Disclaimer – JKR owns the world and all the characters from the books. I'm just building a few castles in her sandbox.

Chapter 2

Malcolm blinked. "I assume that's supposed to mean something to me?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Like many things, Magic has a Dark side as well as a Light side. There have been those who sought to use the Dark Arts to gain power and dominion over others. The last one to attempt this was known as Voldemort. The LeStrange family supported him in his bid for power, and after his fall many were imprisoned." The old man sighed. "I am afraid that even after their capture, your father knew that our world would not react well to that name, and chose not to claim it. I imagine that is why he never told you."

"It's not like we talked a lot."

The old man paused, but Malcolm did not elaborate. "Your father did, however, allow for your possible return to our world if you did prove to have the gift. The Smith family, while not particularly prestigious, is large and widespread, and has numerous branches throughout the world. No one would be surprised to have an unknown member of it turn up at Hogwarts."

"Even though I am what, two years behind?"

"That touches on something else we may wish to discuss, Mr. Smith. You are not overly large for your age, and questions about why you were delayed in arriving at Hogwarts may lead people into asking questions about your origin. If you wish, you may simply join the other first-year students and we can allow everyone to assume you are in your eleventh year."

"I'm going to be pretty much a duffer as it is. Don't see how that could hurt."

The old man smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. "Many students enter Hogwarts for the first time thinking that very thought. I hope that you, that them, will be proven to be incorrect in that assumption."

"We'll see. I'm not fond of going into things blindly."

"Well Mr. Smith, there is still over a month until the term starts. If you wish, I can accompany you to Diagon alley where you may purchase some of your school supplies and books. I can, perhaps, suggest a few volumes that might fill in the unavoidable lapses in your knowledge." Malcolm noticed the old man looking closely at him again.

"I'd like that, if you can spare the time."

"I'd be delighted." And he really did seem to be, much to Malcolm's surprise. Why is this making him so happy?

Despite the old man's eccentric clothes, he definitely wielded no small amount of influence. The matron allowed him to sign Malcolm out for a day-trip with nary a glance. He may be a barmy old codger, Malcolm mused, but he's obviously calling the shots around here.

After a short trip on the Underground, the Headmaster led them to a run-down looking old pub called, of all things, The Leaky Cauldron. "Subtle," Malcolm muttered under his breath, drawing an amused glance from his guide.

"People without magic cannot notice this particular establishment, much to Tom's disappointment when business is slow."

Malcolm's head snapped around. For an old guy, he's got sharp ears. He filed that away for future reference.

The old man snapped his fingers as they crossed the threshold and suddenly he was engulfed in a full length hood cloak. Malcolm twitched a little but continued walking forward. No one spared them a glance as the headmaster lead them to the back wall of the pub. He tapped his wand against a specific brick three times and suddenly a hole opened in the wall.

As they stepped through into the warm July sunshine, Malcolm's eyes grew wide. He'd read a magazine article about Medieval Fairs, and he'd visited a couple of street bazaars in Morocco and Dubai. Diagon Alley was like all of those rolled together and multiplied. He swiveled his head around, trying to take in all the sights. He noticed the portal closing behind them. The headmaster looked down at him, eyes twinkling again. "Where should we go first?" he asked nonchalantly. Damned if he was going to go all goggle-eyed like some yank tourist.

"A wand should be your first purchase, as that may take some time. Come, Ollivander's is this way."

The shop Dumbledore led them to was fairly run down. Malcolm could have sworn the sign said "established 382 b.c.", but it was hard to tell with how bad the paint was peeling. On the other hand, if any shop could be said to pre-date Alexander the Great, this dusty shack was a good candidate.

A small bell rang as his guide opened the door, then proceeded to sit in the only chair in the room. Long, narrow boxes lined all the walls. Dumbledore had just pushed back the hood of his cloak when a thin old man bustled out of the back, his large, protuberant eyes flickering from Malcolm's face, to the headmaster, and back again.

"I had not expected to see you again so soon, Headmaster. All is well?"

"As well as can be expected. One of my new students needs to purchase a wand." With that he nodded at Malcolm.

Ollivander stared at Malcolm for a long moment. "This is most unexpected." He looked up sharply at Dumbledore.

"A… cadet branch, if you will. They have no knowledge."

"Does he?"

"Yes, I do," Malcolm grated. He disliked people talking about him like he wasn't there. "And I know to keep my gob shut," he muttered.

"Yes, well, this may prove… interesting," Ollivander spun on his heel and began pulling boxes, seemingly at random, from the shelves behind the counter. After the sixth one, he spun and placed them gingerly on the counter. "Now, which is your wand hand?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I guess I'm right-handed, so…" At that, an animated tape measure began measuring seemingly random points on his body while Ollivander opened the boxes.

"Very well, take this," he hand Malcolm a long wooden stick. "Dragon heart-string and Alder, eleven inches, sufficiently rigid for complex Transfigurations… give it a wave and see how it reacts."

Malcolm felt like an utter fool, but his stomach gave a little flutter when a few faint sparks emerged from the tip. Did I do that?

"No, that will not do," Ollivander said instantly, snatching the wand from his hand and replacing it with another. "Unicorn hair and oak. Nine inches, excellent for healing charms."

Another wave, this time generating a few more sparks. No sooner was the wand waved than it was replaced with another. They quickly went through all of the wands on the counter and Mr. Ollivander drew still more from the shelves. After half an hour Malcom's wrist began to ache and he wondered if this was all some big mistake. Maybe he wasn't a wizard after all.

"Do not worry, young man," Ollivander said when he returned with more boxes. "As I have always said, the wand chooses its wielder. We merely have to find the correct one. You will feel the difference, trust me on this."

Finally, when he waved "Thestral hair (whatever that was) and ebony. Seven inches, nice and sturdy, good for quick casts" he felt a shock run up his arm. Sparks erupted from the tip, but were soon drowned out by glittering black motes that swirled through the air around them.

"Yes, well," Ollivander said as the motes spun around them and slowly dissipated. "That one seems to have chosen you, young master Malcolm. Use it well," he said, looking up at Dumbledore.

Malcolm was staring at the black wand tingling in his hand, but he still noticed the odd look that passed between the two men.