An extra special thanks to Ashere for assisting me in correcting Harry's German in chapters 4 and 7. I appreciate it!

To Annabel, sorry, but the only other story I have posted was a brief attempt at a Naruto/Bleach crossover story. I only got in two chapters, but have decided to focus on this story instead.

Chapter 9: The First Quest

"I think I did alright, but there was that one question about the Founders. Perhaps I should have written a little more on Slytherin, rather than Gryffindor. I mean there wasn't a lot of space left, but I could have fit in a sentence or two about his-"

"Hermione, give it a rest!" lamented Clyde. "You did fine. I'd bet my wand you did the best in the class. So just stop!"

Harry nodded in agreement. While he had been stressing the last two weeks as much as she had been, once it was all over he was feeling much more confident. The questions had been fairly basic, considering all the research and reading they had done, and he wasn't absolutely dreading his future.

"Sorry," she said, "It's just-"

"Important that we get into Hogwarts-" Clyde continued.

"So that we can prove we are real wizards-" Natalie muttered.

"Despite our muggle heritage," finished Harry. "We know Hermione."

"Sorry."

They were spared further worrying by Professor Timbal stalking into the classroom, tossing down envelopes with their names on them.

"These are your test scores. You will open them at home. For those of you who may have failed, I don't want to witness the utter defeat of your self-worth. It's usually a big, loud mess and the rest of us still have more important things to do," he stated coldly. Reluctantly, they all set their letters aside, although they drew many longing and dreading stares.

It was Friday and normally they would have a test, but since they had already taken the most important test of the summer and the start of term was next week, their lesson plan took another route. Instead, Mr. Timbal went ahead and outlined the final field trip on Saturday.

"You will arrive here at the usual time, with your permissions slips in hand as usual. You should have on you at least forty galleons to purchase your wand and other school supplies, but I recommend ten or twenty more just in case."

The class broke out into excited murmurings, but their professors dark look quickly silenced them all.

"You will be divided into five groups, and escorted by a Hogwarts professor via floo to each shop. I recommend being on your best behavior, as this will give your future teachers their first impression of you. And no wandering off! These are Hogwarts professors, so they can and will assign you real detentions even before term starts if you make yourself a nuisance. Afterwards, you will all return here. You may do what ever you want after that. Any questions?'

Harry reluctantly raised his hand, but didn't need to speak a word before Professor Timbal pre-empted him.

"You are a ward of the school, Mr. Potter. Unless the headmistress, and later your head of house, forbids it, you automatically have permission to attend school related programs. You are also given a generous line of credit through the school to pay for your supplies and personal affects, but you will be expected to pay it off within ten years after you graduate. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Any other questions? Then we are done here."

With that, Professor Timbal disappeared through the door. All of the students turned to one another, rather perplexed. No one got a chance to speak the questions they were all thinking when all of sudden their classroom disappeared. Everyone was suddenly on the dusty ground, staring up at the clear summer sky. Groaning, they all climbed to their feet.

"Rude, much?" griped Natalie, brushing herself off.

Everyone grumbled their agreement, even Hermione who was notorious for being over generous with teachers. Of course, her inkwell had landed all over her. As everyone began to recollect themselves, many of them started to take notice of their letters, scattered about. Several of them started opening their letters right away, Harry included.

"You know you're not suppose to open that yet, don't you Harry?" Hermion said.

"No, he said we weren't to open them until we got home. Technically, the school is my home so..." Grinning he opened his envelope and pulled three pieces of paper out. The first piece was his E.L.F. score. "Huh, I got an excellent. Oh wait, there's a note at the bottom."

Harry read it to himself and let out a rueful laugh, handing it off to Hermione who read it and gave him an equally rueful expression. "'You would have gotten an 'Outstanding' if your handwriting wasn't so atrocious. Keep practicing'? Harry."

"It's not my fault I don't have enough practice with a quill," Harry pointed out. "Open yours. I want to see if they gave you a little note."

Despite her earlier protests, Hermione opened hers eagerly. She scanned it smiling at first, then frowning as she reached the bottom of the page. Harry leaned over to read the note at the bottom of hers.

"'You are a wealth of information, and I am certain you will do well at Hogwarts. However, please learn to write more concisely.' Yeah, that sounds about right."

She smacked him on the shoulder. "I was just being thorough!"

"Hermione, given unlimited paper space and time, you would turn a test question into a textbook," Natalie said, coming up to stand beside them.

"How did you do?" Harry asked. She smiled slyly at them.

"Outstanding, of course."

"Any comments?"

"'It's Salazar Slytherin, not Salazar Slyverian and Rowena Ravenclaw, not Rowanda Ravenclaw. Please learn to spell people's names properly.' Oops!" Harry laughed at that, and Hermione scowled, probably on the sheer principle of the thing. "What about you, Clyde? Destined for candle wax and broom straw?"

"I passed!" Clyde said, grinning broadly, showing off his 'Average'. "Barely, but I passed."

"Clyde!" All three said in unison.

The other boy just grinned more broadly. "I'll see you all tomorrow! I'm going to go celebrate!"

Gradually, they all departed, Harry making plans with the two girls to have a butterbeer at Hogsmeade after their shopping trip the next day.

Saturday morning arrived gloomy and overcast, but it did little to thwart Harry or his friend's good moods. Everyone arrived early to their usual meeting place, now completely devoid of their classroom tent. They didn't wear their students robes either. In fact, many of them were dressed particularly nice that day.

Natalie was looking a bit like a French princess in her white velvet dress and hair tied up in blue ribbons. Hermione, while more practically dressed in a lavender cotton sun dress, was looking equally elegant with her hair tied up in elaborate braids and held in place by an ornate silver and opal hair pin and matching bracelet. Harry and Clyde (both similarly dressed in nice slacks, button-up shirts, and vests) could only stand there and gape at how pretty all their female classmates had made themselves for some simple shopping.

"Egad, I forgot they were girls," Clyde said, watching a girl dressed in a pink silk blouse black skirt pass by him with a wink and a smile.

"The robes kinda do that," Harry said.

"Boys!" Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Natalie merely smirked and threw them both a kiss.

"Hey! The teachers are coming!"

They all turned towards the castle to see a group of five wizards and witches making their way towards them. Harry scowled as he recognized the distinct profile of Professor Snape, who lead the procession along with Professor McGonagal. The other professors he didn't recognize, and he was certain he would have remembered them if he had. One of them was a middle-aged gentleman in a pointed cap, who had so much trouble keeping his eyes open that Harry wasn't certain how he hadn't fallen on his face. Another was a very short elderly man with pointed ears, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't a dwarf. The third was a woman so dark, she had an almost purplish hue, and walked with the grace of a stalking panther with the golden eyes to match. When the teachers had reached the cluster of students, McGonagal stepped forward to address them.

"I am Professor McGonagal, this is Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Quirrel, and Professor Toure," she said, pointing to each professor as she introduced them. "We will be escorting you all on this venture. We expect you all to behave yourselves like mature ladies and gentlemen, and any behavior that reflects badly on the school will be disciplined most harshly."

There was a great deal of discomfort at her stern warning. She did not look like a woman to be crossed, nor did Snape or Toure. Harry crossed his fingers and hoped he got placed with either Quirrel or Flitwick, or at the very least not Snape.

"There are some simple rules we expect you to adhere to. First and foremost, do not wander out of sight of your escort. If you wish to go to a particular store or a back room, you must first ask their permission. There will be absolutely no fighting, stealing, or mischief. You will be held responsible for your own money, so be sure to keep it in a safe place on your person at all times and make sure you buy all your supplies before you spend it all on non-essential items. Additionally, you are not permitted to purchase any pets. While Hogwarts does permit owls, rats, toads, non-venomous snakes, and cats, your parents will be the ultimate authority on whether or not you may have one. Now, as each professor calls your name, please gather into a line in front of them and then we can be on our way."

With that, she pulled out a list from her pocket and began to read off names. Hermione went to stand with her, along with Clyde. Each teacher began calling on their intended wards, and as each teacher finished, Harry was filled with increasing dread as he stood, the last of four other students before the only teacher who hadn't bothered calling anyone. Snape sneered down at them, sparing the largest portion of his vitriol for Harry.

"If you know what's good for you, you will not make a sound through the entirety of this excursion. Is that clear?"

The other four nodded quickly, and Harry just glowered at him. Snape seemed to consider him a moment, debating if he should cause trouble for Harry's lack of response or not. He apparently decided against it, and turning about he stalked after the other departing professors towards Hogsmeade. From Hogsmead they took the floo (the very least favorite form of travel Harry had encountered by far) in the fire place of The Three Broomsticks, and exited in a bustling floo station. Without a word, Snape exited the station, and he and his group scrambled after him to keep up.

They first stopped at a potions supply store called Potions and Powders, where they were given ten minutes to gather their cauldrons, scales, dragon-hide gloves, crystal vials, and some basic potions ingredients. Harry just barely managed to collect his intended items. He was perpetually distracted by the many strange objects. Jars of preserved animal specimens, vials of strangely colored sands or dirt, a particularly vicious set of instruments.

They were then hurried to Banikey's Books. Again they were given a mere ten minutes to gather their supplies. Luckily, Harry ran into Hermione there, who merely handed him all of her supplies.

"At this rate, we'll be done in less than an hour," Harry said. "I was looking forward to looking around."

"Yes, he is being a bit inconsiderate," Hermione agreed. "He's usually not this bad, but he never did like large crowds."

"What?"

Hermione gave him a smirk. "Didn't I tell you Professor Snape is my brother's and my Godfather?"

"What?!"

"Potter! You have two minutes to purchase your supplies or your walking back to Hogwarts!"

Harry turned a disbelieving look towards the older man and then an even more disbelieving look towards Hermione. His thoughts whirling with the potential implications and sheer ludicrousness of the situation, he was barely aware when Hermione dragged him over to the register to purchase his items, and only came back to himself when Snape grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out the door.

"Get your hands off me!" Harry snarled, jerking out of the man's hold, barely keeping his balance or hold on his supplies.

"Watch your tone, Potter," Snape snarled right back. "I'll tolerate none of your juvenile sass, is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Professor." Although his tone was far from commiserating, the man let it go once again in favor of stalking off. With the man's back turned, Harry rolled his eyes and jogged after him with the rest of his troupe. They passed several shops along the way, and Harry caste longing glances at the strange items proudly displayed through the storefront windows. But Snape did not stop or slow his pace, and soon they were standing before a rather shabby and narrow little shop. The sign read 'Ollivander's: Maker of Fine Wands since 382 B.C'.

Harry felt a sudden, giddy rush. This was it. This was where he would obtain the defining tool of all wizards and the means to find that innate power buried somewhere inside himself.

Snape, amazingly, seemed to share his opinion of the importance of the event and regarded the little shop with a certain degree of reverence. He turned to his wards, glaring at them darkly.

"Pay attention," he commanded, "This will be one of the most significant moments of your lives. A moment when you pass from being latent magical entities into actively magical ones. Your wand will become an extension of yourself, of your magic, and no other wand will work as well your first. With that thought in mind, Mr. Ollivander, the man who makes all this possible, will be given the utmost respect. Any delinquent or rude behavior and you will be sent home without a wand, and explain to your parents why that is so."

Snape looked directly towards Harry. "And don't think that gives you free reign to behave however you like, Mr. Potter. As a ward of the school you will answer directly to me."

Harry clenched his fists, but said nothing, meeting that oppressive stare straight on.

"You will enter the shop one at a time, in order to prevent any accidents. Once you have obtained your wand, there will be absolutely NO careless wand waving. Your wand will come with a case, and you will not remove it until September first. Am I absolutely clear?"

"Yes, professor," Harry sighed, and the rest quickly followed.

"Ms. Westfield, you're first!"

With that Snape and the tow-headed girl disappeared into the shop. Harry and the others fidgeted for a while, before forming into a little cluster to talk amongst themselves. Harry pulled out his pocket watch frequently. Every time he did, he would be suddenly reminded that Snape was Hermione's godfather. Ugh.

About fifteen minutes after Westfield nervously entered the shop, she came out practically glowing. She gripped her wand case tightly to her chest and was grinning like a lunatic.

"10 inches white oak, and griffin feather," she said proudly. "It's your turn Jacob."

And so it went, and much to Harry's frustration and very little to his surprise, he was the last to be called on. It was nerve racking. Although they would only be gone for ten to fifteen minutes each, he felt like he was on some invisible timer. As if Snape would leave after exactly one hour, regardless of whether Harry had his wand or not.

He tried to occupy himself by looking through his textbooks, looking for spells he wanted to learn, but it only reminded him that he needed his wand to cast any of them. He finally settled on his potions book, which very rarely required a wand. He read the first chapter on the first fundamental principles of potion making for the next hour, still checking his watch often, when the last of the other students exited the shop.

"Your turn," they said, going over to gossip with the others. Eagerly, Harry left his supplies with the others and entered the shop. It was gloomy inside as it was out, with an air of antiquity that rivaled all else he had seen before. The walls were lined with open cubby holes, each containing long narrow boxes. There was a single wing-backed chair, inhabited by Snape who regarded him cooly, and beside him stood the most unnerving individuals Harry had ever seen. He was elderly, sort of frail looking, but his eyes were ice blue and sharp as knives. The air around him seemed thicker, wavering yet not. Harry felt the air reach out and touch him, and shivered.

"You are Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Mr. Ollivander," he said, thoroughly unnerved. The man's gaze lingered for a long moment before he turned away and headed for the shelves.

"Stand on the stool there," he said. No sooner had Harry done as he was told, than a miniature tape measure came zipping up to him. On its own it began to take measurement, none of which the wand-maker seemed to be paying any attention to. It measure his height, the width of his shoulders, the size of his feet, the circumference of his head, and strangely the distance between his nostrils. "Which is your wand hand?"

"Er... I'm right handed." The measuring tape then went to work measuring the length of his fingers, distance from wrist to elbow, armpit to floor, and so many other random distances Ollivander continued to ignore.

"Right then, that's enough," the tape measure crumpled lifeless to floor. "Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstrings. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry accepted the wand, and feeling extremely foolish under Snape's ominous regard, and waved it around a bit. Immediately the wand was snatch out of his hand.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-"

Harry tried, but that too was snatched from him even faster than the first. And that was how it went. He tried all sorts of wands. Unicorn hair, phoenix feather, dragon heartstrings. Hard woods, soft woods, and woods from distant lands. He tried short, long, flexible, and rigid. Yet no matter what he tried, nothing was quite right. As they started approaching half an hour, a sort of despair settled around Harry. For every wand that rejected him began to feel like a personal failure. His only consolation was that Ollivander only seemed to become more enthused with the hunt, and not the least bit discouraged.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere- I wonder, now. Why not try this one? Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Here-"

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. His arm lifted, almost of its own accord, and came down in a powerful swish. Gold and red sparks flew out of the end like fireworks, sending the whole store dancing with light and shadows. In his chair, Snape's grip on the armrests tightened. Mr. Ollivander smiled in pure bliss and cried, "Bravo! Yes, indeed, very good. I've waited a long time to find the owner of that wand! I made this wand almost seventy-five years ago. The phoenix that donated the feather only gave two. I knew then those wands would be something special. And I was right. Within twenty years, its brother had risen in infamy along with its master. That fifty years should pass before its equal could be found. How remarkable!"

"Ollivander, you overstep your bounds," Snape suddenly hissed, jumping to his feet. "To even suggest this...boy might somehow be His equal."

Harry, his insides feeling as light as air, and his fingers tingling felt suddenly invincible and turned to both men. "And who's the owner of the other wand?"

Snape did not reply, and amazingly he even looked away from Harry. Ollivander, on the other hand, grinned and fixed him with a pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. Your wand's brother- Yew, phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches- just so happens to belong to the most powerful wizard in Britain. Curious, indeed, how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, you know... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, You-Know-Who did great things- terrible, but great."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry sat in the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade, looking into his butterbeer and wishing there was actual alcohol in it. His wand was tucked into its thin leather case under his shirt. There was a strange feeling emanating from it, luring Harry to take it into his bare hands again. It was a feeling that promised magic. He could do anything once that bit of wood and feather was in his hand... just like Voldemort had.

"Jeez, Harry, you're not still sulking are you?" Natalie mocked, interrupting his dark thoughts. "I know Snape was an utter prat, but you'll have other opportunities to go shopping in Daigon Alley. I didn't think boys even liked shopping."

Hermione, of course, was quick to come to his defense... or argue with Natalie. One of the two.

"Don't be sexist, Natalie. Besides, Harry's never been to Daigon Alley, remember?"

Natalie waved off the logic with her usual feminine grace.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, smiling weakly. "There's always next year."

"Hey," Clyde said, wiping away his foamy mustache, "We won't need our teachers as escort next year. We should all go out together and show Harry around. It'll be a riot."

Natalie grinned and lifted her mug. "I'll drink to that. What do you say, Harry? Hermione? Shall we all go together next time?"

This time his smile was a bit more real, and he lifted his mug. Hermione and Clyde lifted theirs, and they clinked them together and took a drink... and kept drinking. Whether they'd planned it that way or not, once they'd started Natalie and Hermione had somehow turned it into a contest, one which Clyde seemed more than willing to compete in and Harry wasn't going to be left out of. There was few seconds of silence and they gulped down the sticky liquid, and then...

"Ha!" Clyde cried, slapping his mug down, "I wi- BLEEEELCH."

Hermione choked on her glass. The boy winced, patting his chest. "Crikey, that actually hurt/"

The rest of them burst out laughing, causing Natalie to let a considerably smaller belch of her own, sending them all into even harder laughter. As Harry sat there in the little pub, sitting between his friends and trying not to shoot butterbeer through his nose, he felt the uncertainty of the day fade away. Harry Potter, he knew, was no Voldemort. Voldemort more than likely had never sat amongst muggleborns and halfbloods in a pub, belching and laughing like a loon. Surely, the Dark Lord had never felt this feeling Harry felt now. The feeling that he was in one of those perfect moments of time, ones he hoped he would always remember, because everything was so vivid and warm and beautiful.

Which was why he could never tell them. Not about his wand or what Ollivander had said about it. If there was ever to be perfect moments like this again, then he could never reveal to them that some part of him echoed of the British wizarding dictator. Natalie probably wouldn't have cared, may have even found it cool, but Hermione would pry and poke and worry and doubt. He didn't know what Clyde would do, but their friendship was still tentative and their bond easily broken even without this bit of knowledge.

It would just be a secret between him and Snape, who didn't look like he wanted to admit it to himself let alone anyone else, and Ollivander, who didn't seem the type to gossip. No one else would ever have to know.

Ever.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

This was the sort of thing that may potentially get a man killed or have no consequence whatsoever.

That was what Snape thought as he made his way to the dungeons to begin his report on that day's visit to Ollivander. The visit had gone as smoothly as it always did, each of his young charges to petrified of him to cause trouble, as they procured all they would need for the coming school year. He would never admit it to anyone, but he did take some enjoyment from his yearly appointments with Ollivander. There was something strangely exhilarating about seeing a child obtaining their first wand, the first conscious flush of power streaming through their small bodies, that look of epiphany on their innocent faces. Yes, child, that is magic. And you thought you knew, didn't you?

And of course, Potter just had to go and ruin it.

Well, perhaps not ruined it. His reaction had been just as exhilarating as everyone else's, perhaps more so when the sparks illuminated those brilliant green eyes and memories of another overlaid the reality of the moment. Lily's joy of her magic had never faded in all the time he had known her, and he briefly wondered if Harry would be like her or if that joy wouldn't fade into the arrogance of his father?

So, Ollivander had to go and ruin it.

Telling an eleven year old boy and him, one of Voldemort's own henchmen, that he may be the magical counterpart in the Dark Lord. Of all the stupid...

Now Snape had to deal with it, and it all broke down into two choices. One, he kept it a secret. There were two eventual outcomes of this decision, the most optimistic being that no one found out and nothing happened, and the other (and more likely outcome) was some one finding out and his possibly being accused of treason and dying horribly. Two, he could tell the Dark Lord. Option two had two outcomes as well. Optimistically, the Dark Lord wouldn't care and at most have the child observed for undue ambition. Realistically, he would care and have the child either killed as a potential competitor or brought into the fold of his dark court to be used as the wizard saw fit.

Snape wasn't sure what was worse. Lily's child being killed, Lily's child working beside him as Voldemort's pawn, or himself being dead.

Decisions, decisions.

Unless...

Snape smiled wickedly. Perhaps, he was looking at this the wrong way. After all, it's only a secret if he doesn't tell anyone, and it's only dangerous if Voldemort is the one to learn about it. All he had to do was tell the right person and Lord Voldemort might never find out.

He it just so happened he knew the perfect person.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Yes, I know that according to the seventh book Harry only connected to his wand because he was Voldemort's horcux, but I'm a fanfic writer and thus a character thief, and have very few scruples.