A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here! Just something I've been working on sparingly for fun between my other stories.

That being read, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. If you can't... well, thank you for padding my Review count. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn. There is a method to my madness, even if I don't always fully understand it. 90% of what I write, I don't write baselessly. If there is something not canon or changed from canon, there is generally a reason. If something doesn't make sense, feel free to let me know (constructively), and as long as it doesn't creep into SPOILER! territory, I'll do my best to explain it.

If you don't like it, DON'T CONTINUE READING IT! Save us both the time and effort, 'ey?

Review Responses:

- Ma6ne: Here's that next chapter then.

- Drakena: Me too. Me too.

- SDIVAD: Yeah, I'm super proud of that start.

At most, it would make him several months older than Harry, since he is technically still eleven right now (almost twelve). As far as Houses go, Spoilers.

*End of Responses

Other Descriptions: Stronger/Smarter Harry and D.A., Minimal Bashing as necessary (No hostages taken), some world reconstruction, new and obscure magics, and the power the Dark Lord knew not? A main/supporting character with common sense. Pairings are known and will be revealed as needed.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's subsidiaries. Those rights belong exclusively to J.K. Rowling, and anyone else who had a hand in their creation. I just get to have some fun sharing the experience.

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

Chapter 2: The Wand Chooses the Wizard

Regius nearly heaved over at the sudden shift from the Floo, coughing and waving at his face to clear the soot and ash they'd kicked up. The occupants of the Leaky Cauldron barely paid him any mind as he almost landed sprawled face first into the floor, if Newt hadn't gently pulled him away from the fireplace, having arrived mere moments before he had.

"Easy there. How're you feeling? Bit queasy?"

Regi nodded, feeling like his stomach had been twisted inside out, and then ejected out his left nostril. Not quite like Apparation, but… not… not like Apparation. Or maybe it was just him. Certain Wizarding magicks always twisted something odd with him. Always felt a little off. Not 'bad' off. Just 'wrong' off.

He'd take getting full shunted by a Diricawl. He didn't get sick off of that.

And most – if not all – of wizarding magical travel was a curse. But that applied to Muggle transport as well. Wagons and carts were… okay-ish. Cars were spawns of whatever foul Hellish place magic had abandoned. Unnatural, the lot of it!

"I could have just taken a puddle," he muttered, shivering at being reminded of the feeling of fire suddenly bursting around him. Harmless or no, it had freaked him out.

Newt simply smiled as he flicked the soot and ash off him with his wand. "You wouldn't have known where to go. And your magic is still developing. It would be too far for a single jump."

"Shite!"

Margie tumbled through the Floo, rolling to her feet with a nervous clear of her throat. Unfortunately, there wasn't a soul not looking at her now. Particularly of the male persuasion. Some resisted. Others didn't have a chance. Though the females that did glance at her did so with bitterness and/or envy, before smacking their respective men for those who had them. She quickly flicked away the ash and soot from her boots and skirt, sliding her wand back to its holster under her jumper sleeve.

"Ah. 'Ello lads," she nodded, pulling her jacket tighter as she grew distinctly uncomfortable at some of the continuing stares.

Regi unfortunately noticed, unwittingly seeping his ambient magic into the area around him as he glared, a low growl trembling in his eleven-year-old throat.

"'Scuse us," Newt stated firmly, snapping most of them out of their stupor even as he gently guided his son and granddaughter by the shoulder.

"Thanks, Gramps," Margie whispered, hastily following along as they were lead to the back door. She hated the stares. Unfortunately, it was just part of life. "Gets uncomfortable after a while."

"How ya doing Tom?" Newt greeted the tender as they passed by the bar, earning a nod in return from the old wizard. Other than that, he just smiled kindly as he led them out the door toward the back alley.

A small tug at her sleeve had her looking down at Barnacle as he gave her small half-smile, relieving her somewhat. He didn't look comfortable either. "Are they all gonna be that bad in the Alley?"

"They shouldn't," Newt hoped aloud, running a hand over the alley's brick dead end. It was moments like this that reminded him that Regius hadn't had many chances to interact with other people. He was a lot like him at that age. Magical creatures and beasts were more exciting and… simpler. Easier to understand and honest when you knew what to look for. People were much more complicated than that. And ruddy blinkered more often than not. "But you can never be too careful. Keep close, and keep together."

"I've had ta deal with it before," Margie reassured with a half-smile. "Nothin' I won't have ta dealt with again."

That didn't make Regi's frown let up. He understood Margie was pretty – prettier than most girls anyway, despite his lack of interaction with them – and she had her own unique magic about her; having its own strange externally manifested elements, much like his own. But it was easy to ignore. Like one ignored the wind. It was just… there. Just like magic was.

"I don't get it," he finally stated, a puzzled look on his face as he blinked blankly.

"That's– Ah! Here it is!" Newt finally found the right brick, tapping it gently with the handle of his wand. Like a series of clockworked puzzle pieces, the bricks began to mold, rotate, and fold the wall inward, gradually opening up into a bustling bazaar of shops, each side lining the alleyway they gingerly walked through.

"That's alright," Newt continued as the wall began to close behind them, walking at a somewhat brisk pace, unable to quite meet the eyes of other wizards despite his years. "Magic affects us all a bit differently." He made sure to check behind him regularly as he led them, not wanting Regi to lose him. It seemed Margie was carefully keeping track of them both though.

Thankfully, they had chosen to go about a week before school started, so they weren't part of the last day rush to get school supplies. As such, the Alley foot traffic was moderate, some others doing their school shopping today, but the crowds toned down for the most part. "Now, first things first: to Gringotts. Gotta make sure you have money to spend on what school materials you will need."

"An' if 'e doesn't 'ave money, 'e can always just stay at home," Margie added in a helpful tone, earning narrowed eyes from Regi.

They followed quickly, making sure not to lose Newt, even in the lighter traffic. With the new school term up and coming, it was still busy with the added traffic. Among the many shops and stores, Gringotts stood out with its large white building towering taller than any building in Diagon Alley. The crooked pillars that aligned its front were an odd choice in Regi's opinion, but he wouldn't claim to know anything about architecture, much less goblin architecture. That subject was too boring and he was almost twelve.

Give him the mating rituals of a Skrogal any day.

The moment they entered past the bronze and silver doors, and security guarding the front, they were met with a vast hall filled with row after row of counters and tellers, each one manned by goblins. Along the sides were doors leading to vault passages. Newt walked quickly up the front teller's desk with the child – and not-so-child – following behind.

Regi couldn't help but smirk in amusement as Margie's lips tightened, her gaze sweeping across the rows pointedly and curiously. "Looking for someone in particular?" he prodded innocently.

Realizing what she was doing, she shoved him lightly. "Oh hush you."

"May your enemies tongues fall from their mouths, and on your own dwell the taste of newly minted gold," Newt greeted, bowing respectfully. Regi and Margie followed his example of bowing respectfully. It was generally a safe bet to follow Mr. Scamander's lead, no matter the issue.

The front teller lifted his head curiously from his quill scratching at the parchment in front of him before a grin broke out on his face. "May your yields never diminish, and the bones of your enemies ground to dust," he greeted back, tipping his head in what might have been respectful. "What can I do for you today?"

"I have a Mister Regius Cernos here who would like to make a withdrawal," Newt commented easily, though not quite meeting the goblin's eyes, waiting patiently up.

When the goblin finally did look up, he reached up over the edge of his desk, pulling himself to look down at Regi. "And does Mister Cernos have his key?" That grin looked like he might try to make a snack out of the younger boy.

Regi didn't understand the bite that had entered the goblin's tone, but shrugged it off. Goblin's made a habit of making themselves seem imposing. Best just act like it was normal, or at the very least, expected.

"Indeed he does," Newt stated with his nerve-easy smile, producing said key without any issue.

The goblin simply hummed as he ran a finger over the key, sniffing slightly before handing it back. "Ripgut will take you there. Vault 617."

Another goblin stepped forth, presumedly Ripgut, gesturing for them to follow him toward an awaiting cart.

"And also," Newt continued, never once dropping his smile, but his eyes very clearly changed. As if the light in them had grown a little harder. "If you could inform your Branch Manager that Newt Scamander is here for the inspection of your dragon."

There was little to tell of the goblin's expression. His long-pointed ears barely drooped, his grin diminished a fraction, and the feral glee in his eyes waned. "Hmm. Mister Scamander, we weren't expecting you."

Regi had never seen – much less heard – of a nervous goblin, even though he put up a good show of indifference. This was probably the closest they got to it though, proud creatures as they were. And he wasn't sure what about his da' could make that so. Newt Scamander was the kindest person he'd ever met.

Period.

Seeing a goblin wary of him was… odd. And maybe a wee bit unsettling.

"I informed your manager that I would come at my earliest convenience," Newt stated with a simple cheer that didn't reflect in his voice. "As you can see, I am here."

The goblin nodded hastily. "I will see to it at once Mister Scamander. May your enemies quake with fear, and may you never see the bottom of your purse."

"May your gold never lose its luster, and your enemies weapons fade to rust," Newt ended.

As they followed after Ripgut, who had shot the briefest of uncertain looks at the front teller, before leading them to a cart.

If Regius disliked the Floo, the cart was even worse. And being so far underground. With every dip and turn and swing and… oh Merlin, it was horrible! Caves were fine, but the deeper underground they went, the more he felt the air around him grow heavy and oppressive… on top of the terrible cart ride. It wasn't even that fast, but it might as well have been.

He'd rather fecking travel by Zouwu. Much gentler on his stomach. And safer too, as far as he was concerned. Unnatural this travelling by cart. By the time they had actually started slowing down, he was practically deadweight on Margie's shoulder.

"I swear to Surminare, if you throw up on me, I'll feed ya ta the dragon down there," Margie threatened, but only half-heartedly as she began rubbing his back. It did little to alleviate his groans.

"It'd be a better alternative," he agreed, causing her to snort.

"Here we are!" Ripgut stated as they came to a stop. Finally. "Vault 617, Main Vault of House Cernos." When he turned around, he blinked at the child of said House looking half dead in his seat.

"C'mon Barnacle. We're here," Margie ushered, moving so he had no choice but to brace himself.

"Fine."

Newt hopped out, surprisingly spry for an old man (ninety-years-old mind you) before offering a hand to Margie, and then to Regius. Just as quickly he stood up again, Regi was sluggishly pulling out a piece of parchment from his pant pocket.

"Key?" the goblin asked, shaking his head lightly at their antics as he hobbled to the door. Time was money.

Newt gingerly handed over the key, and the goblin approached the door. Ripgut only wished he'd thought to bring a lantern. Contrary to some wizard beliefs, the goblins could see just fine in the low-light and dark of the tunnels, the intermediate lighting namely for their clients' sake; they just liked to subtly give wizards orders. It made them a little more tolerable when you could order one of them to hand over the lantern.

Still, Ripgut inserted the goblin-made key into the vault door, listening as the magic connected to the key properly aligned with that of the door. Vault 617 had other measures of course. The Cernos line may not have been Noble House, but it was certainly Ancient enough. Some traditions were to be upheld, for however long the lineage lasted. Such was the family's connection to magic.

"The Vault is blood sealed," the goblin informed them.

Regi huffed. "Of course it is. Couldn't just make sure it was sealed with a goblin lock, or a lineage detector. Nope. Had to be a blood seal." Just as well that his father – biological, mind you – had never seen fit to set aside a trust. Then again, his death had been rather sudden. Mother had assured him of that. As it was, Regius was the impending Head of his House, following his coming-of-age of course, at the beginning of his Sixth Year.

Ripgut snorted at that. The child was well educated if he knew of such things. Before the goblin could offer a blade to commit the deed though, Regi opened his mouth before pressing his thumb into his canine. Hard. Unflinching.

The goblin just blinked in surprise at the action, before Regi pinched at the wound to get the blood flowing, and wiped his thumb slowly through the crease of the metal double-doors, trailing a touch of red down the middle. With a groan, the doors folded inward, revealing the vault within.

Regi glanced over the parchment in his hand, carefully shaking off the sting in his thumb. "Alrighty! Did the math." He gingerly walked into the vault, making note of his horde. It was carefully organized and not as large as he would have hoped, but this was just the liquid assets. The only increase it had seen were courtesy of a few choice investment opportunities made by his father (biological), and some of mum's (Tina's) choice investments as his current financial proxy and what little interest the goblins had added to it over the years. For the most part, it just sat there like a lazy Bān-Léi, largely unaffected. Especially since most of his interest was being recirculated back into his investments. Not like he needed much spending gold anyway, but... gold.

He controlled the flare of his nostrils though. Not just to keep from inhaling the scent of precious goblin-minted metals – tantalizing though those were – but to keep from pondering the idea of laying on it. He'd heard dragons loved making beds of gold because of it was a softer metal, and wouldn't burst into flames like most nesting material would; and he could fathom the appeal. But he'd have to make it fatter first in order to lay on it properly.

There were other things besides small piles of Galleons, and spare Sickles and Knuts. A few exceptionally old pieces of jewelry boxes and jewelry from some distant late relative he would never take the opportunity to get to know; some of which felt enchanted from an initial glance as well. A few family heirlooms and "heirlooms" that he reckoned he'd have to get appraised eventually. There were even a number of "trophies"; including a displayed Erumpent horn, several sets of Peryton antlers mounted with their dappled plumage on the vault walls, two bleached dragon skulls (a Hungarian Horntail and a Greenlandic Frost-Crested Drake by the looks of them). Even a full taxidermized Graphorn, golden horns and all. There was even a radiant Phoenix egg. Some of these "treasures" were probably worth a thousand times their weight in Galleons.

"Ugh!" Margie wrinkled her nose at the trophies, as though she were smelling something unpleasant. "Real piece of work there."

"That was my family for ya. Or at least what I've heard of them," Regi stated in a small voice, as he walked up to the Graphorn, gently rubbing his hand against its chest. His lips tightened, having played with da's Graphorns on several occasions. This was a pale imitation of their natural beauty, even if the taxidermy was flawless. He much preferred to feel the warmth, meditate on the sounds of their hearts thrumming instead of this cold, empty shell. "Loved to hunt magical beasts. The rarer or more dangerous, the better. Didn't hurt that virtually every part of them could be sold off too. Didn't even think they'd keeping any of them in here though. Thought those would be at the main house when I became emancipated."

Big words for an eleven-year-old.

His hand flinched when he felt the Phoenix egg, and his heart sank. It was supposed to be hot to the touch, a sign that as momentous an event as a Phoenix hatching was about to bring such rare, new life into the world. But it wasn't. It was so cold, and lifeless. Something so unique and precious, snuffed and gone before it even had a chance to take its first look at the sun.

At least it wasn't rotting. But… phoenix eggs just… died. Their insides fading to rare and invaluable unborn ash. A true death. No flames and rebirth to crawl back from. And he couldn't help but hate whatever relative of his had claimed it. Of all the things here, this was probably the most valuable.

And the most sorrowful.

He understood killing. Killing to eat. Killing to survive. Life and death was all apart of nature, especially where magical beasts were concerned. The hunt was necessary. As long as a need was met, then he could let it be. But… this wasn't nature at work. Most of these hadn't been killed to serve a need; even one as subjective as for potion ingredients. disagreeable though he found it, he still understood it.

These had only been for the sake of pride and ego.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Newt giving him a sad – almost pained – but reassuring smile. He didn't have to deal with his family's skeletons now. The vault would always be here for him to brood about later. Assuming he didn't get it in his head to burn it down. Leave that headache for when he was officially Head of his House.

Swallowing heavily and suppressing a sniff, he pulled the parchment back up, going over the calculations again before beginning to pull from the pile.

Ripgut didn't have much of an opinion on the proceedings. It wasn't his job to care. But he did note however that the boy took plenty, but certainly not enough for all his First Year school supplies. 75 Galleons was too little an amount for all the clothes, wand, books, and utensils. First Year was always an expensive investment for young wizards, but an investment none-the-less. Pending necessary replacements of course.

"That's a little low, isn't it?" Newt asked. The goblin appreciated the question, though didn't bother to voice his own curiosity. Wasn't his business.

"I'm cutting costs where I can," Regi answered in a subdued tone. "I'm reusing Margie's books since they're in near perfect condition." Ripgut nodded. It was a smart financial move to reuse items when possible. And the longer they were kept in the family, the more use they saw. The less gold spent, especially since books were a larger chunk of the cost. "And the pointed hat is ridiculous."

"Oi! I'll 'ave ya know, I had ta wear tha' pointy hat," Margie protested.

"All the more reason not to get one. Wizards. I swear."

Ripgut almost broke out into a grin over that. Little wizard or not, it stifled a small chuckle in his stocky chest. No goblin could ever be accused of liking the Cernos line, but it appear they were not without their occasional amusements. Case and point.

"And the gloves?" Newt asked as he peered over the list. "Those are for your protection. At the very least, Tina will be glad to know you have them." Though, the elder didn't appear to enjoy pointing it out.

Regi hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable. "Most of them are dragon hide. They make my hands feel… violated. Besides, my hands can handle anything they toss at me. I've handled Fire Crabs bare-handed. Anything worse than that will just take off my hand anyway, gloves or no gloves.

"Besides, I'll make up the spending a little by buying higher quality items. Crystal phials instead of glass, and a silver weighing scale if I can. Potions are finicky, and I'd rather make something at least decent quality. I got it all written out." He lifted his parchment in explanation.

"Tryin' ta suck up ta Snape early, huh?" Margie snorted.

"Says the one who nearly failed Potions," he snipped back. He could see the gears turning in her head on whether or not she should jinx him in the Gringotts vaults.

Ripgut cleared his throat softly.

"Right. Off topic. Got everything you need?" Newt asked, earning a nod from his son. "Very well. Margie, if you could make sure Regius gets the rest of his school supplies, I have to see a goblin about a dragon."

"Why couldn't Gran escort us again?" Margie asked.

"Oh, you know Tina. Thinks us British wizards all look ridiculous in our robes and pointy hats," Newt smiled fondly with a wink before nodding at Ripgut. "If you please, make sure the children make it back up top safely. I can find my own way." All at once, he vanished in a flickering haze that folded in on itself. Not so much as a sound.

"Doesn't Gringotts have anti-Disapparition and -Apparition wards?" Margie asked in confusion as Gramp's Disapparated away.

"That's only to prevent entering or leaving the enclosed warded area via Apparition," Regi stated simply as they walked out of the vault. "Hardly does anything if you do it from inside the warded area though. Might make it a bunch more uncomfortable. Plus da''s been studying Diricawls and Zouwu's for years. He's bound to 've pick something up."

Another reason for the goblin's to worry about Scamander, Ripgut noted. Anti-Disapparition wards didn't affect such magical beasts; not the same way the affected wizards anyway.

"Ah. Wonder why they didn't teach that in Apparition classes."

"Same reason they don't teach you "Dark" Magic at school. Because it's "Ministry Approved". Thick, pompous bastards."

Ripgut actually had to bite his tongue a little to keep from laughing out loud.

Margie snorted at that. "Might wanna watch yur mouth. Otherwise Gran 'll make ya eat a bar o' soap."

Ripgut shook his head before retrieving the key from the closed and locked door. Without breaking stride he slapped the key into Regi's hand and hopped back into the cart. "Get on," he ordered briskly, enjoying that brief pleasant sensation of ordering the wizards around.

Regi just groaned. He had to brace for another cart ride.

"Oh, don' be such a big baby," Margie teased, guiding him along through the middling crowds.

Regi hobbled along, gently massaging his stomach as they walked, biting back a groan at the flips and twists it endured. "I hate those carts. I hate them so much."

"If ya hate tha', then you'll really hate the train," she stated with a pleased smirk.

He blinked as that thought caught up with him. "Loathing you a little bit."

"Love ya too," she chirped. Since Gramps was gonna be a bit checking up on the dragon that snoozed in the deepest depths of Gringotts, they'd probably have all of Barnacle's supplies gathered before he caught back up with them.

First stop would be Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. By the time they finished up with the shopping, his attire should be ready. Especially with none of the last-minute bluster, though there were others getting fitted, First-Years and upperclassmen who'd outgrown their previous robes alike.

There was one Firstie before them that brought a modicum of humor as an elderly woman that must have been his grandmother was snipping at him to hold still as he was getting measured. Poor boy was practically shivering as Madame Malkin was fitting him. Probably afraid of needles.

Regi's decision to forgo the dragonhide gloves and pointy hat from the standard First-Years set did miff Madame Malkin, probably used to the consistency considering they came in bundled sets. Earned numerous chortles from Margie as she watched him getting briskly fitted for his robes by the irate seamstress.

At least he'd still gone with the winter cloak and the name tags with the bundle, considering he probably didn't need those either. She dreaded to think what a tested Malkin would look like had he cut costs there too.

While those were being tailored, they stopped by Pontage's Cauldron Shop, nabbing a Standard Size 2 Brass Cauldron – as opposed to a pewter one – at Regi's insistence as he paid for it. Following after was a visit to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment to pick up a telescope, phials, and scales. The clerk was more than happy when Regi supplemented to crystal phials and silver scales, putting in the required extra Galleons for the better equipment. And the upgrades weren't cheap by any means either, though the prior cuts in financial management he'd opted for certainly bore the brunt of it.

Still, throughout the trip, both of them were consciously aware of the gazes that dwelled pointedly on Margie, despite their attempts to remain as inconspicuous as anyone else. But she still drew the eyes of the untrained, the weak-willed, the lechers, and those that jealously guarded them all the same.

Before either of them knew it, they were standing outside Ollivander's, staring up at the signage; Margie with nostalgia, and Regi with trepidation.

"Well… le''s crack on," Margie stated, half-pushing half-dragging Regi into the shop. "The sooner we get this o'er with, the sooner we can grab the last of yur shoppin'."

The soft chimes of a bell rang as they entered and Regius shivered as he stepped into the shop. Wall to wall, shelf to shelf was lined with small boxes that could only be other wands. His skin tingled, thick as a stiff coating of varnish brushed over him from the collective magic of all the entwined wand woods and cores overlapping. It was almost as bad as the everything-flavored jelly bean in Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Oi! Stick man!" Margie called out.

An older man hobbled from a back room, silver eyes alight with curiosity before they twinkled in recognition. "Margret Thornton," he greeted with wizened smile, impervious to whatever affect she seemed to have on most others. "Twelve and a quarter inch, black walnut, rigid and feisty, a core of Selkie incisor – both willingly given, and forcefully taken – tied in Kelpie hair, also willingly given. A very temperamental wand if I remember correctly; among the most of any wand I've crafted to date. A custom job after you outgrew your old wand, if I'm not mistaken."

Margie smiled back. "Aye. Wee bit on the rougher side. But also full of surprises."

The older man hummed as he stepped forward, lifting his hands out in curious gesture. "May I?"

Margie flicked out her wand from her sleeve, handing it over without a fuss for the wandmaker's inspection. He gingerly lifted it from her hands, looking over the darker wood before lifting it to his ear, as though he was listening to it. Some secret no other wizards would be able to glean. "It is well taken care of. Maintained occasionally, but not too often." He sniffed gently across the wood, closing his eyes. "And regularly polished." He hummed again, this time with a happier lilt as he handed it back. "It is well taken care of Miss Thornton. A wand that only adheres to those who are honest and true to themselves. It's not often I custom-make a wand, but I remember this one giving me some trouble. Particularly with binding the core. Such an odd thing to use, a Selkie incisor."

"Best right hook I ever landed," Margie stated with a sad smile.

The old man nodded before looking down to notice the younger boy trailing behind her. They locked eyes for a couple moments before sparks of recognition dawned in Ollivander's eyes. "And if it isn't young Regius Cernos. It's about that time, isn't it?"

"Yessir," Regi nodded, not all that disturbed that the wandmaker knew his name. It was curious, but he figured the older man had his ways. There's was a world of magic out there after all, and Regi wasn't beyond believing in strange or impossible things. He'd lived a few of them after all.

Humming thoughtfully, Ollivander turned around, walking toward his back room. "I remember when your father came in for his first wand. Kurtis Cernos. Ten inches, hornbeam, solid, core of dragon heartstring. Left the country before things could heat up in the last War."

"I wouldn't know," Regi admitted, waiting patiently as the wandmaker brought a box from the back. With a gentle lift of the lid, he presented the find.

Much to Margie's chagrin, the old wandmaker seemed content not to test out wands for once. And here she thought he did that to everyone.

"I'll admit Mister Cernos, it's not often that I commission first-time wands. I prefer to let time and compatibility determine the need for such. But sometimes, such wands must be made," Ollivander stated with a hint of wonder. "However, when I was asked to craft a wand with this particular core for your use, I was intrigued, since the core is often times the choosiest part of the wand, and even more so with the completed product. Even as its maker, I felt compelled not to handle it more than necessary. As such, I haven't dared to test it."

He gently nestled the wand between his fingers, holding it out to Regius. Nervously, the boy softly grabbed the handle, holding it aloft as Ollivander stared at it expectantly. There was nothing immediate upon their meeting, letting the air create a current of tension between them.

Breathing softly, Regi closed his eyes, reaching out gently with his consciousness. And in turn, the wand responded. The air thickened, a whirling cold breeze drawing small droplets of water around him, the hair of his arm erecting on end. Instantly his nose was filled with the scent of the sea, and the rumble of thunder reverberated in the shop.

He opened his eyes, a form of recognition dawning in his eyes as looked down at the ornate piece of wood in his hands, his very blood humming. And those same eyes turned sad the longer he continued to behold it as a touch of the familiar began to stir.

"Hello," he whispered softly, his smile watery as the air charged statically in comfort. At the familiarity that hummed through him.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Ollivander smiled, much more wonderous than Regi's own, though tempered with caution. "It seems all is in working order. And a very rare match indeed."

Having watched the whole thing, Margie looked up intrigued. "What's that mean?"

"Eleven and a half inches, wood of fir, with a cedar oil finish oddly enough," he stated. "A most unyielding and feisty wand. And a core I am rather unfamiliar with: a scute scale wrapped with a barbel, both from the same creature, willingly given.

"It is not often I sell Fir wands, Miss Thornton," Ollivander explained firmly, almost gravely. "And most certainly never as a first wand. It is also quite rare for the finish of a wand not to match the wood. And such a strange core to eagerly be drawn to such things at that."

He looked closer at Regi, and the gentle maelstrom of water droplets and wind that continued to orbit around him. Curiouser still, were the lengthened boxes of yet unbonded wands that almost seemed to lean away, as if the wand in the boy's hand were jealously preventing another match. Fascinating.

Where most unions between wand and wizard were brief to seal their bond, this one seemed eager to continue, almost reassuring to its first – and most assuredly, only – wielder. It was as if the wandmaker's silver eyes could glean all they needed from the boy's soul just by one observed union between child and wand.

"A rather curious match indeed," he smiled. "I wonder what things you might accomplish with such a wand, Mister Cernos. With how far you've come.

"Or how far you'll go."

Margie looked at the wand intently. "Any idea who commissioned it?"

"Hmm," he contemplated. "Part of being an excellent wandmaker, Miss Thornton, is listening to how each core wishes to be fashioned. The wood to use, the length, and even the shape it is fashioned into, as deigned by Magic itself. The finer nuances are rather… complex. But I believe Mister Scamander brought in the components for the core sometime ago. Almost seven years ago if I'm not mistaken. Insisted I use them to make a wand for Mister Cernos' use, and his use only. I've held my breath for this union ever since."

"So like mine then."

"Not quite," he stated, before clarifying, "Yours was perhaps, much more of a hassle to bring together. Less willing, and more resistant. But both of you required specially tailored wands. Very specific tailorings indeed."

"Somethin' 'bout bein' adopted by Scamanders," Margie mused aloud.

"Did da' tell you where he got the pieces? For the core I mean?" Regi asked, still looking over his wand as though it were the most wonderous thing he'd ever beheld. But his tone was redundant, as though he knew exactly where it had come from.

"I'm afraid Mister Scamander didn't say. And neither was I at liberty to ask," Ollivander answered. "But rest assured, young man, if I thought for one moment that such a core wouldn't have shown compatibility, I wouldn't have used it for such a wand. As it stands however, it was, perhaps, the most eager core I've had the pleasure of crafting around."

Regi nodded, seemingly understanding something that neither of them did, which said much in the presence of someone like Ollivander. Slowly, the air calmed, along with his wand as his magic waned softly. "Thank you, sir."

"It was my pleasure, young man," Ollivander assured with a smile. "I've seen much in this world, and it seems you've given me the chance to see more of it. It is always a pleasure to see something new, especially at my old age."

"Da' says you'll outlive us all," Regi commented easily enough.

The wandmaker couldn't help but let loose a full, boisterous laughter, the mysterious aura behind the man temporarily dismissed.

His face turned grave though as he grew serious. "Fir wands… are very scarce, Mister Cernos. Known as the "survivor's wand". Only those who have survived mortal peril have ever been gifted such a wand, and in such a way that their very paradigm has shifted. Never in mine, or my predecessors' time, has it ever been given as a first wand. I dare say, I wouldn't be surprised if you were the first, Mister Cernos."

Regi swallowed at that, feeling the scrutiny of the wandmaker as he seemed to gaze into his very being.

"That it found compatibility with cedar is not something to be taken lightly, even if it is only the finish; for cedar is best in the hands of those that are perceptive and insightful. Dare I say, even shrewd. And the wielder of a cedar wand is not to be crossed flippantly. Particularly, where harm has come to those it's wielder is fond of."

Smiling gently, Ollivander knelt down, closer to Regi's eye level. An action that made Margie both intrigued, and cautious.

"If one adds to magical core to this, your wand, Mister Cernos, is unfathomably loyal. I know of no other that could match it as such. But it's loyalty… does not make it delicate, or weak. For neither fir, nor cedar, nor the core that chose them, are delicate crafts.

"Such is its loyalty, that even if you mistreat it, it will still come to your aide willingly. But I'd caution against it all the same. There's no telling just what such a wand will do for its wielder if a such a bond is properly strengthened and maintained. I think, yours will be a first for the ages, Mister Cernos. I look forward to hearing about the great things you both will do."

The look in the old man's eyes were far away, wispy, as though seeing the echo of some glorious happenings, much like one would expect from practiced Diviners.

"Then I'll treat it as though it were one of my Bowtruckles," Regi assured, trailing the tip of it across the air with a delicate flourish. A frigid trail of steam followed in its path, causing both wielder and maker to smile at the simple draw.

Ollivander nodded approvingly. "Now! Will you be needing anything else?" To his amusement, the young man pulled out a sheet of parchment that appeared to be a list.

"A holster if you have one," he answered as he looked up from it.

The wandmaker just hummed approvingly. "I'll see what I have in stock." It didn't take long for him to retrieving a holster, settling it with his wand on the front desk. "I assume, you won't be wanting something of dragonhide." At Regi's nod, the old man smiled, presenting his findings. "Acromantula silk; gentle to the touch and won't let your wand be taken from its sheath, neither by spell nor by force. Not that any other would be able to use it without risking life and limb."

"Perfect," Regi stated, smiling as he pulled up his money. "How much for the lot?"

"Eleven Galleons for a personally commissioned wand. Three Galleons and eleven Sickles for the holster. For a total of fourteen Galleons and eleven Sickles."

Regi pulled out an extra Galleon, looking up at him curiously. "Do you do change?"

Margie watched Regi as he turned his new wand between his fingers. All that bubbling excitement when he'd gotten his Hogwarts letter was greatly subdued, replaced by a much more contemplative and serious look that was much too old for a boy of eleven. He had his bouts of seriousness; touches of someone much more mature behind those eyes. Enough so, that Ollivander's words about fir wands made her worry.

She knew more than just about anyone else did about him, their relations aside. Only Gramps – and perhaps Gran – knew more. Not even her mum and dad knew as much.

But at the end of the day, he was still a kid. No matter what the stick man said about his wand.

"Knut for your thoughts?" she asked, leaning back against a bench as they took a rest. All that walking and shopping was tiring.

"Besides the side-eye that we've been getting all day?" he asked, his wand stilling in preparation to act. He hadn't cast a jinx yet, but he was sure he could it on the first go. Maybe 90% sure. He could almost feel the wand's eagerness in his fingers. A little too eager. He wasn't sure what magic would unleash; only that it would be something spectacular compared to the minimal control he had over his "accidental" bouts.

She just snorted, not letting it affect her as much. After the first handful of dunderheads, it was easier to ignore. She'd had her practice as such for years at Hogwarts, even if the boyish drooling had been replaced with adult leers outside the school halls.

He just smiled sadly. "The barbels don't regrow you know," he stated, gesturing toward his wand. "The scale will. But the barbel won't. And she gave it willingly." A gentle flick of his wand launched a trail of watery mist.

Margie sighed, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him close. She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, watching as wizards and witches alike continued to walk past. "Well, at least ya didn't have ta punch someone out for yur wand core."

Regi half-coughed out a laugh. "True. I feel sorry for the bloke that has ta deal with your temper."

"My temper is just fine, thank you."

"Says the redheaded Scots-woman. Poor man's already one foot in the grave, an' 'e don't even know it," he mocked, snickering as she pinched his side in irritation. "Touchy."

"Prat," she smirked.

His eyes dimmed a little again as he looked back down at his wand. It was a beautiful piece. A much lighter wood than her own, but no less beautiful. The shaft of hers was ringed, with a wavy and shelled handle, that rippled like roiling waves if she twisted it; a detail she both despised and cherished in one. The sea always spoke to her, even if she held it in bitter regard. The wood of hers was dark; almost purplish in color with its final finish.

His was a different kind of beauty. It looked as though several strands of wood were twisted and interwoven together in a budded but slightly curved and bent shaft, like the straightest possible antler attempting to branch; with a stalked handle, as though it was slotted perfectly to his fingers, with no room for dainty or delicate flourishes. The cedar finish gave the yellows and subtle reds of the fir wood and almost mellow orange color, like an autumn leaf. The already magical wood seemed tense, as though prepared to spring to action whatever spell came to Barnacle's mind. It seemed to actively adjust to his touch.

Compared to most other wands she'd seen, theirs felt… not just magical, but… alive. Maybe there was something about personally commissioned wands.

Shaking those thoughts from her head, she looked down at him. "Right. We're still waitin' on yur robes. So were ya thinkin' 'bout getting' an owl or somethin'? Or were ya still holdin' out that Gramps 'll let ya take the Thunderbird."

Barnacle frowned. "I don't need a pet. Familiar or otherwise. And Gerald is better than any ol' owl. He can shoot lightning! And when I have time, I can take him flying!"

There was that petulant little eleven-year-old boy.

"Can'' 'ave one o' those unless the Headmaster is a wee bit in the tank. An' willin' to get a Howler from Gran," she pointed out. "He'd probably get a stern word from Mc'G too."

He pouted. "It was just an idea. It'd be better idea than a Niffler."

Point.

Oh, she had no doubt about that. She could only imagine the chaos that would ensue from Barnacle with a single Niffler in his possession. None of it intentional either. Hogwarts would get turned on its head within a week. Though, it might endear him to the twins, regardless of which House he ended up in.

She was rooting for Hufflepuff personally. Not just because it was her House. Not at all. Scamanders – adopted or no – just tended to lean that way. They all had... stubbornness, loyalty issues… inherently, for lack of a better word. Plus, even if he was a cheeky little brat, his heart was big. Too big, for some of the shite he'd been through. Same as Gramps really.

Another Scalamader trait it seemed, adopted or no.

Then again, a Thunderbird would likely strike down anyone who tried to mess with him too. Especially one as possessive as Gerald. Ruddy, oversized swan. With all the temperament of one too.

She smiled. "Well then, it looks like we're done."

"Besides the robes," he reminded her.

She conceded. "Besides the robes."

It had surprisingly taken a lot less social effort than either had anticipated. With no books and no familiar to shop for, they'd cut their time significantly down. It probably helped that with the coming school year, many shop collections were pre-packaged for the convenience of students new and returning alike, and finding a decent familiar was almost (almost) as intensive and compatibility-challenging as finding a wand. At least for anyone with any sense.

They had been sitting in silence only for only a few moments before Margie suddenly perked up.

"Tonks!"

Regi blinked, his head darting up. Tonks? Where?

A familiar head of bright pink hair caught their attention, already bobbing their way. Given she was in a thicker overcoat, the Auror-in-Training must've been on her rounds. "Wotcher, Marge. Reg."

"Dora!" Regi called, waving ecstatically.

Tonks slowed down at his call, frowning and pouting at Regius. "I told you before, call me 'Tonks'," she stated.

"I could call you by your full name… Nymph– Oof!" Regi was roughly elbowed in the stomach by Margie. "Traitor."

Giving Regius a wicked grin, she quickly turned to Margie, smiling. "Hey Margie." Best friends and old dorm mates hugged quickly. "What brings you out, dressed like that? Got a hot date, Whiskers? Anyone I know?"

"Regi's gonna be a Firstie, so I was 'elpin' 'im with his shopping while Gramp's is seein' a goblin 'bout a dragon," Margie explained before frowning as she looked down at her attire. "Do I really look like I got a hot date?" she asked self-consciously, looking over her jacket, sweater, skirt, leggings, and boots one-by-one like there was something wrong with them.

Tonks just snorted, shaking her head. "As if anyone's looking at anything other than yur chest an' yur arse, Margie. They don't care 'bout your what yur wearing."

Regi frowned at them in confusion, blinking as he ran those lines through his head again and again. "Why would they be looking at her butt? I thought they were looking at her face."

"Aww," Tonks doted exaggerated, kneeling down to his level. "Such a good boy. Such a sweet boy."

"And that's why you're my favorite, Barnacle," Margie stated, matching Tonks. "Never change."

Regi only realized there was a trap when it was too late. Both girls had him sandwiched in a hug, doing embarrassing things. Like playing with his hair. And pinching his cheeks. His face burned red like he was holding his breath, embarrassment curling up through the roots of his hair.

"I will be jinxing you before term. Remember, I have a wand now," he muttered to Margie, even as she booped his nose, getting a laugh out of Tonks.

"Even his threats are cute," Tonks said. "Your gonna have to jinx away all those girls come Third-Year."

Regi still didn't get it. He understood the biological differences between male and females, and the changes that occurred upon physiologically maturing, and that included an understanding of human mating habits. Even he could get embarrassed by stuff like that. But why would he need to jinx girls in Third-Year? And why him?

Suddenly, his neck was prickling in warning. Three rapid flashes of light shot out of the street.

Tonks' wand came out in an instant, a quick "Protego" erecting a barrier between her and the spell.

Wand twisting into a reverse grip, Margie soundlessly whipped a barrier of ice into existence. Before she could extend it far enough to cover Regi, the spells impacted.

Tonk's shield shimmered as the energy diffused. Margie's wall crackled upon impact. And Regi… just blinked.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

The sound of wood on stone rapidly approached, causing Tonks to gulp audibly as she stood up, almost instinctively growing a couple inches taller. Literally. Along with her hair color dimming from hot pink to an off-magenta. "Oh shite."

Regi almost snorted at the Metamorphmagus. Instinctively trying to make herself more imposing against a potential threat. Classic.

Margie quickly wheeled Regi around, looking him over diligently. "Are ya hurt?"

"It was just a Stinger, Margie," he stated with a reassuring grin before looking down at the soft char mark on his clothes. "But Wilty's gonna fuss."

"Oh," she exhaled back, unable to hide her relief as she pulled into a hug.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Whipping to her feet, the iris-black of her eyes began to darken, expand to the whites, a dark greyish pallor began trickling across her veins, and her pale northern skin beginning to turn a light grey.

Alastor Moody was walking towards them, supported by a cane as he hobbled along on his peg leg. His artificial eye dipped off to the side as he approached. It would certainly explain why no one was panicking about spells going off in Diagon Alley; because of course, if it was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.

With his reputation proceeding him, that's probably why he was out and about.

But at Margie's changed features and barred teeth, the people who had been drawn to stare at her before certainly did stare now, just for different reasons. Several were quickly huddling away into nearby buildings, some drawing their wands for security. It started short and simple, but quickly spread as people began returning to their business, their wands procced just in-case.

"And who said you could make this a social visit, Nymphadora," Moody demanded, and Tonks seemed to stand straighter at his words. With a sharp poke of his wand in her stomach, she suddenly lost the height she'd gained like a deflated balloon.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she stated with a disgusted wince at her first name, before quickly tacking on, "Sir."

"Hmm," he grunted, hobbling himself around. He did another quick poke at the block of ice, causing it to shatter and scatter along the cobbled street before he took a look at Margie's baleful glare. He smiled, a crooked, intrigued smile. "So yur the Selkie lil' polka-dots keeps talkin' about."

"I'm not polka-dots," Tonks mumbled, only to yelp as Moody shot her with a Stinger to the thigh.

"Permission to speak not granted!" he yelled.

"Ya ought ta watch where yur castin' fur fun ya ol' codger," she bit back, her Scottish lilt reverberating and tearing into the air, her breath hissing streams of crystalline fog like it was the middle of winter. Her wand was in a vice grip, and silently spitting frigid mist, and she looked two seconds away from taking the old Auror's good leg as reimbursement.

"Constant vigilance," he barked firmly. He looked again where he'd shattered her ice block and gave a grunt that… might?… have been approval. It was hard to tell.

Margie's nose wrinkled as she felt something tugging on her sleeve. Looking down, she found Barnacle looking up at her. "You can calm down Margie. It didn't hurt."

With a soft exhale, her features began to turn more normal. More human-like. Just like Gramps and Gran, Barnacle's eyes didn't change when he looked at her; even when many of those in Alley looked at her with fear; like she was something sub-human. It was almost a guarantee, but they probably thought that even someone as bat-shit as Alastor Moody was going to "deal" with the problem.

"And who is this?" Moody asked, cocking his head in a way that sent his false eye rolling in the socket. It suddenly stopped, pointed directly at Regi. Or more specifically, the scorch mark on his clothes.

"Regius Cernos," Regi answered nervously, glancing slightly away from the Auror as he shifted uneasily. Just like Tonks, he quickly added, "Sir."

"Hmm," Moody grunted as he rolled the name around in his head, if his false-eye was any indication. "Knew yur father. Couldn't keep his nose clean."

"I wouldn't know," Regi stated simply. "Sir."

"Took a Stinging Hex, did ya?" the Auror grilled. "Hurt at all?"

Regi just shook his head, something of intimidated by the man, with his many scars, gruff demeanor, and very vocal words. Despite not being the most social of young persons, he'd heard stories. You'd have to live in the sub-artic ocean trenches not to. Alastor Moody had supposedly taken an Eye-Boiling Curse, and rather than lose his sight in the fight, in an amazing feat of magical control, had managed to take the whole curse into his left eye. While he'd managed to save one eye, no amount of healing would reconstruct his cursed eye.

It was also easy to see where multiple Cutting Curses had struck his face. Maybe one of those was the real culprit for his eye; just Dark enough to prevent it from healing.

Then there was the prosthetic. There were too many stories to accurately pin down the truth: from a Bone-Splinter Curse that had shredded a major artery, to any number of Dark and malicious curses. In some cases, the Healers had no choice but to amputate; in others, Moody himself had removed his own limb to preserve his life.

No one truly knew. None save Alastor Moody.

"Hmm. And ya didn't draw yur wand?" Moody demanded, noticing the lad's avoidant gaze, beheld with brief glimpses of admiration. And of sadness. But not pity. Moody knew a pitying look from there to Azkaban.

Pulling out his wand, Regi showed it to him. Handled it like a pup he did. Probably his first day with it too, given how careful he was not to fumble with it.

"I wasn't fast enough," Regi stated with a swallow. "But I'll work on it… sir."

Humming gruffly in acceptance. Without turning to his charge, he ordered, "Back to rounds, Nymphadora. You can yap it up in yur off-time."

"I…," she looked ready to protest before sighing. "Yessir."

Giving them both an apologetic look, she briskly began walking away, moving faster as Moody sent another Stinging Hex her way. He took another look at Margie. "I reckon ya won't be finding many prime opportunities. Seeing as yur a wild'un and all."

Margie frowned at his words, even if it was the truth. At least, not unless someone had a fetish for that kind of thing. But that only made her wince.

"Hmm. Ya did good work with that silent casting. And that ice barrier was plenty thick," he stated, bringing his cane around to walk away. "If yur still lookin' for somethin' a little more stable, send yur transcripts ta my desk via owl. Hate ta lose out just cause ya got some wild'un in yur blood. Nymphadora could use the prod to the arse.

"Just a suggestion," he offered, beginning to hobble away, before he seemed to remember something. "Oh, and Mister Cernos."

Regius both perked attentively, and shrank nervously.

"While I trust ol' Scamander ta mind yur manners, First-Year or no, I hope yur better at keeping yur nose clean than yur father was," he stated firmly, a mad little spin to his prosthetic eye punctuating his words. "Yur blood-father that is."

"Not without good cause, sir," Regi replied, trying to keep respectful.

"Hmm." Moody seemed to accept that as he began hobbling after his trainee.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

After a moment of standing and staring after the Auror, Regi turned to his niece, suddenly upstanding again. "I think you impressed him."

"He looked ready to recruit you," Margie shot back, still a little miffed as the last of her human-like coloring reasserted itself. And it wasn't helping with so many wizards and witches eyeing her, even after she'd calmed down. "Not sure how much he noticed with you taking the Stinger."

"He openly tried to recruit you," Regi responded, looking down at his wand with a frown. It looked like he was gonna have to keep his end of the deal. Savant with a wand he was not. Yet. Drawing his wand down his clothes, just like he'd seen mum do, he stated intently, "Scourgify."

While his wand was happy to cast a spell, it didn't seem to appreciate something so… domestic for a first spell. Maybe he'd put too much effort into the spell, or his wand was just overreacting. He wasn't exactly the best at regulating or withholding his magic; considering his clothes were not only clear, but the color on them seemed a little fuller.

"A little much, but better," Margie stated, still looking around uneasily at persisting attentions. "C'mon. Let's find another place to wait for your robes."

Author's Note: Don't forget to READ and REVIEW!

Let me know what you guys think, keep it constructive, and have a good one!

If this story does continue, it'll likely be irregularly. Mostly, it's just me writing this for fun.

Until next time.