A/N: So, if you haven't noticed this story is wildly AU and diverts from canon hard. There will be romance, but it will come later. Also, yes this is a repost of my old story "The Vizard of the D'yavol". I took it down because I didn't like what I had put out. I went back to the drawing board and came up with this. So ends my ramblings. Please R/R!

Shoutouts: First to my readers! You guys rock! I'm blown away by how much attention this story has gotten so thank you so much. I love you guys! Next my betas from the Flowerpot Discord Server for this chapter, HonerverseFan and x102reddragon. Check out their works! Finally, an author I am doing beta work for, though I was a bit too late to do anything with the prologue. Donerkint. He is co-writing an awesome story that has a concept I've never seen before. Check it out!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

The Shadow of Death

Chapter 1: Great and Terrible Things

In the span of an hour, his entire identity had been shattered. For nearly fourteen years he had been nobody, just a wizard who did what he was told to do. Nothing more, nothing less. It had not been an easy life, but it was all he had known. There had been pain unimaginable and suffering of the worst kind, but he had prevailed through it all. He had striven for power so those that had hurt him or tried to kill him in the past could do so no longer.

After all, who was a person without an identity to try and deny their lot in life?

That was what he had been taught. It was all he knew, really. Pain and death had been his most constant companions for as long as he could remember, and he remembered a great deal of things.

He was nobody. He was nothing but a tool to be sharpened and used in accordance with his master's will.

Or, at least, that is what he had been.

It was what they had all been taught from a young age. Those who had survived the Trials had been told that only they were worthy to continue, to grow in power. But at the end of the day, when they finally drew their last breath on this plane, they were still nobody.

In his formative years, he had fought against those teachings with great vehemence. He had known he had a name at some point. The early years of training involved mental conditioning through pain, at least when he was not undergoing rituals or learning magical theory. He had come to the institute knowing his name, knowing that he had a family. When they were done with him, he was nobody, nothing. Even to this day, he did not remember what he had sworn to never forget back then. But he did remember the agony.

All assassins were created this way. They were trained in the same way, all of them. Except for him. They were taught they were nobody. It was so deeply ingrained into their psyche that they did not want, they did not envy. Except when it came to him. The others had coveted his power, they had been jealous that he received special training. All he had wanted was power to stop the hurt and to be his master's most perfect tool. That, at least, had been allowed and even encouraged.

Many of the other assassins had tried to kill him over the years.

They quickly learned not to.

Now they feared him.

They feared him because he was strong, because he was different. He held a power they could not hope to even fathom.

He had been his master's most prized assassin. He had been the best to come through those obsidian doors in untold decades. He had been sent on dozens of the most difficult missions and had completed them with distinction, completely without complaint. Rumour and fear of his skill had spread throughout many countries across Europe, the colonies, and the Far East, though none could ever hope to find him.

After all, how does one find one who does not exist, a shadow who is nobody and nothing?

That had all changed in the last hour, though.

It angered him in a way that he had not felt in years.

Everything he had worked for, his countless hours toiling to become the perfect tool, had been thrown away like so much trash for a pile of gold. It had, admittedly, been a hefty sum. But it was beside the point. He had become the first assassin in the history of that place to be sold as little more than a slave. Assassins were hired, but never bought. But his master had planned this from the very beginning to ensure that he would not lose. Either the boy would be bought for a hefty sum or he would make the master a very rich man through many missions. It was what he had called a "win-win".

The gold he was sold for would see the institute able to support itself for easily the next two decades, and now he even had a name.

Harry James Potter.

How he loathed it. He had been nobody for nearly fourteen years and now he found himself being somebody. The role he had been built into over the entirety of his life, the foundation of who he had not been, was now entirely in ruins. He would be expected to be somebody, to meet the inane expectations of sheep ripe for slaughter. He had not exactly been happy with his lot in life, but he had not hated it either. It had been a simple existence, but one he could take a sense of perverse pride in. Now, though, he was bound to a foolish old man who wore sentimentality as a robe.

His new master, Albus Dumbledore, had balked at the mere idea of owning another human, but there was no other way. In the end, the contract had been signed and the promise of gold to be exchanged made. Both men retained knowledge of that place, but neither would be able to speak of it with another living soul besides each other. Even the knowledge of it was hidden behind magic so old and esoteric that he, himself, did not completely understand it. Such were the ways of his old master, a man seemingly immortal who claimed to have founded that institute millennia ago.

Master Dumbledore had immediately told him his name, the ones given by his birth parents. The assassin had wanted to scoff at the story of them given by his new master. He refrained from doing so, but only because he had been taught to never disrespect his master. Lily and James Potter had been weak. They were chaff struck down by the blunt scythe of a mediocre dark lord. He had killed no less than six of those himself in the last year.

The doddering old man had impressed him during their duel, at least somewhat. He was not powerful by his standards, but he was well versed in magic and very creative. If only the man were more cunning, more ruthless. Then he would not have needed help with this Lord Voldemort. Then he would not find himself bound to the man. He would have been free to continue on as he had in the past.

They had left the obsidian castle, but he had to lead the way lest they get lost. The entire time the man had rambled about Hogwarts, his dead family, and some man named Sirius Black who would apparently be overjoyed that his godson still lived. The old man even expected him to attend Hogwarts as a student and make friends with other children.

Children!

It was not something he was looking forward to at all, but he would do so because his master required him to. He had not said a word to Master Dumbledore during their trek through the Siberian wilderness, nor when they took an untraceable portkey, provided by his old master, to the British Ministry of Magic Department of Magical Transportation. The man had seemed unconcerned at his lack of participation in the conversation and had continued speaking to him as if they were old friends regardless. Perhaps he had done so to assuage the guilt he felt over owning another human. Perhaps he truly was slipping into senility in his advanced age. Who truly knew? The teenage assassin had only listened with half an ear for any useful information, but there had been little.

Apparently, his master's grand plan was to have him pose as Harry Potter, a slightly above average wizard transferring to Hogwarts from another school in the colonies where he had been sent as a young child for his own protection. He would be afforded protection behind the greatest defensive ward schemes in the British Isles. Master Dumbledore had not gone into specifics since it would be too easy for someone to overhear them. He could only assume that he would be used as something of a feint to lull his enemies into a false sense of security while being sent out on missions to undermine Voldemort's forces. It was the only course of action that would make sense, otherwise his being stationed at Hogwarts as a mere student held no tactical advantage whatsoever. Sometimes the best place to hide a weapon was in plain sight, after all.

At least, he hoped his new master had enough sense to use that angle. The history he had learned of the First Blood War had not given him much faith in Magical Britain's response for the renewal of said war. Luckily, his master had allowed him to keep his hood up to hide his identity. Hopefully, the old wizard had more sense about him than he was reported to.

"Harry." The assassin had to resist cringing at the reminder of who he now was. The two had made their way to an alley outside of the Ministry. Harry, he would have to get used to that name, knew that he had seen everything inside that building just so he could keep an eye out for any possible dangers, but he could hardly remember traversing the structure as he was so deep in thought. It was no matter, though. He would just have to reconnoitre the building under the cover of invisibility later. "I will be apparating us to Diagon Alley. We may as well pick up your things for school. Though I do believe a visit to Gringotts would be most advantageous."

Harry nodded his understanding and took hold of the man's proffered arm. The unfamiliar feeling of being squeezed through a tube dominated his senses, but before he could think on the strange sensation he appeared in a slightly dark and dingy pub filled with witches and wizards.

"My apologies, my boy," Dumbledore said genially. "I had assumed you were familiar with apparition. You look a tad green behind the gills, as it were."

"I have not apparated in years, Master," Harry responded quietly as the two walked casually through the throng of magicals, the moniker drawing a few odd looks. Many of the people in the pub tried to stop the two of them to talk to Dumbledore but were politely rebuffed by the older man before they continued on their way. Harry felt all the better for it, though he would never admit to such, since he was not accustomed to actually being visible in a crowd. "I despise the sensation so I created a better alternative a few years ago. It is almost as fast, undetectable by wards, and does not leave you feeling as if you were shoved into a muggle garden hose."

The wizened headmaster hummed in thought as he tapped multiple bricks above a randomly placed garbage bin with the Elder Wand. Eventually, the bricks began to move out on themselves to reveal the entrance to Diagon Alley. "Fascinating, we will have to speak more on your abilities later. I would assume that what you displayed earlier was little more than a tip of the iceberg."

A small grunt of affirmation was the only reply he received as the two of them walked through the opening in the brick wall. The cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley were strewn with families who apparently had the same idea as them. Both men looked around the shopping area keenly, but for two different reasons. Dumbledore, though he was looking for any possible threats, mainly focused on the magic surrounding them, basking in its beauty as though he were seeing it for the first time. Conversely, Harry only looked out for threats and possible escape routes.

The Alley was far more crowded than Harry would have first assumed it to be as he took in the witches and wizards lightly jostling each other to complete their shopping. Bustling and packed as it was, the din was a painful sensation against his sensitive ears. He had hated crowds from a young age. The thought was errant and slipped his attention as he paid more heed to the sheep herding around him. If his head were visible under the cowl the people surrounding them would have noticed a faint glow as he lessened the magic powering a rune in his ear canal. Thankfully, the noise dimmed down to a more manageable level.

"Where to first, Master?" Again with the odd looks from passersby. Perhaps they had taken issue with his vernacular when addressing his master or perhaps with his rather concealing style of dress when compared to themselves. It did not really make a difference, but he was supposed to start blending in with the inhabitants of this society before too long. Harry waited for Dumbledore's answer while he took in the dress and mannerisms of the average people in Magical Britain. He had been on far too few missions in this place to have picked up on the true nuances of the society he originally hailed from.

"Harry, I do believe it unwise to call me 'Master'." Dumbledore's shockingly blue eyes thinned slightly. It still brought him great sorrow and distaste to recall that he now owned a human life as if he were little more than a common house elf.

"But you are my master." Harry's eyes continued to dart around at the people surrounding them as they continued on their path. His keen green eyes took in every detail he possibly could in his search for potential threats, defensible locations, and avenues of potential ambush or escape. Luckily, their path was now mostly unimpeded. As soon as the people in Diagon Alley had noticed Dumbledore walking with a dangerous looking man in a drab grey cloak they had all shifted to the sides of the cobblestone road. "I am bound to refer to you as such."

Dumbledore shook his head slightly with a put upon sigh as he sent small waves at the people who greeted him.

"Such forms of address are heavily looked down upon in our society, Harry," the older wizard muttered lowly. "I would prefer that you refer to me as Professor or Headmaster as that is normally what I am addressed as, even by those who have long since left Hogwarts."

Harry nodded his understanding, though his body was still somewhat tense and readied to react violently at a moment's notice.

"However, to answer your previous question," he continued with a small smile, "We will be heading to Gringotts to reestablish the frozen Potter accounts and to withdraw the gold you will require for your purchases. Though I do believe that we will find a rather advantageous event to occur within those halls, other than you acquiring your family's funds."

The grey hood covering Harry's head shifted to the left to look up at his much taller travelling companion. "You know something regarding my family's matters, Professor. Something to help us in the times to come. So why do you speak in circles if we are, as you put it earlier this morning, allies and…equals?"

The thought of being an equal in the eyes of his master was disconcerting and more than a bit strange. It was a foreign concept to him. Harry had served his previous master faithfully for over a decade. Even asking a question akin to the one he posed to Dumbledore to his prior master would have been met with a harsh punishment. The younger wizard was definitely stronger and more capable than his prior owner, but the hierarchy of who was actually in charge had never been in question. It would take time to come to terms with the shift in dynamics, but Dumbledore was adamant that he speak freely and without reserve.

He was a bizarre man and an even stranger master. Most other men would have gleefully taken advantage of the situation, but not Dumbledore. Harry viewed this as a weakness to be exploited but did not raise his thoughts to the more experienced wizard. Perhaps there was a method to his madness. One did not become a political and magical powerhouse by accident, after all.

"In truth, I do not know what has become of your family's vaults or holdings." The two came to a halt in front of the doors of Gringotts. Harry took note of the two armoured goblin guards and the message inscribed in the door to warn off thieves but gave them little thought. "Though Sirius was named your magical guardian after your parents' deaths he had no access to your holdings. It came down to an old law that states that any family lines that had been wiped out or were in danger of being ended would have their assets frozen in an attempt to protect their holdings in case an heir was found in the future. The current minister allowed a revision of the law to be passed that would allow the Ministry to pocket the interest collected by those vaults. It prevented us from accessing your holdings and all wills were left unexecuted. The Potter vaults were just one of the many to be affected by this law."

Nodding once again, Harry turned in time with Dumbledore toward the doors. The rightmost guard touched the door with his weapon, causing the large bronze portal to open without a sound. The older wizard nodded his thanks to the guard as the two of them slipped through the door and into the atrium of the goblin ran bank. Harry had to quicken his pace to keep up with the much taller wizard as they approached an open desk.

"Good evening, Teller Griphook." Dumbledore bowed his wrinkled head slightly, never breaking eye contact with the young goblin. The addressed creature placed the ruby he had been inspecting back on his desk lightly before bowing his head to the wizard. "I wish to conduct some business that would best be done in a most discreet manner, at least for now."

Dumbledore reached into his robes slowly and pulled out an old gold key from its depths. He laid the key gently on the desk in front of the goblin. Griphook wasted no time in snatching the key from the wooden surface. The young goblin turned it gently, his dark beady eyes taking in every last detail of the seemingly ordinary key for several moments before he put it in his mouth and bit down on it harshly. Griphook's eyes shifted over quickly to look over Dumbledore's companion, but if he knew the identity of the person he did not show it.

"This key is authentic," the goblin growled, jumping off of the tall stool he had been sitting upon. His short legs brought him around the desk quickly, if not a bit clumsily due to his age. Older goblins were generally more elegant in their gait. "You have finally found him, then. I will take you both to see the account manager. Follow me, please."

The two men followed the much shorter goblin, his legs moving rapidly so they did not have to conform to a slow pace. Harry took notice of the many halls Griphook led them down, having no issues remembering the maze they were led through. His memory and having grown up in a more complex structure allowed him to recall the path they had taken perfectly, though it undoubtedly would have left the average person lost. It was little more than a subtle show of power, an unconscious reminder that the bank's customers were in a sovereign country with no rights or power of their own.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a door with a silver plaque that read, "Rotgut, Account Manager for the Noble and Ancient House of Potter." Griphook ran a finger across the plaque. The trio waited for a few seconds before they were bid to enter by a slightly muffled and gravelly voice.

Harry and Dumbledore had to duck through the door after it opened. It had obviously been made with goblins in mind. It was yet another reminder that those who entered were only allowed to be there by another's good will. The office was extremely Spartan, bereft of any adornment and only contained what was necessary to do a banker's job. To Harry, this boded well for his house. It told him that this goblin, Rotgut, worked with a single minded purpose to further both of their assets. As secluded as he had been, Harry was aware of goblin culture and mindsets. The threat of a goblin uprising was always present, and his previous master had been under no illusions that they would not have been called upon in the event of another goblin rebellion.

"Account Manager Rotgut," Griphook called out from behind them as the two wizards stood in front of the old goblin's desk. "Mister Potter and his companion, Lord Dumbledore, have requested an audience with you to inquire about House Potter's holdings."

Rotgut dismissed the teller with a careless wave of his hand. As the door closed behind Griphook the old goblin grabbed a tankard that smelled of piss and took in a large gulp of the oily looking liquid.

"And why should I assist you, Mister Potter?" Rotgut slammed his hand down on the desk in front of him and bared his sharp teeth in a show of mild aggression. Neither wizard moved at the harsh tone in the goblin's question. "You have ignored my summons for four years and have allowed your family's holdings and my profits to wither away for more than a decade. I have become a laughing stock among my kin because of your indifference! So, tell me, Wizard, why should I do anything for you?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak but was silenced when Harry placed a light hand on his shoulder. It would be seen as an act of weakness should he allow another to answer in his stead. The old wizard nodded, though his lips were now set in a tight line beneath his white beard. Taking his hand off Dumbledore's shoulder, Harry slowly lowered the hood covering his face. His hard eyes stared directly into the goblin's, showing that Rotgut's display had done nothing to cow him.

"Well met, Account Manager Rotgut," Harry intoned formally. He placed his left fist on his right pectoral and bowed slightly at the waist. The addressed goblin returned the gesture, though it was decidedly less crisp than Harry's own. The young wizard ignored the purposeful slight from the creature. "May your enemies' blood stain your blade."

"Let us hope that your enemies' gold flows to your vaults, Mister Potter." Rotgut took another deep drink of his swill and gestured rudely for them to sit. "Enough with the pleasantries. Why are you here?"

Harry pierced the goblin with another hard look.

"I am here to make us wealthy, Account Manager." Harry ignored the disbelieving stare Rotgut sent his way. He would prove his words as true in the near future.. "As you are aware my family's vaults have been sealed in accordance with our law and the treaties between our nations. What you are unaware of is that I was taken after Voldemort's attack on my family. I have been unreachable by any means since then. I apologize for the situation I have put you in, Master Goblin, but I never purposefully ignored your summons. In fact, I returned to Britain just today. Gringotts was the first place I wished to visit."

Rotgut raised one bushy, white eyebrow at the young wizard. He was accustomed to young heirs such as him blustering about their importance and insulting him. This, however, was a welcome change. Harry Potter knew where the power lied.

"Then where have you been, Mister Potter?" the old goblin asked in little more than a growl.

Harry smirked at the question. He had him exactly where he wanted him. "You know where I have been, Rotgut. Goblins know what lies in the dark mountains of Siberia, though they do not speak of it. I have lived there for the past fourteen years."

Dark, beady eyes widened significantly at the information. Rotgut began shaking and attempted to hide it by taking another drink of his swill. He eyed the ward on the back edge of his desk that would alert the bank to the presence of a hostile, but he refrained from doing so. Harry Potter would die, but he would likely take many goblins with him. It would be best to wait and see what the wizard had in mind. Rotgut shifted his gaze to the white-haired wizard and saw that he was looking at him in slight confusion. And rightfully so. The goblins did not make it known that they conducted any dealings with that place.

"Very well," Rotgut coughed to clear his throat, though he continued to eye Harry warily. "What can Gringotts do for you today, Mister Potter?"

"I assume you have a listing of all my family's assets and holdings?" Rotgut nodded jerkily at the question. "I would like a copy, Account Manager."

"I cannot give that to you, Mister Potter." Rotgut cringed almost imperceptibly at the glare the teenager sent his way. "Your accounts have been frozen and neither of you are Ministry representatives. Your accounts can only be unfrozen by a head of house."

Harry made a show of tapping his chin in consideration for a few moments before turning to look at his master. "Professor, you were the Chief Warlock so I assume you are well versed in Magical Britain's laws. How would I become Head of House Potter?"

"You would be unable to, according to our laws, until you have at least completed your OWLs, Harry," Dumbledore muttered almost absently. Harry waited patiently for him to continue. "However, I do know of one international law that would be in your favour."

"Please elaborate, Lord Dumbledore," Rotgut quipped impatiently. Goblins had little tolerance for superfluous exposition and this man was known for being the champion of doing just that. "Time is money."

Dumbledore's beard twitched at the goblin's use of the old muggle adage. "It is an old law that was passed by the ICW before either of your times if I am not mistaken. Most of Europe was devastated by the war with Gellert Grindelwald and left many old families either eradicated or with no children who had reached their majority. If left untended, the magical economy would have collapsed after the flames of war were extinguished."

Rotgut growled and gestured to the old wizard to hurry.

"Apologies, Master Rotgut," Dumbledore chuckled. "The law, which was added to the ICW treaties with the goblin nation, allowed the last surviving scion to take up their headship prior to reaching their majority. The correct forms must be signed, but it is more of a formality as the law has not been used in many years. I am afraid this will only give young Harry the ability to freely perform magic and to manage his assets. Our government does not formally recognize this law, but we do not have the power to completely overturn or ignore it. The Potter Family Seat in the Wizengamot will remain vacant until Harry comes of age and he will not be referred to as Lord Potter. Inside Britain, Harry would only be recognized as the Heir Apparent of House Potter, with a few additional benefits normally not afforded to heirs. Internationally, he would be recognized as a proper Lord."

The young assassin smirked at the opportunity presented to him as Rotgut pressed his right thumb on a rune engraved in the desk and shouted in his guttural language. Harry understood enough of it to know that the goblin was confirming the information and requesting any forms that were hidden in the bank.

It was not everything that he would have preferred, but the knowledge that he would have gold to fund his efforts in the war were good enough for now. Dumbledore and most of his allies did not have the funds to support the coming war, especially when the Black holdings were nearly drained of their wealth to buy him from his former master. Additional coin could only be a boon for them, though political power would have been welcome as well. Harry was not under the illusion that he would be a political powerhouse, but using his supposed fame, some well-placed threats, and perhaps a few bribes would have at least helped their position. He resolved to learn more of the current political climate in Britain when he determined he did not know enough.

Harry was brought from his silent musing when the door opened to reveal a rather ancient teller hobble through with a small stack of aged, yellow parchment. The goblin placed the parchment on Rotgut's desk before directing a sneer at the two wizards and walking out the door. Rotgut pulled out an elegant black quill from one of the doors and set it on top of the parchment before pushing it roughly toward Harry. The young man quickly read through the small stack, seeing nothing amiss. He picked up the black quill and directed a sharp look at the old goblin.

"Is there anything that I need to know about, any unknown contract that will become active when I sign this document?"

Rotgut gave him a sinister grin. "I cannot tell you that, Mister Potter, as you are not a Ministry Representative."

Harry glared at the goblin for a moment before signing the stack of parchment in the required places. A white flash came from the parchment before it duplicated multiple times and disappeared. Harry looked down at his hands and saw nothing.

"I almost expected a ring," Harry muttered in a bored tone, causing Rotgut to chuckle menacingly.

"Heads of House do not wear a House Ring, Master Potter." Rotgut reached into his desk and pulled out another small stack of parchment. He tapped one long, gnarled finger on it and the stack duplicated. Harry reached out to grab the copy of the parchments. "Doing so would only signify what they are and make them more noticeable targets for their enemies. Wizards are often foolish, but they do take possible threats rather seriously…most times."

"Thank you for your service, Account Manager Rotgut," Harry intoned slightly louder than necessary as he stood. Dumbledore followed his example moments later before both men rendered the goblin another customary salute in parting. "Unless there is anything pressing, I will review these documents in my own time and will forward you any investment opportunities that will benefit us both."

Rotgut also stood and walked them to the door but stopped without opening it. "Only one item, Master Potter. By becoming an emancipated minor and acting Head of House Potter you have enacted a betrothal contract with House Delacour of France. You will find the details in the contract, though I am sure Lord Dumbledore may be able to provide additional details. Good day, Master Potter."

The young wizard could only hide his grimace and nod as both men trooped out the now open door toward an impatiently waiting Griphook. Harry had done well during the meeting and had kept the upper hand throughout most of it, but Rotgut had scored the final riposte in their verbal battle. Such was the way when dealing with goblins. Wizards rarely ever came out on top.

*****BREAK*****

Shopping had been an entirely new experience for the young assassin, an activity he had never really had a need of in his old life. Harry had been given everything he needed for his missions. The only thing he ever had to buy with the pocket change he was given was food during some of the longer missions. His master and he had spent the day visiting with various shop proprietors browsing their wares. Mostly, they had only bought what was strictly required for his tenure at Hogwarts, but Harry had bought a few things that he felt may be useful. Most of those items would only be used while sleuthing through the halls or elsewhere, but the new Firebolt and snowy owl would see other uses in time. All in all, Harry could only come to one conclusion regarding the activity.

Shopping was tedious and dreadfully boring.

The shops rarely sold any exotic wares that he would find useful. Honestly, if his books were anything to go by the same could be said for his courses at Hogwarts. The books he had purchased, outdated as they were in regards to ever evolving magic, were relegated as little more than reference material to what they learned as children. Harry did have to admit, however, that undergoing rituals at a young age that forced their magic to mature early did put the assassins several years ahead of normal students. Sadly, that was the ritual that had most often killed the children. Less than half had survived it, their young bodies unable to handle the vast increases and changes in their magic. Their deaths had always been both painful and violent. Such was the price of power: magic always took its due.

The two had discussed the betrothal contract under a privacy ward during a short lunch in the Leaky Cauldron. When Rotgut had mentioned it Harry had immediately begun to worry that the contract would require more of his time than he hoped. The young man was a trained assassin and had a long term mission in Britain. Whiling his time away over potential romances or unions had never factored into the equation. He had no need for such things. Emotions and love were weaknesses, wastes of time that he could not afford in his line of work. Such faults had been heavily punished in his former life. Now that he had a new life and could technically partake in such activities was not even worth being considered.

Thankfully, the contract did not require much of him. It laid out a bride price, which, while substantial, would not drain his vault. It had been drawn up between the two families in the late 1940s and was little more than a union, a formal alliance, between the two families. It detailed some joint business ventures and political policies on the international level, but it actually required very little of him. Harry Potter was formally betrothed to the eldest Delacour Heiress, whoever that was. They would not even be required to be married until a year after he graduated Hogwarts, assuming he was the younger of the two of them. He was happy she was French. It meant that he would not have to interact with her until they wed. Then, after that, she could go happily along with her life. There had been no clauses for producing heirs within a specified time, only that the attempt be made. For all that he cared, she could have as many secret dalliances on the side as she liked as long as it did not hinder him.

He would have had no reluctance to back out of the contract if it did not mean that he would lose the vast majority of his wealth to House Delacour. No, he would have to go through with it, but at least he had a few years before he had to deal with it.

"Ah," Dumbledore exclaimed, bringing Harry out of his silent brooding, "We have arrived. Our last stop of the day."

Harry looked up at the sign hanging beside the door of the slightly decrepit shop. Faded letters let him know that they, indeed, had arrived at Ollivander's, though Harry highly doubted the shop had existed for as long as the sign claimed. False advertisement seemed just as alive and well in the magical world as the muggle.

"In we go," Dumbledore said gaily as he opened and held the door open for Harry. The young wizard had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the man's overly annoying levity.

"I do not see why you insist on attempting to fit me for a wand, Professor," Harry groused a bit petulantly as he entered the dusty shop. "I told you that I cannot use wands. I have burned out dozens in the attempt to do so. My previous…instructors were quite flummoxed when that happened."

The old man chuckled slightly as he entered in behind Harry. "Humour an old man, Harry. I believe Garrick will be able to provide an interesting solution for you. Perhaps we may even learn something, though I do intend to speak with you about your…issues with wands at a later date."

"Professor, there has only ever been one wand that has worked for me." Harry gave a pointed look to the man's right sleeve where they both knew the Elder Wand was hidden from view. "All others have failed. I admit that I am curious as to why that is. Perhaps this Ollivander could tell us?"

"Tell you what, Mr. Potter?" an aged voice greeted their ears. The voice was smooth but sounded dusty, if such a thing were possible.

Harry and Dumbledore turned slowly at the voice to look upon a wispy, white-haired man who looked as if he would belong more in a museum than in a store. Ollivander wore a rather dated brown suit without a tie and held a somewhat stooped posture that only came with advanced age. His eyes, disturbing as were, had obviously been steel grey at one point but were clouded over and gave his irises a silver colour. Harry felt as if the wand maker's eyes could stare into his very soul, despite his strong occlumency shields. The youngest wizard in the room was silently relieved when Ollivander turned his piercing gaze to regard Dumbledore.

"Ah, Headmaster Dumbledore!" Ollivander straightened a bit, his eyes alight with amusement. "If memory serves, my father sold you a wand. Cherry, fourteen inches, unyielding, with the tail hair of a particularly mischievous unicorn foal if his records are correct. However, that is not the wand you have used these last decades." His gaze turned deathly serious as he looked at Dumbledore's sleeve hiding the Elder Wand. "However, I sense that Wand is no longer loyal to you. Most curious, indeed."

Ollivander's knowing eyes turned to regard Harry. The teen fought the urge to squirm slightly under his cloudy gaze. Truly, no other person had been able to unnerve Harry the way Ollivander seemingly did with ease.

"Your memory is as sharp as ever, Garrick." Dumbledore's loud statement cut through the tension that had settled over the room like a thick paste. "Unlike my own as of late. However, we are here to see about a wand for young Harry. It seems his old wand no longer suits him and he will have need of a new one before he begins school this year."

A measuring tape flickered to life from nowhere, but Harry was unsure how it was possible. Ollivander had been scrutinizing him the entire time Dumbledore had been speaking and had not moved a muscle. The measuring tape forced him into several different positions as the ancient wand maker continued his scrutiny of the young assassin, occasionally letting out soft hems and haws in thought. After several minutes the tape fell lifeless to the ground at their feet, but Ollivander continued his study.

"You are most peculiar, Mister Potter." Garrick Ollivander narrowed his eyes and raised his right hand to rub the silver stubble on his chin. Dumbledore walked slowly to sit in a chair in the corner, seemingly amused at Harry's well-hidden discomfort. "Albus, though he had good intentions, lied."

Both men started slightly at the blunt, quiet statement.

"You have never bonded with a wand in the traditional sense before today, Mister Potter." Ollivander sent his aged companion a knowing look as he glided across the room toward Harry with the deadly grace of a dementor. The old man closed his eyes and ran his hands over Harry's form without ever touching him. "But you have, in a sense, owned many wands over the years, haven't you, Boy? Though they were taken, never truly yours, they are…here with you. They cry out for their masters, but your will subverts their own. They fight your magic but they lose and submit to you regardless."

Dumbledore paled at the implications of Ollivander's mumbled ramblings. Harry's green eyes widened slightly, showcasing his shock that the wand maker had figured out even a portion of his own secret magic. Garrick Ollivander extended one gnarled finger and ran it lightly over the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, still as fresh as the day he had received it from Voldemort.

"It is a peculiar magic you wield, Mister Potter." The man closed his eyes and continued stroking Harry's curse scar almost reverently for a few seconds in complete silence. Opening his eyes suddenly as if awaking from a nightmare, Ollivander backed away several paces. "Though it is not one that I would wish to share with another. I fear doing so would have consequences most grave. I fear there is only one wand that would best suit you, boy."

A quick look at Dumbledore saw the man grasp his right forearm with his left hand protectively. Harry turned back to face the wand maker. "So you do not have a wand I could use in lieu of the Headmaster's? He seems loath to part with it and it is not my place to demand it."

Ollivander chuckled slightly at the question. "I didn't say that, dear boy. But you are wrong. None before have held a claim over The Wand as you have. It is yours more so than any other who has ever owned it before. To take it from you would require nothing less than your death. However, as it is not your place to possess it yet, I believe I have one wand which would be of great use to you, Harry Potter."

Without another word, Ollivander abruptly turned and walked toward the back of his store at a crisp pace that belied his age. The sound of boxes hitting the wooden floor of the store and light curses floated into the storefront that held the still gobsmacked duo. A few short minutes later Ollivander came back into the room holding a dark wand. Harry reached out with his right hand but stopped when the wand maker jerked the wand back quickly.

"Holly, eleven and three-quarters inches, nice and supple, with the tail feather of a phoenix," Ollivander stated succinctly. "I have known for many years that this wand was meant for you and you alone, Mister Potter, though I will admit I had expected you four years ago. I will expect great, and possibly terrible, things from you."

"And how could you know that, Mister Ollivander?" Harry gazed at the man warily. He likely knew much more than he let on, though Harry was not sure how the man possibly could.

Ollivander stroked the holly wand almost lovingly as he held it against his withered chest. "Besides your magic? The phoenix that gave the feather for this wand gave only one other. Your wand's brother is the one that gave you that scar. Naturally, there is a great deal of myth surrounding wand lore as we are not wont to share our secrets. But there is much you can tell of a person and their magic by the wand, or in your case wands, that they carry. That is, if you know how to see and listen."

Harry stared silently at the man, his mounting frustration at the man's circular rhetoric apparent in his eyes.

"Now, I assume you are ambidextrous?" Ollivander received a short nod in reply. "Excellent! I fear that this wand will interfere with The Wand in the future if both were in your right, so please go ahead and destroy the one in your left. Quickly, if you do not mind. We have spent too long here and I am sure I will have other customers."

This was possibly the strangest person he had ever met. Harry looked down at his left hand in slight confusion. He had never destroyed one before. Integrated, yes, but destroyed? Never. They were too precious for such a thing. Harry was not even sure if he knew how. However, Ollivander was obviously a master of his craft, far more so than he. Harry closed his eyes and pushed his magic with the intent to destroy into his left hand, but he did not release it.

When Harry opened his eyes he found his left hand wreathed in black flames, though they did not burn him. He could feel the magic begin to fade after a few seconds, permanently destroying that which had given him power for so many years. It saddened him, in a way, to lose something that was so tightly ingrained within himself.

After two minutes it was no more, but it would soon be replaced by another. Something that hinted at power yet unveiled.

"Great and terrible things, Mister Potter," Garrick Ollivander muttered ominously as he held out the holly and phoenix feather wand to Harry's now reaching digits.