chapter two: holly and fire (year 1: summer part 2)

He looks in the windows, and sees dozens of types of wands, made from what seems to be hundreds of different woods. A small sign is in the corner of the window, and Harry leans closer to investigate it.

Wand woods!

Acacia to Yew!

Wand cores!

Phoenix feathers, unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings!

From boggart skin to Veela hair!

Staffs, dragonhide holsters, and so much more!

He takes a deep breath and steps inside.

The inside of the store was made with stone. It was a lighter stone; not quite marble but not quite the gray of the cobblestones outside. It wasn't white, but it wasn't gray; not eggshell, nor the color of freshly washed white linen. It was an in between color; an impossibility.

But it exists here.

Harry steps inside, ignoring the bell tinkling, and looks around. No wood flooring, walls, or furniture in sight. The "wandshelves''—called this for the wandwood, wand cores, or finished wands that they held—were also made of stone. However, it was different colors; on the "shelves'' where the ebony wood samples rested seemed to be marble, and where the holly wood rested it was an onyx-colored stone. Harry could make a guess that this was to cancel out any wand and core properties, to neutralize them until they selected a wizard. This would help to make sure that the reaction was not only more obvious, but also so that no accidents would occur, similar to when you chucked in random ingredients into a cauldron.

A large man—close to 7 feet tall, but very fit—walked out from the back room. He was balding, and had an eyepatch over his left eye, "Hey'a. I'm Carva', staff or wand?" He asked, his gruff voice and odd accent (almost like—New York?) awakening Harry from looking around.

His viridian eyes blink, and he focuses on the man in front of him. "Wand only, for now."

Carver nods, and comes closer, "Let me measure you, then we can get to testing your wand wood."

"Alright."

The other man moves closer, towering over Harry even with his aging potion, "Try not to do any magic in here; we've followed Ministry protocol, unlike that fool Ollivander—" He pauses, a pinch in his expression,"Left arm or right arm?"

"I'm ambidextrous," —and wasn't that a nice trick he picked up from Avalon-based training?— "But I prefer my right arm."

He begins to measure both of Harry's arms, and then nods for him to go ahead, "That's all we need for wands. If you were doing a staff, it would've been more extensive. Now, start over here," Carver directs him towards a shelf labeled Acacia—Black Ironwood, "And grab any that feel warm to your magic. All you have to do is gather some of your magic into your hand—good, like that—and then go over the woods only. There should be three or four that's warm, so bring them over to the counter, and ring the bell once you're finished. Some of the cores can be a bit a bit more volatile."

Harry blinks, confused, "But shouldn't I only need one?"

Carver nods, "Naturally. However, some cores are incompatible with some woods, so we prefer to get many woods, so we can match together the cores and woods."

Harry sighs, and begins to gently go over the different woods. Almost immediately he gets a warm feeling; a wood with darker gray bark. He gently carries it over to the counter, and Carver nods, "Beech. You must be wise beyond your years." His words causes the other to stifle a snort, because the wandmaker really has no idea. He continues to go over the first shelf, but doesn't get any more of the pleasant feeling.

Over the next half an hour or so, Harry gets a few more hits; elm, fir, and maple. The strongest reaction to his magic, however, was to a cypress wood, and was noted by Carver. He refused to say anything about it, which Harry reluctantly accepted.

Carver walked over to the wand cores and unlocked the various containers, taking the lids off them. "You should only have one core that your magic reacts to here. Maybe two, but that's rare."

Harry sighs, but begins to feel them. Again, he immediately gets a hit—right away. Carver raises an eyebrow. "Acromantula web. My my, aren't you illegal. Keep going, just to make sure that there isn't another core." A few cores down, Harry stops, again having a warmer feeling. He frowns looking down on it; it looked like a scrap of old parchment. The wandmaker bustles over, picking it up. "Ah, boggart skin."

Carver walks back over to the counter, and gently grabs the elm and fir wood, placing them under the counter. "Now, there's a few styles that work with a dual-core wand, and those are further limited by which wand you choose. Elm can handle both cores—both can—but elm doesn't do well with boggart skin, and fir will burn through the cores. Therefore, we're down to maple and cypress. I'd personally recommend cypress wood; it's strong, and hardy, and will mesh well with the chosen cores."

Harry smiles. "I bow to your wisdom."

"Now, the style of wands we're looking at for cypress wands and these cores..there's only two I'm willing to do. Either I set in a crystal at the end, augmenting the wood's strengths, or I create a wand that augments the cores. In addition, I'll insert a rune, shielding the acromantula web from being detected by spells and devices."

Harry nods, inclining his head, "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like the non-crystal version of the wand."

Carver grins. "Alright. It'll be 13 galleons in all, 8 for the materials, and 5 for the work."

He pulls out the coins, handing them over. "How much for a holster as well?"

"Dragonhide, basilisk skin, or runespoor scales?"

"Basilisk skin, if you have it."

"Yes, we do, but it'll be expensive."

"How much?" Harry asks, tugging out more galleons.

Carver considers, tugging at his graying mustache. "67 galleons."

The ravenette winces, but pulls out 67 galleons. Well, this probably won't even make a dent in my vaults. Carver accepts them with a nod, "Thank you. Imma git started on these right away. When I finish 'em, where should I send 'em?"

Harry smirks, "Potter Manor. If you stay quiet about it, there's another 20 galleons in it for you." And then he walks out, green eyes shining, "Chrysantha!" He calls, and the Head Elf pops in. "Take me to Alvis' Barn, please."

Over the next few weeks, Harry made more trips out into Diagon as Halcyone, mainly to get history books. He wasn't sure if anything was different here...it wasn't his world (his was 23673, this world was 23671-at least, according to Ade, who was relaying this because Taika didn't have a mental connection to him). His wand was completed a week later, and as such, he got both the holster and the wand.

It was a mixed grain, caught between a washed-out sandy color, and a darker, richer brown. The style itself was very nice—it was a mostly smooth wand, except for a raised portion, where a snake was curled around it, ending with it biting the hilt of the wand. It's neck lifted off the hilt just enough for Harry to slip his fingers through; it would help him to keep his hands on it during a duel.

The holster was a blue-gray, with darker blue stripes running through it. His wand fit snugly, and it seemed to be vibrating ever-so-slightly. The reason that he had chosen basilisk skin over runespoor (despite runespoors being ever-so-slightly more hardy and available) was because basilisks, much like manticores, were immune to most lower level-spells—such as Stupefy—and a few actually got reflected off their scales. As such, it was worth the extra 40 or so galleons—in addition, wards were sung into it, making it impervious to the wand being taken from the holster itself.

In other words, it was fucking badass.

However, July 31st was creeping closer and closer. The days flew by as he continued to renew alliances, spending hours just writing letters back and forth to various Light families. He also started to make ties with the Neutral-Light families. It was good to renew these, and he could feel the familial magic hum contentedly as old bonds were reforged and new bonds were made. While he may not be able to keep them forever, however long he did have them for would be useful to his goals.

One day, he was idly paging through the Potter family grimoire—a book that was passed down from father to son (or daughter, in some cases) for generations, holding both family secrets and family spells and potions recipes—and occasionally trying out spells. A pecking at the window made him look up, meeting the eyes of a nondescript barn owl. A sudden compulsion to only follow the Light, and to not question Albus Dumbledore washed over him, making him blink. 'Ade?' He asked, trying to battle the compulsions, but not succeeding all that well. Whoever put them there was strong.

'Give me a second, Childe..' A sudden pressure, and then they disappeared. 'There. Now, who sent it?'

Harry walks over to the owl, and gently takes the letter from it. It hoots at him, but doesn't fly off. "Waiting for a reply, huh?" He murmurs quietly. On the envelope, he sees it's addressed to Harry Potter, not Halcyone Reeves, as the alliance information was. "Alright."

Mr. H. Potter

The Master Rooms,

Potter Manor, South Hampton

A slow smile crosses his face as he realizes who this letter is from. And so the game begins.. He thinks, blinking. 'It's my Hogwarts Letter, Ade.' He pauses, cocking his head to the side. 'How would you feel about playing Halcyone as we get my school supplies?'

A barely suppressed groan from the other side of the link. 'Will this be an every year thing?'

'Just until Halcyone suffers an accident, I promise. Or is "killed" by Death Eaters.'

'And what do I get out of this?'

'Hmm… you said you liked chocolate covered cherries, right?'

'Yes…'

'I'll get you half a kilo of those.'

'Every year..?'

'Fine.'

'Deal!'

Harry shakes his head, eternally amused as he walks over to the master desk, sitting down in the Lord's seat. Harry opens his letter with the Potter letter opener, causing any other compulsions to sink into the interwoven magic and dissipate. He gently tugs it out, not wanting to damage the parchment.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin: First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list

of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July

31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Harry snorts. Cutting it a bit close, aren't they? Nevertheless, he takes out a piece of parchment from underneath the desk, and grabs a pot of ink and a quill. I am glad, he writes, to be accepted into such a fine and proud establishment. I accept the invitation, and I will see you on September 1st.

His calligraphy skills are still neat, he notes with no small satisfaction. He smiles, happy and then signs his name. He puts it into an envelope, and seals it with wax, pressing the Potter Heir ring into the rapidly cooling wax. He attaches it to the owl's leg, and watches as it flies off, before turning back to the rest of the Hogwarts letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Uniform

First-year students shall require the following:

Three sets of plain work robes {black}

One plain pointed hat {black} for day wear

One pair of protective gloves {dragonhide or similar} for protective wear

One winter cloak {black, silver fastenings}

Please note that all pupils clothes' should contain name tags!

Harry snorts again. He wasn't going to be as snobbish as Malfoy, but he was getting a better uniform than that, and some weekend robes.

Course books

All students should have a copy of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade One), by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory, by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration, by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, by Phyllida Spore

Magical Draughts and Potions, by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, by Quentin Trimble

Another dramatic sigh. Quirrel, again? Harry sighs, vaguely remembering a strong smell of garlic, and a horrible fake stutter. It had been a few hundred years at this point, so he'd pull out some memories, to rewatch the important events. Of course, things were probably different; the compulsions and the Amordi showed.

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT

ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Harry sits back, satisfied that everything was the same. He pushed the Hogwarts letter to the side, and began to wonder how he should play this. Since Dumbledore had obviously seen the letter to him—the compulsions attached to the owl—he couldn play the naive, foolish child; that was the only reason that he had sealed the response with his Heir ring.

He instantly becomes alert as he feels someone moving inside of the wards, his wand falling into his hands. The only person who knows where this is is Dumbledore, or...

'Harry, darling,' He hears, echoed from a mirror and inside his head, 'Could you stop the wards from shoving me back into this mirror? It's really rather rude…'

Harry huffs, and bends the wards. Ade steps through the mirror, their usual gray and black persona gone, replaced by the glamors that Harry had decided that Halcyone was going to wear. Their eyes—normally silver—were now a deep, dark blue; they had golden-brown hair, rather than black (though it was still untamable), and they had a large scar, running from the bottom of their eye to the base of their throat. The height Harry hadn changed from his future self; the only way to do that was through a long, complicated permanent borderline-Dark ritual. Of course, he had no issue with the borderline-Dark bit; only the permanence of it.

"I do not like this form, so let's hurry. I'm also not supposed to stay in this realm for more than a day; it causes issues."

Harry cocks his head at his acquaintance, not liking how he has to look up at them. "What kind of issues?"

"Well...the Sahara desert was because I stayed a few hours more…"

"You caused the Sahara."

Ade actually looks sheepish. "Y...yes? It wasn't on purpose..!"

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Death was whining at him. What had the universe come to? After a few more moments, Harry exhales a sigh, dragging a critical eye over him.

"What?" They ask, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "These are my normal robes! They're perfectly fine…"

"Not for Halcyone they aren't."

After a few minutes of negotiating clothing options, Ade holds out his hand to Harry. "Come on, I have to Apparate you, otherwise it'll be suspicious."

Harry pouts, but accepts the hand nonetheless. With a sharp crack, they Disapparate, Harry being dragged behind. They reappear in the brightness of Diagon Alley, and Harry takes a moment to reorientate himself. He checks himself over, to see if he'd been Splinched, but to his relief it looks like he's fine. Ade—currently Halcyone—huffs. "I am good enough at Apparating, you know. Now, c'mon. School uniform first."

Harry follows, walking into Madam Malkin's. Draco is there, with his father, whining about not getting his robes done right away. Draco's eyes lock onto his robes, and how expensive they looked (really he'd just shrunk down one of his Halcyone robes). The other boy's eyes lock onto his, and the blonde smiles, putting his hand out. "Draco Malfoy, Heir of House Malfoy."

Harry takes the hand with a shy smile. "Harry Potter, Heir of House Potter. It's good to meet you, Heir Malfoy."

Malfoy senior straightens, his platinum eyes boring down on Harry's. The boy ignores him, electing to continue to talk to Draco. "What House are you looking for? Halcyone here says that I'll go into Ravenclaw, but I'm pretty sure I'll go into Slytherin." This was actually a running bet between them; Ade had a mini-favor on him going to Ravenclaw, Taika bet a book that Harry hadn't read before that he'd go to Hufflepuff, and Harry had half a dozen chocolate-covered cherries on Slytherin.

Draco sniffs. "As if a Malfoy would go anywhere besides Slytherin!"

As they continue to talk, Harry manages to steer the conversation gently towards Dumbledore. He expresses his disgust at being left with "those filthy Muggles" and Draco jumped on it, thoroughly trouncing Muggles. Lord Malfoy relaxes, realizing that Harry is—vaguely—on the Dark side. Eventually, they get their robes, and Harry promises to talk to Draco again soon. He learned many things; Draco's favorite Quidditch team (Falmouth Falcons), his favorite dessert (he pretends it's chocolate and creme filled eclairs, or some other such high nobility treat, but his guilty pleasure is bread and butter pudding).

But most of all, he learns that Lucius Malfoy would do anything, even give up every he holds dear—all to protect Draco.

And Draco doesn't even realize it.

After they had gotten everything else, Ade getting antsier and antsier as the hours pass. Harry goes back to Twilfitt and Tattings to more non-uniform school robes, which would—again—be finished in just a week or so.

Finally, the final thing on his school list was a wand. It was time to go to Ollivanders; he wanted one wand without the Trace, which he had removed from his other wand. They enter the dusty old shop, a bell tinkling throughout the store; a hollow sound. Ade coughs slightly; he looks around nervously. 'I'm scared that the Elder Wand will get jealous if I stay here too long. I'll just...wait outside.' And so Death slips out the door, making Harry roll his eyes with a sigh.

Soon enough, an older man pops up, from behind the counter. He has silvery hair, a shade slightly lighter than his eyes. Harry shivers; he'd forgotten just how creepy Ollivander was. "Hello there, Heir Potter." He rasps, straightening. "I'd thought that I would see you soon."

He smiles at Ollivander, tightly. "It is good to see you as well, Lord Ollivander. Have the wands been behaving recently?"

Ollivander huffs a laugh. "Yes." He turns, and begins to search the shelves. "You already know what wand you have, don't you?"

"Perhaps. How do you know?"

"Your...companion, he was oddly powerful. And rushed out in a hurry. I've only ever felt that in the presence of Magic herself, so you must be blessed…"

"My wand is holly wood, 11" long, and carries a phoenix feather core." He speaks quickly, wanting to get away from that particular line of conversation. He feels the lingering stare of Ollivander, even after the wandmaker turned away to grab one of the boxes.

"Try it. You may have changed."

Harry takes the proffered wand, and swishes it. It lights on fire, faster than Harry can pull his hand away, but the flames don't burn him. Instead, they seem to lick at his skin, erasing invisible aches that he didn't even know that he had. In the end, instead of his beautifully detailed, shiny, sleek holly wand, he's left with a handful of ashes and a warm to the touch orange feather in his hand.

"Hm. Interesting. Follow me, we need to select a wood for you. And don't drop the ashes, please; I'll reinsert them, to give the restorative properties of the phoenix feather a boost."

And so Harry follows Ollivander into the back room, where he really can't help but to feel like fate is crashing in on him at an alarming rate.

It takes a while, and multiple run-throughs with the feather, but the wood that it chooses is ebony. Ollivander doesn't have to tell him what it means. Impressive visuals; great with transforming things (and people) and duelling.

It's more commonly known as a Dark wood.

"Don't tell Dumbledore. Please, don't tell Dumbledore," Harry says, getting alarmingly close to begging.

"I am sworn to secrecy on all wands, Heir Potter."

He lets himself slump with feigned relief. Inside, he begins to carefully calculate how to manipulate the situation.

im not all that happy with the last scene, and this chapter is very short, so i might edit it later on. for now, though, i hope you all enjoyed this chapter ! see you next week :)