Disclaimer: I only own Death, Mort, Harriet Potter, and any other characters that are not created by J. K. Rowling. Everything, belongs to J. K. Rowling. Enjoy.


Chapter Nine

The Alley

15th of August 1991

Death never liked crystals; not that anyone ever asked him. He found them powerful, unnerving and ever so slightly intriguing, not that he'd admit that to his fellow gods. So when Harriet bounded over to him, with several amethysts and topaz eggs in her pockets, Death was a little uncomfortable.

'Look what I found!' Harriet grinned, reaching deep into her pockets to show the eggs to Mort. 'I found them in my vault — aren't they wonderful.'

Mort nodded, stepping away as the smell of something ugly pierced his spine. Harriet, who was completely oblivious to her friend's fear. Tonks stood a little bit away from her, head bent in a thick tomb, that from what Harriet could understand, was essential for being an Auror. Personally, she couldn't understand how a book entirely on mathematical equations could help, but according to Tonks, (and the loud voice of Mad-Eye once as he bellowed at her through the fireplace earlier that morning), it helped in taking out the, quote on quote, "bad guys" as one had to calculate the correct angle to tackle someone.

Standing next to Tonks, who had quiet literally just crawled out of a fireplace, (apparently floo was bias), was Jack, her dark skin blotchy with soot. However, even though her sparkly blue leggings, and deep green tunic were black, and messy, her headscarf was almost impossibly neat. Once Harriet had asked why she wore it, Jack explained that it was for cultural and religious reasons, and had left it at that, and as the witch studied the forest-coloured fabric, she guessed this was the only answer she would ever receive.

Jack, smoothed down her robes, and turned to Harriet, grinning wickedly.

'So,' she said, as she walked across to meet Harriet, half dragging, half guiding Tonks. 'What's on your list? Do they still insist that you can't own a broom in your first year?'

Before Harriet could answer, Tonks suddenly looked up, thumb on book.

'That was your father's fault you know,' she said, smiling weakly at Harriet. 'Well, he and my cousin.'

Harriet looked down, suddenly feeling awful. Even though she had demanded Sirius' trial almost sixteen days ago, the Ministry was pulling out every trick they knew to delay it. Defenders and high ranking officials had intervened and cancelled every meeting, and subpoenaed every trial, due to "incomplete evidence." They'd even come up with some half-ass law stopping anyone from bringing a "mass-murderers" trial too justice. It was beginning to get ridiculous.

'Was it?' Harriet eventually asked. 'Well, that sucks,'

She frowned, and pulled out her letter. Whether it was because someone had realised that she hadn't received her Hogwarts Letter, or if because she had wined until Andromeda's head fell off, Harriet wasn't sure, but whatever the case, it had arrived — a few months late mind you.

She hadn't bothered with the acceptance letter, quickly skimming it, before tearing open what she would call, "The Good Stuff!". It took three sheets of parchment to finally explain what she needed for Hogwarts, and while the letter was interesting, it wasn't nearly as interesting as the things she could buy. With the money Andromeda had received from James Potter's will, she had set about magically building a new bedroom for Harriet, as well as sending the girl off with a bag of gold, (as long as Tonks, Jack and Mort came with), to buy her school things.

The first thing on the list were clothes, which Harriet boredly collected, along with a few extra comfortable robes, and a dragon-hide coat. Next were the books, which took Harriet almost an hour, as she insisted on buy books other then the restricted curriculum — a decision with both amused and annoyed Tonks, especially when Harriet had an argument with the book owner about whether she was "old" enough to by books on Rune Magic, and Necromancy.

It was around lunch time when Harriet rushed into the Apothecary, leaving Tonks and Jack to sit outside in the warming heat. Even before she entered the shop, it smelt horrible, as if someone had fused rotten eggs and cabbaged together to create a wonderful aroma of disgusting. If it wasn't for Mort, then she would fallen face first into a barrel full of green sap. The shop was dark, the walls lined with jars filled with powders and root; dried herbs hung from the ceiling, along with fangs and claws, and, (as Harriet noted with a little bit too much joy), feathers. A small grin rose to her lips as she charged forward, slipping around cutovers and bubbling cauldrons, as she reached further and further into the shop, until her nose touched a large jar.

She peered inside, her grin widening even further and she spun around to Mort, eyes sparkling.

'This is amazing,' she whispered, before spinning back around.

After checking and double checking her list, she eventually gathered up her supplied, before decided that she could spend a few extra minuets looking at the oingreeidants. She had barely taken a step towards the shelves, when a voice suddenly said,

'Lily…'

Harriet turned. She had been examining a jar full of, (and she could only tell by the label mind you), leaches, and was still holding it when her green eyes fixed on the man. He was tall, far taller then Mort, with a hooked nose, and hair so black it could have been ink. It was greasy too, the shop's fumes increasing the slickness to it looked like the man's hair was going to fall off.

Black robes fell to the ground, the hems embroidered with grey thread, but it was his eyes, and the almost fearful gaze that met her's that really made her curious. It was like looking into a deep well, his thoughts and expressions hidden by a wall of swirling water, and magic. She smiled slightly, and stepped forward, contour that those black eyes were boring into her.

'I'm afraid you must have me confused,' Harriet breathed, placing the jar of leaches on the table. 'I'm Harriet, Harriet Potter,'

As soon as her name left her lips, the man's expression changed. His eyes hardened, and his lips curled, the confused expression vanishing in a split second to be replaced with underlying hatred. Before Harriet could open her mouth, the door swung open, and Tonks' loud voice broke the silence.

'Harry!' she bellowed, and Harriet saw her pushing through the maze of people and ingredients. 'Where are you?'

Harriet turned, ready to ask the man his name, but when she spun back around, he was gone. Sighing deeply, Harriet took Mort's hand and walked to the counter. She paid for her things, (including the jar of leaches) and put Tonks out of her misery.

Apparently, Harriet needed to get to Ollivanders before he closed, and with a tight hand around her arm, Tonks dragged her out of the shop, and down the road. Jack trailed behind, laughing to herself, as Tonks pushed the girl inside a worn looking wand shop, with a peeling sign over the door, that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

Unlike the Apothecary, or Flourish and Blotts, the shop was nearly empty, except for a small, spindly chair, and the walls surrounding it. Thousands of narrow boxes protruded from the shelves, dust accumulating on the survives to the point where Jack began to sneeze.

'Alhamdulillah!' a voice suddenly proclaimed, once Jack had stopped sneezing, and the three, (or four), turned to see a young man standing on a rolling ladder.

He was prepare in his late twenties, his eyes shockingly silvery against his deep brown hair. He was dressed in a red-muggle jumper and blue jeans, and looked completely out of place among the rows of wands.

Jack smiled, and waved at him.

'Thanks, Ger,' she breathed, as the man walked over.

She turned to Harriet.

'Harry, this is Gerard Ollivander. Ger, this is Harriet Potter,'

Harriet was released when Ger didn't look at her head, and instead, smiled brightly at her. He held out his hand, and as Harriet shook it, she noticed that this fingers were callused, and were nicked.

'What happened?' she asked, as Ger smiled at her. He looked at his hands, suddenly surprised as if he hadn't noticed that he'd hurt himself.

'Wood splinters,' he finally said, 'I'm a wandmaker, like my father — that reminds me — Dad, you have a customer!'

'There's no need to shout,' a soft voice said, and Harriet jumped as a man stepped out of the shadows.

He was old, far older then any man Harriet had seen yet, and his hair was white as silk, but it was his eyes, as pale as moons, that really unnerved her.

'Hello,' said Harriet breathed, pressing a hand to her chest as Mort's teeth chittered.

The man rushed forward, eyes sparkling as he looked her over.

'Ah yes,' Gerald's father said, 'Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harriet Potter.'

Harriet smiled weakly.

'You have your mother's eyes,' he suddenly announced, and Harriet stared at him. 'It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.'

Harriet wished the man would blink, for his eyes were beginning to be a little creepy. Mort shuffled and rested his hands on her shoulder, in a protective manner. Eventually, the wandmaker did blink, but he didn't turn away.

'Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.'

Ollivander was now right up in Harriet's face, so that his nose almost touched hers. He raised his hand and began to trace the scar on her forehead. The girl shuddered, and clutched Mort's arm, shaking.

'And that's where…' Ollivander shook his head. 'I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

Sensing that his dad might be going a little loopy, Ger placed a hand on his shoulder.

'Dad,' he said, and the man snapped out of it, but not before his eyes settled on Tonks.

'Nymphadora Tonks! How nice to see you again…' Harriet suddenly wondered how much energy it took for Tonks not to blast Ollivander to smithereens. Jack and Ger must have been thinking it too, for they shared a worried expression. 'Laurel, twelve inches, dragon heartstring — although from what I recall, you broke that one in your fifth year.'

Tonks grimaced at the memory.

'You didn't buy from me again,' the old wizard said, eying the wand holster that was tied to Tonk's right arm. 'Who's the maker?'

'Jimmy Kiddell,' Tonks finally said, but before she could explain, Ollivander had turned on Jack.

'Jacqueline Shacklebolt,' he breathed, 'you took a long time, if I recall. Fir, twelve inches, pliable — have you served it well?'

To prove a point, Jack raised her wand.

'Yes she has,'

It was a little weird to hear someone call a wand a "she" but Harriet brushed it aside, especially when Ollivander looked at her again.

'Which is your wand arm?'

The question was so abrupt, so unusual that Harriet couldn't help but blink at him for a few seconds.

'Um… I'm left handed,' she said, and Ollivander took her hand, a measuring tape appearing in his own, as he measured her arm, from shoulder to index finger. He explained wand lore as he worked, the tape measure whipping around unmanned as the old man walked away. Ger smiled warmly at her, as he was sent off to look for a wand, and a second later he came back, a few stacked up in his arms per to his father's instructions.

'Right then,' Ollivander said, selecting a box that was in his son's arms. 'Miss Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.'

Harriet was handed the wand, and gave it a sharp flick, however, before she could even finish the movement, Ollivander snatched it away.

'Maple and phoenix feather,' he cried,' Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—'

Just like the time before, as soon as Harriet raised it, Ollivander took it away, and thrust another into her hand.

'Ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.'

This continued for quite a while, to the point that Ger was beginning to become breathless at the amount of times he ran up and down the shop, that his face had turned red. Ollivander on the other hand, was eerily happy, and smiled wildly.

'Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere —I wonder, now — yes, why not,' he exclaimed, and turned to look at his son. 'Gerald, can you look for number five-hundred and three, please,'

Looking ever so slightly sick, Gerald nodded and hurried off, returning a second later with a long box. Carefully he handed it to his father, who removed the wand from it's casing.

'Unusual combination — Elder and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.' Ollivander explained, and beside her Mort shuffled.

He handed it to Harriet.

As soon as the witch's fingers curled around the wood, a warmth reached her fingertip, a fiery breathing sort of warmth that suddenly made her realise that the wand was well and truly alive. Raising, a warm smile reached her lips as a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end, exploding in the air like a firework. Tonks cheered, whooping, while Jack momentarily forgot how to speak English and began speaking rather fast in both Arabic and French, until Ger placed his hand on her shoulder.

'Oh, bravo!' Ollivander cried, smiling brightly. 'Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious… Curious... curious…'

Harriet looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.

'What's curious?' she asked, as she put the wand in the box.

Ollivanders stared at Harriet with his unusual eyes.

'I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand.' Ollivander breathed. 'It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.'

Harriet gulped, and behind her, she felt Mort tremble, but whether it was with anger or rage, she didn't know. Ollivander nodded, darkly.

'Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.'

Ollivander paused.

'That'll be seven galleons,' he said.

Quickly, Harriet handed over the money, and left the shop, but she, Tonks and Mort had to wait for Jack, who was saying goodbye to Ger. From the small kiss she gave him, and the red face that bloomed on Ger's cheeks when his father laughed, Harriet guessed they were dating. She came out, ignoring Tonks' smirking face, and hurried off.

The four departed at the Leaky Cauldron, and soon Tonks, Mort and Harriet were back home, arms full with featherlight charmed bags.

Ted sat in a deep chair, cup of tea in his hand, and he looked up once the three floo-ed in, eyebrows raising ever so slightly at the amount of bags that Harriet had.

'So,' he said. 'Your back. What's your wand then?'

Harriet wondered if knowing one's wand was going to be a common thing.

'Elder, phoenix feather, eleven inches,' Harriet drummed off, as she helped Tonks to her feet, (she had tripped over the carpet as she was thrown through the fireplace).

Ted's eyebrows raised.

'Phoenix feather,' he breathed, and whistled low.

He smiled brightly and got to his feet, helping Tonks and Harriet carry her things up the stairs. Mort stubbornly chose not to carry a single thing. After placing the bags in Harriet's new room, Tonks and Ted left her to her own devices.

The room wasn't large, but it was certainly bigger than the sliver of a room that had been the cupboard under the stairs. A bed and a chest of draws lay on the west wall, a small desk tucked away opposite, and that was it. Simple, but efficient, and defiantly the best belated birthday present Harriet had ever received.

She grinned, and reached into her pocket, placing the crystals on the table; they shone in the light, catching in the dusty air and send flickers across the wall. She grinned; they were beautiful.

'Harry!' Mrs Tonks voice called from the down the stair. 'Lunch!'

That called her, and a few moments later, Harriet was sitting at the table devoruring a mushroom pie, and laughing brightly as Tonks transformed her features. Mort, on the other hand, stayed in the room.

Death approached the crystals, eyes darkening as he stared at them, and with a tentative hand, reached out. He jumped back, air whistling thought his teeth as the stone burnt him, his bony hand throbbing, even thought there were no tenants to burn. Shuddering slightly, Death peered in to he reflective surfaces, and what he saw, made his invisible heart drop.

Three ugly faces peered out, the woman's features merging into one middle aged woman with stringy hair. Her eyes were silver and gold, and flicked between the two, until Death's head spun.

She's mind! they seem to say, And nothing you do, can stop that.

Death growled, and stood a step back; he'd forgotten how much he hated the Fates.


Dear Readers,

So, after the last chapter, I suspected you'd think I'd write a long chapter - nope, this one is short as hell, and I have no apologies. First of, for people confused, yes I have changed my timetable, mostly because I realised that I could not write over thirteen fan-fictions and have a perfectly sane mind. Please check out my timetable on my profile if you wish to find out when this story will next be updated.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and now onto the review section:

Azaira: Thank you so much for the constructive criticism, and yes, I agree with you, there are other ways to show nervousness. I wrote ch 8 over a series of days, and I guess I just didn't see how many times I wrote, "licked lips". This is now banned in my vocab! To answer you question about Dumbledore, it is partly done, because I was exhausted and wanted to finish my story, but also because this is the begging of Albus slowly descending into terrified madness — he is absolutely fearful that this is another "Tom Riddle" incident, and is starting, even before Harriet goes to Hogwarts, to pull the strings. He wanted Harriet to stay at the Dursleys, and even if he'd ruin his image, it'd do it — and Dolores just hates Harry.

Hope to hear your thoughts in the reviews,

From,

Lily.