A/N: So, I know it's been about forever since I've updated this fic - started on another one and then there were/are the DLP monthly competitions that distract me... also this real life thing going on. I'm going to try to keep this updated at a more regular place, if you haven't already check out for early updates - also don't forget to join the DLP C2: .net/community/DLP_5_Starred_and_Featured_Authors/84507/ - do it now!


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CHAPTER TWO

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The shop was nothing like Olivander's. It was not decorated with bookshelf after bookshelf strewn with boxes upon boxes, instead everything seemed in perfect order, not a thing out of line. The man behind the counter was watching Harry intently as he entered. He was older, with silvery hair and what appeared to be a perpetual scowl. Dumbledore was still outside waiting – he'd received an owl almost immediately upon our arrival, and he was busy crafting a response.

And so there Harry was. He walked to the counter slowly, observing the sleekness and quietness of his surroundings.

The man at the counter watched him for a few moments before speaking.

"What can I do for you?" The man asked in a rough baritone, something in his voice grated with every syllable.

Harry swallowed for a moment. "I'm here to see Gregorovitch… I need a wand."

The man nodded. "Well why else would you have come to a wand shop? A little old, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged. "My wand broke."

The clerk tilted his head to the side. "How'd that happen? Careless, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. Just got into a bit of… trouble. It couldn't be helped."

Furrowing his brow, the man looked Harry over for a moment. Harry stood tall under his scrutiny.

Finally, the man nodded. "All right then. One moment."

He turned on his heel and left through the door to the back of the shop. A moment passed with Harry simply standing there, waiting.

And then the man returned through the door with a slight smile upon his face. He held out his hand over the counter and Harry shook it hesitantly.

"Welcome, then, Harry Potter. You may call me Gregorovitch."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why did you go back there?"

The man smiled. "I thought we deserved a clean start. Welcome again, Mr. Potter. Has Albus accompanied you as promised?"

Harry chose to ignore the first bit and answered. "He's outside sending a letter. I presume he'll be in shortly."

"Good, good."

Gregorovitch stepped out from behind the counter and started taking Harry's measurements. By hand, Harry noticed. There was no floating tape-measure here.

Harry stood there quietly as the man went about his task. The man worked quickly, with catlike movements, it didn't seem like an ounce of energy was wasted. He was clearly practiced at this.

Upon completing his measurements, Gregorovitch drew his wand and waved it almost carelessly. A fine wooden chair appeared at Harry's side.

"Sit, sit." The man gestured to the chair, so Harry sat.

Gregorovitch sat back in the chair behind the counter and looked over it at the young man.

"I've heard an awful lot about you, Harry Potter."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Have you?"

The man nodded.

"What have you heard?" Harry asked softly.

Smirking, the man answered, "Many things, Harry. Mostly good, have no concern."

"How do you know Dumbledore?"

Gregorovitch sighed. "The world is a very small place, Harry Potter. You would do well to remember that."

Harry nodded slightly. "This seems to be true, from everything I've learned."

The older man grew pensive, and seemed to be considering something deeply. Harry simply sat and watched the man for a time. Finally, Harry spoke.

"Is there… something else? I'm here for a wand."

Raising an eyebrow, Gregorovitch chuckled lightly. "I know why you're here."

"Well… do you have any I could try?"

The raised eyebrow remained where it was. "Is that how you would like to do it?"

Harry nodded. 'That's how Olivander did it."

"Indeed, trial and error is usually the most dependable way."

Gregorovitch stood and muttered something under his breath. A long and slender box appeared on the counter in front of him. He nodded for Harry to take the wand from its case.

Harry did. He lifted the top and drew the wand lightly. It was a bit longer than Harry's old wand, and had a bit more heft to it. He began to wave it to see what happened, but stalled when he noticed Gregorovitch's raised eyebrow.

"What were you going to do, just wave it and see what happened? I like to keep my shop in good order."

Nodding, Harry considered the wand carefully.

"Well, go on," Gregorovitch interrupted, "Conjure me something, if you will."

Harry looked at him blankly. "You think I can conjure?"

The older man furrowed his brow in a way that seemed sincere. "Hmm. Well, if you can't, would you perhaps… transfigure something in this room. The wand's case, perhaps."

Harry nodded, and brandished the wand in the general direction of the case. The box shrunk and twisted and began to fold in upon itself. Harry snapped the wand again, but the now twisted and sunken thing did not respond.

Grimacing, Gregorovitch waved his wand and the case returned to normal.

"No, not that one I suppose. Shall we keep on with this?"

Harry returned the wand to the box and pushed it back over the counter. "Is there a better way?"

But before the wand maker could answer, the main door opened once more and Albus Dumbledore, smiling, strode confidently in to the shop.

Gregorovitch stood immediately, greeting the former headmaster warmly.

After shaking the man's hand, Dumbledore looked down at Harry, still sitting.

"And how are things progressing here, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "We've not found the right one yet. We've only just started looking."

Dumbledore took his shoulder. "I'm certain you'll find the right one, Harry. But if you don't mind, I'd like to commandeer my old friend for a moment. Wait here, Harry. We'll return momentarily."

Without waiting for a response Dumbledore nodded to the other man. Gregorovitch turned and beckoned for Dumbledore to follow. The door swung shut behind them as they disappeared into the back of the shop.

And so Harry sat there, staring at the newly revived box containing the first of what he presumed would be many wands that would not work for him.

Sighing, Harry sat back in the chair. Out of boredom, he took the wand from the box once more and started experimenting with it. He aimed at the box again and waved the wand slightly. The box shuddered slightly before widening and doubling in size.

Harry smiled slightly. He waved the wand again and the box shrunk to just the size of a matchbox.

He examined the wand in his hand for a moment. Again he noted the wand's heft, although there was something that felt much more… solid about it than either of the two wands he'd used previously.

He held the wand out in front of him and concentrated for a moment – the small matchbook sized case suddenly shifted and twisted and became a sheet of paper.

Harry considered the spell he'd been working on that night – before the vampires had arrived – and he waved the wand, incanting the syllables he'd been working on stringing together.

A script appeared on the paper, although it was indecipherable, at least there was something. Harry smiled and sat back, holding the wand limply in his hand as he considered his handiwork, however poor it might have been.

And then there was an explosion.

The door through which Dumbledore and Gregorovitch had left shattered outward, a spray of splinters flew through the shop. Harry instinctually brandished the wand already in his hand and cast a quick Protego. The splinters fell away from him harmlessly as he tried to peer through the hole in the door. There was smoke, though, and he could not see what was happening.

Suddenly a jet of flame burst through the opening – strait in Harry's direction. Harry dropped the shield that he realized would not be effective and dove to the side, out of the way of the flames.

Knowing he couldn't let the flames spread, he waved his wand and sent a torrent of water towards the fire licking at the base of the walls.

Seeing that the fire had lessened, Harry jumped to his feet and held his wand out defensively. What was going on in there? Where Dumbledore and Gregorovitch fighting? Were they hurt?

Before he could discover any of these answers, a red jet of light flew from the doorway. Harry deflected the spell aside and sent a quick cutting curse in return. The spell flew flawlessly from the wand, but he didn't imagine his opponent had been stalled.

Harry knew he could flee, he could run. But perhaps his assailant had allies, and was simply attempting to force me out. He couldn't rule that out.

And so Harry did the only thing he could think of. He went on the offensive. Jumping towards the door he sent an array of disarming and stunning spells through the wide opening and into the darkness. He could see the spells being batted aside, but still he persisted.

As he paused to breath, he heard a chuckle from his opponent. "Relentless, Potter. I approve."

A light came on above them from the doorway. Gregorovitch was standing there, wand held limply between his fingers. Dumbledore was in the hallway behind him, watching amusedly.

Harry looked at them both with something less than amusement. "What in the hell was that?"

Gregorovitch took a step forward. "Language, Potter. Let us return to the front, we'll speak more there."

Dumbledore nodded and Harry, seeing this, sighed and relented.

"Fine."

And so the three returned to the main room of the shop. Gregorovitch took his spot behind the counter while Harry returned to the conjured chair, the wand still clutched tightly in his hand. Dumbledore, smiling lightly, conjured a large fluffy armchair and took a seat. He nodded to Gregorovitch, implying that the man should speak, and then reclined back in the chair.

Harry looked to the wand maker expectantly.

The man smirked. "So Harry," he drawled slowly, "what do you think of the wand?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man before looking down at the wand clenched tightly between his fingers.

"It works."

Gregorovitch nodded. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?"

Harry looked back up at the man. "Doesn't explain why you attacked me."

The man's head tilted to the side. "No? It didn't work well for you, at first."

Harry nodded. "No, it didn't."

"It didn't help that I asked you to transfigure something – I'm told that while you're certainly capable, it could be considered your weakest subject."

Harry shot a look at Dumbledore, who remained impassive. Looking back, Harry nodded.

"Yes, that's true."

"But when you were pressed, when you had to defend yourself, the wand channeled your thoughts perfectly."

Harry nodded, but didn't speak.

"The point is," Gregorovitch started, "that the wand you thought wouldn't work for you, suddenly when called upon in a moment of need, adapted to you. You made yourself its owner. And once you did that, the wand responded. It also helped that you seem to have a particular talent for the more… shall we say, destructive aspects of magic. Too many people assume that a wand will not work for them without fully trying."

Harry looked at the man blankly. "What would have happened has this wand truly not been a fit for me?"

Gregorovitch grinned. "Well, you'd have had to figure out something. In any case, this didn't occur. The wand worked for you."

Harry reluctantly nodded. "It did."

"Then there's nothing to be upset about, is there?"

Dumbledore stood and held out his hand. "I appreciate your time and help."

Gregorovitch shook it and smiled. "Any time. That'll be fifteen galleons please."

Harry sighed and fished through his things for the money.

As they exited the shop Harry looked up at Dumbledore, striding purposefully next to him.

"Did you know that was going to happen?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Not exactly. I knew he had something in mind."

Harry sighed. "Everyone's so dramatic."

At this, Dumbledore actually chuckled. "You learn to embrace it, Harry."

"You certainly have." Harry joked.

Dumbledore looked at the teen with mirth in his eyes. "Of course, Harry! It works well, especially when I am intending to… let's say, hide my true purpose."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well that does make sense."

"I suggest, Harry, that you start cultivating your own, ah – shall we call it… signature?"

Harry snorted. "I'm sorry sir, but I can't imagine wearing bright purple robes and sporting a long fluffy beard. Maybe when I'm older."

Dumbledore sighed wistfully. "One can only hope."

Harry couldn't contain himself any longer and burst out laughing. Dumbledore chuckled along as the two continued on their way.

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Harry couldn't sleep. He covered his head with his pillow, trying to block out the fact that the sun was already peeking out above the snowcapped mountains that made themselves visible outside his window. He sighed heavily closed his eyes tighter – but every moment of frustration simply made it more difficult for the young man to find sleep. He took a deep breath, and then another one – trying to slow down his breathing. But nothing was working. Harry was exhausted, but somehow couldn't make that translate into even an hour of true rest.

Green eyes snapped open as the boy reflexively sought the hands on the grandfather clock tucked tightly in the corner of the hotel room.

It was already five in the morning.

Shaking his head, Harry sat up groggily. The rest of the room was perfectly adequate, the weathered old grandfather clock accompanied by accoutrements of all different nature – little toys and trinkets designed to make the room feel a bit more like home. Dumbledore had brought them to the inn at Gregorovitch's suggestion, and the two had stayed there for several days now, simply taking in the sights of the small but picturesque German village.

Harry stood up. It was clear he wouldn't be getting any rest that evening, and even if he were to fall asleep, he'd be woken again in a few hours at most. It hardly seemed worth it. Instead, the boy reached for his wand sitting on the side table next to bed and grasped it tightly between his fingers. He opened his door slowly, careful not to make much in the way of noise lest he inadvertently wake Dumbledore or another guest.

He made his way down the several flights of stairs that separated his room from the main entranceway to the inn. The front desk was unmanned as Harry stepped gingerly by it. He wasn't sure why he was being so cautious – this wasn't Hogwarts, he wasn't breaking any rules. And yet he found himself seeking solitude – he didn't want anyone to ask where he was going. In truth, he had no destination in mind.

As he pushed through the double doors guarding the main entrance to the building, he felt a slight chill run through him. There was fog on the ground, not a soul could be seen out and about the town.

And so Harry walked the narrow cobblestone street without direction. His wand tucked away in his pocket, he could see the sun continuing its steady march above the mountains as he walked. There were occasional gusts of wind that caused Harry to question whether or not he was adequately dressed, and yet for some reason he did not want to use magic to heat him. A part of him enjoyed feeling the brisk air sweep through his skin, the light fog touch upon his shoulders and ears as he walked slowly through the moving currents of the street.

The roads remained vacant as Harry meandered his way through the town. He noticed this with what should have been surprise, but he found himself surprisingly calm, indifferent.

Then there was a moment, a moment where the fog and wind seemed to coalesce for a moment before him, like creating a form from nothing – behavior that seemed very outside the norm for wind and fog. But as Harry narrowed his eyes and tried to perceive exactly what was happening, the phenomenon vanished and the fog wisped away.

Harry stood there for a moment on the empty walkway. His mind felt filled with cobwebs, he felt sluggish. He was lacking sleep, certainly, but he couldn't quite place why he felt so… out of sorts.

He tried to shrug it off. He looked around and thought to himself that it might make a good deal of sense to return to the hotel. Dumbledore would be up soon, he surmised, and it would be good to speak with the man, if just for the sake of company – and security.

Harry turned around and made to walk back in the direction of the inn. But as he looked around he realized suddenly that he had absolutely no idea where he was. He shook his head and the cobwebs began to flee – where was he?

He looked about at his surroundings – the buildings and homes were similar to those he's seen scattered throughout the village, and yet he was quite certain he'd never been here. He tried to think back to the way he'd traveled, the turns he'd made and the streets he'd walked, but for some reason it all seemed hazy, he couldn't place it.

It felt, almost, like he was finally waking up and the last hour had been nothing but a dream.

And yet here he was, alone.

He looked about alertly and pulled his wand from his pocket. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for or what it was he was afraid of. But there was something simply… off about this whole situation.

And suddenly, there it was.

The fog and wind whipped up in the center of the street upon which Harry had been treading. It whirled and spun and seemed to be forming into something that looked vaguely human, and yet there was no way it could be.

Harry started and held his wand out before him. The form was still shimmering and swirling; Harry could not for the life of him tell what in the world was happening.

And then the thing moved. With the consistency of smoke the being swirled and slithered swiftly in Harry's direction, crossing the mere hundred meters between them with deadly efficiency.

Harry shouted and let burst forth a jet of flame from his newly purchased wand and it responded instantly – instinctually. Yet it was to no avail, the fire dissipated as the winds swept towards him and in a rush collided with the boy.

He was sent flying through the air and hit the cobblestone hard, his wand falling from his grip and clattering more than a meter away.

Harry tried to stumble to his feet but found himself thrown once more to the floor. What was he fighting? Who? He had no idea.

As he lay there, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him, the wind and fog formed once more before him. But instead of pushing violently, the thing just simply hung there for a moment.

And there was a second where Harry was convinced he'd seen a human face through the smoky haze, through the wind and fog. Harry slowly tried to back away and stand, this time the thing let him.

Shakily, Harry took to his feet and moved slowly to grasp his wand. Once again, the thing let him.

Harry took the wand in his hand and held it out before him, but he knew it wouldn't do him any good. This seemed like something… like something that he'd never seen before. He had no idea what to do.

And still the thing watched him.

Harry came to a decision, then. Rather than stand there and wait for the thing to attack him again, he was simply going to try to get as far away from it as possible.

He waited another moment – another tense moment where nothing happened – before he began to walk away from the thing. Slowly, at first, but when he noticed that the creature of wind and fog was not following closely, he began to run.

The slap of his feet against the stone resonated through the still empty walkways – and Harry realized that by now, at least an hour if not two since he'd awoken, there should have been people around. The sun was suddenly full in the sky, the fog had lifted. There were still no people.

Harry just kept running.

He looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing. He grasped his wand tightly and felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but still he did not slow his pace. He knew rationally that if the thing wanted to catch him it probably could, but he still did not slow down, not until he found himself somehow before the inn from which he'd come those two hours earlier.

Harry looked up at the old, quaint building, and shook his head. Again, he'd no idea how he'd ended up here coming back. He'd just been running.

He felt like he was being messed with, like someone or something was toying with him.

And he didn't like it.

Breathing heavily, he pulled open the front doors and trudged inside to find Dumbledore.

He had to tell him what happened. But how would he explain it?

Looking back now, it seemed like nothing that'd happened that morning was at all by his design. He even now began to doubt his own insomnia – had this… thing, had it caused everything? Had he been compelled? If there was one thing Harry Potter could not stand, it was the feeling of being absolutely powerless, of having no control over his own self.

How could he explain the events?

He sighed and took the stairs to his room, his mind full of cobwebs once again – but this time he felt they were natural.

He was exhausted. He hadn't slept at all, and after that ordeal, all he wanted to do was return to his room and sleep for hours. He knew he should speak to Dumbledore first thing, but he couldn't help himself.

Harry found his way to his room and stumbled heavily inside. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

He awoke what felt like minutes later, although one glance at the clock in the corner told him it had been several hours. He sat up quickly and shook away the last vestiges of sleep. He needed to talk to Dumbledore; he shouldn't have waited as long as he did. The old man would want to know.

So Harry stood, still dressed as he had been that morning, and swept from his room, grabbing his wand as he went. After this morning he found it prudent to never be without it. As he did this he found himself shockingly wide-eyed, suffering no ill effects of the little sleep and disruption of that morning.

Dumbledore's room was across the hall from his own, and Harry reached it with a few long, quick steps. He rapped on the door with his knuckles and stood back, waiting.

The door didn't open.

He knocked again, but once more there was no response.

Harry tried the knob, it wouldn't turn.

Usually Harry would have walked away and looked elsewhere; it was certainly plausible that Dumbledore was simply out. But for some reason, Harry felt like something was certainly off. It was the same feeling he'd gotten that morning, when he'd 'awoken' outside. He was certain that something wasn't right.

He drew his wand from his back pocket and whispered "Alohamora" and tried the door again. It didn't open, there was no response. The door felt sealed quite securely.

Harry sat back for a moment. What if Dumbledore was simply out? He would of course protect his room. Although he'd also probably have told him, or at least have left a note.

Caution was the most important thing. Constant Vigilance.

Even if Harry went overboard, Dumbledore would understand. And something inside of him screamed that he had to be sure.

He frowned and waved his wand. A jet of air slammed into the door and carried it off of its hinges, flattening it to the ground. Harry grimaced and stepped over the fallen and cracked door into the room that belonged to his mentor.

And it was empty.

There was still the bed sitting in the center of the room, but aside from that every shred of furniture was missing, there was no sign of any inhabitants, no giveaway that Dumbledore had been in the room at all. Of course, Harry knew he had been. He'd seen the man enter the room the previous night.

But what had happened since then and now? Had Dumbledore left? Had he gone away again, like he had so many times in the past?

Or was it something worse?

Harry didn't know the answer, but his blood was pounding in his head, he felt with more and more certainty that something had happened – something bad.

Harry sat down heavily on the bed that seemed as if it had never been used. He didn't know what to do. He was at a loss. After the morning's events he needed Dumbledore, needed to warn him, to speak to him at the very least. But the man was gone.

And Harry Potter found himself alone.

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