow tip. He frowned, turning it over in his hands. "But it doesn't feel right… Too combative, I think?" He amended hesitantly.
"Hoh?" Mouthed Ollivander, looking rather surprised by my brother's assessment. "Well then, let's try something else…"
The aged wandmaker spent the next eight minutes dragging Harry all around the shop, darting between different shelves and offering unique wands to my brother each time.
Each wand's reaction to Harry grew increasingly more random the more he picked up, emitting anywhere from something harmless like light to strengthened telekinetic blasts, all of which ruined the shop's interior even further than it already was.
My brother stared back at McGonagall helplessly as another wave of boxes were sent shooting off their shelves, with some of the more violent ones even zooming toward her.
Thankfully, the few number boxes that were inbound to collide with our disgruntled-looking chaperone bounced off a translucent purple bubble which surrounded her person, protecting the woman from harm.
The purple-coloured shield was something McGonagall had hastily conjured to protect her from being harmed by what Ollivander had dubbed 'Happy Accidents'.
The woman's reaction time with her wand still didn't cease to amaze me, though, I supposed that was what eighty years of practice got you.
McGonagall wore a rather unimpressed expression throughout the whole fiasco.
「 I recommend ceasing the assassination attempts on your future teacher, Harry, 」I said.「 It isn't earning you any favour with her. 」
'Oh shut it.' Harry bit back, his tone lacking any real heat.
"Aha." The wandmaker exclaimed, clapping his hands in understanding. "I do believe I've cracked it this time. The problem must lie with the length of the wand itself, not the core or its wood. Let me see…"
The old man ran his hands across the shelves, walking as far back as the shop allowed for, behind even the till, a section which had remained wholly untouched until now.
"This," Ollivander said, withdrawing a short, blood-red box from the lowest available compartment. "This young man, is the shortest wand I currently possess." He then returned to Harry's side and unclasped the wand's container, opening it and presenting it to my brother. "Let's give this a try."
It was rather short, just as the wandmaker had described - Certainly shorter than the others Harry had been offered previously.
The wand was remarkably unremarkable, having an undeniably simplistic design; nothing like the more ornate carvings that decorated most of the others Harry had been rejected by so far.
It was about an average level of thickness, its surface a pristinely smooth dark brown, bordering on black.
It had no visible grip like every other wand I had seen previously, with the only carved segment being its angular diamond-shaped pommel.
The notably sharp point at the wand's tip was the only part that caught my attention - Other than the unusual size of course. The slim piece of wood looked like it could double as a shank if my brother were so inclined to use it as so.
Having garnered more than a few volatile reactions from past wands, Harry exercised extreme caution this time around, tentatively reaching inside the box to retrieve the wand.
Upon making contact with the black-coloured wandwood, the box, along with not only Harry's but also Ollivander's entire right arm, suddenly burst into a familiar jade-coloured flame.
'Now this is what I'm talking about.' Harry muttered, slowly manipulating the short wand into a more comfortable grip; his hand still nestled within the box's plush interior.
His chosen grip around the diamond-shaped pommel, so elegantly reminiscent of a conductor wielding their baton, made me want to laugh out loud.
The sophisticated manner in which Harry held the wand seemed so ridiculously out of place that it could only be funny. Especially when one considered his cheeky and secretly impulsive nature.
I wasn't all that familiar with wizarding wandlore, but as someone who actually had an insight as to what lay beyond Harry's usual mask of serene maturity, this pairing looked utterly absurd.
A broad, genuine smile widened the aged wandmaker's wrinkled face. "Now that, I do believe, is a perfect match. How excellently unusual."
Only when the magical fire recessed back within the tip of Harry's wand did Ollivander finally withdraw the box from underneath my brother's hand.
"Seven and a half inches - Unyielding; made from a combination of Rowan, Unicorn hair, and another material I dare not mention for fear of legal action being taken against me." Ollivander's tone was just as light and curious as it normally was, despite the informational bombshell he had just dropped onto the room's occupants.
The man stared down at Harry with an open, genuine curiosity, seemingly unaffected by his own statement. Like it didn't actually matter to him in the slightest.
McGonagall's eyebrows dropped down into a heavy frown upon hearing Ollivander's description of the unusually short wand. She pursed her lips together disapprovingly but kept her mouth firmly shut.
This reaction surprised me. I was under the impression that McGonagall was supposed to be a stickler for the rules. But lo and behold - No objections.
The older man covered his mouth and dropped down to Harry's shoulder to whisper in his ear conspiratorially. "The Rowan wood itself was aged within a gasket of human blood. Quite the menacing addition, isn't it?"
Harry froze in place, looking thoroughly alarmed by the knowledge he had just been given privy to.
In all fairness to him, his reaction seemed like the only appropriate response to hearing that your future wand was made up of a possibly deceased human's parts.
Ollivander moved away, apparently satisfied with my brother's reaction.
He loudened his voice back to an acceptable level before continuing. "One of my more ambitious attempts at innovation I think. Barely worked out in the end - Never did manage to recreate the phenomenon. Astounding that such an ominous combination could end up working so well with a material like unicorn hair serving as its core."
My brother stared down at the wand apprehensively, thinking back to the two vampires they had met earlier that day, and my educated guess as to his new, possibly bloodsucking nature.
My reaction was more reserved - Closer to a raised eyebrow sort of surprise, more than anything else. Harry's strange wand choice seemed a little cliché in my opinion.
McGonagall, on the other hand, was clearly intrigued by Ollivander's statement, but was courteous enough not to inquire further.
Either that or she just wanted plausible deniability concerning the information about the unusual wand's creation. Both motives fit.
In any case, the woman pretended not to have heard the wandmaker's reference to the illegality concerning the wand's material; now choosing to change the conversation's direction toward its unusually short length instead.
"In all my years of teaching, I don't believe I've ever even seen a wand so short before." She said, withdrawing seven galleons and moving forward to place them on the counter.
Ollivander smiled, nodding in an eager agreement. "Truly an oddity. I myself have only ever heard of one wand shorter than this one, and it was sold by my own grandfather just shortly before his retirement about a century ago." The wandmaker paused, looking across at Harry shrewdly. "Even after countless attempts, I couldn't recreate his astounding feat of making a functional seven-incher. This was the closest I managed to achieve, despite my many, many trial runs."
"Er." Said Harry, hesitantly interrupting the adult's back and forth. "Is having a short wand a bad thing?"
"No, no, not at all," Ollivander replied, shaking his head firmly.
My brother's doubtful expression prompted the man to quickly launch into a more detailed, in-depth justification for his reply.
"This wand's unusual length simply infers that your personality is more refined, steadfast, and restrained; all qualities that you should be proud of, not ashamed to admit."
'Refined', 'restrained' and 'my brother' in the same sentence?
No chance.
My magic, which was now serving as the base for Harry's own, had to be messing with the wand's perception of my brother somehow.
"Might I add, Mr Potter," McGonagall cut in, seconding the old man's assertion. "Common wandlore states that there is no good or bad concerning a wand's specification. It should be treated as a reflection of its wielder's character, not of their potential as a witch or wizard. A longer wand does not indicate to a more powerful wizard, unlike what the uneducated masses may lead you to believe."
"Quite so." Ollivander agreed, moving over to collect the galleons McGonagall had deposited in his desk. "Which is the main reason why keeping the details of one's wand a close secret has been the norm in our society for centuries now - Because of the powerful insight it has into a person's character." His voice turned stern. "This means that it is thoroughly impolite to ask after another magical's combination, so I would advise against doing so when you find yourself in good company."
Ollivander's last remark was obviously aimed more at Harry than McGonagall, and it caused the boy to adopt a rather sheepish expression.
Harry quickly sent McGonagall an apologetic look, thinking back to a short conversation they had during the walk over in which he had asked about the details of her own wand.
The woman had indulged what my brother now recognised to be an offensive request, stating that her own was a combination of Fir and Dragon heartstring.
It was only now that the boy saw why McGonagall didn't deign to elaborate further.
The woman in question waved away his concerns dismissively. "Think nothing of it." She said. "You are not the first muggle-raised student to ask me such a thing, nor will you be the last."
Harry nodded in a wordless acceptance before slipping the short wand into his trouser pocket.
"I'd like a private word with you before you leave Mr Potter." Said Ollivander, giving McGonagall a private look that was clearly asking for her permission to do so. "It pertains to the nature of your wand."
The older woman stared at the wandmaker for a second before giving him an accepting nod and turning to leave.
"Alright." My brother replied.
It didn't look like he couldn't exactly refuse this talk.
Only when the shop's door swung shut again did Ollivander speak once more, his tone now uncharacteristically solemn.
"Now then. Due to the human elements that were employed during the production of your wand, the application of the ministry trace has been rendered impossible. The contradictory nature of the compounded Rowan in combination with the unicorn hair would simply unravel the enchantment the moment it was applied."
Harry's eyes widened.
My brother knew what this implied.
Unrestricted access to magic outside of school grounds.
I honestly couldn't believe our luck.
"Now," Continued the wandmaker, fixing my brother with a hard stare. "As this wand does not officially exist, I cannot put in a request to have a ministry trace installed around your residence, lest I am ordered to explain why such a thing would be necessary in the first place. I cannot in good conscience however, allow you to walk away without proper warning, no matter what maturity your wand's combination may suggest of you."
"I understand." Said Harry, carefully noting the seriousness contained within Ollivander's tone. "McGonagall already explained the statute of secrecy to me, and I get why it's an important law to uphold."
"Good." Replied Ollivander, his gaze softening. He patted Harry on the shoulder before standing up to see him out. "I trust Minerva's judgement - As I do with all of my creations' judgement for that matter. You've been partnered with an excellent wand Mr Potter, one that speaks volumes of your character. I believe we can expect great things from you in the future."
Harry didn't know quite what to say to that, so he just nodded awkwardly, watching as Ollivander retrieved his own wand from within his robes and used it to fix up the shop's messy interior.
Once every box was safely deposited back onto its original shelf, my brother walked out of the shop and rejoined McGonagall outside.
✽ ✽ ✽
〘 A/N: There won't be any ridiculous wand cores in this story. I mean, seriously, the amount of thunderbird feather wands I see in widely different main characters is honestly so stupid. 〙