Mum broke up our duel after only seven water jets and ten jinxes, and I took note that Dumbledore was still deep in thought. His usual kind of whimsical demeanour was gone and replaced by an almost troubled look. I couldn't catch where his eyes were focused on; the morning sun filtering through the shop windows shone on his spectacles.
Had he not actually wanted Olivia to receive that wand? Was a brother wand really that bad? The questions bubbled as I helped Mum dry the shop, and while Dad fixed Olivia's end of the mess. Two shelves had toppled over. Maybe we'd pushed it a bit. Her flipping and tripping jinxes were really good. Each one held a potent bolt of magic that'd probably leave me with bruises if they caught me off-guard.
Olivia smugly twirled her new wand between her fingers. "Almost gotcha. Let more of your magic loose next time. I think I can handle it." Her comment had nearly wafted into one ear and out the other.
I finally decided it wasn't that big of a deal. Voldemort was gone—a pile of ash scattered throughout the remains of that small old house. It didn't matter if Olivia's wand shared something similar with his. So why was everyone freaking out and secretive? I resisted a scowl, waiting, thinking, not able to come up with anything logical.
The shop was almost back in order, Mum and Dad displaying impressive wordless magic. Olivia said something again. Dumbledore stroked his beard once. Ollivander…
Where did he sneak off to?
"Hey." Olivia clicked her fingers. "You in there?"
I nodded. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
I whispered, "Your wand. Didn't seem like Dumbledore thought his hunch would be right. Or that he didn't want it to be."
She cut him a cautious glance. "Hm… You don't think he really thinks I'm going to be a dark witch, do you?"
"Of course not."
"Then what—"
Dumbledore and my parents apparently heard our exchange, their combined attention snapping to us. They made their way around the table, and avoided a small puddle which I willed out of existence a second later. Dumbledore said, "The future is inherently unclear, even to the best of diviners. I would be lying if I said I know whether you will fall into darkness."
"Then what was with the looks?" Olivia asked. "Is it that bad my wand is like you-know-who's?"
Dumbledore exhaled. "I don't know, Olivia. I don't know."
"Then why are you all so worried? I tried, though not expecting a straight answer.
Mum's face pinched in thought. "It's bad luck. And brother wands have some special magical laws."
"Like what?" Olivia asked.
"Don't worry," Dad said, "You'll both learn all about it in due time."
"Yes, wand lore is covered in detail in the Hogwarts curriculum." Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows lifted. "We can't spoil it all, can we, James, Lily?"
Dad smirked. "No, professor, we can't."
"Trust us, okay?" Mum rubbed Olivia's arm. "We'll tell you one day."
Olivia wilted a tiny bit. "Kay…"
I grumbled under my breath and looked away. They'd always kept a lot of things from my sister and I. Details about the war. Questions regarding more advanced spells and potions and such. They'd almost always sidestepped because we were just children, not old enough. Though I hadn't felt like a child since…
I couldn't remember. Like Remus and Dumbledore and Snape had said, those basic Occlumency lessons matured our minds rather well. Though we were mentally thirteen or fourteen now, they treated us like Weasley kids most of the time. I couldn't help but feel annoyed. There'd been countless accidents. None too serious except a few.
Especially that terrible day… There had been so much blood. Olivia's blood. Olivia's screams.
Oh no. I couldn't stop myself. I focused on my training but it was no use—too late. And in my mad attempt to sink that memory with magic, I found the room spinning and myself sucked into my mindscape, into my worst memories. Broken bones, shattered glass, raging fires, and icy floods. And much, much more. So many injuries. So many accidents.
Then the worst of them all spun into sight in a blur. I had been angry that day. Blood-boiling angry. All over a silly, silly reason.
My ears rang with an unending high-pitched screech. A fountain of crimson sprayed my face and robes. Her body crumpled onto the tall grass. The worst part was the nauseating copper and rust stench. I'd never forgotten that overwhelming fume. I had done that to her. It was all my fault. I felt my knuckles crack.
Suddenly, I was pulled out of my mindscape.
"Harry," my Dad said with deep authority, cutting through just as my chest thumped thrice in quick succession.
Then a flare of Dumbledore's magical aura engulfed me like a blazing fire. "Calm down, Harry."
I tensed my body and pulled back my raging magic. I forced my demons back into my mindscape, then surveyed the damage. Ice this time. The windows were coated with frost. Not too bad. It could much, much worse. "Sorry," I said weakly, then continued my slow breaths. I wiped my mindscape of that memory—strengthened the walls holding my magical core—till the temperature returned to normal.
Wands were out, protective, cutting me off from Olivia and Mum by the door. She was peeking from behind Mum's back. The slight fear seeping from her eyes was haunting. "I'm sorry," I said again to her more than the others. "I had another flashback of that day. I let my Occlumency slip."
She nodded in an instant. "I know." Her tone was soft. "Just keep a safe distance till you're okay."
I swallowed and tore my gaze from hers. There wasn't anything more to be said. It was the standard routine whenever I lost control. She'd claimed she got used to it years back, but her pale face betrayed her. I could only apologise and work on my Occlumency.
The adults kept steady and watched me with heavy looks. Mum's was the worst. Not fear, fortunately, but intense worry and concern, her lips tight and facial muscles trembling. All because of me. Maybe I should lose my ridiculous, cursed magic or at least most of it. It'd be an easier life.
"Deep breaths. Clear your mindscape. In and out," she said. "You can do it like always."
"It's alright, son," Dad followed up. "Take it slow. We're always here for you."
I nodded after too long of a hesitation. Their reassurance was somewhat helpful at best. I mean, what else would they say? "Thanks… Mum, Dad." I kept on breathing and emptying myself of emotions. I visualised a dense pine forest and nothing else, losing myself in the greenery—one of my crutches.
The seconds passed till the minutes flowed one after another. The trees were endless. I could live in a forest like this. A simpler, easier life out in the woods. Alone. Maybe I'll build a cabin one day out in the countryside. I closed myself off to all negative emotion, willing it so with my magic, till my heart was beating steadily. I kept at it for longer just in case.
"Quite frightening indeed, Mr Potter," Ollivander's croaky voice loudly cut in from the left, startling me.
My eyelids yanked open as I reeled, my shoes scuffing on the old floorboards. The old wandmaker stood in the doorway to the back room with a shiny black box in his hands.
My wand!
Now that was something which would absolutely help control my magic. I almost skipped on my approach. A light giggle floated from behind but I didn't care. My wand was here. Every young wizard's dream—receiving their wand on their eleventh birthday. And not just any other wand too but my specially crafted wand.
It had taken days to test my magic against all those wood and core types—hundreds of boxes containing materials fetched from all over the world. My magic had reacted well to several cores early on, but Ollivander had kept on going for some reason. And that wasn't even mentioning all the ministry paperwork for my extra special whatever it was. Made with my blood of all things. It had to be risque magic.
Ollivander chuckled. "Ah, the young prodigy, the second coming of Merlin himself, the vanquisher of the dark lor—"
I held out my palm. "Just give me my wand," I said, then tacked on, "Please." I had really, really grown to hate all those titles. They were truly meaningless. I couldn't even protect my own sister from myself. Such a prodigy indeed.
"Mmmm!" He grinned. "Ever so eager… So, so eager."
As he unlocked the case, someone touched my arm. I exasperatedly twisted my neck around and found my Dad crouching at my side. Olivia and Mum were just behind, little grins on their similar features. I could feel Dumbledore's churning aura to my right. Was that nervousness or excitement?
Dad took hold of my shoulder. "Harry."
By his tone, this sounded like one of those serious father-son talks. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes but a bit of it slipped.
He smirked and rustled my hair. The warm contact was nice, I had to admit. But it was still annoying as hell so I slapped his hand away. "Get on with it."
He eyed me for a good two seconds, then took a breath. "You will find that with this wand—especially this wand which has been tailored specifically for your use—that magic will come easier ever before after you master it. Your control, power, everything." He chucked three breaths. "The blood ritual caused quite the stir at the ministry."
"Blood ritual?" I blurted. "Isn't that dark ma—"
"No, no, no," he quickly said, shaking his head with each word. "This particular ritual isn't dark but just… a bit taboo and highly regulated. It basically makes your wand more yours. You'll learn more about it in your defence classes."
Mum nodded once. "It only works with the blood of a powerful witch or wizard. It's done more often in Russia and China mostly."
Ollivander added, "And Egypt, Brazil, Hungary, Transylvania, France—"
Dad waved him off and Olivia threw him a sheepish look.
"Yes, quite taboo in Britain indeed," Dumbledore said. "To forcibly bind a wand. Useful, but potentially dangerous if done incorrectly. I can't recall the last time…" He looked like he was about to say more, leaving out something important.
I mentally shrugged. It was fairly interesting, I guessed, but I wanted my wand without delay. "That's sweet. So can I get my wa—"
Dad chuckled. "However, there's a bit of a side effect. It might be a bit harder to master than usual." His head swayed left and right. He looked at Ollivander and I followed his gaze. A lukewarm feeling settled in my stomach.
"Behold, Mr Potter. Elder, Thestral tail hair infused with your own blood and magic, twelve inches. Fairly inflexible and highly temperamental at times. Straightforward to control, incredibly difficult to master." Ollivander opened the velvet-lined case. Dense magical energy that was unique yet strangely familiar buffered my glasses.
I could feel my own magic radiating off the greyish, light-brown wood. The handle was ornate but the wand itself was nothing but straight and simple, even rough in some areas, unpolished, remarkably average and plain. I liked that. Part of me assumed it would look like Dumbledore's overly decorated thing. This, however, was a nice surprise.
I took it in a heartbeat and the reaction was instantaneous. My fingers buzzed with magic. My power sang from within the depths of my mindscape. At the corners of my sight, my family and Ollivander stepped back while Dumbledore looked at me with a peculiar twinkle in his eyes. Just what was the old wizard hiding?
