There were colours whirling around them, and both of the twins just stood on either side of Hagrid, mouths open, gaping at the astonishing sights before them. The brick wall had melted seamlessly into a high, vast doorway large enough for even Hagrid to pass through. But it wasn't this small bit of magic which had so entranced the young children – it was the sights beyond it. There was a bustling city street unfurled before them, the cobblestones damp and slick from a humid drizzle, witches and wizards passing by quickly, destinations as varied as the clothes they wore. The shops were crooked and leaned, slightly stilted, against one another, and most of them were bedecked with colourful posters with advertisements which actually moved. Sound crashed over them, like waves on a beach, and Jean was too bewildered to discern singular voices in the tumult of sounds weaving together. Her eyes, however, drank up the sights; confined to the dull gray world of the orphanage, these bedecked and magical images shimmered before her like a tantalizing mirage. There was a portly man with a lime-green cloak drawn about his stout body peering in a shop window, frowning beneath his spectacles; A group of small children and young men were gathered around a clear glass display case where a sleek, polished broomstick was for sale. Excited whispers rose like steam from a kettle, and Jean caught snatches of conversation, whirling and soaring into her ears like a bird released.
She could hardly bear to follow Hagrid and Harry – there was so much to see, just standing here, that she didn't think she could actually move. There was a deep, resonant feeling of proof – any doubt that this had all been a hoax, a cruel joke, vanished completely, replaced by a tentative happiness and a wary euphoria. With the feeling of a man leaving prison for the first time, Jean shuffled slowly behind Harry and Hagrid, fingers burying themselves in the folds of her skirt as she squeezed and pinched her legs to ensure it wasn't all a dream. Harry seemed just as excited as she; the two of them were gaping and staring, awestricken, at the people and buildings around them, and Jean noticed for the first time that there seemed to be several other children in similar states of astonishment. They too, she decided, had just received the ridiculously outrageous news, and were also witnessing these things for the first time. This comforted her slightly, and as they drew directly into the crush of the crowds, Jean felt a little less afraid. People scared her – most people, anyway. Miss Simms and a select few of the orphans didn't scare her, but random strangers and new acquaintances made her feel shy and awkward. Jean avoided them at all costs.
"Where are we going?" Harry called over the babble of the crowd around them. He was far more excited than his companion – the dark-haired girl who was supposed to be his "sister" seemed apprehensively frightened of the crowds and noise, although there was a lingering warmth near her eyes. Hagrid answered in his deep, loud voice which pealed out well over the roar of the crowd.
"Gringotts, the wizards' bank," Hagrid shouted. "On'y one in Britain. Run by goblins."
"There's banks for wizards?" Harry asked, and remembered the handful of copper coins he had discovered in Hagrid's pocket. Of course, wizards had to have their own currency. Hagrid nodded sagely at Harry's question, and seemed prepared to answer it, but a fresh bout of giggling witches cut him off. There was a bright pink store which seemed to be drawing most of the female attention – alluring scents wafted out into the streets, and some of the men were blinking and shaking their heads as they tried to clear their minds of the seductive aromas. As they passed the salacious store, Hagrid changed course and the two Potter twins saw a sleek, tall building hewn from polished white marble standing aloofly in the distance. Golden letters spelled Gringotts in bold, striking type, and there was a steady stream of witches and wizards passing through the heavy brass doors. Due to Hagrid's great size, people cleared a path for them, and it was then that Harry noticed several people staring at them. Some of them were mouthing "The Potter twins?" to one another, and the feeling of being stared at felt distinctly uncomfortable to Harry. He mussed up his dark hair and spilled another bolt of black curls into his eyes, covering his scar a little better.
Entering Gringotts, there was the distinct aura of foreboding – high, drafty ceilings echoed every minute rustle of fabric and every whisper of words, cataloging them and bouncing the syllables back mockingly at the people who uttered them. The Potter twins followed Hagrid quietly, threading through the soft velvet ropes which blocked clean aisles through the slick marble floors. Desks of impressive height were carved along the walls, with short creatures moving behind it. Due to the lack of height in both Harry and Jean, the goblins were invisible to them until one of them drew quite close to the desk. When it did so, it smiled nastily, revealing expansive rows of crooked, needle sharp teeth which jostled for place in the goblins' mouth. Tan skin sagged slightly on their angular faces, and a spiky thatch of hair sprang between their long, pointed ears. Sharp nails, more like claws really, tapped against the marble desk as the goblin surveyed the trio. "Do you have a key?" The goblin asked, its voice hissing and crackling, like a bad quality television set.
Hagrid momentarily looked surprised, and then jumbled in his pockets for a moment. "Just a mo'," He muttered, and began piling things up on the desk. Soggy dog biscuits, crumpled newspapers, loose change, and a dead mouse were just a few of the items which were unearthed by Hagrid's thick, ham-sized hands, but he emerged victorious with a dented brass key. "Knew I 'ad it 'ere somewheres," He grinned, and passed it over to the long-fingered goblin. He leaned over conspiratorially to the goblin, dropping his voice so Harry and Jean had to strain to hear. "An' I'll be pickin' up you-know-what in vault you-know-where," He whispered loudly, then tapped the side of his nose with a big finger.
"Very well," The goblin said, and turned to another goblin. "Griphook! Take our ..." His smiled turned into a predatory leer – "... visitors down to their vaults, if you please."
They emerged not half an hour later, shaky, pale, and sweaty, nerves jangled from the bizarre cart ride. Jean's vision doubled, swam foggily, and then settled as her breathing became squeaky, and her heart jumped erratically in her chest. Tight, enclosed spaces were not her favorite place – tight, enclosed spaces in the dark even less so. And combined with the tiny cart hurtling on a rickety metal track, plummeting deep into the yawning maw of a bottomless abyss .. Jean had not been a very happy girl going down to their vaults. She had buried her face in Hagrid's moleskin coat for the remainder of the journey, and even now, back in the glaring sunlight, the fear of it still lingered. Still, a glossy image sprang to the forefront of her mind – gold. Piles of thick, buttery gold coins, heaps of gleaming silver discs, stacks of glittering bronze Knuts, all for her. Well, her and her brother – it had been a joint account, an account which had belonged to her parents but now belonged to her – them. She snuck a look over at Harry – her brother – and tried to see the similarities. The most noticeable similarity were the glasses, she agreed. The same jaw perhaps, but their eyes were different – his a beautifully complex shade of emerald green, hers a relatively plain display of golden brown.
Madam Malkin's Robe Shoppe was nearly empty, except for a beautiful redheaded woman browsing in the back aisles, and Jean was slightly relieved. She, like Harry, had noticed the people staring and had been remarkably unsettled by it. Also, the idea of being outfitted for clothes that fit was exhilarating in that deliciously feminine way in which no male can fully understand or appreciate. Madam Malkins was a thin, birdlike woman with iron gray hair pulled sharply back into a bun, and her wand was a short, pale stick which twitched deftly as rulers measured the twins for fitting. The stood on stools, both feeling slightly awkward, until Harry noticed the blonde haired boy standing about ten feet away. The boy had a snooty, distinguished air which seemed to linger around those of aristocratic birth, and there was a privileged lushness to his hands and eyes which belonged only to the wealthy. The blonde boy caught Harry's look and curled his lip slightly. "Hello," He said, and there was a soft drawl skimming his words, something lazy and sneering about his accent. "Going to Hogwarts this year, are you?"
"Yes," Harry answered, feeling stupid – he didn't quite know what else to say. Jean had gone very quiet next to him, and he decided she wasn't good around people. She hadn't said so much as two words to him, after all, and now she was positively cringing away from the blonde boy.
"So am I," The blonde boy smirked. "What House do you think you'll be in? My whole family's been in Slytherin, I hope to go there," He said, and looked over at the twins.
"Mm," Harry said, the awkward feeling increasing. Either the blonde boy didn't notice or didn't care.
"Ravenclaw doesn't sound too bad, but I'd rather die than be in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" He asked, turning cold blue-gray eyes to Harry and Jean. When the dark-haired siblings said nothing, he continued. "Still, I think the most outrageous thing is that first years can't have brooms. My father says it's the rules, but I think I can smuggle one in somehow. Do you play Quidditch?" He asked.
"No," Harry said truthfully. He hadn't the slightest idea what the boy was talking about. Houses? Quidditch?
"What about you?" The boy sneered, looking disdainfully at Jean. "Do you talk?" He demanded.
She nodded, cheeks turning scarlet from shame, and tried to think of something to say. Luckily, at that moment, Madam Malkins shoved a crinkled paper bag into Harry's arms. "Thank you, darling," Madam Malkins said. "Take care now!" She called after them, and Jean headed directly for the door, cheeks hot and red enough to rival a setting sun, and Harry left behind the cruelly laughing blonde boy and the busy Madam Malkins as the two of them went out into the street.
Jean took a long gulp of air, trying to settle her nerves. Everything had happened so fast - and she didn't like meeting new people like that. She wanted everything to be bare and exposed from the beginning; Jean wasn't a person who liked to unravel people's secrets. Everything should be out on the table in the beginning of a relationship. And randomly meeting people in a shop was not the way Jean liked to make friends. She chose her friends with excruciating care, noting their habits to the point of obsession, and usually deciding at the last moment that the relationship was not worth the effort.
Then again, she had a very poor idea of friendship.
Ollivander's wand shop was creaky, dusty, and maintained the look of an old, charmingly abandoned attic. Full bands of sunlight streamed through cracked windowpanes, bedazzled with golden dust motes, stroking sweet fingers of warmth through the old shop. Slender boxes lined sagging shelves which stretched to the ceiling, and scrolls were also crammed among them here and there. A slightly off-balance desk was in the rear of the shop, covered in a pile of ledgers, quills, ink bottles, parchment, and bird feathers which could only be described as tawny owl. Aisles full of dusty shelves carved the shop into crammed, stifling angles which left odd corners and tiny nooks around edges which seemed perfect for a child or cat to play in. The building had a settled, homey feeling to it, and an old creaky staircase led to a loft area hidden from view. There didn't seem to be anyone around, and Jean was just about to call out when they both heard a soft, metallic noise behind them. A man leaned against a ladder, aged face lined with the promise of many years, and with fluffy white hair falling in ruffled curls to his jaw, he surveyed them with queerly electric blue eyes. "I wondered when I would be seeing the Potter twins in my shop," He said quietly, and disappeared around a corner. Jean strained to see what he was doing, and saw that he appeared to be running the tips of his fingers over the spines of the slender boxes packed onto his shelves.
"It seems only yesterday your mother and father were in this very shop buying their first wands," He said, coming back with a pair of boxes in his arms. "Try this, Mr. Potter," He said softly, and Harry set his packages down on a chair by the door. He shot a nervous glance at Jean, and took the wand from Ollivander's knotted hands. Everyone waited for something to happen. "Give it a wave," Ollivander instructed, and Harry hastily swept the wand in the air.
And entire shelf of boxes shot out and spilled along the floor. They all flinched at the noise, Jean especially. "Apparently not," Ollivander said dryly. "You try, Miss Potter," He said, handing the wand to her.
There was no reaction – no magical wash of light, nothing but the feeling of holding a dead stick in her hands. Jean felt a sheet of stupidity and self-consciousness as she jabbed the wand awkwardly at the desk, and yelped a little as a bang like a gunshot went off. The desk sloped drastically to one side, collapsing, as one of its legs mysteriously vanished. Hastily, she handed the wand back to Ollivander, wiping her hands on her jumper. "Mm," Ollivander said, slotting the boxes back on the shelves. He emerged with two more.
Harry – a vase broke. Jean – the curtains caught fire.
Three wands later, the shop was in ruins and Jean had momentarily worn a shockingly pink jumper due to Harry's helpless sweep of a wand. "The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander said every time something broke. Jean privately wondered how often these things broke in his shop, and how often he had to keep repeating that mantra through his mind.
They weren't quite sure how long they had been there, but there was a rapidly growing pile of unusable wands stacked at Ollivander's feet. He opened another one, and muttered under his breath, "Ten and three quarters, maple, unicorn hair," and then handed it to Jean.
It was like sun kissing a frosted field – warmth stole over her fingers, creeping up her elbow, heating her side as her heartbeat bled into the wand in her fingers. It seemed to pulse along with her own heartbeat, fresh and dizzyingly excited, as if the wand, too, had just awoken and was eager to do magic. Her breath suddenly left her throat as she flexed her fingers against the wand, flicking it experimentally – it felt light and agile in her fingers, smooth and slender. Golden sparks fizzled from the end, spouting over the floorboards, and her dark brown eyes were alive and dancing with excitement and magic as she stared at her wand. Harry grinned, and caught her eye – the plain brown eyes which had been so meek and scared were bright and animated as she rubbed a finger down the length of her wand.
"Ah," Ollivander said, and smiled slightly. "The wand chooses the wizard, Miss Potter," He said softly, and took the wand from Jean's hand, who was reluctant to part from it. He slipped the wand into a box and handed it to her. Even holding the box, she felt warmer.
"And now, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, those queer blue eyes focusing on Harry. "Try this one. Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core." He seemed more intent on the wand than Harry, as if afraid the pair would glow or turn blue.
It was far more violent with Harry than it had been with Jean – his hair ruffled, green eyes going bright as he held the wand, and a hot strobe of magic flared along his pulse and pierced his heart. Fingers tangled around the base, quivers of electricity seemed to shiver up his arm, goose flesh rising all over his body as an unseen wind flared his hair. Jean looked at him curiously, and Ollivander was running a finger along his upper lip, staring at the boy and the wand with an intent expression on his face. "Curious..." Ollivander whispered. "Very curious."
"No two wands are the same, Mr. Potter," Ollivander continued, taking the wand carefully from Harry. "And I remember every wand which has been sold in this shop. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are the same. Each was is unique, each wizard unique, and each form a bond to one another which goes far deeper into the soul than anyone can understand. But your wand, Mr. Potter –" Ollivander shook his head, deeply disturbed. "Your wand, is linked to another. Curious, Mr. Potter. It is curious that the owner of the linked wand is the one who gave you that scar."
A shudder pulsed through him, hot and fast, and Harry felt the urge to drop his wand at once. The moment passed, and he heard Ollivander whisper, "Terrible. Terrible, but great."
Terrible but great.
The destiny of the Potter twins was revealed by Ollivander in those simple words.
A/N: I am officially exhausted. Thanks for all your kind reviews, they mean a lot.