I stared at the green quidditch flyer on Ollivander's bench and couldn't stop that memory from resurfacing. My earliest memory. A flash of green light half a shade off from the flyer's, and the cries of a baby who I now knew to be my twin sister, Olivia. There had been a wand too, stark-white and pointed in our general direction, aimed an inch closer to me than her but the memory was murky and fragmented at best. I wasn't perfect. Far from it. No matter how much my tutors seemed to think.

I couldn't recall what happened next but my parents said—they all said—that the baby Harry Potter had singlehandedly defeated Voldemort with a bout of accidental magic. A mere baby had reflected the undeflectable killing curse. Voldemort had died in an instant. The most terrible dark lord of recent times had been reduced to a pile of ash for some reason. No one cared about that little tidbit.

Dumbledore thought I might've lit him on fire. It was the only explanation—a deflection followed by sun-hot fire. Either Olivia or I, and everyone had long concluded it was the latter, especially after Dumbledore's repeated examinations of my memory and magical core. With no doubt, it had been Harry: the boy-who-lived with a magical potential higher than anything recorded in history. Sometimes I wished it was Olivia instead. Sometimes. I wouldn't force such a fate upon her.

I used to enjoy being special, being superior, being Britain's sole saviour and biggest celebrity for over a decade. Not so much anymore. Witches and wizards always looked at me with such awe and wonder, or apprehension and resent. Wherever I go. I'm never alone. When Dad or Sirius weren't available, even my assigned Auror bodyguards couldn't act naturally. Though they tried to hide it, it was always there, just below the surface waiting to make waves if I did something apparently incredible. Like accidental conjuration of water and other basic elements. You would think they'd get used to it after the first year. Apparently not.

If it wasn't for my family and friends, I probably would've left Britain by now. They were the only ones who treated me as just Harry and not the second coming of Merlin. I appreciated that more than I'd let on. It's truly very lonely at the top of the magical potential scale. I had learnt that the hard way.

I also appreciated Olivia for sometimes joining in on the meditative lessons to control my emotions and magic. Basic Occlumency. She didn't have to, of course, but Mum probably had a little chat with her when the lessons started after my fifth birthday. Mind magics was useful. Olivia had grudgingly put up with the boring lessons. She'd clearly wanted to be with the Weasleys instead. She was far better at broom-riding than I. Ordinary in potential, but the only dorky sister I had.

The only sister I'd almost killed by accident.

I swallowed and buried that memory, and cleared my mind of emotions before something bad happened. Terrible things happen when I'm angry or sad.

A gentle, warm weight grasped my left shoulder. "Are you alright, Harry?"

Dumbledore. Of course, he would notice my near loss of control. I turned to face him and nodded, looking into those half-spectacles in front of that ever-kind face. "Yes, sir." I tried to smile but only managed a wonky tug of my cheeks.

He studied me for a good four and a half seconds. "Steady breaths. Remember. Steady breaths." He parted with a matching nod, then rejoined Olivia and my parents. His ornate robes swayed in his gait laced with a dense magical aura. It was like a midday sun of pure magical energy hidden behind dark clouds when suppressed. Most couldn't feel it. They were lucky.

Olivia tested yet another wand with an elegant wave across a tabled filled with objects made of varying materials. The book caught fire with green flames and spread to half the table. She yelped, flinching back and dropping the light-brown wand. "Put it out!"

I huffed. That was the worst one yet. As Ollivander picked up the wand and Dad motioned his own, I lazily brushed my fingers through the smokey air, willing the flames to dim and the objects to repair. I visualised my intent down to the finest details. My fingertips tingled. Strands of glittering magic flowed from the depths of my magical core in my mindscape. The flames were out in under a second. Not a single leaf on that tiny model tree was burned. Easy.

Dumbledore gave me a look of approval. Of course, he had tested me there as usual. He could've put it out with a mere thought. He could light it ablaze again too. He was probably the one wizard in all of Britain who understood me.

Dad chuckled. "Good work."

Olivia took a breath and smirked at me sardonically. "About time. I thought you said you were watching out."

I shrugged. "Got distracted." I swiped the flyer at my side and held it up. "Quidditch match next week. France versus England."

"What? Really?" She bounced straight and hurried over, almost tripping on the edge of a shelf.

Dad and Mum strode to me, a stack of untested boxed wands in her hands. Her green eyes—my eyes—skimmed through the flyer. "This is strange. It says it's an exhibition match for the muggle queen."

It was Ollivander who spoke, cutting off Dumbledore as he opened his mouth. "Yes… Yes… For that new halfblood witch from their royal—"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I do believe that is confidential, Garrick."

He was going to say, 'royal family'. I had read up on the muggle world once or twice in the manor library. It was fairly interesting. I still couldn't believe how they could all live without magic but they did. All thanks to their 'technology'. Sometimes I imagined myself losing my magic. It'd be an easier life, living like them.

Okay, maybe not. I'd be insane to want to lose my magic. Especially mine. I'm not insane.

Ollivander sheepishly gave his apologies. Mum, Dad, and Olivia promised to not let that tidbit slip before testing wands again. Dad and Olivia jabbered about quidditch and the match. They couldn't help themselves.

Twenty minutes later, another stack of wands waved by and Olivia still hadn't found hers. I sighed, not because I was tired of putting out smaller fires and fixing the objects, but because Dumbledore and Ollivander had promised me something special that'd help control my magic. They'd even taken my blood after touching boxes of various wand materials, and my parent's signatures for the ministry. It was required for custom-made wands.

"I heard that," Olivia said. Her matching green eyes flicked to me.

I grinned. "Heard what?"

She sighed dramatically as she tested the next wand without looking. The tree model caught fire again. "Your sigh, Mr. I'm so powerful I don't even need a wand like the rest of us."

"Yeah. That's me alright." I put it out without waving my fingers this time. It took considerably more concentration, a far lager pull on my magical core. My face didn't relax till the tree was slowly repaired.

Mum raised a brow. "You didn't use your fingers that time. When did you manage that?"

"A few weeks ago."

She smiled. "That's amazing."

Dad whistled. "Second coming of Merli—"

I pointed at him and unleashed one of my signature moves, a jet of ice-cold water straight at his goofy grin. I'd practiced that one enough times that it was second-nature.

A chorus of mirth erupted in the shop at that and I meekly joined in. Dad usually would pull out his wand and we'd have a waterfight but the look on Ollivander's face suggested dire consequences. Mum merely stepped away and shook her head. I cleaned up the water while they resumed testing.

"Patience is a virtue, Harry," Dumbledore said from a back-shelf, strolling towards me with a stack of three in his arms. "The longer one waits, the better it is in the end."

I wondered why he didn't just levitate them with a thought but I understood a second later. He'd mentioned it in passing almost every other lesson. One's magic and health were deeply twined. And one's health couldn't be maintained with just magic. That's why Mum and Dad had dragged me to all those pain-filled quidditch practices with Olivia. "Yes, sir, " I finally said.

But I really wanted to say, 'come on, just give me my wand. I know you already have it.'

"Please, try these. I do believe I have a hunch." Dumbledore placed the three next to Olivia. The box in the middle was old and dusty and torn at the corners. The other two were neither new or old.

Ollivander's neck craned over the three. "Hmmm… horntail heartstring and vine… unicorn hair and vine… phoenix feather and…" He looked up at Dumbledore. "Holly."

My parents went quiet at the mention of the last wand. Dad shoved the stack he was bringing back onto a shelf, then silently pulled Dumbledore to the side; however, my sister was oblivious and was already testing the first of the three. She waved it at the miniature scarecrow and sliced the thing in half. I fixed it without taking my focus away from the adults, who were now murmuring among themselves.

Olivia took hold of the wand which I assumed to be phoenix feather and holly—the one from the old, weathered box. It was ordinary, dark brown and carved from a single piece of wood. The handle was plain and the wand itself was simple and bit rough near the handle. It didn't look like the wand of a future mass murderer. Why were they so concerned? Though admittedly, I didn't know much about wands.

As she waved, catching the adults' attention, I felt a maelstrom of magical energy swirl around my sister. Like warm wind filled with life and happiness. But it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. "Found it!" She jumped on the spot, holding the wand high like a sword.

Finally. About time. That had taken hours. Why didn't Dumbledore have his hunch earlier, for Merlin's sake?

"Curious," Ollivander breathed, approaching cautiously. "Very curious."

Dumbledore looked at me, then back at Olivia. My parents looked quite troubled. Mum scowled heavily and Dad simply scratched his head, his features twisting. "Maybe it's just a coincidence?" he blurted.

I frowned in confusion as Olivia finally noticed something was up. "Huh? What's wrong?" she asked.

Mum rushed to her side. "It's alright, honey. It's just that this particular wand is the brother of he—" She cringed as her voice hitched, then visibly swallowed. Her aura flared unstably, far too weak for anyone to notice save for Dumbledore and I.

Ollivander continued for her. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Ms Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother almost took the life of your brother."

As the meaning sank in, I couldn't help but smile at the notion of my dork of a sister becoming the next dark lord—even if Dumbledore and my parents appeared to believe the next iteration of Voldemort was standing in front of them. It had to be just a coincidence like Dad had said. "Don't worry, everyone," I said lightly. "The boy-who-lived will make sure Olivia doesn't become the next dark lord."

The tension shattered. Dad burst into hearty guffaws. Olivia's eye twitched and her wand twirled in a spiral pattern I'd seen her practice with the training wands back at home. "Flipendo!"

Deflecting the jinx with a snap of my wrist, I returned fire with a smaller jet of icy water as she ducked for cover. Our usual duel broke out and the adults were wise to not interfere.