A/N: Well…it's your guys' lucky day. I'm updating earlier than expected because…stuff happened, and I'm currently worried about my mom and writing is helping to take my mind off of it.

*incoming rant/explanation; skip to chapter if you don't want to read it*

Long story short, my mom, prior to this morning (August 25), had been having abdominal pain for over 24 hours, and ended up having to go into urgent care today. Now she's on bed rest, with antibiotics and a liquid-only diet for the next couple of days. The scary part is that there's a very real possibility that what's causing the pain (an inflammation in her intestines) could burst, and leave me having to call 911 to get her to the emergency room, and then leaving me to stay at home alone for the next couple of days, likely with some family friends checking in on me to make sure I'm ok, with her possibly having to go into surgery should such a thing happen.

So…yeah. I'm worried. And trying to take my mind off of it.

*end explanation*

Enjoy the chapter! I think it's going to be a long one.

Chapter 9

When the Wind Meets the Sun

Yāyún couldn't help the relief that flickered over his face when the red-headed Twins came into sight, surrounded by their family. It was strange, and he immediately scorned the emotion, but it still fluttered behind his ribs, an odd relaxing feeling—it left him feeling oddly warm.

He, his Da, and his Mum were out in Diagon Alley, taking him out to get his school supplies for his first year. They had already stopped by Gringotts, requisitioning the necessary gold for the shopping. The bustle of Diagon Alley was expected, though he didn't like the close-pressing-ness of the crowds of witches and wizards, out for summer shopping.

He hadn't expected, however, to see the horde of red-heads flocking through the Alley, nor for the Twins to immediately take notice of him. They bounced over, waving boisterously.

"Hello, hello, Harry-kins!" chirped one of them, slinging an arm around Yāyún's shoulders.

"And why are you out on such a fine day?" asked the other, mirroring his twin.

"I was thinking the very same thing, George! Why would our dear Harry-kins be out—"

"—when he so clearly despises sunlight, what with the amount of time he spends—"

"—holed up in his room, like a vampire?"

Yāyún scowled. Why had he missed these two again? It escaped him. Meanwhile, his Da was laughing, and his Mum smiled gently. Apparently they found the Twins' penchant for irritating him amusing. He shrugged them off, stepping forward sharply.

"We are out to get my school supplies," he said shortly. The Twins traded a sinister smirk, and promptly turned to his parents.

"Say, Lord Potter—"

"—and Lady Potter, don't forget her, Fred—"

"—would you mind if we tagged along for your trip?"

"To hang out with Harry-kins, of course."

His Da and his Mum shared a look, before his Mum spoke. "Don't you have your own supplies to get today?" she asked pointedly.

"Nope!" chirped one of them. "All of our books are Charlie's old ones,"

"And they were Bill's before that."

"Not to mention that all we needed—"

"Were some longer robes—"

"Which Mum already got—"

"And some new Potions ingredients—"

"Which Mum can pick up without us!"

And so began the shopping trip from hell. The Twins made snarky remarks, teasing Yāyún at every turn—especially when they had gone into Madame Malkins. Standing on that stool with a girl fitting a robe on him had never been more irritating, with the Twins taunting him about having a girl at his feet, etc.

It made him want to throttle the two. He held himself back, however, because he knew that he would be reprimanded should he do so in front of his parents.

That didn't mean he couldn't do it later, out of their sight. Or, even better, at Hogwarts.

Finally, however, they were at their second to last stop of the day. Ollivanders. Cautiously, Yāyún stepped into the rickety old shop, twitching at the shivery tingle that ran down his spine. Heat coiled in his belly, seething.

The other four followed, and the Twins seemed to be preparing for something, trading mischievous looks with his Da. At the same moment he stepped into the middle of the room, Yāyún felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, prickling and sending a thrill of adrenaline through him as he whipped around, eyes fixing icily on the old, silver haired man who stood behind him. The heat hissed, seething more furiously as he tensed. The man froze, silvery eyes focused on him.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice rasping almost like wind in tree branches. He turned to Yāyún's parents. "Ah, Lord Potter; eleven inches, mahogany. Pliable. Especially good for transfiguration." Yāyún's Da nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "And Lady Potter," the man murmured, "willow, ten and a quarter inches. Swishy, with a propensity for charm work. How is it working for you, my dear?"

"Very well, thank you," his Mum thanked the man, smiling. The man turned to the Twins, eyes narrowing.

"Ah, yes. Twin dogwood wands, fourteen inches apiece. Quite mischievous, if I do say so myself. I hope you haven't come for a replacement, boys?" the Twins shook their heads, their hands going protectively to the sides, where their wands undoubtedly rested.

"No sir," they chorused. The man turned back to Yāyún, a speculative gleam coming into his eye that set the heat in his belly seething once more. He moved past Yāyún, stepping past the desk.

"And I assume you have come for your first wand, Mister Potter?" without waiting for a reply, he continued. "Which is your wand arm?" Yāyún didn't move, staring at the man. He seemed to sigh, and turned to him. "I'm fitting your wand, so. Which is your wand arm?" he asked again, frowning. Reluctantly, Yāyún held out his right arm, and a tape measure promptly flew up and began to measure him as the man rummaged around in the back of the shop.

Yāyún batted the tape measure away when it started trying to measure the distance between his nostrils, just as the old man came to the front with a stack of slim boxes. He sent Yāyún a scolding look, before passing him the first wand.

"Walnut, dragon heartstring. Ten and a half inches, rather stiff. Go on, give it a wave!" but before Yāyún could do so, the wand was snatched from his grasp. "No, no…" he pulled out another wand. "Try this one; cherry, phoenix feather. Eleven and a quarter inches, swishy." And again, the wand was snatched from Yāyún's grasp before he could do more than lift his hand. Yāyún twitched. This was rapidly getting on his nerves, and more than a few times he was ready to hurt somebody.

Of course, there were a few times where he rather enjoyed the effects of the wands he did get to wave. Two, in particular. The first one—hawthorn, dragon heartstring; 12 and three-quarter inches, flexible—had sent some of the wand boxes flying off the shelves, several hitting the old man in the back and head. It had prompted snickering from the Twins, and even a smiled from his Mum as the old man frowned and took the wand back.

The other—cherry, dragon heartstring; eight inches, supple—had sent out a jet of red and violet flames, writing and twisting through the air like fighting dragons. It had set the desk aflame, and Yāyún had felt a moment of soaring satisfaction, the heat settling in his chest like a purring kitten.

Finally, though, he received his wand. The old man—Ollivander, apparently—handed it to him, with the words "Ash, thirteen and a half inches. Unicorn hair, rather supple. An affinity for charm work, I would expect. Well?"

Yāyún lifted the wand, but froze as he felt…something ripple down his spine. It was warm, and reaching—slipping its way through his mind, threading its spidery tendrils through the heat, which curled around the tendrils, both wary and…welcoming. It was odd, but he couldn't help how his shoulders relaxed, and the irritation that had been curled in his chest seemed to fall away, as though cleansed by the warmth.

He shuddered, and Ollivander released a sigh of satisfaction as he began to tally the price.

"Ah, another wand matched…" he mused. "Keep in mind, however, that an ash wand will never accept another master—they are notoriously loyal." At this, he sent Yāyún a significant look, though what the man was trying to convey, Yāyún didn't know.

As they left the store, his Da having paid for the wand—eight Galleons—and some cleaning supplies along with a wrist holster for while he was in Hogwarts, Yāyún stared down at his wand. The pale wood seemed to glimmer in the sunlight, slim and elegant. The handle was a simple affair, a mere tracing of spiral engravings up to the top of the handle. It seemed innocuous, a simple stick, with no power whatsoever.

But Yāyún knew better now.

That warmth, the tendrils, wrapping into the heat and being welcomed, was still fresh on his mind. It scared him, almost, to have something that was so clearly at least semi-sentient connected to him on such an intimate level. And yet…it didn't. It made him feel warm, safe. Almost like a safe haven, a place to return to when the world was too much, but at the same time he wanted to throw it away, burn it until the ashes drifted disconsolately in the wind.

As they approached their last stop, he brought himself from his thoughts, tucking his wand away into his robes. The Twins, spotting their mother and siblings at Florean Fortiscue's, had bowed out, waving as they left—but not before ruffling his hair, which he had nearly bitten them for. Patience, patience. He could do that later.

They entered Flourish and Blott's, the smell of old parchment assaulting their noses. Yāyún breathed in, and his Mum ushered him off.

"Go on, we can get your schoolbooks. I expect we'll be here a while." She said, winking at him. He smiled back, and began his foray into the wide and varied world of the books that rested here, waiting for some soul to find them and take them home, reading them long and well until their covers were faded and soft.

And so, he lost himself in the books. He wandered through the shelves, browsing and reading, soon finding the fiction section and grimacing at the line of books that were dedicated to his brother's 'adventures' as the Boy-Who-Lived.

So far as he knew, the extent of Clarence's incredible adventures was stealing some of their mother's fresh-baked cookies from the jar and, on occasion, playing some Quidditch at the Weasley's on-the-sly, hiding it from their mother. Not wandering around strange and foreign lands, fighting dragons and rescuing princesses, or saving countries and the like.

It made him want to hunt down the writers and beat them over the head with the very same books they wrote, impressing upon them just how much of what they had dreamed up was lies.

"Ah, hallo?" a thickly accented voice interrupted his scowling at the fiction series. He glanced up. "Do you know vhere de Hogvarts schoolbooks are?"

"Downstairs," he replied, meeting the eyes of the girl who stood in front of him. She had long blonde hair, and vivid green eyes, and she stood there, looking nervous. "Three rows to the left of the doors."

"Ah, dank you," she murmured, nodding her head. "I'm Aleksandra Volkov," she introduced quietly.

"Hadrian Potter," Yāyún replied, remembering his parent's request that he only allow his friends to call him 'Yāyún'. It didn't make much sense to him, but he would do as they asked.

"Are you goingk to Hogvarts?" she asked, looking at him with those vivid eyes. She reminded him of citrines and sunlight, soft and warm. He nodded, and she ducked her head. "Then…I vill see you on de train, da?"

"Yes." He replied quietly. She nodded, and quietly moved away, her steps soft and light.

"Dank you, Hadrian," she said once more, before ducking out of sight.

Yāyún shook his head, returning his attention to the books. What a strange person, he mused. She had sounded Russian, or at the very least Slavic, and he wondered where she was from with a detached sort of curiosity.

He shrugged, and went back to browsing.

He'd see her on the train anyway.

/

(The wind is a solitary being—it does not often interact with others. But it is not alone as one might think; far above it, warm and fiery, the sun shines upon the world the wind travels.)

/

/End.\

So…how was it? More than double the length of previous chapters, in case you hadn't noticed. Also, please don't get on my case about OCs. HP is a gigantic –verse, and the cannon leaves so much open to interpretation that in order to fill in Yāyún's first year, I'm going to have to create OCs. However, I'm going to try and make them realistic, and give them proper character development, like I try to do with all the characters I write.

…which is going to be hard. I'm going to be juggling two gigantic casts, and trying to give them all accurate character development depending upon what happens. Lord save me now.

;-;

Anyway, since several people have asked, the boy in the last segment of the interlude wasn't Yamamoto or Mukuro. To give you guys a hint (if you're inclined to guess) the man who found him was Iemitsu. I'm leaving it somewhat vague (if you follow FNAF, then…I'm seriously enjoying being so cryptic. I think I see why Scott enjoys hiding the lore so much.)

I hope you all enjoy the early update—I might have another one done this weekend, but don't count on it.

Also, Snowyh2o, for whatever reason your email didn't show up…I think FF decided to cut it out. Maybe try putting spaces in between words or something? And yeah, you got the last scene right for the interlude!

One last thing: for Aleksandra's accent, she's supposed to be Russian—but I have no real idea how to write a proper accent in, so…I hope I didn't mangle it too badly.

Stay Awesome!

~Happy Camper27