The lich had discovered that safe deposit boxes were hard to come by when you've got no identification. Money was no longer a problem, as nobodez was exploiting the pound to galleon exchange rate in comparison to the mundane price of gold. Unfortunately, time was slipping away, and by the time the lich realized that they'd finally amassed enough resources, including the ability to summon ghoulish mages that had the magical talent of a sixth-year Hogwarts dropout (as gifted by Alex Smith and the half dozen other idiotic blood purists that had tried to tangle with the undead monster), it was the one-year anniversary of their arrival in the Forest of Dean.

"Well, so much for saving Sirius," the lich said to themself as they read the Daily Prophet's article on the one-year anniversary of the defeat of "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named".

"Perhaps it is time that I made my public debut?" the lich asked themself. Then with a nod, they left the flat, still being rented under the name of Alex Smith, and went out in Knockturn Alley. The illusion had improved to a point where, with a bit of preparation, they could perfectly interact with almost anybody, if only because only their body was illusionary, the clothes they wore were not. And since gloves weren't exactly unheard-of as a piece of fashion in the Wizarding World, only the lich's illusionary face was exposed. This disguise wouldn't work as well in Miami or Majorica, but here in London, it worked perfectly fine.

A few minutes later the bell above the door rung, and into Olivander's Wand shop stepped the illusioned lich.

"That's quite the disguise you've got there," said Olivander. "Though, I'm not sure I want to know why you've got no skin on your face."

"I've got a joke I could tell you, but only seven men have heard it, and they're all dead," replied the lich. "So, instead, I'll just say that, for the time being, I have no quarrel with you, and I hope to find a compatible wand in this fine establishment."

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd come by," said Ollivander, retrieving his magical measuring tape as he advanced on the lich. Unlike their original illusion, their current illusion had only a passible resemblance to their former self. They were still six feet tall, but instead of an overweight man, they looked more like a well-dressed muggle wearing a fashionable wizarding robe.

"You know of me?" asked the lich, surprised.

"A strange American arrives days after You-Know-Who's death, and mentions to the publican of the Leaky Cauldron that they lost their wand and was bad at apparition, but is never actually seen exiting the Alley via the Cauldron again. I expected you months ago, but you're here now, and I finally get to find your wand," explained Ollivander, seemingly excited.

"Come now, we both know that you know his name, and really, he's been dead for a year, shouldn't the fear be gone by now?" asked nobodez.

Ollivander looked surprised, "I assume to don't mean His Lordly name?"

"It's a Riddling matter, don't you think?" asked the lich, so used to speaking in puns that it had become second nature, though so far they'd only shared it with seven people, who also happened to be dead and their bodies used as the template for the lich's ghoul wizards.

"Ah, so, not quite the ignorant American young Tom made you out to be, then," said Ollivander. "Which is your wand arm?"

The lich shrugged, "No idea, really. Never really had a proper wand before today. I've used a couple, off and on, but they weren't good matches, and I got equal use either dexter or sinister." They spread first their right, and then their left hand, still gloved, in example.

Ollivander looked intrigued, "Well, which hand do you favor when writing or doing find detail work?"

"I write with my right hand, and use it for detail work, though my left is stronger, more for gross motor functions, so to speak," explained the lich.

Ollivander nodded, "Well, you should practice with both hands then." With a gesture the magical measuring tape began its work. As it did, Ollivander continued his questioning, "When were you born?"

"While I was born in February, I celebrated my thirtieth birthday two weeks ago," the lich replied cryptically. "Though technically, I could say I'd be born in just over two years."

"Time travel of more than a day isn't possible," declared Ollivander, though didn't look overly surprised. Either he knew more than he admitted, or he had a marvelous poker face. Perhaps both.

"Well, it was more diagonal than strictly backwards," admitted the lich. "Oh, and is there a limit on wands I can purchase?"

"While officially there isn't, it's commonly held that a proper wizard, or witch, has but one wand, one that has been matched to them by a professional wand crafter," explained Ollivander.

"Ah, good, then you'll be getting more than just seven galleons from me today," said the lich. "I'm not a proper wizard, nor a proper witch for that matter, and I plan on having every advantage I can get in a fight."

"And the wands you borrowed since arriving here?" asked Ollivander, as the measuring tape made it's final measurement.

"I've returned them to their former owners, as while they worked, they weren't, as the saying goes, proper matches," replied the lich.

What followed was something not dissimilar to something that would have occured in just under nine years, when a famous Boy-Who-Lived received his first wand. Finally, four hours later and five "good" matches, and one "excellent" match later, the gold finally passed hands between the lich and Ollivander.

"Who should I report purchased these wands, when the Ministry performs its inevitable audit?" asked Ollivander.

"Leonard McCoy," replied the lich with a smile.

"Really?" asked Ollivander.

"Well, I have been known to be called Bones, though I realize that it might get confused with another, local, family," added nobodez.

"I see, well, until next time, Mr. McCoy," said Ollivander, who began to put away the small mountain of wands that had rejected the lich. He knew there was something off about this so-called Bones, as all six on the wands had been rather macabre in theme, with three yews and three hollys, all made with cores from the same dementor-killed Welsh Green.

"And it's Doctor McCoy," said the lich, just before existing the shop, getting an idea for another alternate identity, one that would serve better than nobodez the lich or Doctor Leonard McCoy the American Wizard.

- Updated 08/23/13