Chapter 2 – The Core Question

Bright yellow eyes stared at Harry through the darkness.

"Mum? Dad?" He noticed how his voice shook and immediately felt embarrassed. His cry seemed to have disturbed whoever was sitting on his bed. It scrambled and hooted like –

"An owl." Harry smote his forehead. Before he could do more than turn the lights on, heavy footsteps announced the arrival of his parents. His mum came first, rushing over with red cheeks and her wand drawn.

"Harry! Are you alright?" She stopped in front of him, looking up and down the corridor. "What happened?"

Harry gulped. He did not want to admit how easily he had panicked. Thankfully, the owl rustled its wings and attracted his parent's attention. All eyes fell on the letter it carried in his claws, a letter, which bore a distinctive wax seal. James whistled.

"Finally. Well, go and open it, Harry. It's all yours."

He gently shoved him into the room. Harry stumbled forward. The barn owl looked at him suspiciously, but stood still as he untightened the string around its leg with trembling fingers. Harry felt his parent's eyes on him. Strangely, it reminded him of Christmas Day, when he would unpack his presents with a thumping heart and they would observe him from the couch, sitting there quietly and intent on revelling in every ounce of his happiness. Now, even though he knew the contents of the letter, he felt even more excited. He had been dreaming of this moment for months. The knot loosened and the letter fell into his hands. It was surprisingly heavy, made out of thick parchment. Behind him, his mother sniffled, but Harry's attention lay entirely on the well-known crest on the envelope. A serpent, an eagle, a badger and a lion beautifully draped around an H. Harry tore it off without a second look. Three pieces of parchment landed on the carpet with a soft thud.

He eagerly grabbed one and began to read. His eyes lit up instantly.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. 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 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

He read it four times and was half-way through a fifth, when his dad cleared his throat.

"I guess congratulations are in order?"

Nodding and jumping at the same time, Harry ran to his parents. His mum's hug was a little too tight, but he did not mind.

"I'm so- finally! What do I do now? When do I get my wand? And what does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Look at the parchment on the floor. The smaller one," his dad said.

Harry took it and frowned.

I, _, hereby officially _ my place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you have to express your willingness to go to Hogwarts. You can send it back directly with the owl that brought you the letter, or with Quaffle, if you want to think about it."

"Think about it? No, I want to go!" Harry looked at his mother, who smiled sadly in response. "Where's my quill?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry wrote his name, carefully inserted the word "accept" and then signed the paper. As soon as he was finished, the barn owl landed on his desk. It took the slip of paper in its beak, whooshed out of the room, down the corridor and towards the owl window.

"And now?" Harry asked. He wanted to do more, something ceremonial, which fit the importance of this moment. Maybe try out his dad's wand. Or put on his old Hogwarts robes. Or at least eat ice cream.

"Now you go to bed."

"But mum-"

"You might be a Hogwarts student as of now, but it's late and you are still only ten. And after today, my dear, you'd be well-advised not to complain." Harry could tell that his mom was not angry anymore. She would always forgive him quickly, no matter if he had flown his broom through a window, hatched fire dwelling salamanders or set the curtains on fire with said salamanders, but he knew not to push it, especially after he had broken the most important rule. Unfortunately, he felt like he could stay awake the whole night. Glancing at his dad, who was beaming with pride, he decided to propose a small compromise.

"Fine. But can you at least read me a story, dad?"

In truth, his dad was not really reading him stories anymore. The bedtime storytelling had evolved from 'The wizard and the Hopping Pot' into something more intimate. Sometimes they just talked, sometimes James told Harry about his childhood, his own parents and about all the adventures he had had at Hogwarts. Usually entertaining, as they were, his dad's stories tended to keep him up much longer than they were supposed to. James exchanged a look with Lily. She sighed.

"Don't stay up too late though."

A few minutes later, Harry returned to his room, now clothed in his pyjama in Appleby azure. He was still holding his Hogwarts acceptance letter. His dad was already sitting at the foot of the bed. No books were in sight. Harry smiled and slit under the covers. They were warm to the touch. No doubt the doing of his dad's warming spell. James closed the door, sat back down and tugged Harry in.

"Well, what did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Nothing."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing specific really. I just… I wonder how it is going to be there."

"At Hogwarts?"

"Hmmh."

"You're going to have a great time."

"And mum's not angry that I want to go?"

His father eyed him intently, before he answered.

"No, Harry, she's not. She is sad that you will be far away, but she could never be angry with you for accepting your place at school. Trust me, she is proud of you. We both are."

Harry nodded and, after a moment, added sheepishly "Are we going to get my wand soon? I can't wait to finally have it. Oh, and I'm going to really see Diagon Alley, too!"

James laughed. "Once you're eleven."

Harry contemplated this response. It seemed reasonable to get his supplies after he had turned eleven, even though it meant that he had to wait another two long weeks.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can you read me a story, just- just for fun?"

"A real story?" James seemed surprised. "Oh, yeah, of course. Which do you want? One out of Beedle's Tales? The Fountain of Fair Fortune maybe? I always liked that one." He waved his wand and a fat tome flew into his lap, but Harry shook his head. James threw it unceremoniously on the ground.

"The Tale of the Three Brothers."

James smiled. "An excellent choice." He picked up an old book - it smelled of myrrh and sandalwood – and began to read as Harry breathed in the calming scent.

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…"

Before James reached the story's end, Harry had fallen asleep.

The following weeks knew only one topic. Hogwarts. Harry followed his mother through the house asking questions about every single detail he could think of. Over dinner, he pestered his dad for more stories of his school days, interrogating him about the houses, the magic he'd learn first and the Quidditch teams.

"But why aren't first years allowed to try out?"

"Uh- I don't know, Harry. There's a rule, I think, so nothing you can do about it."

The next day, he unearthed one of his dad's old fifth year charms books, but he didn't have much time to browse in it, because his mother took it from him, after she saw some rather explicit drawings on the pages.

"That's inappropriate to say the least! James, how could you?"

"Oh, no. Don't look at me like that. That were Sirius and Pe- people. Other people." But Harry heard him whisper "mostly," when his mum wasn't listening.

However, Harry's bad luck did not end there. His parents seemed to have gotten rid of most of their own school supplies – "I am sorry, dear, but we sort of threw them out, right before we left our old place in Godric's Hollow and came here" – and firmly put down all of his attempts to convince them to buy his supplies earlier.

"Please, dad, please."

"You already know the answer."

"Oh, please. How long can it take to buy a wand? Please."

"Not happening."

"Please, please."

No matter how much he begged.

Finally, the thirty-first of July came and when Harry awoke in the early morning hours, he didn't have to be dragged out of bed, instead he was instantly awake as if someone had emptied a bucket of cold water over his head. He raced downstairs. As always, his parents were already up and waiting for him in the kitchen. Intense chocolate smell welcomed him and a colourful birthday banner floated through the air.

"Happy birthday!" Lily and Jamey cried as soon as Harry entered. They were clad in their robes, instead of their usual pyjamas. His mum kissed him on the cheek and put a slice of toast on his plate.

"Eat some of your special birthday breakfast, but don't fanny about. We've got a big surprise waiting for you today."

"Really? What surprise?"

His mum crossed her arms and smirked. "Guess."

Harry looked around. The distinct absence of presents felt awkward. He had expected at least a few as always. Later, Sirius would have joined them in the middle of breakfast and afterwards they would have played the usual Quidditch match and waited for Remus before devouring the cake. Actually, he had expected a normal birthday, passing by quickly, before tomorrow, when they would have gone to –

"Diagon Alley!" Harry said. "Are we going today?"

"Yes, we are. Your dad and I already made an appointment with Mr. Ollivander. At three in the afternoon, you'll be getting your wand. Before that, we must buy the rest of your supplies. But if we don't dawdle, that shouldn't be a problem." His mum smiled at him, then turned suddenly serious, when Harry dug in. "Oh, don't eat that fast or you'll choke!"

A lightning fast breakfast and fortunately choking-free fifteen minutes later, Harry entered the living room. He had readied himself in record time and was now eagerly waiting for his parents. The living room was by far the biggest room in the entire house, held in beige and wine-red, with large picture windows, soft carpets, a cosy couch and, most importantly, the only fireplace with a connection to the floo network. He impatiently waited a few minutes, pacing in front of the fireplace. He was anxious to get his wand and discover Diagon Alley, which he had heard so much about. Finally, his mum entered, followed by his dad, who was holding a pouch.

"Shall we?"

Harry carefully positioned himself in front of the fireplace. His dad stood at his side, nearer that he normally would, and put the pouch on the mantelpiece between two framed photographs of Harry's grandparents. It was full of greenish, glittering powder.

"Ready?" James asked with a concerned look. "Just hold on tight."

Harry nodded, bracing himself for what was to come. The instant his dad threw a handful of powder onto the empty chimney floor, green flames appeared. Drawing a deep breath, Harry entered the fireplace with his dad and quickly closed his eyes. James put an arm around his shoulder and shouted: "Lyall Libres!"

The dreadful spinning began immediately. Harry gripped his dad with all his might, trying to ignore the rushing of the flames and the nauseating feeling that was rising in his throat. Then, suddenly, it all stopped and he felt solid, unmoving ground under his feet. Nevertheless, he continued to cling to his dad's robe. His head was still spinning and he knew, if he let go now, he would exit the fireplace head first, which was something he really did not enjoy experiencing again. Therefore, he let his dad lead him to a stool, sat down and slowly opened his eyes. The bookshop looked as empty as every other time Harry had visited. Granted, the occasions had been rare, but the shop had still been one of the very few places outside his home he had ever seen - and an interesting place it was. Row after row of leather-bound spines lined the walls, occasionally interrupted by an object, whose purpose Harry didn't even know how to guess. Carved animals, a cup with engravings and a fossilised dragon egg were among them. On the counter, inkwells and a few chosen feathers completed the assortment. The roaring fire announced the arrival of his mother, followed by hurried steps coming down the stairs.

"You lot are extremely early," said Remus, when he spotted them. He was already dressed, even though his hair looked dishevelled and he still wore his slippers. He smiled.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thanks." Harry smiled back, albeit a bit timidly. He had known Remus ever since he could think, but almost never had he seen him without his eye patch. It usually covered the bright blue magical eye and most of the scars around the socket, but now it was staring directly at him. He gulped. Quickly, Remus averted his gaze.

"We're so sorry, Moony. We shouldn't have told him we were coming here. As soon as he heard, Harry decided it would be best to devour his entire breakfast – unchewed, I might add," James said.

"Hey, I did chew!"

"Of course you did. Just like the pretty little manticore you are."

"Anyway," Remus said, before Harry could respond, "I should be ready in a moment, if you'll excuse me." He halted. "And I saw that, Prongs."

"What do you mean?" James raised his open palms innocently.

"Oh, don't try that on me. I taught you that look. Give it." Remus stretched out his hand.

Rolling his eyes, James pulled an eye patch out of his pocket and put it back on the counter.

"You can't have seen me take it," he grumbled.

"Never said that. Just saw it in your pocket."

"Great. But that proves my point. Your eye is dead useful. You shouldn't cover it. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I am not ashamed."

"Sure."

"James, you've had this discussion how many times before? It's Remus' decision," Lily interjected.

"Thank you. And I decide that I don't want to scare people." Remus sighed. "Or that ridiculous nickname to spread."

"Oh, come on! Mad-Eye Moony is a great name."

"For a cartoon character maybe…"

While the bickering continued, Harry began to stroll through the shop. He stopped at the counter. Under its glass surface lay artistic bookmarks, coated in silver and copper filaments. Then, he directed his steps to the shelves. All of the books in the shop had been carefully chosen; they talked about curious languages, uncommon plants and extinct beasts. Harry was sure that he wouldn't understand a single sentence, if he opened one of them. Most of Remus' clientele consisted of experts, researchers or odd hobbyists, who couldn't satisfy their literary needs in ordinary book shops like Flourish&Blotts. None of Harry's first-year books was amongst the collection at Lyall Libres. That much was certain. A book with soft green lines, which gleamed in the sunlight, attracted Harry's attention, but before he could do more than touch it, he caught his mum's eye. She shook her head. Fortunately, Remus must have seen him as well, because he turned around.

"Oh never mind, Lily. There is nothing dangerous or dark here. Only gibberish for an underage wizard, I am afraid."

"It looks cool, though," Harry said. The way the green on the dark cover glistened in the penumbra had something mysterious. "I bet no first year has a book like this."

"Well, you're right. Your school books will have rather colourful designs and, if I remember correctly, assaultingly bright covers." Remus now wore his eye patch, which gave him the distinct air of a magical pirate. He grinned. "But, it's your birthday and since I haven't gotten you a present, yet – mind you, I planned on giving you a pair of Freeze-Free Gloves – you may choose whichever book you like and it's yours. If your parents agree, that is."

"Oh, that's fine. I'll make sure he doesn't take something inappropriate. But you don't want that one." James took the book from Harry. "Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties. That just screams boring. Trust me. We'll find you a proper book for impressing the other first years. Come on." He patted Harry on his shoulder and led him towards another shelf.

"Nothing too advanced, James! And nothing from the vitrines. You know those are rare volumes," Lily added.

Soon after and with considerable help from his father, Harry held the first present of the day in his hands. It was bound in grey dragon leather with huge palpable scales. Baroque silver letters formed the title: Magnificent Magical Bestiary. It promised excruciatingly detailed descriptions, but at least Harry knew some of the beasts it rambled about and the depictions were simply marvellous. Harry had never seen drawings that seemed quite as life-like. When he looked at the wing movements and their red eyes, he thought the drawn dragons might as well jump out of the pages and come to life.

Looking like it had come out of a book was also Diagon Alley. Harry had never been allowed to go there before. He had only watched witches and wizards with billowing cloaks pass by, the few times he had been at Remus' shop. The shop's windows had been his window into a forbidden world, full of mysteries and danger, which he now entered through the main door of Lyall Libres.

If Diagon Alley stemmed from a book, it must have been medieval, Harry thought, because Diagon Alley seemed to be from another era. It was simply marvellous. Lined with timbered houses, ridged roofs and covered in thousands of cobblestones, no building was like the next. Impressive doors, carved wooden signs and huge display fronts took turns with tiny entrances, crooked rooftops and layered stone walls. The goods for sale offered even more to explore. Harry wished he had the time to inspect the pushcart in front of an apothecary, but he only glimpsed slimy balls that had to be frog brains (or worse) before he was dragged forward. Too soon, they reached Flourish&Blotts.

The shop had nothing of Lyall Libres' enticing atmosphere. Instead of quaint books and tickling silence, Flourish&Blotts overwhelmed its clients with a sheer cascade of covers in all colours the rainbow had to offer. Giant glittering titles competed for attention with fluorescent illustrations. The number of customers was negligible in this early hour and they quickly paid for a considerable stack of books and left soon enough. Remus accompanied Harry and his parents to the nearest shop for potion utensils, where Harry proceeded to collect knives, a mortar and chose a cauldron. Their next stop was the apothecary. The dingy room united a cacophony of smells that took Harry's breath away, although not in the good sense. After a few minutes, his head began to spin, because he tried too hard not to breathe.

Why in Merlin's name would someone place vanilla essence next to fish entrails?

Finishing their ingredient shopping took much longer than Harry had anticipated, mainly due to his mother's careful questioning of each and every haulm's origin.

"Oh, but who cares if the seaweed comes from fresh water or salt-water?" Harry moaned.

"Everyone who has ever wished to concoct an Anti-Befuddlement Draught," Lily said and followed the owner – an old witch with a hairy birthmark - to a magnifying glass in order to inspect the weed.

"Best be patient. The potion master is an old friend of hers and I guess she still wants to impress the git." James rolled his eyes. "Don't ask me why. Now, let's see if we can open that window over there."

When they finally stepped back into Diagon Alley and Harry joyously breathed in clean air, a new horde of eager shoppers had arrived in the street. Flocks of mothers, followed by their children, strolled through the shops, eyeing the showcased merchandise. A group of teenagers sat, laughing and chatting, at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, while a larger crowd gathered in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The sleepy atmosphere had changed into a chaotic melange of people and colours and noises. Everywhere some patron was bargaining, some shopkeeper barking out a gruff response or some magical item fizzing around. Harry grabbed his mother's hand.

"Why are those people staring at us?" he asked, when two elderly witches in the crowd stopped to look at them. They hadn't been the first ones today.

"Oh, they're just old hags who love to gossip. Never mind them."

Still, James, Lily and Remus quickened their pace. At Crystal Cathedral, they bought a set of vials for potions, but his dad wouldn't allow him to buy the half-moon shaped flasks.

"Wouldn't want to get picked on on day one, would you?"

Or the self-measuring jug, which would proclaim its contents in a high-pitched voice.

"Don't trust those. I had a terrible midterm exam in my third year, when the charm on my self-measuring jug wore off and I ended up adding almost a pint of salamander blood to my potion." James laughed. "Let's say the result was explosive."

"And highly intended," Lily added, "but nonetheless, your dad is right. No self-measuring jugs or scales for you. You will have to do it all on your own and now let's pay. I'd like to visit Scribbulus' Writing Implements before lunchtime."

After shopping for parchment, quills and countless ink bottles, James bought sausages at a flying vendor, who had strapped his grill on a family-sized broom and flew around until a customer waved him down to buy a snack. Harry thought that this might be the best job yet, after being a Quidditch player obviously. The food was tasty and quickly eaten and they then directed themselves once again through the busy street, now towards the tailor. Remus trailed behind them.

"Most people go to Madam Malkin or even Twilfitt and Tatting's, you know?" said James and grabbed Harry by the elbow to circumnavigate a nasty looking goblin.

"And we're not?"

"Oh no, of course not. We are going where my father and I went, when I was a young boy. Best damn tailor in wizarding Britain. And here we are."

They had arrived in front of a lopsided little house with tainted windows and a small, blue door.

"With wand and yarn?" Harry read above the entrance.

"Exactly. That's where your dad dragged us to help him choose his wedding cloak," Remus said. "It might get a little crowded with all of us in there, though. It's best, I wait here."

James opened the door and Harry stepped inside. The room was indeed tiny, but surprisingly bright and overflowing with cloth and fabrics. Every inch of the walls was covered in rolls of textiles. On the cashier counter slept three fat hedgehogs. Some of their spikes were silver. On second look, Harry realised that they were no spikes at all, but needles sticking out of their sleeping bodies.

"The Hogwarts section is over there," his dad said, indicating a few racks near the window. "I'll fetch Ernest. He's a tad old and probably fell asleep."

The Hogwarts wardrobe did not seem to offer a lot of variety. Black robes with simple cuts were the dictated choice. Harry took out one hanger. It had a skirted attached. Hurriedly, he put it back and turned to the opposite rack. There, half hidden behind a manikin stood another boy. He had blond hair, was Harry's age and stared at him. Harry turned red, when he realised that the boy must have seen him holding the skirt. He coughed.

"Ehm, hi."

The other boy snickered. "Are you starting Hogwarts this year?"

"Yeah. Why? Who are you?"

The question seemed to please the boy, because he puffed his chest importantly and said:

"I am Ernest-"

"You are Ernest? But aren't you supposed to be old?"

Ernest rolled his eyes.

"If you'd let me finish… My name is Ernest MacMillan, but everyone calls me Ernie. And that's my great-grandfather, hence the name." He pointed to the other side of the room, where James had appeared with a wrinkly man, whose eyes were enlarged by a giant pair of spectacles.

"Ernie!" he called. His voice sounded raspy, as if he had spent most of his life in utter silence. "Be a good boy and go upstairs. I have customers to see to."

"Of course," Ernie responded. Quickly turning to Harry, he added, "It was nice meeting you – ehm-"

"Harry. My name is Harry."

"Bye, Harry!" Ernie waved at him and ran upstairs.

The fitting did not take long. Ernest the tailor might have been half-deaf, but he knew what he was doing. Most of the Hogwarts robes were standard issues and required only minimal modifications. Despite his age, Ernest worked at a good pace and directed the flow of needles so skilfully that they did not pinch Harry a single time. They then proceeded with choosing his winter cloaks. In the end, they unanimously opted for a double-layered heavy outer cloak made out of wool, paired with more than enough scarves and gloves. Some parts of his wardrobe were held in a brownish colour, but his mum explained that the crests and rims were charmed to change their colour as soon as he was sorted. When Harry left the shop, he was holding a huge bag and grinning from ear to ear.

"Did you make a new friend?" his mum asked. "That boy must have been your age."

"Oh, no. I barley talked to him."

"Then why are you so happy?"

"Because it's almost three which means, I'll get my wand."

She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Alright, alright. It's time."

She led their little group through Diagon Alley, criss-crossing rapidly in order to avoid the other witches and wizards.

"I swear, she would have been a hell of a chaser, if she were just able to catch a ball," Harry heard his dad say to Remus, who chuckled in response. They followed Lily around a mobile shopping cart, took a sharp turn left and stopped.

"Here we are."

"Where is it?" Harry asked.

"Right there."

If his mum had not told him, he probably would have missed it. The wand shop did not look like Harry had expected. No eye-catching sign, overflowing windows or attention-seeking displays of magic. In fact, with its dark façade and single wand in the shop window it could be almost overlooked. The only shiny thing about it were golden letters proclaiming "Ollivanders" and even those were peeling.

His mum seemed to sense his hesitation, because she whispered: "Never judge something from the outside. Or someone for that matter."

Harry took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The shop was dingy and just as narrow as he had guessed, but surprisingly long. It stretched on behind the counter, until it disappeared in the shadows, like an endless corridor containing nothing more than hundreds of thousands of tiny boxes.

"Mahogany, eleven inches and phoenix feather as a core," said a voice. Harry spun around. He had not realised that someone was standing behind him. He could see Remus' back through the window, in front of which stood a strange man. The man did not pay Harry any attention. His pale silvery eyes were focused on James, who just smiled wistfully. "A powerful wand, pliable and excellent for transfigurations."

"Yes, it is."

The man didn't respond. He simply turned around to face Lily.

"Ten and a half inches long, made out of willow and unicorn, swishy which works nicely for Charms."

"It does, Mr. Ollivander."

"Good wands, both of them. It seems only yesterday that you were in here yourselves, buying your first wands. Never would I have imagined though, that it would be those wands to strike down another of mine. Oh, the power it yielded. The power to accomplish great things. Terrible, yes, but great."

Harry stared at Mr. Ollivander. A silent second passed, until his dad cleared his throat.

"Well, ehm – thank you, but today we are here for-"

"-for young Mr. Potter. I remember." He clicked his fingers and a tape flew across the room. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Ehm, right, I guess. I am right-handed, so…"

Harry was not able to finish his sentence. The tape had sprung to action, swooshing around his face, measuring the distance between his ears, from his nose to his chin and the length of his forearm. It did his work while Mr. Ollivander stepped behind the counter.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same. And today we will find the right wand for you. Or more precisely, one wand will find in you its ideal wizard. Now, would you say, you are rather impulsive or indecisive?"

"Erhm…maybe a little of both?"

James chuckled, but Mr. Ollivander continued his sermon without hesitation.

"Young trees are still growing, Mr. Potter, and so are you. Time leaves an imprint on all of us. My grandfather taught me that old trees make stubborn wands, stubborn but wise. Just like every wizard changes so does every wand. Sometimes the first fits perfectly well for an entire wizarding life, but many of us will exchange their first wands for another, if great transformation strikes. But not today. Today we look for your first. That's sufficient." He snapped his fingers again and the tape dropped to the ground. Mr. Ollivander delicately put three boxes on the counter, opened one and pulled out a beautiful wand with a rounded off tip.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Just swish it through the air," Mr. Ollivander added, when Harry took the wand slowly, while admiring its polished surface. He had barely raised it, when Mr. Ollivander wrenched it away.

"No, no – here, try this one. English Oak and unicorn hair."

Harry pointed the wand to the desk, which started to tremble.

"Oh, no, down with that one. Possibly something with more restraint. Acacia and dragon heartstring perhaps?"

Nothing but grey smoke came out of the wand. Harry coughed. Then, he tried another wand and another and another. The pile of discarded wands on the counter grew steadily, just as Harry's nervousness. However, Mr. Ollivander seemed almost gleeful.

"Difficult customer, eh? Don't worry, we'll find the wand for you. Now I am thinking, maybe pear? Why not? It's definitely not dark, just like your family, and family matters..."

He gave Harry a wand of an almost golden wood.

"Pear with dragon heart, nine and a half inches. Strong and protective."

The wand felt light and Harry hoped it would like him. He swirled it through the air and a few red sparks appeared. His mum clapped, but Mr. Ollivander bit his lip.

"Not quite, yet."

"Why not?" Harry said.

"Your results depend on the match you make today. Your wand will form you for the next years, just as you will him. This is why your magic will never be the same, if cast with the wand of another. You'll want the best possible match and I have one last idea."

He disappeared between the shelves and Harry stood there, the pear wand still in his hand. He was disappointed. He liked this wand. It was the best one yet and the dragon heart core was for what he had hoped.

Mr. Ollivander came back, holding another slender box.

"Larch and phoenix feather, twelve inches, flexible."

Harry put down the pear wand and took the new one. The second he touched it, he knew that it was his. It felt warm and tingled slightly. Harry clasped the wand and raised it above his head. Showers of golden and red sparks filled the room and he started to giggle in relief. His mum and dad cheered and even Mr. Ollivander nodded. He took the wand from Harry, put it back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper.

"A good wood, Mr. Potter. Just as strong and courageous as pear, but with more of a journey to grow. I am sure you have found an exceptional match. It's curious, though."

"What's curious?" Harry asked.

"I remember every single wand I have ever sold, Mr. Potter, and it so happens that your wand has a phoenix feather core, just like your father's wand and his father's before him. Phoenix cores are rare, you must know, and such a concentration in one family… Well, I ought to remember to let your children try phoenix cores first, when the time comes."

Harry blushed fervently at the mention of him having children. His dad laughed aloud.

"Oh, don't worry. It's still a long way before you'll get a girl pregnant. Or at least I hope so." He winked.

"DAD!"

Lily came to the counter and stood between her husband and son, effectively ending the quarrel, but not without Harry sending his dad a deeply offended glare.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Ollivander. How much do we owe you?"

They paid seven galleons for the wand and left the shop without further incident.

~o~ ~o~ ~o~