Hello! This has not been betaed yet! I'm sorry it took so long. I was working on a joint story with a friend. I need help with a good name for it, so if you'd like to help, just message me. I'll be uploading the first two chapters under the title "Gryffindor and Slytherin", so please help me.

Also, I don't own Harry Potter (like I'd be on fanfiction if I did).

Olivander's was a decrepit looking old building with faded green paint and peeling gold letters reading 'Olivander's: makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.' It was hard to believe that this was the place to get the finest wands, but the professors all agreed, if on nothing else, this was the place. Guinevere cringed. Though not a neat freak by any means, the dust covered display in the window and the peeling letters gave her a compulsive urge to clean that she'd only felt in Michael's room till now.

"Has that wand ever moved?" Snape asked, eyeing the wand sitting on a purple pillow in the window display.

"I do not believe it has, Severus. It was there when I bought my wand." Professor Dumbledore said, shaking his head in mirth as he opened the door.

A little bell rang out, and from the back came a queer man with thin wispy grey hair and eerie blue grey eyes.

"Harry Potter." He wheezed, "I wondered when I would be seeing you. It seems like only yesterday your mother was in here, buying her first wand, maple 12 ½ inches with a single unicorn tail hair, good for charms. Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand, good for transfiguration. I say he favored it, but really, it's the wand that chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter." He looked past him and spotted Professor Snape. "Severus! Severus, my boy! Ebony with unicorn tail hair! Excellent for curses and counter curses!"

"Yes." Professor Snape drawled in reply. "Defense was my best subject, though just barely, over potions."

"Indeed! Now Mr. Potter, step here. Which is your wand arm?" Olivander asked as a tape measure sprang to life.

"I'd suppose my right arm, as it is predominant." Harry said, holding it out for the tape measure. Michael watched in amazement as the tape measure measured the distance between Harry's nostrils.

"That will do!" Olivander shouted, coming out of the back with a box. "Try this one." And so Harry did, and he tried the next, and the next. With each wand he tried, Olivander became more and more excited. "Tricky customer, eh? Don't worry, we will find the right one!" And yet another was offered, and another. Then Olivander stopped. He looked at Harry, and then at the shelf. "Perhaps, perhaps." He pulled it off the shelf and handed it to Harry.

"Try this one. An odd combination, Holly and Phoenix feather, very unusual. Try it!" Harry took the wand; he felt a strange warmth in his hand.

"Go on, give it a wave!" Olivander cried. Harry waved it and red and gold sparks burst out of the end, like New Year's fire works.

"Bravo, Harold!" Michael cheered as his parents clapped appreciatively.

"I told you we would find the right one." Olivander said, setting the wand on the table and starting on Michael. "It is curious, though…never mind."

"What's curious?" Harry asked, suspicion and a threat lacing his voice.

"It is curious, Mr. Potter, that you should be destined for this wand, when it's brother, why it's brother gave you that scar."

Harry was silent as his brother got his wand, Oak with the heartstring of a Welsh Green.

Later…

"Harold, dear, are you alright?" Guinevere asked as the elder of her two boys pushed his food around the plate.

"I'm fine, mum. Just a little tired, that's all." Harry replied, before taking a bite of his food.

Guinevere smiled. As his mother, though maybe not by blood, she knew Harry better than anyone. She made a note to offer the proper reassurances when they got home. Though Harry had said he was fine, after learning that his wand had a brother and that the brother wand had cast the spell that killed his parents, Guinevere knew that Harry, with his quick mind and understanding of human nature, would be worried about the repercussions it could have.

"Well, I suppose it is time for you all to be going home." Professor Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. "We will see you on the first of September. Here are your tickets, boys." He handed them two envelopes, inside which were tickets.

"Platform 9 and ¾?" Michael asked, perplexed.

"Yes, you run at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. It seems strange, but you don't think we'd let the muggles see our children getting on the train for school with their owls when we don't let them know we even exist, do you?"

Both boys shook their heads. It had been a long day and when Harry climbed into his bed that evening, he fell asleep within a moment. September 1st was a long way off, it seemed.