Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Three | Changes

"Fix it. Please, just fix it."

Simple words, right? Oh yeah, I'm going to conveniently ignore the fact that apparently, I'm not Harry and am actually Helene. That's going to take a while to get used to.

I find it funny how being chased down by a psychotic Dark Lord for five years can put how absolutely ridiculous the other parts of life are into perspective. You know, like finding out that I was born a girl, and that the person I looked up to as a mentor, my grandfather in all but blood, a man who is practically worshipped by half the populace is actively meddling with my life. Yeah. Funny. I guess Malfoy was right all along… Dumbledore isn't all he's made out to be. Sure, I'll never admit that out loud, but I find it frightfully ironic that he was so spot on.

"Mister Potter… Mister Potter? Hello?"

Huh? Shit, I completely forgot about Rockseeker. "Yes?" I reply awkwardly, unsure if I should ask him to address me as Miss, instead of Mister. I'll worry about it later.

"Please, follow me," he says, snapping his fingers and calling the attending Goblin back into the room. The Goblin quickly enters, collecting everything from the table as Rockseeker steps towards the door and beckons for me to follow. I hop out of my seat and follow him back through the corridor, but instead of moving to our right, back towards the lobby, he leads to the left, deeper into the bank. We wind through the halls for a few minutes, going further into the bank than I imagine any human has in a long time, before coming to a dead end. There's an etching in the wall, but it's quite dissimilar to the ones that I saw earlier in the meeting room.

This is more of a carving, simple and unassuming. An image of a gateway engraved into the rock, with chiseled branches twisting around its pillars. Runic script adorns the top of the gate, but they're runes I've never seen before. I mean, I didn't take the class, but these don't look Nordic, Egyptian, or Sumerian to me. I squint at the artwork. For some reason it's oddly familiar, but I can't quite place where I've seen it.

"Ah, if you're wondering Mister Potter, I do believe a fiction writer known to the muggle world as Tolkien found this work of magic quite inspiring," Rockseeker explains, nodding at my smile of understanding. I remember reading the first two books in his trilogy and enjoying them immensely. Maybe I should get the third some time soon?

"Do not worry, there are no Balrogs waiting beyond these doors. They have not been seen in many a millennium." He chuckles as he drags a clawed finger down the centre of the etching, his whispering in Goblin barely heard over the shrill squeal of his claw on stone. The lines carved into the wall begin to suffuse with a turquoise glow as the wall opens up, inviting us in.

"Speak friend and enter?"

"Yes, although it would be bad for security if it was quite that simple," Rockseeker quips. "Only a Goblin of high standing can open that door. If one of lesser repute attempts to do so… well, let's say that the results would be quite messy."

I grimace at that, having forgotten momentarily the war-faring and vengeance prone nature of the Goblin race due to Rockseeker's remarkably human-like kindness. I study the room as we enter it, finding it just as unassuming as the doorway. In fact, spartan doesn't begin to cover how incredibly bare it is. Ancient stone walls surround me, weathered, yet emanating a nearly tangible strength, very much alike the aura of magic that is home to Hogwarts. I can't see anything, but I can feel the presence of old and very powerful magic, the room is practically swimming in it. What appears to be a pensieve is the only object to be found within, resting on a small dais. There are no tables, bookcases, or remnants of anything even remotely resembling furniture. The room is completely barren.

"Now, Mister Potter… what I am about to do will be incredibly unpleasant for you, even with your pain tolerance. I've heard it to be quite horrendous to be honest. If you do not wish for me to remove this lock upon your magic immediately, or if you'd like to take time to ponder it or prepare, please let me know."

I look to Rockseeker and sigh. I'm starting to really wonder if I will ever have a truly normal life someday. At least, this should hopefully be the first steps on my path towards a semblance of normalcy, although the change will be massive. I knew on some level after waking up to this new life that there would large changes, but I don't think I really realized the sheer extent of them and how sudden they would be. Helene Potter. To be honest, it does have a nice ring to it.

I feel my stomach clench in nervousness, but also in anticipation, like I've been waiting for this moment my whole life. Excitable anxiety courses through me, the tips of my fingers and toes tingling as I realize that I'm about to turn myself into a woman, or more specifically, a girl. I feel like I'm diving into the deep end of a pool, unsure of what to expect, but this just feels like something I absolutely have to do. It looks like I'm going to have to forgo my Slytherin revival for a short while.

"No, it's fine. Honestly this isn't the craziest thing to have happened in my life. I traveled through time five hours ago, this should be a walk in the park," I jokingly concede, working over the thought in my head. Helene Potter. Miss Potter.

... Lady Potter?

Something about it just- I don't know, it clicks. I steel myself for what is to come. "Let's do this."

Rockseeker moves over to the pensieve, which upon closer inspection looks to be quite different from the one that I've seen in Dumbledore's office. I wince in remembrance, my feelings towards Dumbledore muddled, my fond memories of the past twisted by the revelations of todays meeting. I push the thoughts from my mind, instead focusing on the here and now. There are no runes scrawled into the side of the bowl, nor any liquid memories swirling within. It's simply a large stone bowl, like a birdfeeder hewn out of the mountain in a way that suggests it may have just fallen during a rockslide and happened to conveniently resemble a bowl.

Rockseeker reaches underneath the bowl and removes a knife, handing it to me. I grasp the blade tightly, fingers slipping comfortably into well-worn grooves that have been worked into the leather handle over the years, the handle shining in a way that leads me to presume that it's made of dragonhide. The knife looks to be as old as the room itself, the marbling in the metal shifting playfully in the meagre light, like a silver river slowly treading along its path.

"Now, what we are about to do here is not strictly legal within the wizarding world." Rockseeker looks at me pointedly. "I will be leading you through a blood magic ritual to release the binds on your magic and body that have been plaguing you. I will need you to bleed once again," he says, motioning towards the bowl. "I will infuse the knife in your blood and use it to carve the necessary runes onto you for the ritual. I regretfully cannot provide you with a numbing potion as it will interfere with the magic involved in the ritual."

Well, this sounds worse than I thought it would be. Why does that always have to happen? "So, you're going to carve me up? Won't that scar something awful?" I protest, not terribly excited to get any more scars now that I've gotten rid of all the old ones, apart from the lightning bolt on my forehead. I don't particularly want to earn scars by choice, and especially ones that may be recognized for their use in illegal blood magic rituals.

"No, thankfully the magic involved in the ritual will heal those wounds. There is no need to worry about any permanent cosmetic damage. Although, you don't particularly strike me as vain Mister Potter."

I stick my hands up in protest. "Oh! No, I was more worried about having visual evidence of an illegal ritual carved into my body!" I smirk at his assumption. I've only had fifteen minutes to get used to the idea of being a woman and I'm already making sure that I'm blemish free. Maybe I should keep some scars later down the line if they look interesting. Like Sirius said, 'chicks dig scars,' and maybe women who like women will as well.

God! I really am adjusting to this quickly!

"A wise precaution Mister Potter. Now, if you are ready to begin, please remove your clothes." Rockseeker doesn't even bothering to turn around, simply casting his gaze to the ceiling, his hands held behind his back. Well, he is about to carve runes into my naked body, I guess now is not the time to worry about modesty. No point in keeping the vain-train going.

I quickly strip down, tossing my old rumpled clothes to the side of the room before making my way over to the bowl. I clench my jaw as I prepare myself, running through a series of breathing exercises to calm myself down. I slash my palm open abruptly, choosing to think of it as an advanced form of ripping off a band aid. I hold my hand over the bowl, allowing my blood to flow freely into its craggy interior. Rockseeker stands next to me, watching the crimson stream pour thickly from my now clenched fist until it reaches a level he deems acceptable, waving his hand over mine and sealing the wound. He removes the knife from my hand, letting the blade soak in the bowls contents.

Leading me to a depression in the floor, he has me rest on my knees, back straight and away from the dais. The frigid stone scrapes against my legs, making me groan mentally. This isn't going to be comfortable in the slightest. Like a softened floor would interfere with the ritual? Bloody Goblins.

"I am going to begin Mister Potter, but you must do your best to not move during the ritual. If one rune connects to another in the middle of this, it will be catastrophic. You will be a living bomb until I am finished," he commands, looking much more like a Goblin warlord than an accountant in that moment.

I nod in response, continuing with my exercises. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady. I'm still tense, but hopefully the breathing exercises should make things easier. Of course, there's a small niggling voice in the back of my head telling me that I'm about to die of a thousand cuts, but if I can keep Voldemort out of my head for a couple minutes I can definitely ignore the rational side of my psyche for a while longer. Really, it should be much easier considering I've ignored it for the better part of five years.

Rockseeker begins the ritual, taking the knife from me before starting at my forehead. The knife is frighteningly cold, the sharp sting of the skin on my forehead splitting open causes me to grit my teeth reflexively. As a small trickle of blood snakes its way down the bridge of my nose I wonder at how little the ritual actually hurts, but I know this is just the beginning. Rockseeker continues to work his way down, etching runes along my cheekbones, over my jaw, the base of my skull. Slowly but surely, he makes his way past my neck, proceeding on to my shoulders and collarbones.

Okay, the pain is absolutely fucking terrible. One rune, not so bad. Fifty and counting? That's a level of pain that's only a couple steps below the cruciatus curse. I just have to suck it up as best as I can and deal with the pain as it comes. My arms are held rigid, trembling, yet not making contact with the other runes on my body and in turn transforming Gringotts and most of Diagon Alley into a blast crater. Rockseeker is working on my ribs now, making me lift my arms up and out of the way, hissing as the pain starts to get to me. All I can feel is the cold sting of air over raw, flayed skin. Every inch of my body screaming in protest against its own willful desecration.

By the time Rockseeker makes it to my legs, I'm practically bathed in my own blood, rivulets of it pouring down my body from head to toe, pooling around my knees as I hold on for dear life. I have my eyes slammed shut and a grimace plastered across my face. My arms are still held perpendicular to me, the muscles damn near close to giving out, begging me to just simply let them down and end it. I'm worried my teeth may shatter in my skull due to how hard my jaw is clenched, the ache in my jaw a slight distraction from the butchery still taking place.

I hear muttering now. The knife has stopped, and Rockseeker is beginning to chant in an ancient language, not Latin, maybe Ancient Greek? It's not Goblin, and I'm too fucked up at the moment to tell what it is.

Suddenly I can feel it, magic flowing around me, through me. The magic is so strong I can taste it, like burnt iron on my tongue. It's just there. The air is crackling within the room, making my hair stand on end. My blood is still flowing, but backwards, climbing across my body and slithering up and into my veins, seeking out its home as the wounds close behind the coursing blood, infusing me with pure unadulterated magic so thick it hurts.

The pain begins anew, the magic is seeking out my core, twisting and tearing at the bindings placed upon me, Dumbledore's lock fighting bitterly against the Goblin blood magics coursing through my veins. It's like some horrendous creature is trying to wrench open my soul, clawed hands ripping and tearing at my gut, teeth gnashing at my heart, fire rushing through my veins. Screaming, I fall onto my back, cracking my head against the stone. Writhing against the floor I curl in on myself, my throat blistering and turning raw in my protests. All I can think of is how incredible a gift death would be in this moment, before my mind gives into my body and I pass out.

-:-

Bleary eyed and aching all over I pry my eyes apart, gummy and full of sleep. Looking around I notice I'm still in Gringotts, apparently in their own private medical ward judging by the Goblin peering at me over my cot who is dressed exactly like Madame Pomfrey. Yes, I can scarcely believe it myself. A female Goblin (at least I think that it's a female Goblin, it's a lot less ugly than the other Goblin's I've seen) kitted head to toe in what appears to be a World War II nurses uniform.

"Hello Miss Potter," she hums, passing her hand over my body as she runs a diagnostic test, multicoloured lights dancing across her finger tips. "Everything appears to be in fine working order, although you will need to take this pain potion if you would like to get anything done today." Handing the potion to me she smiles expectantly. Jeez, I know she's being nice and all, but I really, really don't think I'll ever get used to Goblin's smiling. They look like some sort of constipated shark when they grin, with their beady black eyes and sharp white teeth.

Tossing the pain potion back, I sigh in relief as I feel it begin to act. I sink into the surprisingly comfortable cot, allowing the potion to work its magic. "How long do I have to wait before I'm cleared to go?" I ask, running on autopilot due to my many appearances in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Surprisingly, my voice isn't too different from that of my eleven-year-old boys self, from what I can recall of how I once used to sound. Forever a late bloomer I guess.

The nurse tilts her head to one side, in an almost Luna-esque fashion as she replies. "Why, you can leave whenever you'd like now that you've taken your medicine! Of course, Rockseeker would like to see you before you go, he has your money." She tuts quietly as she remembers something. "Also, I'm sure you'd like to take a good look at yourself and get used to the changes from the ritual," she chirps, passing me a hand mirror before returning to her work.

"Thank you!" I pipe back, grabbing the mirror and taking a look at the new me.

Damn! I look like a tiny clone of my mum!

I tentatively reach up at the springy red hair that frames my face, thick waves and curls coming down to my chin and sticking out in every which direction. I awkwardly run my fingers through my hair, surprised at how pleasantly soft it is. I peer at the mirror, studying the way the locks fall, pleased that it looks like it'll be a little easier to deal with than my old raggedy mop. I look at the blinking, bright green doe eyes that stare back at me, peeking out from underneath my fringe. I cheer internally when I realize that I've got the same eyes as before.

I lift my hand up to my face to readjust my glasses and gasp in shock. Wait! What? No glasses! I'm not wearing glasses and I can bloody see!

"This is incredible!"

I whoop loudly, jumping up and down on the bed, rejoicing my newly fixed eyesight. The nurse looks back, smirking at my antics. I calm down slightly, remembering I'm in a medical ward and peer back at the mirror, still bubbling underneath the surface with unbridled excitement.

I study the rest of my features, noting that my nose has thinned out a lot, looking more like a little ski slope than the slight beak it was before. Along with that, my lips have gotten thicker. My face is more angular, high cheekbones and a jaw cutting down into a sharp V.

All in all, I'd say I'm a devilishly cute kid! I grin at my reflection, happiness building up inside me as I realize that this is a good change. No, a great change. I just feel so bloody right now, like something was missing my whole life and I just now found it again. Christ. I can't believe I was worried about this!

I jump out of the cot, surprisingly sprightly for someone who was very literally on deaths door recently, stumbling a bit as my feet hit the ground much sooner than I thought they would. Who'da thunk it? I'm taller as a girl!

Wait… aw shite, never mind. Goblin sized beds, not people sized beds. Realizing I have no idea where I'm going I quickly ask the nurse for directions and she simply points to the right. Shrugging, I place the hand mirror back on the side-table and walk out the door to find myself in the same corridor that the meeting room was in. Happy to recognize my surroundings, I make my way over there, assuming I'll find Rockseeker waiting for me.

Cracking the door open I peer into the room, my assumption correct as I see Rockseeker seated in the small throne, poring over a sheet of parchment. He glances up and nods at me to enter, his lips turned up in a tight smile. Okay, toothless smiles from Goblins I can do. I just can't stomach when they bare their teeth at me.

"It's very good to see you up and about Miss Potter, you've been out for the last day recuperating," he greets me, grabbing a coin pouch as he gets out of his seat, handing it over. "I'm happy to see you healthy, you reacted much more strongly to the ritual than I imagined you would, the lock on your magic was quite powerful."

I scratch my head at that, curious. "The lock was quite strong? But wouldn't I have had much more difficulty with my magic if it was?" I wonder how there can be a difference in gender locks. It's not like I was an incredibly manly man, the epitome of all things testosterone. In fact, I'd say I was quite an effeminate looking boy.

"Why yes, it was very strong, but you seem to be quite the powerful witch. By the look of things, you retained your developed magical core when you traveled through time, so in essence you are already quite close to that of a magically mature adult. The most interesting part of all that though, is that your magic will still continue to mature." He pauses at my clueless expression. Magic matures during puberty you see."

Wide eyed I sputter back, "Wait! You're saying that I'm going to keep growing magically?"

"Yes. You are."

"Christ on a pogo stick," I gasp.

If I was already considered powerful in my last life, and I've now carried that over and had it unlocked, adding that magic to the amount that I have and will grow in this life… I'm shit at maths, but the only thing that adequately describes that amount of power is the succinct statement of, "Holy fuck."

"Hmm, I think people would pay to see such a thing. Do you want me to trademark that for you?" Rockseeker grins. Okay, I can get used to Rockseeker smiling. The guy… guy? Yeah, sure. The guy has a brilliantly dry sense of humour.

"If you believe we won't be labeled as blasphemers then by all means please do, I think it would make a great toy," I reply, grinning back at him. "Thank you so much Rockseeker. You've been more helpful to me than anyone ever has been, and that's including my last life."

"Thank you, Miss Potter, but I'm just doing my job." He waves me off, although his voice holds a hint of pride. "It would be a disservice to the Goblin Nation to allow you, and in turn us to be run over roughshod by Dumbledore. Now, if you have anything more that you need from Gringotts I will be happy to assist you, but I do believe you have some errands to run."

"Yes, I do have all of my school supplies to purchase, along with finding an old friend." I smile, happy to be reunited with Hedwig. "I do have one question for you though, are there any wand shops apart from Ollivanders? Something a bit more… under the table. I'm interested in finding a wand that doesn't carry the trace."

"Yes, of course, you'll need to go to Knockturn Alley to find the shop. There's a wandsmiths in the alley near Borgin & Burkes. The shop is called 'Sayre's Smithy,' after the founder of Ilvermorny. When you go there, let them know I sent you. We've had deals in the past with Sayre's."

"Absolutely, and… thank you again Rockseeker, you've been an incredible help."

"Like I said Ms. Potter, I'm just doing my job." He stands up to shake my hand. I thank him again, popping out and making my way back through the lobby of Gringotts with a skip in my step. I'm excited to meet the day for the first time in a long time, and ecstatic to walk into a fresh new world.

I head to Madam Malkin's first, wanting to get my clothes immediately. I never really treated myself to any nice clothing in the original timeline, considering Dudley would have just stolen them. It's going to be a bit difficult for him to take anything from me as I won't be living in that house anymore. It also helps that the house is probably a pile of smoldering ashes now.

Popping into the shop I'm pleased to notice that I won't be running into Malfoy, as I'm a couple days early compared to when I originally came to Diagon Alley. I order a large assortment of casual clothes for myself, deciding to stick with t-shirts, jeans, trousers, and other muggle styled clothing. Much to my chagrin, a skirt is part of the uniform for girls. It's not that I don't want to wear one, it's just that I'm not used to one and I'm unsure of the etiquette involved in wearing a skirt. I remember seeing Hermione go through little rituals every time she sat down, fluffing and preening the clothing to make sure everything settled correctly.

I am quite happy to notice that the pouch Rockseeker gave me is a money bag attuned to me and my vault, I simply have to request what I need, and it draws it from my account automatically. Very convenient.

After putting on my new clothes and getting my purchases shrunk, I pop them in my pocket and make my way into Knockturn Alley, pulling the hood up on my robes and striding with confidence into the dank underbelly of the shopping district. Not too far into the alley I see Borgin & Burkes, and a couple doors down from that the shop I'm looking for, Sayre's Smithy. I'm pleased to see that it looks a lot less dilapidated compared to its neighbours, a promising sign. Fresh paint works wonders for a first impression.

A bell chimes as I open the door, gazing around. The story is very different from Ollivanders, as it's not as dim, nor coated in a thin layer in dust. I'm quite surprised to find how well lit it is, looking nothing like my previous, albeit brief experience in Knockturn Alley. There shop differs greatly from Ollivanders, as the walls are not covered with cubbies, haphazardly secured and filled with precariously stacked wand boxes. Instead it looks like a homely workshop.

A woman is sitting behind the counter at the front of the shop reading the Daily Prophet. Behind her, cabinets are arrayed under a plain black countertop that stretches around the back of the store, labeled with the names of different woods. Above the countertop, jars with core ingredients line the wall. A workstation is in the centre of the room, accompanied by small unfamiliar tools and a series of magnifying glasses mounted onto the wood. Everything looks to be quite organized, almost like an old watchmaker's shop had a lovechild with a Wickes DIY.

The woman looks up from her reading, rich brown eyes peeking out behind thin rectangular frames, steel gray hair framing her face in a tight bob. She looks to be quite young though, maybe in her mid-thirties, and her gray hair cuts a striking contrast against her tanned, heart shaped face. I'm assuming it's dyed that way.

"Hello. Is there anything I can do for you?" She says, her voice deep and rich as peers at me over her paper.

"Yes. Rockseeker sent me here. I need a wand," I reply, glancing around the shop once more.

This catches her attention. She immediately sets her paper down, and then walks up to the door to turn the open sign to closed before leading me into the shop, setting a portable cabinet onto the workstation. She pulls a tray out of the cabinet containing different blocks of wood, and others containing what I imagine are the cores, recognizing a phoenix feather and a preserved length of dragon heartstring. A third tray contains different gemstones, something I've never seen before in a wand, maybe they're just not normally visible? It would make sense to use a gem as a focus, although I don't know if magic functions the same as light. The woman pulls up two stools and brings one over for me, sitting down on the other across the table and pushing the tray full of wood in my direction.

"Miss…?"

"Potter. Ha- er- Helene Potter."

"Not Harry?" She inquires, cocking her eyebrows at me.

"I'm afraid the newspapers were quite wrong in calling me the boy who lived, Miss?"

"McCann. Tracey McCann," she replies in a business-like fashion, curt and to the point. I appreciate that she immediately cuts to the chase, ignoring the small revelation of my mistaken gender. "Miss Potter please pass your hands over each block of wood, and pick the one, or two that feel most 'right' to you."

I run my hand over the tray, passing back and forth over the wood. I can feel some of them practically hissing at me, screaming at me not to pick them, and I can tell intrinsically that they would be terrible choices for my wand. A couple stand out, almost tugging at my hand, but not quite enough. I take a minute to pass over the woods once again and see which ones feel the best to me, basing it on how strong of a tug I get before selecting two blocks and handing them to McCann. One of the blocks is an incredibly dark gray, nearly black, the wood looking similar to Deaths ebony table. The other is pale white, almost like sun bleached bone.

"Interesting. Very interesting. Blackthorn and Yew," she mutters quietly, holding the two blocks of wood with a curious expression. "Blackthorn makes for a warrior's wand, yet Yew is associated with life and death. This is a very powerful combination. You're going to be quite the famous and notorious witch, not that you aren't already quite famous."

I shrug in reply, grimacing as I realize the waves my physical changes are going to make on the world. "Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about being famous or infamous, as much as I detest it. I'm just a kid who got lucky."

"Wise words from such a young person," she approves, taking the tray of cores and handing it to me to repeat the process. Passing my hand over the bits of sinew, hair, and bone, I feel immediately drawn to the phoenix feather. I guess some things don't change. I'm also drawn to what looks like a tiny ram's horn, glittering unnaturally even whilst in the shadow of my palm. As I move my hand back and away from the tray I feel another tug, one towards a length of silvery hair.

"The phoenix feather, that horn, and that hair," I point towards the miscellaneous bits of magical animal. McCann curses quietly under her breath, pulling the cores back towards her before pushing the tray of gemstones towards me.

"You're making my job very difficult Miss Potter. Very interesting, but very difficult," she complains, thinly veiled frustration hiding behind her curt professionalism.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know that I did something wrong. Is it that unusual to have two cores?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong." She sighs, running her fingers through her hair. "I just didn't imagine I'd have such a difficult wand to fashion today. I normally get a special order like this well in advance, although for you I can make an exception, considering who you are and knowing that you can easily pay for the wand. I know you're good for it. Just know that if you need a job like this done again, warn me in advance. Please," she asserts, wagging her finger playfully.

"Phoenix feather is incredibly finicky when combined with horned serpent ivory, they're essentially magical opposites. At least the thestral hair balances it all out…" She absentmindedly details the wand making process, her mouth moving silently as she ponders how to approach the difficult project. "It's going to take a lot of coaxing on my part to fashion this wand and get all the materials to work in harmony. The Blackthorn and Yew is already a pain on its own."

She gestures at the gems and crosses her arms over her chest, looking at me pointedly. "Now, same deal with the gemstones, but I swear to Morgana that if you select a gemstone that doesn't pair with the rest of the wand I'm going to have a fit."

I wave my hand over the gemstones, immediately drawn to a deep black chunk of rock. Sighing in relief I notice that none of the other gems have a pull on me. In fact, it's almost as if the other stones are physically repelling me, like trying to stick a magnet together the wrong way around. "That one there, the black one," I point out, slightly worried that I'm going to have my new wand stuck where the sun doesn't shine by the time this transaction is done.

"Onyx. A gem very closely associated with death. You are a very peculiar witch Miss Potter." McCann is visibly perplexed, yet there's a hint of anticipation in her voice. "Crafting this is going to take most of the day, so I would recommend you find somewhere to spend the next couple hours. Be back around six, six thirty-ish with one hundred galleons," she intones, dismissing me and getting up and rapidly moving about the shop to collect the materials needed for the wand, already focused solely on her work.

I quietly pop out of Sayre's and go off to complete the rest of purchases for school, buying my books, potions supplies, and my original wand from Ollivander's. Dear God, that man is creepy. He really should not be selling wands to kids, or even be around kids. Somehow, he just knew who I was! Something is genuinely unnatural about that man, and I'm saying that.

Making sure I've accounted for everything I need, I go to collect Hedwig, extraordinarily happy to see my old friend even if she doesn't recognize me, before heading back to the Leaky Cauldron. I rent out a room until the first of September and load off all of my shopping onto the bed before heading down into the pub for dinner. I may be a girl now, but a full day of shopping is still horrible! There's just too many choices, too many people all in one place. I don't believe I'm ever going to understand how women enjoy shopping, and honestly, I don't think they understand it either. It must be one of the great mysteries of life.

A nice full meal of steak and kidney pie, a couple butterbeers, and a healthy helping of treacle tart later and I'm off to return to Sayre's and collect my wand. Marching back through Knockturn, I head into the shop to see McCann putting the finishing touches on the wand, polishing it smooth and checking it over underneath a large magnifying glass. She looks up at the door chime before turning back to her inspection. Sitting across from her I wait and watch her work for a few minutes, admiring the show of craftsmanship before she hands the wand over to me without a word.

The wand is beautiful yet imposing. The two woods marbled and entwined, the deep rich Blackthorn laced around bright and milky yew, ending in a solid round point, a blunted yet polished bit of onyx shining out of the end of the wand. The handle curves slightly towards the bottom, with what looks like the scales of a snake etched into the grip. A hissing occamy's head is masterfully carved into the pommel completing the wand, feathers bristling out in incredible detail.

"It's incredible," I gasp, waving the wand and watching as a burst of sparks shower out of it. Shockingly, the sparks are not red this time, but a mix of the piercing white of a star as well as black sparks, more like an absence of light fluttering in the air. Something which should be impossible but, well, magic.

The truly magical part is the sheer power and control I feel holding the wand. I can grasp and mould the raw magic coursing through me much more easily. It's infinitely more comfortable than my old Holly and Phoenix feather one, feeling like it belongs in my hand, like it's a part of me, rather than a tool.

McCann leans back, smirking at me as I continue to stare at the wand, absolutely in awe of her craftsmanship. "Glad you like it, it's definitely one of my best," she boasts, sticking her hand out, palm up. "The hundred galleons?" She asks, one eyebrow quirked in challenge.

Grinning widely, I grab my coin pouch and pull out her payment, handing over the coins. "Thank you, it's worth every knut." I marvel at the intricately carved wand resting in my hand, completely in awe of the incredible work she's done. I find myself unable to peel my eyes away from it, feeling a stronger bond to her creation than I ever did with my holly and phoenix feather wand. Screw Ollivanders! This lady is a bloody artist!

"It's what I do Miss Potter. It's what my mum did, and her dad before her, and so on so forth. You paid, you get a wand. It's as simple as that."

"You're the second person today who's told me that they're just 'doing their job,'" I smirk, wondering how far she and Rockseeker go back. "If I'm ever in need of your services again I'll make sure to owl you beforehand."

"Be mindful that you do," she says, a spark in her eyes letting me know that I will definitely not get away with throwing a large job at her out of the blue again.

I slot the wand into a holster that I bought earlier, one of two enchanted to be invisible and respond only to me, something that will come in handy later down the line. The primary holster is on my right wrist, containing my new wand, while the other is on my right ankle, containing my original wand. Doesn't hurt to be prepared in case shit hits the fan.

Before I know it I'm back at the Cauldron, climbing the stairs and heading to my room. Throwing myself into bed, I don't even bother to change into pyjamas, too exhausted to do anything but crawl under the covers and surrender to Morpheus.

Edited, 20/05/18.