Harry Potter: Destiny Relapse 1 - Twin Wands and the Vision Connection

by tonbonkittybon

Fifteen years have passed since the Second Wizarding War. You would think that the story would end there, but thanks to several fatal oversights committed by the Ministry of Magic, a new adventure is on the horizon. It rests in the hands of four young kids, bound only by strange visions, are set to walk in the footsteps of the brave students who fought alongside the Chosen One.

1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter: Destiny Relapse - Twin Wands

Part 1: Fancying Various Fantasies

It was a fantasy, and yet it felt so real. It was very improbable, and yet it happened.

It happened under a moment of blistering heat under the unyielding summer sun, in the full view of at least two hundred bystanders. A young man was standing in the middle of the Magic Roundabout, wearing all black to cover up every inch of skin below his chin. He had a slender figure, jet-black hair, steely bright green eyes...and two wands at his disposal. Most people who believed in magic would say it was impossible to wield two wands due to complications of hand gestures. But this man was willing to dare the impossible to denounce that statement, as he himself was daring six Death Eaters to strike him at once. The Eaters themselves, cloaked in a black outfit that was outshone by the young man's outfit, took one step back before aiming their wands at him, intending to fake him out because they knew that he could not stop all of their attacks.

Or so they thought. The man was fast enough to turn his wands downward to hold them like twin daggers, and fire off six Reductor Curses. The Eaters were forced to deflect the Curse, except one who was not fast enough to stop his clothes from turning to dust. The man quickly vanished and Apparated right behind the naked Eater, then launched two Knockback Jinxes at him and rendered the poor Eater unconscious.

The remaining Death Eaters engaged in battle with the young man, trying to expose some sort of opening to no avail. The young man was able to block every single spell from getting anywhere near him, and on occasion he was able to flip over an incoming spell projectile and throw one of his own at an Eater. The others nodded and agreed to bring the farce to a quick end; they waved their wands in unison and cast Fiendfyre, conjuring up five massive dragons of unquenchable fire and insatiable bloodlust. The dragons roared loudly, deafening the ears of all non magic folk watching this amazing spectacle. The young man, however, was unfazed. The moment the raging flames came down upon him, he cast a purple-shaded barrier around him that absorbed all of the fire being sent to him. The longer the dragons kept breathing fire down, the more the young man absorbed, to the point where he was able to absorb the dragons themselves. The man quickly leapt up and did a butterfly twist to charge the enormous power stored in his wands. When he slammed them onto the ground, an enormous fiery energy wave burst out from him and spread out to the entirety of the Roundabout, toppling everyone within the concrete circle. All the Death Eaters were powerless to defend themselves, except one, who escaped unscathed by waving his wand downward and separating the flames. The Eater then apparated right behind the man and attempted to cast the Killing Curse at point-blank range, but the man quickly deflected it and engaged in a one-on-one wand fight. This was the young man's greatest strength, getting up close and personal and preventing his opponents from getting any distance to cast their spells. The Eater was quickly outmatched, but the man kicked him out of the circle and into the street.

That gave the Eater more than enough time to channel his remaining energy into his wand and conjure a flaming meteor big enough to wipe out half of England. The young man finished the Eater off with an Expulso-Stupefy combination, then turned both wands to the incoming meteor. He mentally prepared himself to slow down the meteor once it approached him. He had just a split second to cast the Arresto Momentum charm.

But before he got the chance, the meteor suddenly sped up. He was not prepared for the quickening descent. He wasn't fast enough to cast the charm. As the meteor zoomed in on the man's head-

*BONK!*

"Ugh-Oof! Oh my-"

*THWACK!*

"OOOOOOOOOOOHOHOOOOO..."

It wasn't a young man; it was an eleven year old boy. And it wasn't a meteor; it was a football that struck his forehead and his crotch, then rolled past him.

"Oi, Andrew! Are you ok?!"

And those weren't Death Eaters; they were fellow teammates who saw their goalkeeper go down hard.

And the resultant uproarious clamor wasn't a group of bystanders; it was an audience of angry parents who saw the boy's daydream give the opposing team a 2-1 victory.

"What? Why's everyone getting mad? What happened to extra time?"

"That was extra time, you numpty."

"Oh..."

"ANDREW ALEXANDER ROBINSON!" A coach boomed, "COME HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Once both teams were sent away, and the clamor died down a little, Andrew stayed behind in the locker room to have a chat with the coach.

"Andrew, I'll admit, you're a bloody good player, and you could even give some junior league players a run for their money," the coach said, "but this is the 3rd straight game you've been dozing off like that. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, coach! I'm perfectly fine!"

"Andrew, I know a problem when I see it, and I just saw you hit yourself twice with your own ball. What if that ball went somewhere else, or worse, came from somewhere else?"

"I can snap out of it! I just need this one game-"

"Son, I can't go on like this anymore."

"Wha...what do you mean?"

"I mean, next week is your last game. Next school year, you're no longer in the special football class, just regular P.E."

This hit Andrew hard. Ever since his parents took him to see his first football match when he was 4, playing for a well-renowned league was all he ever dreamed about. He dreamt about the roaring crowds, the fans chanting his name, the entire team and support personnel hoisting him high as he waved the trophy in the air to mark his place among legends. But as of recent, a new dream has crept into his mind, blocking his clarity in the most crucial games of his little league career, causing his own teammates to pick up the slack and do the work for him. This last incident was the final straw, as not only his coach, but also his own friends gave him menacing glares that warned him of impending doom should he return to the team.

His mood didn't improve later that night. While helping his parents set up supper, he went on a typical kid-tirade about how he was better than this at the one thing he loved, "I'm telling you, I had it! I had it in the bag!"

"Yes, son," his father tried to calm him down, "but today wasn't your day. You'll get another chance if we-"

"How?! Coach said I can't play with him again!"

"Andrew, you need to calm down," his mother sternly said, "Shouting won't make it any easier to deal with this."

"Neither will talking about it with my friends, I suppose," Andrew muttered.

His father caught on that little inburst, "You're always like this, son. One thing goes wrong, and you completely dwell on it for more than a week."

Andrew had to concede. His need to continuously call out his own shortcomings became apparent long before the sudden constant daydreaming. Anything he experienced that was magic or fantasy related was all just from staged tv shows, so how could a warlock with the impossible and improbable ability to use two wands fit into his predicament? As usual, he made that thought vocal, "This is all because of that stupid dream!"

"What dream?" His mother asked.

"The dream where this wizard guy used two wands to fend off a bunch of other wizard guys."

Upon hearing those words, his mother dropped her green bean casserole, and his father spat out his mouthful of tea.

Andrew jumped at the sounds of clattered silverware and food, "Uh...what is-"

"You know what?" His father hurriedly scooted Andrew our of the kitchen, "Your mum's casserole isn't quite good. Why don't we order some pizza instead?"

"What? Really?!" Andrew suddenly changed moods, "Let's get the extra large deluxe with double dippings on the chocolate pie!"

"Yes, yes, you go get ready for pizza night," his mother scurried to clean the mess, "Leave everything to mummy, ok?" When Andrew was out of sight, she started to panic, mistakenly throwing away the tray, mittens, and forks in the trash with her culinary casualty. She did not expect her son to get that kind of dream at all, especially when she and her husband made sure that nothing about the Second Wizarding War made its way into the house. Unfortunately, Andrew's dream served as confirmation of otherwise, and that he may be a catalyst for a massive confrontation. She hadn't considered that her son would be dragged into this mess. She spent so long on that thought that she nearly threw away her wand. She caught it right when her husband walked in.

"Ok, Andy's changing for a smorgasbord," he stammered, "We'll actually need-"

"Flipendo!" She flicked her wand, and with a loud bang it shot off a bolt of light that hit his feet and made him fall. He groaned as he reached for his shoulder, and she simply swatted it away, angrily saying, "My casserole is quite good."

After two extra large pizzas and three deserts, the parents finally sent Andrew upstairs to bedroom, hoping that the homework would take his mind off while they discuss the revelation the dream implied. As expected, Andrew got bored and snuck out of his room to find the PSP his father took. Unfortunately, he caught wind of his parents' conversation:

"I don't understand, Lance. How did that dream get into-"

"Carol, shh! Not while Andrew's home!"

"I'm sorry. It's just...how?!"

"I don't know. Probably television shows again. We never revealed to him one bloody thing about Hogwarts, the wizarding world-"

"Don't remind me of that place. We barely escaped with our lives!"

"I wouldn't call being stuffed down the dungeons and abandoning the castle during Voldemort's whispering speeches escaping. Besides, we never finished our seventh years there, let alone make many acquaintances."

"I guess...you think the Ministry of Magic will be onto us now?"

"No, the Trace broke long ago. No matter what, no one here knows."

"I hope so..."

They went into each other's arms and embraced their love and past. They once belonged to the Slytherin House, but during the Battle of Hogwarts, several magic bolts bombarded the dungeons, providing an escape route for the two former students. Ever since then, they were scarred by the way they were cast during their time in Hogwarts, and vowed to never have anything to do with that school again, especially the so-called "Chosen One."

They've managed their lives quite successfully, too, with Lance becoming a personal trainer, Carol settling down as a working-from-home graphic designer, and the two transitioning from fleeing to loving. But now, it seems as if their past has caught up to them.

"What do you think this means?" Lance whispered.

"I don't know," Carol solemnly responded, "It seems we may have to go back."

"Little too blunt, huh?"

"Yeah...I hated Divination class so much..."

Neither of them looked up to see Andrew behind the opened bedroom door, "Hogwarts? Wizard? Divination? Ehh?!" This was major news to him, as he had heard nothing about magic or ministries. His curiosity was now over the limit for any 11-year old. He immediately grabbed a spiral and his football strike pencil, and wrote down everything his parents just conversed about, but he quickly shifted one of his textbooks to the top when he heard footsteps ascend the stairs. His father knocked on the wall.

"Mum?"

"Nope, it's me," his father poked his head into Andrew's room.

"Oh..." Andrew sighed with relief, "I thought you were coming in with a paddle."

"Yeah, she is wicked with the homework," Lance chuckled, "Say, are you still gutted about getting kicked off the football league?"

Andrew paused for a second.

"Right, too soon-"

"Oh, no! I'm not mad anymore!" Andrew quickly answered, "Just a little...disappointed, is all. You know?"

"Yeah, I understand," Lance nodded in agreement, then turned to leave, "You know, I was thinking about taking everyone to the park this weekend to try and relax-"

"CAN WE?!" Andrew was excited the moment he heard the word "park" and hopped up and down like a possessed pogo stick in order to persuade his father, "CAN WE CAN WE CAN WE CAN WE CAN WE CAN-"

"Alright! Alright!" Lance planted his son on his bed, "Alright, on one condition. You do not allow this football business to interfere with the rest of the week. Clear?"

"Yes, father," Andrew responded.

"Good," his father brushed Andrew's shoulders, "Well, finish up quickly. We're saying our prayers in 30 minutes."

"Right. Understood, father," Andrew gave a thumbs up. He waited until his father went downstairs to return to his journal and scribble down potential surveillance plans. He dropped his calmed demeanor and focused all his attention to his notes, "First, the game-losing dream. Now, this. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this weird thing, one way or another."

His new mission started the next day. As soon as the alarm clock went off, he dumped his football uniform in the trash and took up his middle school attire. He went through his morning routine as fast as he could, saving enough time to reassure his parents that he would remain focused on his schoolwork. He spent five minutes at the bus stop figuring out how to get through the day untouched by his recent football failure. When the school bus came around to pick him up, he took very careful note of how the students in there reacted, and surprisingly, they didn't notice him at all. That meant he could take the safe seat nearest to the bus driver. He slowly made his way up the steps and into the noisy bus.

"Mornin', young Robinson!" The bus driver yelled.

"Mornin'," was all Andrew muttered before sitting right behind the driver.

"What's the matter, lad?" The driver said as he closer the door and started the bus away, "That game last night wasn't the worst thing ever, y'know."

"Game? Huh?" Andrew's senses were on caution, "How big is the talk around the finals?"

"Pretty big last night, so it's gonna be the talk among you youngsters. Although, everyone's writing off your slip-up as a trip-up. I hear there's another person on your team that screwed up pretty bad. If you ask me, that little bugger deserved it."

"Huh. I was so far up the field, I didn't even notice..." Andrew was somewhat relieved that he wasn't the one with the worst fail. But just the notion that the football game was never going to leave the school's halls was enough to put him on high-alert.

Even more so, five minutes later, when the bus made one last stop to pick up a well-dressed passenger. "Welcome aboard, young Ainsworth!" The driver yelled.

"Mornin', sir!" the young lad greeted before catching Andrew in his eyes, "Wotcher, Andy! What're you doin' in the watch?"

"Nothing, Ollie," Andrew addressed his friend Oliver by his nickname, just as Oliver had done with him, "Just need to stay away from the limelight."

"Oh, that ain't gonna help one bit!" Oliver plopped himself right beside his friend, "Don't you know, Andy? The website is abuzz with comments about last night!"

"Ugh..." was the only thing Andrew could utter before the long drive to school.

Lunchtime was the safest time to truly speak his mind, as he was at a table alone with Oliver.

"No way!" And Oliver couldn't believe the story of the you-know-what, "That's what muddled you?!"

"Yes, it is!" Andrew excitedly spouted, "This dream of a wizard holding two wands like twin daggers, single-handedly beating up like 50 black-cloths, and nearly stopping a giant ball from destroying the country...this dream is getting all too real for me to ignore!"

"And you've been getting it more and more recently?"

"Yes! And that's what cost me the game! No matter how much I tried to block it out, it just kept coming back and-"

"Ok, ok, ok, little fireball," Oliver rushed to soothe his friend by rubbing his back, "Easy, easy...it's all in the past."

"Oh, is it?" Andrew snapped at him, "Last night, I saw how the rest of it played out! Right after I said my prayers."

"Yikes! Have you told anyone about this yet?"

"No! I can't tell my parents about this at all! It must remain a secret!"

"Why?" Oliver leaned in, "Why must be kept a secret?"

"Well..." Andrew said. He turned his head left and right for any eavesdroppers. Then, he whispered in Oliver's ear, "I think it has something to do with Hogwarts..."

Oliver leaned back and gave a bewildered look, "Wuhhh?..."

"I know it sounds crazy," Andrew reached for his bag, "but I was able to listen in on a conversation my parents had." He grabbed his spiral and opened up to his latest entry, "Look at this. Hogwarts, and Ministry of Magic. Among that, they were talking about Divination and some kind of war. Or world."

"Uh, not to dump on your high spirits," Oliver mused, "but isn't all this just some way to deal with your loss?..."

"Yes, it is," Andrew said bluntly, "It's this thing that's costing me everything. And I'm gonna put it to rest!"

Suddenly, another voice popped up behind him, "Are you sure it wasn't just because of your vision?" It belonged to his former team captain.

"Oh, you," Andrew said.

"I'd say you need to get your feet straightened out," the captain said, "but it looks like you need more than just a few therapists."

Suddenly, another former teammate snuck up behind the captain, "I pulled the weight. What was the captain doing?" He pulled out a picture of the captain bumping into a player from the opposing team, inadvertently letting the first goal through.

"Hey, gimme that!" The captain tried to snatch the picture away, but he gave it to Andrew, who tossed it to Oliver, who then threw it to the rowdy table behind him. "No! Hey, there's nothing to see there!"

"Looks like you need a little flyer boy!" Oliver joked. He sent the captain off to the restroom, fuming with anger. Then, he turned to Andrew, "What do you think?"

"I think he's a bit too down in the dump today!" Andrew quipped.

He nearly finished the day unaffected by his recent events. The classes had nothing abnormal report, just the usual people and talks that were commonplace for any middle school. Then came the bell to end the day and assemble the students who chose to ride the bus home. He had just left the school building with Oliver to board the bus across the back parking lot, chatting away at how obsessed he was about what he now called a premonition.

"I'll tag along with you, but I still think you're clocked in the head," Oliver said.

"Oh, I'll show you it's all real!" Andrew said, pointing to his head, "And I got a plan right here. I'm gonna take the playing with a park and make it a stealthing mission!"

"You never cease to amuse me, Andy. Especially with the-LOOK OUT!"

"Look whe-OOF!"

Oliver had just shoved Andrew to the left, thereby avoiding a nasty collision with the captain's tackle.

"Oh, no," the captain growled, "We can't have this." He cracked his fists and glared at Andrew, who had quickly stood back up, "You need to be taught a lesson in respect."

Oliver wipes the dirt from his shoulders and crawled away from the captain, "Just wondering...aren't you overreacting a little?"

"Nonsense!" The captain yelled, "This little prick has been in my side for too long! I was supposed to be the star, until you showed up!" His little outburst attracted a crowd.

"Oh?" Andrew steadied himself upright, "Just because you're two years older than me? You can make me laugh all you want!"

"No," the captain shook his arms and prepared himself for a fight, "I'll make you pay for that picture!"

And all of a sudden, the crowd was chanting for a fight. The staff saw the crowd, but were too slow to stop what happened next.

Andrew knew the captain was a foot taller and a bit more muscular than he was, so he grabbed the nearest thing he saw. He grabbed a small twig, and stuck it out in front of him. The captain laughed and socked Andrew's arm, then kicked at the gut. Andrew wheezed a bit, but quickly straightened himself up and thrust the twig out just as the captain lunged at his target with all his might.

And then...the captain froze mid-punch. He had one leg two inches above the ground, and one arm sticking out.

Andrew and Oliver quickly ran out of the circle and into the bus, along with the crowd of students who chased after them. But the moment Andrew's foot touched the bus was the moment the captain was unfrozen, and in a pile of dirt. Andrew and Oliver retook their front seat, while the rest of the bus was filled and staring at the captain. They were soaking up the humiliation the captain felt, not caring about what happened or how it happened, nor was the captain able to make out the events that most recently transpired, especially after having his entire body feel like it was encased in a cold lead mold.

The two friends, however, knew exactly what happened. They just saw a human body lock itself up, seemingly on Andrew's command. Even if only for a second, they knew that a living body never completely locks up until it's fully dead. What happened on that lot can only be described as a harsh form of magic.

And yet, Andrew saw fit to deny what he saw, "Ollie...what just happened?..."

"Something that never should've been able to happen," Oliver said, "That much is certain." He peeped over the window and saw the captain wheezing on all fours, horrified at how he couldn't move his own eyes. He ducked his and Andrew's head under the line of sight when the captain swerved his head over to the bus and demanded to know where "those two twits" are. "Is he looking at us?" He whispered.

"I think so," Andrew whispered back.

"Just stay down, then!"

The two didn't speak until the bus left the school.

"Oh man! What was that?!"

"Well...I'm sure there's a good explanation for...that thing..."

"Yeah, there is! I have the power!"

"Power of what?"

"The wizard people! There's no doubt in my mind now!"

"Oh, ok," Oliver was astounded by Andrew'sapparent simplemindedness, "So, you believe that your one of them?"

"Yeah! Forget football! This is my chance to make the greatest comeback of all time!"

"Ok, Andy! Easy there! You gotta wait till this weekend to try all that out. I will be there, you know."

"Yes...perhaps as a test subject."

"No, no, and no!"

Despite some hiccups, the mission to blast through the day unscathed was a success. By the time the bus rounded Andrew's stop, the two were having so much fun that they forgot about whatever worries they fought with today and went on their merry way home. Andrew and Oliver shared a complicated handshake to signify the promise to start the next day just as strong as today ended. Oliver kept his seat as Andrew jumped off the bus and waved his friend goodbye, swearing on his lucky FIFA ball that the mystery would be solved.

When the bus closed its doors and resumed its route, Oliver wiped his brow and sighed a heavy reliever.

The driver took notice, "What's your matter, lad?"

"Oh, it's no worry," Oliver said, "Just Andy going off about the attack of the dream."

"Oh, yeah. Everyone has the scoop now, thanks to that little outburst your friend delivered."

"Heh, took a load off my back!"

"An' lemme guess. You've been gettin' the midnight jitters, too?"

That caught Oliver off-guard, "Uhh...yeah. How did you know?"

"I see it in your eyes, lad. Been seein' it for the past week."

"Yeah. There's no way I could tell him."

"Relax. Your secret's safe with me," the driver assured as he parked the bus and opened the doors for its final stop, "Ok, lad. Same time tomorrow?"

"You know it!" Oliver waves as he gathered his belongings and darted out of the bus.

Oliver's house was the Dursleys' former residence on Privet Drive, a street that he believed had become a hallmark for a certain legendary hero. He played on the yard every day since he was a little boy, always finding something new to dig up. He had a good reason to explore every nook and cranny of the house. His father, a former Gryffindor, and his mother, a former Hufflepuff, were currently under the employ of that legendary hero, as surveillance agents for the Ministry of Magic. Unlike Andrew's parents, Oliver's embraced their past and shared their stories with him, in the hopes that he may take up the family tradition.

No sooner had he stepped one foot inside the house had his backpack levitated itself to the coat rack. "Mum!" He yelled as he tried to reclaim it, "I can't...reach...iiiiiiiiit..."

"Oh dear! I'll get it!" His mother called out. She grabbed her wand and flicked a small bolt of light at the backpack, causing it to return to Oliver's hands, then started her way down the main hall, "So, how was school, dear?"

"It was a fun filled day, as usual," Oliver said while hanging up his coat, "Do you know when Daddy's gonna be home?"

"He'll be late again, I'm afraid," his mother said while brushing off his shoulders, "Minister Grainger is touring Azkaban, and she needs all the guards she can get. I'm afraid we won't be seeing him until tomorrow evening."

"What?" Oliver couldn't hide his disappointment, "That's the third time this week."

"I know, but it's all for the better," his mother reassured him, "besides, Daddy will be with us in the park this weekend."

"I hope so."

"I'll make sure of it. In the meantime, why don't you brush up for dinner? It's spaghetti night tonight."

"Yay!" Oliver hugged her, "I'll be a half hour!" And away he went, off to his room with renewed excitement for the coming days, ignoring the overcooked steak she prepared for him last week.

In Oliver's mind, he and Andrew were a perfect pair of friends. They have so much in common, with just the right amount of differences to make them inseparable. They were both the only children in their families, they had a near obsession with comics, they seemed to have similar plans in mind for getting out of trouble, and they always had each other's backs. But three main differences separate them in his mind. Firstly, Andrew can be overambitious with goals and dreams, as opposed to Oliver's more relaxed and methodical approach. Secondly, when it came to speaking their mind, Andrew was far more vocal than Oliver.

The third difference was in the dreams. Andrew revealed his dream, but Oliver didn't. He hid his dream safely, between his mattress and box. It was buried within a sketchbook, drawn in a comic book format. He took it out and admired his above average artistic talent before reading his "comic" for the tenth time this week.

It was a comic about himself, at London King's Cross, during the busy hours. He had to go to the bathroom for a long time, and when he came out he lost his parents. Instead of making a fuss, he treaded lightly to the reception area where he could page for his parents. But halfway through the daunting stroll past the human forests, he heard a little sniffling. He made a detour towards the direction of the noise. He saw that it was coming from underneath a bench, which made him think it was a lost pet. He ran at full speed to confirm his suspicions.

It wasn't a pet. As a matter of fact, it didn't even look human. It was like a fetus, all bloodied and vegetative, with all its limbs grown to proportions grotesque for a baby. But it had a man's head. Not a baby's, a man's. It was bald, with its nose seemingly missing.

The comic ended with his cartoon self staining his khaki shorts brown, and a caption underneath the panel, "UNFINISHED BUSINESS?!"

Oliver meant that to be a joke, but it ended up weighing on more than his shorts. What if that dream was telling him something? What if someone somewhere really had unfinished business with that alien-like creature, and that he would be sent to intervene upon the creature's behalf? He knew it couldn't be related to Voldemort, as his parents were able to recall, and project through a repeatedly-foul-smelling cauldron, the exact moment they saw Voldemort die. That perplexed him even more, if not scare him because now he doesn't have any leads.

"Oy..." he sighed, "I have a few ideas, but just to be safe-"

"Oliver!" His mom called out, "Dinner's ready!"

"Coming!" He closes the sketch book and stuffed it back in its hiding place. Then, he took his socks off and ran down to the kitchen, "Hey, mom! Can I ask you something?!"