Children from the Stars

by Eyefantasy

Whispers of prophecy and a tournament of power and prestige echo though the Wizarding World of 1994. Hogwarts is about to step on the world stage this year as an edifice for the talented and magical to gather in her walls. However, the arrival of five new students entering her halls will forever shake the foundations of the magical world and the course of history.

4. Chapter III

Update 2/22/24: This one is I did not want to split up. It's a whole lot longer than my usuals, but I think it'll be okay. I'll probably start a poll (or not) on large or small chapters in the future. Other than that, enjoy!

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Chapter III

The hospital wing was housed in Hogwarts Castle's West Wing, in the hospital tower on the first floor, residing by the solemn Clock Tower, whose emphatic hourly rings signaled timely procession of students to their next classes. The hospital wing was known to care for students and their medical needs, whether mundane or magical. Its accessibility was always in great demand during the school year, taking in and housing numerous students in its long wing. It seemed that even in the summer it could not escape temporary residence of people in need of its service.

Inside the wing, on top of polished, stone-tiled floors, were a series of beds in two columns, lining the walls and window respectively, fresh with white linen sheets wrapped over rectangular mattresses. Filled in the beds were five boys in various modes of sleep, except for one, who's slightly trembling eyelashes fluttered open. He was awoken by the white morning light that had spilled into the wing through the glass windows, landing and warming his face.

As he awakened, he heard voices. Two of them, judging by their distinct and different sounds. One sounded like Dumbledore's and there was another, deep and baritone, far colder and contained than Dumbledore's. They were engaged in conversation.

Trowa remained still, staring at the end of his pillow through the curtain of his long fringe as it brushed against his face. He was laying on his side, his head pressed against his firm pillow. He chose to listen, to gain greater insight on where he was and what was taking place. Knowledge was important, and he'd rather not show his cards yet, rousing suspicion from an interesting conversation at hand.

"… you still did not explain to me what happened to your office, headmaster," the cold voice said, each word spoken with careful containment. "Why… five boys were unconscious when I found you, Minerva, and Hagrid looking like you've danced with death. I – we – all felt the magic in the castle change, the castle quake, trembling as if an earthquake had held it in its grip. We both know earthquakes do not happen this far out on the island, not even tectonic plates reach the highlands.

"You have not mentioned a word since you and Hagrid had escaped to the Forbidden Forest this morning," the man finished, sounding aggravated. "Minerva has remained tightlipped about this matter, as well."

Dumbledore did not speak for moment. Trowa heard him shift, his robes rustling softly. "Magic is never simple, Severus. It's truly amazing what it can do as the many questions that it leaves as well," Dumbledore said, chuckling. "Say, Severus, when you look into space what do you see?"

A pregnant pause came. "An unconvincing, and what I might add, elusive answer and transition, headmaster," responded Severus slowly. "What happened in your office?"

This time, it came as a demand. Dumbledore met that demand with a small set of chuckles rumbling from his throat. "Humor me, Severus."

Another round of silence came. Trowa felt this Severus was not a man of casual conversation or of diversion. "I imagine stars, galaxies, shooting stars – is that it?" Severus sneered.

Dumbledore clapped once. "Shooting stars. Five points for Slytherin," Dumbledore said. Trowa could feel his smile in his voice. "But yes, you are on track. Who goes into space, Severus? What do they use?"

Trowa, brow furrowing, immediately connected the dots. What does Dumbledore intend to tell, he wondered.

"Headmaster, enough of these games!" spat Severus. "What happ—"

A slow rustle of a robe moved. Severus stopped speaking. "Severus," said Dumbledore seriously, all traces of humor gone from his voice, "answer the questions."

There was a moment where Trowa thought Severus wouldn't. He heard feet pace a few steps, then: "Muggle astronauts use space shuttles to fly into space." Severus's answer came out grudgingly, as if he had to force it through his clenched teeth.

"You would be correct, Severus. Now, why would a damaged, Muggle, space shuttle with astronaut suits be in the Forbidden Forest?" Albus asked softly.

Silence descended. "Is this a joke? A foolish way to deflect my questions, headmaster?" Severus asked, thinly veiled anger laced in his words.

"No, Severus. Not at all. This is the reason for my morning absence with Hagrid, for why my office was destroyed, and why these five boys are in the hospital wing. Past Hagrid's cabin, about two hours into the Forbidden Forest, lies a space shuttle. Its wings are severed like an enormous saw had lacerated them, and it has left a trail of devastation half a kilometer long from its impact," Dumbledore answered.

"I see by that skeptical look on your face you don't believe me, but it's no farce," Dumbledore said. "My words are true."

Trowa felt the man smile in his words. "You'd only need to follow my path to find it, Severus. I was skeptical at first until I saw the proof, the very evidence that was cratered in earth. This brings me to why these five students are here, and why the air of destiny surrounds them."

And Dumbledore told Severus of how they came to his office, how he had questioned them, finding their answers humorous despite now he saw the importance of them. "I didn't believe them, too. Even with novice minds, using passive legilimency, I saw brief images through their mind."

Dumbledore then snorted. "For children new to magic, their minds are well organized and guarded, which gives weight to their emotional control. But the reason why there's a shuttle in the Forbidden Forest – and my office is in a dire need of remodeling – I'm thinking about magenta floral wallpaper – yes, well, is that device over there, sitting by young Mr. Barton's bedside."

Trowa heard steps close-in, stopping at the foot of the bed. "What type of device is this? It's like a yule ornament, but…" Severus paused. "Is that an hourglass inside…? A Time-Turner?" his voice trembled slightly.

"Astute, Severus. I had thought the same when I held it, but I noticed strong alteration magic with a powerful sticking charm. It looked like a regular Time-Turner. I sought to expose it…"

"…which is the reason, I gather, why your office looks ransacked," Severus finished slowly, deliberately. "The magic was too volatile. Your reckless action could have threatened the whole school. Your need to fulfill your curiosities and desires may prove to be your downfall, headmaster. I would be wary next time you indulge your curiosities without proper aid or assistance."

"Blunt as ever, Severus. You are partly right," corrected Dumbledore. "The Time-Turner was a façade to what it truly is. The ancient magic that lies within has been well hidden until now."

"And that is…" Severus asked, curiosity coloring his cold tone.

"A…" Dumbledore began.

A door swung open, its hinges creaking with a loud groan, and rapid footsteps approached the two, clicking off the stones. Trowa cursed silently at the emergence of a new person. Whatever Dumbledore was about to reveal, it seemed important. What did lie beneath the façade of the Time-Turner?

"Poppy – what a surprise," Dumbledore started. "How are our patients?"

Poppy had stopped shy of Dumbledore. "Headmaster, Severus," Poppy acknowledged. "Been waiting for your presence, headmaster, otherwise I was afraid I'd have to send an owl.

"If you were suspecting anything wrong with my patients, then you'd be disappointed. Whatever magic that resided in them is gone, eased out naturally. It must have knocked them out good. Their health status is perfectly normal, each boy is healthy, and nothing unusual besides the minor bruises, which I healed accordingly."

"How about their ages?" Albus asked. "The foreign magic was said to de-age them."

"Developmentally, give or take, I'd estimate they're fourteen years of age."

Surprised jumped in Trowa, and he tensed. Fourteen! thought Trowa, narrowing his eyes. The Time-Turner had erased two years of his life in an instant! From what he gathered, his memories were intact, but his body had digressed to a level he was not satisfied with. Trowa vowed he would recondition himself. Trowa imagined if Catherine saw him now, despite her shock, she would personally put him through the gauntlet to match his physique at sixteen.

However," Poppy paused, her voice lowering. "The boy by my office door with the dark unruly hair… I have my concerns about him."

"Heero Yuy," Dumbledore provided. His voice had taken on a tone of concern. "What are your concerns?"

"Yes, Mr. Yuy, on further examination, had over two hundred broken bones and stress fractures in his body. He must have experienced a large amount of trauma in his years. Despite that, he's in excellent physical condition."

"Did you say two hundred broken, Madame Pomphrey?" asked Severus, slightly hesitant.

"I did. I was able to use the potion Skele-Gro to mend them back together. I'm surprised he slept through it. He must have some strong will," Poppy said quietly.

"For a teenage boy, perhaps he's just deep a sleeper," Severus argued. Contempt was laced in his voice. "Teenage boys are known to sleep in any circumstances."

"Not even deep sleepers could withstand the taste nor the discomfort unless under a draught," Poppy countered swiftly. "Whatever magic that seeped into him, it put him out, even through the mending process. Unless sedated, it's not something a person can sit or sleep through."

"If you don't mind me asking, headmaster, but where did they come from? I had assumed all students had left on the train the day before," Poppy asked.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "That's an interesting story for another time, Poppy."

Seeing that was all she was going to get, Poppy then said, "I understand. If you need me, I'll be in the office."

Her booted heels clicked around and then travelled to her office. Her office door closed with a soft click. Silence came, and Trowa's thoughts came too. Potions and draughts, they were really in a magical school. He wondered what these magical beings could do, how far did their knowledge extend.

"What are you going to do with the boys, headmaster?" Severus asked, breaking the silence.

Albus sighed and took a few steps. "They must be trained. There is no way around it. If what that voice said was to be true, and destiny has called on them, they cannot ignore it either, less our world fall into ruins and ashes. Magic has a way of collecting its dues, and the price might be steeper than we realize. I have tasked Hagrid for assistance. He will be taking them on a trip to Diagon Alley to gather their wands. I do fear they'll be quite behind in their classes and studies when the school year begins; we'll have to ameliorate that quickly with remedial lessons."

"You cannot be serious, headmaster… Hagrid, with five children?" There was a touch of concern in Severus's tone, almost like disbelief.

"Severus, I would trust Hagrid with my life and the lives of these children," Albus said firmly. "He proved himself to be a most valuable protector in my office. Unless you would be the role model and take these children under your wing despite your aversion for frivolous work and rambunctious children. You are well of magical knowledge that would be informative for new wizards entering our world. They'll learn much from you, Severus, if you only open yourself to them."

"Regrettably, I still have to complete my fifth through seventh year's grading before I send them to Minerva for a final check," Severus answered smoothly. Trowa found his comment was well placed to escape any demands Dumbledore could offer him.

"How unfortunate, Severus. You would be remiss on an opportunity to get to know our future students. Unfortunately, I have a rather urgent meeting with Barty Crouch, the head of the Department of International Magic Co-operation and the Supreme Mugwump, Jose Hernandez, today. Ludo Bagman is supposed to join us during this meeting as well. There was a curious offer posed by Ludo about the next year, something I've been giving great thought to. I might just take the offer seeing Hogwarts expand her international friendships and ties."

Dumbledore then sighed. "As important as this matter is with these boys, I cannot reschedule my meeting. Later, I'll be dealing with the minister for Hogwarts's next school year all this week."

Another round of silence came. Then, footsteps moved across the floor but then stopped. "Where will the children stay?"

Dumbledore hummed. "Is that concern, Severus?"

"It is not," Severus said smoothly. "It is merely an inquiry since Hogwarts is closed to students for the summer. What is to become of them?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was a thoughtful response. "Despite the severity of the problem, I'm not too sure where these children come from and who the responsibility of their guardians will fall under. If they came far from the future as I'm beginning to believe, a far future where people pilot space shuttles and make trips to the moon more often than the Americans, then a distant ancestor would suffice, though, whether that would change our reality and time is a huge consequence.

"If I'm correct, whether this timeline was meant for them to alter, or this was predetermined, it will not matter. The fate of the world will be at stake now they have arrived. As to your point, you're right, Severus. Hogwarts is closed to students. They will need to venture to Gringotts. They will need to file for a blood test, to see if they have any living magical guardians or relatives. If not, we'll have to find any available Muggle guardians – we might fall short there."

"And if you find some of them are without…?" Severus's said slowly, the last word made clear by his sharp emphasis.

"If that is the case, I will have to make some special calls," Dumbledore responded.

"Very well," and in a whoosh of sweeping robes, Severus left the room.

Albus remained for a moment. He stood there listening to the birds outside chirping. Trowa imagined Dumbledore staring out the window, pondering in silence, concern etched on his wizened face.

A heavy sigh fell from Dumbledore's lips. "Hogwarts, what monumental tasks we give our children. To make them adults before their childhood has been fully lived is an awful thing to bear. We are darkening a future of bright stars for our security."

He soon left, the hospital wing door closing with a small click.

It was then Trowa threw off his sheets and sat upright. He lightly brushed his fringe from his eyes. He looked around the room. He was in some sort of hospital wing.

To his side, on a table, were his clothes with the mysterious Time-Turner on it. The Time-Turner had changed shape. Instead of an hourglass design, it was smaller, the size of a golf ball. It still retained its golden color, though, in the middle, was the hourglass, with blue sand sitting at its bottom. Its chain sat in spirals like a coiling snake.

He felt a sudden compulsion to touch it, his hands tingling, his fingers wiggling in eagerness to clasp it. Trowa chose to grip his covers, ignoring the compulsion. His ill if not cautious feelings for the magical object had not grown. In fact, he felt less desire to touch it, to cause more unintentional damage that could worsen their fates.

Trowa let his gaze fall onto the hospital beds. At a distance, parallel to him, were Quatre, Duo, and Wufei fast asleep. Quatre was on his back, his head sideways on his pillow, platinum blond hair gently brushing his cheeks as it shielded his eyes from the sun. He looked so young. Trowa wondered if this was Quatre before war had left its scars on him, grief and suffering hardening his eyes and adding more lines underneath his eyes.

Duo looked at peace, curled on his pillow, arms wrapped around it like a lover, face sinking into his pillowcase. The ends of Trowa's lips twitched. It was funny to him. Duo could sleep through anything and still get a goodnight's rest. Wufei's face was placid on his bed as strobes of warm sunlight flickered over his face. It was as if all the stress and complicated thoughts had erased from his face, all those years of turmoil gone despite the horrors hidden in his mind.

Trowa turned his eyes to his left where Heero was laying. Heero lied on his bed, Prussian blue eyes affixed on the ceiling, face impassive, relaxed. He looked to be seeing beyond the ceiling. Trowa wondered what he must be thinking; did he listen in as well to Dumbledore's short conversation with Poppy and Severus?

Slowly, deliberately, Heero rolled his eyes to him. He didn't a say a thing, but his eyes spoke of concern, of unfamiliarity. Trowa understood that concern at an intrinsic level as it fell on his shoulders. He was at fault for all of this… this magical escapade. He doubted an apology would suffice nor prove helpful, so he kept quiet.

"When we were in Dumbledore's office, I noticed the newspaper on his desk," Heero began. "It was called the Daily Prophet, a magical news outlet, I presume. Besides the title, what got my attention wasn't the moving pictures or the header. It was the date. I'm sure you noticed."

Trowa nodded gloomily, as he remembered seeing the date as well, feeling like his stomach had dropped to the bottom.

"June 18, 1994, CE," said Heero dispassionately.

He threw a sigh, rid his covers from his body, and sat on his bed facing Trowa. "Not June 18, After Colony 196. That… that Time-Turner had not only changed our bodies –" he looked at his hand, flexing his fingers into his fist and scoffing – "it had thrown us, perhaps in the past or another dimension. What Dumbledore said."

"Who knows. It all may be possible now that magic exists," Trowa added. Heero flicked his eyes on him and narrowed them.

"Who knows, indeed, except for that device," said Heero, shifting his eyes at the Time-Turner on the desk.

Heero fell silent as did Trowa. They retreated to their minds, thinking over their current predicament. Trowa never had time to think of this situation; it was always one thing to the next. He could not form a complete picture, and truth be told, the picture, although filling with images, was still inchoate.

Magic was real. There was no mistaking or second guessing that statement. They were taken to some place in the past or another timeline to fulfill a trial to ward off some big evil. It was absurd, and he found himself inwardly scoffing. Just when he had found some semblance of peace with Catherine and the circus troupe, it was all taken away in one burst of gold. Now, it had tasked him to save the world, again.

Trowa honestly did not want to. He had no ties to this new world, no foundations that would hold a reasonable justification to involve himself. However, he was not one to involve the deaths of innocents. He could not – would not – afford the deaths of civilians be on his conscious because he did nothing.

I'm not so cruel as to be apathetic to the plight and aid of others. They don't deserve such a fate, not if I had the power to save them. Catherine would think me a coward.

His thoughts wondered to Catherine. He saw her face clearly in his mind; large gray eyes that shined like mirrors, short curly brown hair that bounced when she moved, her small nose that sat nicely on her pale face, and pink lips curled into a beautiful smile. Rousing emotions of admiration threatened a smile to form on his lips, but he held it down, sinking deeper into his frown. He watched as Catherine sank away, fading in the distance. She was faraway again, a speck on the horizon.

Trowa wondered if he would ever see her again. Then, something snapped in him, setting him alight! Those longing thoughts became a storm. Indignation came, bubbling in him, and refocusing his sad thoughts.

There had to be some way of seeing them again! He would not accept anything less! If magic brought them here, it would be magic to send them back. There had to be some way, in this world, that had the power to transport them home. But where could he look for the answer?

Rising questions came flying back to him, of the ancient, feminine voice and her grim prophecy of the future. Would he really leave millions, if not billions, to suffer, to find a way back home, back to Catherine?

"What can we really do?" Trowa whispered, moving his gaze to the magical object. He reached for it this time. It felt warm in his palm, and his fingers glided over its surface, roving its smooth features.

"Send us back," Trowa muttered to the ball in his hand. As if it found the question revolting, the device gave a quick shudder. Trowa snorted at his own futile question and the obvious refusal from the magical device. There went that option.

"We don't belong here. I doubt this Timer-Turner would let us do what we want until we finished its task… or we're dead. We unknowingly signed a magically binding contract when that thing activated. I'd rather not be dead, so let's gather some intel on how we can egress from this situation," Heero said as he stood up. He went to the curtains and pulled them around his bed.

Trowa sighed and did the same. He pulled the curtains around his bed, made his bed by tucking in the sheets into the mattress. He then proceeded to dress himself. He took off hospital gown, folded it and place at the end of his bed. He found his black shirt and put it on. It was a bit loose on him as it hung at his lower neck. He withheld a scowl and pulled on his jeans.

Next, Trowa reached for his gun but stopped short. It was absent. This time he let a scowl surface on his face. These wizards and their games. He was never without his gun unless he was with the circus troupe. To find it absent from his presence was disconcerting.

Opening the curtain, Heero, fully dressed, was on his bed, sitting at the edge. His backpack was attached to his back and his hands gripped its straps. Heero gave him look and as soon as he stood on the floor was when Poppy came out of her office, strolling to their beds. Her heels sharply clicked against the stone tile.

"I see you two are now up and dressed," Poppy remarked, giving them a scrutinizing look. She almost seemed to disapprove of their behavior. "I am Madam Pomfrey, your Hogwarts matron. Usually, I would have you stay an extra day – best to get everything out of your system. Who knows what that magic has done to you, but you received a clean bill of health."

She looked them up and down, scrutinizing for any abnormalities that she could dissect immediately. "Do you feel any pain or irregularities? Any strange voices in your head? Sometimes magic, especially sentient objects, can possess their user."

Voices? Trowa thought, feeling a familiar thought wiggle to the surface of his mind. He smirked inwardly. As odd as that would be, both he and Heero had struggled with the dominating nature of the manipulative artificial intelligence of the ZERO system. Voices were nothing new; and being controlled by them was not something he could adjust to easily, not when those "voices" told him to destroy his heart and humanity to attain complete and total victory.

The two boys both shook their heads. Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly, though, she looked reluctant to let them go free as she pursed her lips, and her hands gripped her hips. "It's best you go the Great Hall for breakfast. A bit of food would help your appetite."

When she saw their looks of confusion. She blinked. "Oh, that rights. The headmaster did mention you were new to Hogwarts. Right then, I'll show you the way."

She led them to through the castle to the fourth floor where they took the stairs. It came as a surprise that the stairway moved on its own, as if it too was sentient, which Pomfrey called the Grand Staircase. The staircases had a tendency to shift on their own, moving and connecting from one door or corridor to the next. Some even had potholes that could sink and trap feet. Trowa made to avoid them when possible.

When they made it to the entrance hall, they took a polished, magnificent marble staircase down. The entrance hall was as wide as a floorplan of a two-story house. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches and the ceiling was too high to make out. From the windows, warm morning light filled the hall.

Next, they went through the grand double doors to the Great Hall. The hall was cast in white morning light that shone over four long, oak tables, accompanied with two parallel benches, coming from a windowpane mosaic of four animals – a green and silver snake, a blue and bronze eagle, a yellow and bronze badger, and a red and gold lion. These tables were bare. Trowa imagined these were where the students would sit and dine with their peers throughout the day.

At the front of the hall was another long table where the teachers were residing. There were three of them. Hagrid truly appeared like a giant, perhaps, a mammoth of a man, dining next to a diminutive man with spectacles and white, fluffy hair who was nursing a drink in one hand and reading a newspaper in the other. Hagrid's black, beady eyes danced with excitement when he looked from his plate and gave them a hearty wave.

Trowa nodded politely back. Trowa looked upward and saw in place of a ceiling blue sky with wisps of marshmallow clouds strewn overhead, ending above four walls of the hall. The sky was so clear, Trowa could not find any remnant of a ceiling. He nearly lit up at this touch of magic. It reminded him of home, of the colonies atmospheric control.

Trowa brought his gaze down to the staff table. A few chairs down sat a man clad in black. He would have made a great imitation of Duo's Gundam Deathscythe Hell as they both resembled a great bat-like creature dressed in flowing black robes. This thin man with sallow skin had a large, hooked nose and his yellow, uneven teeth flashed in between bites of breakfast. He had shoulder-length, greasy black hair which framed his face in curtains, curling lips and dark, cold, penetrating eyes that resembled space without stars.

His black eyes, as if sensing Trowa's stare, switched to his. Forest green met black abyss. A strange feeling, like a pressure, tapped on his mind the further he gazed into the man's dark eyes. It was similar to Dumbledore's, though, this one had lost its curiosity and was seeking to penetrate, compared to Albus's gentle prodding.

Trowa, with care, carefully cleared his mind, emptying everything into a blank space. Emotional control was his forte and since this man was trying to infiltrate his mind, he was prepared to let him find nothing. If he had his gun, he would of, without hesitation, fired a warning shot at the man. It was a shame he was not armed.

The stare down was only interrupted by Madam Pomfrey's voice. Trowa turned his gaze to her. However, he kept the man in black in his peripherals. Never let an assault go unchallenged or unaware, Trowa thought.

"I'll leave you two be. You may sit at any table. Breakfast will appear when your seated," said Madam Pomfrey quickly. With that she turned and headed out the double doors. Returning his gaze to the dark-haired man, he was looking away, to his own newspaper on the table, a slight curling sneer on his face.

"I would be wary of eye contact. It seems these wizards enjoy their mind games," Trowa remarked. "If only I had my gun to correct the issue."

"Right," Heero said as they walked to the edge of the far-left table and seated at the back. "They took mine, too. I want it back."

Trowa smirked slightly. "Then, we'll have to think of a way to outsmart these wizards. Play their games until we can locate our belongings."

Trowa and Heero sat on the far-left end table. Trowa's back was to the wall while Heero sat beside him on his left. To his surprise, as he slightly leaned backward, was when food magically appeared in front of them, along with their empty plates, silverware and napkins. A plate of steaming ham, bacon and sausages, a bowl of pillowy, yellow scrambled eggs, freshly crisped toast with butter, jam, and honey. Delectable fruits like healthy red-seeded watermelon slices, plump and vibrant blackberries, bright green grapes and strawberries, and plums were in a spread. Orange juice, pumpkin juice, and water, labeled in silver closed pitchers, sat next to coffee and tea kettles.

Trowa was taken aback by the spread and his mind buzzed with questions on how they appeared. Were they cooked naturally or by magic, were they summoned by their thoughts or by some sensor system? As he eyed the food, he felt his stomach growl. Trowa realized it had been over a day since he last ate a meal.

He picked up his silverware and dug in, taking some sausages and scrambled eggs and fruit on his plate. He poured some coffee, dismissing milk and cream. He preferred black coffee. Taking a sip, the liquid pooled into his mouth, and he savored the taste for a moment, taking a slow exhale through his nose.

He let rumble a low approving hum. Yes, it had been a long day.

Looking into his cup of java, Trowa could admit the brew was good. He had better on continental Europe, but this was not bad. The bitterness made him somewhat relax, and the texture made it more appealing. He heard Heero do the same; silverware touching and tapping against plates in small clinks, a pitcher pouring into a cup, the liquid splashing against the cup's bottom and filling.

They ate in respective silence. It was always a pleasure to have a good breakfast. The war did not much allow for these small comforts. These wizards were lucky in that respect: good food could be magicked for them at any time. It was a luxury made in complacency.

Halfway finished with their meal was when Duo, Quatre and Wufei, with their backpacks strapped to their backs, entered the Great Hall.

At the sight of food, Duo rushed to the table, sliding along the long, parallel bench. He stopped when he was opposite of Heero, the former who paid the teen no mind as he continued eating.

"Morning," he yawned, half covering his mouth. His eyes hungrily roamed the food. He let out a low moan. "This looks delicious!"

Quatre sat beside him, eyeing the food with a peculiar hunger in his eyes, too. Quatre's eyes seemed to light up. "It sure does," he echoed and then frowned. "But where's the silverware and plates?"

Not a second later and a trio of plates and silverware appeared in front of them. A loud thump came from the table, shaking plates and utensils. Duo had jumped in his seat and then said, "Sweet," as he collected his breakfast, particularly eyeing the bacon with a ravenous gleam in his eyes.

"This is a welcome surprise," Quatre said.

Quatre was referring to the magic, and Trowa understood how surprising it would be for food to magically appear as if summoned by their hunger. To people like them who had no clue of magic until the day before, this was deeply shocking. Trowa wondered if the food was magically created, each piece of food continually tested until the facsimile or similar flavor and taste and texture was produced that humans could not distinguish, or if the food was produced normally and transferred magically. So many questions on a simple use of magic.

"I take it it's magic," said Wufei while taking a seat on Quatre's left. Trowa gave him a nod and Wufei let out a contemplative hum.

Trowa noticed Heero pausing in his meal. At times, he would grimace and then massage his wrists or shoulder or jaw. Realization came to Trowa, and he furrowed his brow in thought. Perhaps the potion was bothering him.

"The Skele-Gro bothering you?" Trowa asked finally when Heero had noticed his gaze on him. Puzzled blue eyes looked on in askance. "I guess mending broken and fractured bones do not heal instantly, like magic."

Heero sighed. "Yeah. The aches are still there and so is the bitter aftertaste."

"Aftertaste?" Trowa asked. "You mean it didn't taste like muted delicate fruits?"

Heero stared blankly at Trowa. Then, his mouth twitched, and he licked his lips. "It tasted like shit. I wouldn't recommend it."

It came at once. An erupting feeling that shot from his belly and expelled from his throat and mouth. Throwing his head back, Trowa laughed loudly. It echoed, resounded, and filled the hall.

He laughed until his shoulders shook and his abdominals revolted, twisting at their unuse of laughter. It had been a while since he laughed like this, so free and uncaring. The last he did was when he, ironically, was with Heero, having saved him from the disastrous mission at Lake Baikal, Siberia. His dry wit and dark humor, having described his awful, failed suicide attempt, had moved Trowa to peals of laughter; and, of course, it was the same feeling here.

When his laughing had subsided, and he was reduced to slight shakes of his shoulders, was when he looked at the table. His comrades, except Heero, were looking at him with something to akin to wonder. It struck Trowa true, and he could not deny it either, this was the first time they've probably heard him laugh out loud.

There was a warm smile sitting on Quatre's face, though, it turned into shock as Duo, who had his mouth full of food, started coughing. He banged his on chest while grabbing his for his cup. He forced the liquid down his throat and then sighed in relief.

"You alright, Duo?" Quatre asked worriedly.

"Yeah. Yeah. I was caught off-guard. It ain't every day we hear Trowa laugh. It's... it's kinda nice, yeah," Duo said with smile. "We don' hear it every day, so it's like lookin' at a unicorn, ya know. You should laugh more often, Trowa. It's a pleasin' thing to hear from ya."

"Don't get used to it," Trowa said with a small smile. He leaned forward a bit, resting his left arm on the table, and took a sip of his java.

Duo simply waved his hand and brought a piece sausage to his mouth. "I think it's nice, Trowa," Quatre said. "It's not every day we hear you laugh, and Heero crack a dry joke."

"Well, Heero does from time to time. Ya just have to get him on his higher-than-you mood," Duo chuckled. "He'll let you know, right pal."

Duo nodded at Heero. Heero merely stared at him for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say, pal."

Duo and Quatre and Trowa shared a knowing smile. Heero knew when to hit back. Sometimes, he was like a coiled snake waiting to attack. A wrong move and Heero would snap at the opportune time and claim his prize.

"Never pictured you for sarcasm," Wufei said at Heero while he buttered his toast, "but I like it. It gives you bite."

Turning his thoughts back on Hogwarts and magic, Trowa said, "We need a plan. Whether we stay here and look forward to all this magic or leave and go somewhere else. I doubt us being here was planned by this thing."

Trowa picked up the golden ball and then let it fall to his chest.

Duo shrunk back a bit. "Careful with that thing, man! I'm already terrified on what that it can do. It just spells so much trouble to be caught in somethin' we are not prepared for."

Duo then sighed, put his elbow on the table and cupped his chin with his hand. "What can we do?" asked Duo. Sighing, he blew a stray bang that fell in his face.

He put his fork down with a clang and leaned forward. "We're somewhere in the highlands of Scotland, with a ruined space shuttle in a dangerous magical forest with angry centaur men prowlin' the place, shootin' it up like an aggrieved OZ officer in the middle of nowhere. Oh, were also surrounded by magical people, in a magical castle, that makes our electrical devices malfunction. We have no way of normal communication, or even contactin' the Preventers for help. It's not like we can, say, steal a plane to drift down to Sicily. Oh, did I forget magic? 'Cause there's plenty of it."

"An adequate summation of events," Wufei commented and then took a sip of his beverage. He looked down into his cup and narrowed his dark eyes. Emotions swirled and clouded his eyes, flickering. "It just lacks a solution."

"Magic or not, we're pretty resourceful. We'll get what we need and go," Heero said.

Prussian blue eyes cut into them, searching. "If that's our choice," added Heero firmly.

"It won't work…" Trowa said. "Not leaving but going to Sicily. The journey would be for naught, coming up short to a place different than we imagined."

"What do you mean," asked Wufei, his onyx eyes penetrating. He put down his drink and turned his attention towards Trowa.

Trowa took a deep breath. This was going to be tough to say. Trowa looked at Heero who gave him a nod of approval. It did not make it any easier to say, but at least he had an ally, albeit one that disliked softening hard blows.

"It won't work because Julia Noventa's estate will not be there."

Duo's head turned sharply to him. "Hold on. What do you mean, Trowa? She won't be there? Did she move, are we reconvening somewhere else?"

"It's worse than that," Heero said grimly, "it's worse than you can imagine."

"How worse?" Quatre said warily, his eyes narrowing on both Heero and Trowa. "What do you two know that we don't? I cannot imagine what we've been through since yesterday could be any worse."

"Unfortunately, it is, Quatre," Trowa admitted. "In Dumbledore's office, he was holding a newspaper. Beside the headline, the date read June 18, 1994, CE. Not June 18, AC 196. Either we were thrown back into the past or entered a new dimensional timeline. The fact remains: We're no longer in After Colony. This is fact."

A stunned silence arrived like shotgun to the heart. The three other boys widened their eyes, pupils dilating to large discs, the whites between the colored irises shining in stunned disbelief.

"You're-You're not serious, are you Trowa?" Quatre stammered.

"It's what Heero and I saw. We are no longer in After Colony," said Trowa. "I know it's hard to take, but that's the truth. We're vagabonds to this new era."

Duo's eyes enlarged. He seemed to gasp as he stood and heavily leaned over the table, hands outstretched on the table to support weight of his tumultuous emotions and feelings.

"Wait! Wait wait wait! You're saying we've been sent to another timeline," said Duo, "to ancient times! Common Era?! Oh man, this is crazy! We took a flight that was messed up by crazy magic, nearly crashed a ship into a magical forest, de-aged to our younger selves, met a ball of glowing energy wanted us to save the world from a comin' darkness, and now we're in another timeline, which could be the past, or another dimension?"

Duo's manic muttering seemed to worry Quatre as he called his name. Duo ignored him, rambling, "Ya know what?" and Duo sat down and crossed his arms like a petulant child. "Whatever! I am done analyzin' this. Someone punch me awake from this horrible nightmare. I can't take this sh – ouch!"

Taking his words to heart, Heero had made a fist and plowed it into Duo's shoulder. The blow, although lacking conviction from Heero's part, felled Duo into Quatre's shoulder. Quickly recollecting himself, Duo's face turned into a heated scowl, cheeks reddening, and he directed his vicious glare at Heero while rubbing his shoulder. "Ow, man! Heero, what the hell? That's gonna leave a mark. Those punches of yours are anything but gentle."

"Are you awake? You asked for someone to wake you up and force you to face reality. Besides, you were getting too loud," Heero explained calmly, and he flicked his gaze to the side at the large figure moving their way. "You need to relax and quiet down."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm up," Duo grunted coolly. "You didn't have to hit that hard."

"It should have been harder. That way, we wouldn't have to hear you babbling," scolded Wufei. "We're already in a messed-up situation, and we don't need to make it worse by being too emotional. Learn to control your emotions better."

Duo was about to retort something vile at Wufei, his round mouth morphing into a scowl and an acidic barb surely on the way, when a louder and cheerier voice broke into their conversation.

"I see yeh lads are all riled up today. It's good ter see yer risin' spirits after yesterday's fiasco," came the jovial voice of Hagrid walking towards them. Hagrid stopped behind an unsmiling and grimacing Duo, a surprised Quatre, and a neutral Wufei who continued to drink his beverage, having one eye on Hagrid and the other on Duo.

"Good mornin'. Yesterday was quite a surprise. Haven' experienced a magical incident like that in a while," Hagrid chuckled to himself.

He patted his belly with another chuckle, perhaps, his thoughts had fallen to another magical incident that was comparable. It was not lost on Trowa that probably there were other comparable incidences that have happened in this reality. He was not sure of the frequency, but magic seemed to attract chaos and disaster.

The boys replied with a subdued good morning. Hagrid noticed it, his long dark eyebrows, the size of large caterpillars, jumping up his head. He didn't say a word about it, and Trowa was grateful for it. He did not want to think about it if he had to.

"Colored me surprise when Dumbledore and I stumbled on upon yer, um... spaceship… Never thought I'd see one in person. Kinda 'ard to wrap my mind 'round it. It was a lot bigger than I expected it to be, almost as big as a Muggle aircraft. Yer landin' took a big chunk out of the ground, tha's fer sure," Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh disturbed a big part of the ecosystem. Gonna be a bit of a hassle for the creatures livin' there. Not gonna be a good fer ter environment."

Quatre smiled up at Hagrid. "I can imagine they've reduced in size since Common Era."

Quatre looked down and sighed, "I wish we could have avoided landing like that, Hagrid, really, but we weren't left with many options other than a hard landing. Sorry."

Duo chuckled darkly, "It was that or death. Being skewered wasn' in my forecast, man."

Hagrid smiled at the apology and gently patted the Quatre's shoulder with his large hands. His hands were the size of Quatre's head, and it covered the teen's entire shoulder to his bicep. A sharp exhale of breath shot out of Quatre's mouth as his stomach met the edge of table. The man's gentleness was like a small wrecking ball.

Giving a small nod, Hagrid replied, "Nothin' we can do now other than wait until somethin' happens."

Hagrid's beetle black eyes watched them for moment. "I see tha' yer all packed up. Fancy you runnin' away? Though, I doubt tha' be a good thin'. Besides Hogsmeade and other localities, we're pretty far out from civilization. Plus, the magical creatures yeh'll encounter… best you be havin' somethin' to defend yerrself 'gainst 'em. As beautiful as they are, not all of 'em are the friendly sort. Um, many would try to take a bit out of yeh if they could."

"Defend ourselves?" Duo asked. "If you give us back our firearms, that'll solve our problems there." He looked pointedly at Hagrid. He then pointed his thumb up and pointer finger towards Hagrid while curling his remaining fingers into an imitation gun.

"Bang!" he whispered, pretending to shoot Hagrid with a wink.

So, Duo had noticed as well, thought Trowa.

Hagrid's face scrunched, and his frown became more pronounced. Trowa nearly sighed at the reaction. He had suspected as much. "The headmaster 'ad those thin's taken away. Guns are not allowed on Hogwarts property or any Muggle weapons, especially for underage children."

"They're not yours," said Heero coolly.

"Ye better be directin' yer questions to the headmaster then as he 'as 'em," Hagrid replied. "Regrettably, the headmaster is away on business, so yer goin' to 'ave to 'old on ter yer questions fer now."

Duo groaned loudly, slapping his hand to his forehead. "This is some bull."

"Can't do any thin' 'bout 'hat. But we can be gettin' ye somethin' else to defend yerselves against certain types of magic. Yeh'll be needin' yer wands. Professor Dumbledore 'as tasked me to gather wha' yeh need in Diagon Alley, then we'll 'ead to Gringotts Wizarding Bank for a blood test."

"A blood test?" Wufei asked, brow furrowing, and this realization shined in his eyes. "You're trying to find our relatives. Our past relatives?"

Hagrid nodded. "Wouldn't that interfere with the timeline?" Trowa asked. "Change the world, your world?"

If they were indeed in the past, all of this, all this interference would be devastating for the future. It could damage the future irreparably. It could even erase his own existence. Are these people so blasé to change, that it could spark a butterfly effect?

"I think yeh've already interfered wit it enough," Hagrid muttered though it was loud enough hear. "The professor noticed the same thin' but said somethin's different. Things 'ave changed. Yeh'll just have ter ask him when we come back to Hogwarts. Now, referrin' ter Wufei's question, we'll be seein' if we can find any of yer, um, relatives that are magical. If we can, we'll notify them for guardianship."

Seeing the uncomfortable silence settling on teens, Hagrid tried giving a smile and saying, "Don' worry 'bout it. Everythin' will solve itself, just yeh wait and see."

It was not just the timeline that troubled Trowa. It was also the guardianship. He had been on his own his whole life. Independence and self-reliance were his single-most companions that defined how he lived his life and the direction he traveled. To come under stewardship of someone else, especially a relative he had no relation to, was an insult to his independence. He'd – and probably his friends too – would rather live life on their own terms than by someone who was deemed older than them. Most likely, they'd ditch their guardians at first chance.

"Firs' thin' firs', we'll be goin' to Diagon Alley," Hagrid continued on, ignoring the silence.

"Diagonal Alley," Duo mispronounced. "What?"

"Diagon Alley," Hagrid corrected. "It's London's most magical place. Filled with shops, restaurants, and businesses. It's where wizards and witches gather. Been there for centuries."

"Don't we get a say on whether we want to go or not?" Trowa asked.

"Trowa…" Quatre whispered.

Hagrid blinked in surprise. Moving, he sat down besides Wufei. His large hands stroked his beard, then curled a tendril around his thick fingers. "I—I guess yeh'd be righ'. It is yer decision to make. I can't, or Professor Dumbledore can't, force this on yeh. No one can but yeh yerselves. But between yeh and me, whatever that golden device was sayin' last nigh', I would take it seriously."

Hagrid pointed at the Time-Turner. He furrowed his brow and his black eyes hardened like volcanic rock. "Magical objects like those are dangerous and a rarity," his voice came low in a deep whisper. "Nothin' ever good 'appens when magic can think for itself, when it can act on its own accord. Wizards and witches 'ave gone mad and perished because they didn' take these objects seriously or 'ad gotten way over their 'eads, thinkin' they could escape it. I'd say arrogance led to their deaths. Yeh wouldn' wanna follow 'em down tha' awful path.

"It's better to have yeh trained and get accustomed to magic, less yeh be unprepared."

"Unprepared for what?" Duo asked warily.

"Um, I'm not sure," Hagrid confessed. "I don' believe in the codswallop of destiny or whatever that thin' said. I say it's up to every wizard or witch to take ter own destiny in ter own hands and make of it wha' they will. But yeh'll be havin' a hard time controllin' yer magic if yer not trained."

"How do you suggest we be trained then?" Quatre asked.

"Well, by headin' to Diagon Alley so we could pick up yer wands for a start. Dumbledore be givin' me some funds to pay for 'em. I'd keep that between yeh and me, though, this is typical when a Hogwarts student does not have the money ter, um, afford school materials. Can't control magic well without it, though, I be 'earin' those on the African continent be usin' wandless magic than wands. A harder thin' to master but not impossible.

"So, what's yer answer? Whatever yeh accept is acceptable 'cause it's yer choice. Yeh'll just have to live with it like we all do."

Trowa looked at his friends and knew, by their determined expressions, they had a made their decision. Their eyes were focused and unwavering, faces calm, jaws set. He too was intrigued by this magical world. What secrets did this world hide from the mundane? He hoped he would not come to regret his decision.

After breakfast, Hagrid took them out of the castle to his hut. The day was bright and blue and stretched endlessly. The sun glared lightly down on them, heating their faces, reddening cheeks. Opening the large wooden door to his hut, Hagrid welcome them in.

Trowa's first impression of the hut was that it was entirely self-contained. There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants, knotted carefully by brown rope, were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open churning fire, a pouch of green sand sat nestled against the fireplace, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it. An old circular, misshapen table sat in the middle with a few chairs tucked underneath.

The chairs did not look like they could support Hagrid's weight, but Trowa remembered magic probably reinforced them to endure. It would seem Hagrid preferred small quarters despite the length of the castle, which could house him just as well. It was pragmatic and cozy and small, a place that spoke of the necessities and small comforts.

"This is me home," Hagrid said with pride, though, slightly embarrassed as red dusted his cheeks. "Sorry fer the untidiness, wasn' expectin' anyone."

"Not a problem, Hagrid, my man," Duo said. He walked to the table, looked around, and smiled politely. "Thanks for invitin' us in."

Hagrid gave him a grateful smile. "Now, let's get ter it." He took the kettle away from the fireplace and placed it on the table. He motioned them to the fireplace with a large hand.

"Muggles like to travel by automobiles and aero planes. It's a quick way ter get ter a place, but not the fastes'. We wizards and witches 'ave developed a differen' methods of, um, transportation. There's apparatin', flyin' on brooms, portkey, flyin' carpets, using magical beasts, or a favorite of mine, enchantin' vehicles to fly, like motorcycles. The last means of travel is…"

He went to grab the green, glittery powder nestled by the fireplace. "By floo powder."

Hagrid scooped a human-sized handful in his large hands and opened them. The dust was a pale green that sparkled. There were tints of purple in the green that gleamed from the window light. "This here floo powder allows a witch or wizards ter travel any fireplace under Ministry regulation. Almost every fireplace is connected. Yer jus need to say yer destination, the fire will turn green, and jus jump in."

"Just jump in?" Duo asked, switching between the green powder and the fireplace unevenly, eyes scrunching. It wasn't skepticism that shined in his eyes. There was a slight fear, and Trowa knew it to be accidentally injuring or burning oneself when making the trip.

"Will we burn ourselves?" Trowa asked. "Jumping into a fireplace doesn't seem like a good idea."

Hagrid chuckled and slapped Trowa on the back. Involuntary, Trowa let out a small grunt. The force of the slap made Trowa stagger forward a few steps. It was indeed like a small ram had rammed into him and pushed him forward.

"Only if yeh don' put the floo powder in the fireplace with a fire lit. If yer don' wanna catch fire, I sugges' yeh put the magic in first. But good question. And that reminds me." Hagrid then walked to the table and took a pink umbrella and pointed it at the burning fireplace. A puff of glittering magic shot out of it and the fire extinguished itself.

"There." Hagrid then gave a large smile. "I hope you boys not thinkin' we'll be takin' this fireplace."

Trowa thought exactly that, though, with magic, he'd be hard pressed that they had found a way to go about this mode of transportation. Hagrid laughed at their uncomfortable expressions. "My fireplace isn' connected to the floo network and as yeh can see, it's far too small to fit someone like me. We'll 'ave to be takin' the ones in ter castle. Hogwarts 'as specific places fer students and people to use the floo network."

Hagrid then led them out of his hut and back into the castle, where they found themselves in an atrium full of fireplaces on the first floor. Each fireplace had an opening as high as seven feet and as wide as ten feet. Trowa eyed it curiously, engaged to how Hagrid would perform this magic.

"I 'ope tha' migh' make yeh feel bit better. Yeh'll have more room to fit your 'ead in. Floo powder can be used with or without fire. Depenin' on how it's used, yeh can even communicate through ter flames."

Hagrid then turned to them, a jolly smile creasing his cheeks up through his thick beard. "Now, which one wan to be the brave person ter go firs?"

Trowa looked at his friends, and his friends looked at him and each other. It was not the lack of bravery that was holding him and them back respectively. Trowa was rarely afraid of anything. None of them wanted to go first because they wanted to see what would happen to the first individual and model after them.

After a full long minute, Wufei took a step forward. "I'll do it."

Hagrid smiled. "Good showin' Wufei." Hagrid opened his hand with the floo powder in it. "Take some, throw it in ter fireplace, and clearly call out Diagon Alley. Yeh have to be clear, otherwise yeh'll wind up somewhere far off course. We'll be with yeh in a few."

Wufei nodded as he walked towards Hagrid. He grabbed the floo powder, stood on the hearth, and spoke clearly, "Diagon Alley."

He released the green powder on the chimney floor. When the powder hit the floor was when Trowa's eyes jumped in surprise and his breath skipped. A roar of magical green fire erupted from the hearth and devoured Wufei in a torrent of green flames. As soon as the green flames came down, Wufei was nowhere to be seen. What was left was a smaller green fire until it smoldered on the floor.

"Whoa," Duo commented, taking a step back. "Did ya see that? Wufei – he's just… gone!"

"I think we all did," Quatre replied, his voice bit uncharacteristically higher. "It was a sight to see."

"Yeh see. It's nothin' to it. Who's next?" Hagrid asked, trying to encourage them to come forward with his hand.

One by one they lined up. Heero went next, followed by Quatre, and then Duo. When it was Trowa's turn, he grabbed the powder. Feeling how fine it was, the texture reminded him of soft beach sand, smooth and almost powdery. He angled himself in the chimney and yelled, "Diagon Alley."

He released the powder and as it touched hearth, green flames exploded upward. It started to swallow him as the writhing green flame-tongues climbed and licked up his feet to his neck until it covered him from head to toe. The flames were not hot, or did it burn his skin. In fact, it almost felt merely symbolic. When the flames reached over him, a burst of light flashed in his eyes.

A blink later, Trowa was ejected out a chimney and stumbled forward. He took a few more steps before he righted himself. Blinking, he tried to gather his mental acuity as black blinking dots circled his vision like angry flies. He found himself in a small alley, walled by aged reddish-brown bricks that ended at an ocean of blue sky.

Off to the sides were a row of larger chimneys, paralleling both sides of the two buildings. People were appearing in green flames in and out of it. Those who appeared out of chimneys, without pause, walked into the outer alley like an everyday occurrence. They did not stumble or fall but fell into a rhythm, like walking down last stair before hitting the floor.

He moved his eyes to the side and found his friends before him, watching wizards and witches in fascination. They vanished out of existence. They came into existence. All with the same green, jumping flames. Trowa moved, and they gathered to an open area away from the chimneys.

"This is wild!" Duo remarked, spinning his eyes toward the chimneys. "To have something like this… Ha! A world of magic!"

"I think we better get used it. If this is just beginning of magic, then this world should not disappoint," Wufei said, eyes lingering on the chimneys, too.

Not a moment later, Hagrid bounded out of a chimney. He took up some space considering his size. His eyes lighted up when he found the teens. He looked them over and then approved on what he saw with a nod.

"I see that we all made it all righ'. Let's get goin'. No time like the presen'."

Following Hagrid's lead, he took them to a long winding alleyway. Before he saw the throngs of people, Trowa heard their animated voices. The sound had perked his ears and shook his eardrums. It sounded like thousands communicating at the same time, all their words an unintelligible mess of noise.

Excitement was bubbling in the air as people moved through the alley. It was almost palpable, as if it was a physical manifestation that he could touch and wrap his hands around. In the larger alley, people dressed in flowing robes of every color – dark greens, flamboyant oranges, polka dots, satin purple – crowded the walkway. Mages pointed hats and top hats sat on their heads, swallowing hair and foreheads. It was like an anachronistic mesh of the ancient with a few modern twists.

As Trowa's eyes roamed these mages, he heard Hagrid chuckle a bit ahead of him. "It's usually more crowded in August when Hogwarts students arrive ter look fer school supplies. This is jus' another busy day in the alley."

Perpendicular to the alleyway, were shops upon shops selling things he thought fictional only a day ago. Apothecary and potion shops, shops selling bat spleens and animal dung, quill shops; there were shops selling robes and alterations, shops with piles and piles of books ten feet high, tottering, like they were going to fall, shops selling spell books, and even shops selling animals.

Walking by an animal shop, Trowa saw all kinds of animals inside the store, from owls to snakes and even cats. There were some he was unfamiliar with, with long noses and big bright eyes. Outside the store, owls and eagle owls hooted curiously at passersby, perched in their metal cages, heads spinning one hundred and eighty degrees. There was one owl hissing at what looked to be the owner in a red apron who was trying to feed it. Its deep red plumage stuck out amongst the naturally colored grey and black spotted owls. As the owner stuck out his hand with feed in it, the stubborn owl pecked at the shop owner's hand with a swift strike.

The owner retracted his hand with a quickness. "Damn it, you ruddy bird, I'll sale you one day! I'll get you out of my hair and out of my shop, you red scourge of an owl!" the owner called while massaging his hand as he strode back inside the shop.

The owl looked inside, watching the window, before, as if sensing Trowa's gaze, turning its attention on him. Its black eyes with ocean-colored sclera met his forest green. There was a moment, a tremendous moment, in between their gaze, that the world had gone silent, deafening the crowd and animals. The world became dyed in black and white, and two beings just existed in color between the contrast.

Trowa felt the fine hair on his neck stand. There was a tickle in his mind, almost like a touch, a feathery touch that wanted him open. It was a strange pull, different than Snape's and Dumbledore's, having more of a curious if not pleading undertone. As Trowa was beginning to think that he should open that door between him and the bird, he felt someone brush against his shoulder as a man in a long, crimson robe swept by him, muttering a quick "Watch where you are going! You're blocking the road!"

As if the light turned on, the world came back into focus, saturating the life back into color and sound. Trowa blinked, rather confused at the spectacle. He turned his eyes back on the owl, who was still looking at him, this time angry, hissing, and puffing out its feathery chest to intimidate. Trowa nodded at its behavior as he stared into the bird's eyes. The owl puffed up more as if it was inflated with air.

"You don't like being ignored, do you? Trapped in a foreign place, full of unknown people that you've never met," he said softly. "I confess I know the feeling. Restrained and entrapped by handlers, wanting escape to a freedom that is mysterious just as it is vast. "

Trowa shook his head and sighed. "I am sorry, but I'm not here to save you. This is where I bid you farewell."

He gave the owl a slight bow with his head, and, as if the owl understood the small gesture, seemed to freeze and then lessen and become smaller, cocking its head to the side in a strange, almost human expression, like a curious person. Trowa could feel his expression soften as he fondly looked over the owl. Its strangeness only seemed to interest Trowa. Animals were a small wonder in themselves, and humans never seemed to give them credit in their intelligence and ingenuity to adapt and communicate.

"I see that you can understand me." The owl twittered in response before falling into a thoughtful silence.

Trowa chuckled under his breath and fled up the street, following Quatre's head of platinum blond hair. Strangely, it stood out in a sea of dark hats and hair When he caught up, Hagrid dashed down another alleyway off the main, towards the south.

"This way down and we'll get ter ole Ollivanders's shop," Hagrid said as he moved through the alley. Hagrid was an imposing force. As he moved, the crowd opened before him. There was no chance of pushing him aside or moving through him as people parted at his large presence.

"Ain't no better wandmaker and wandcrafter than Mr. Ollivanders," Hagrid continued. "It's been a few years since I saw 'im."

Hagrid's eyes looked faraway, then, suddenly, black eyes brightening, back in the present. Troubled black eyes trembled. "Maybe, it's not a good thin' if I came in," Hagrid muttered. "Better not."

Quatre gave him a strange look, imperceptibly narrowing his eyes, his lush lashes slightly fluttering as he looked up at the giant of man. "What do you mean, Hagrid? Did something happen between you and this Ollivanders?"

Hagrid shook his head and sighed despite his scrunching cheeks and clenching jaw. He could not hold Quatre's gaze for long, looking to the ground as they walked. They continued on for a moment of silence, Hagrid's scraggly black head bowing to ground

"Never yeh min', Quatre," Hagrid said resignedly, after a while. I'll jus' 'ave to deal wit it. Don' mean I'm gonna like it."

Trowa puzzled at that statement. Did Hagrid and Ollivanders have a troubled past? Will it prove a challenge for getting our wands? Trowa hoped not, still eyeing the slightly downcast Hagrid from the back as he trudged his large legs to what it would seem like an impending punishment.

Just as busy as the main street, the south alley, Trowa found, was filled with people and itinerants. Diners sat at cafés under brightly colored parasols making conversation and showing their purchases, holding them up in bags smaller than their heads but pulling out items larger than a dog. A news office called the Daily Prophet nestled between an extravagant and gaudy café and a robes shop called Second-Hand Robes. Plastered on the windows of the Daily Prophet were a series of moving pictures with exclamatory headlines.

Trowa's eyes lingered on a few headlines that read: Cults! Cults! Cults! The Rise of Cults and Dark Magic Have Taken the Wizarding World by Storm!" from "Vampire Attack in Brighton! Are the Ministry too Lenient on Magical Creatures?" and then the last one with an enraged, yelling man called Sirius Black. His black-night hair whipped around him like it was a storm and his haunted, grey, piercing eyes in a state of animalistic fury and pain.

As they made down the alley, a three-storied, dilapidated building of muted violet came into the picture. The paint was peeling off the stone bricks and hanging down the walls like peeled skin from an orange. Spiderweb cracks weaved across, ran along, and curved around the surface of the bricks and worn paint like ivy. The wood holding the structure looked weathered and faded, and the building seemed to radiate a strangeness of age. It was out of place, a disaster of anachronism, that punctuated the world of wonders and magic.

The front read in gold lettering: Ollivanders. On the strapline of the shop, also read in gold, peeling, bright letters that seemed to sparkle and shine despite age taking hold: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

Quite a statement, Trowa thought, looking at the strapline. For shops to exist through turmoil and structural change not only of social strife and changing economies but of modernization was a testament to the preservation and purpose, and perhaps need, that these wizards, or maybe the Ollivanders, had on magical conduits. There was a financial and social need for these devices that had not faltered since ancient times.

Despite the building's appearance, warm, soft yellow light emitted from opaque, grey windows. It was like a lighthouse that reached for lost sailors and guided them to port, only this time, to magic. They gathered at the storefront door. Grabbing the doorknob with his large hand, Hagrid gently opened the door.

"Well, now, after yeh," he encouraged with a slight nod of his head and a hearty wink.

The pilots gathered and stepped into a dimly lit shop. The floorboards let off a soft creak as they made their way to the front counter. A ginormous book, its pages splashed in warm yellow light, lay under a dimly lit lamp. Along the counter lied a strange, three-sectioned, moveable ruler and another ruler with silver markings.

The shop was small, narrow, and empty of people. Stacked in shelves and outside of shelves, leaning down on them, were hundreds if not thousands of boxes, Trowa presumed, were wands. Like furniture and wallpaper, they decorated the walls, stood like wooden pillars against the ceiling, and leaned like Piazza down on them, almost ready to tip over at a moment's notice. A thin veneer of dust blanketed the shop; it seemed to make everything older, dirtier. A staircase, to the right, disappeared up into the ceiling.

There was no sign of the shop owner Ollivanders. Hagrid stood to the back, near the window, careful not to budge against the stacked boxes with his size. "'e seems to be busy. I'll give a call. Mr. Ollivanders are you there?" boomed Hagrid.

The loudness of his voice disturbed the room, shifting the dust, trembling the boxes. There was creak towards the back, then it grew louder. Creak. Creak. Crack! A sudden fall of steps came and appearing from behind a pillar of boxes, came a tuff of snow-white hair. A spritely old man bounded to them to the counter. Grass green flowing robes covered his small frame and trailed across the dusty floor while a muted red, pointed wizard hat sat atop his head.

His brilliant silver eyes electrified as they appeared on the group of boys before moving to back where Hagrid was. "Ah, Rubeus Hagrid, what a welcome surprise. Sixteen-inch Oak with a dragon heartstring core. Nice and bendy," came the man's soft voice.

Ollivanders's eyes seemed to flick to Hagrid's pink umbrella, a slight twitch on his brow. "I trust you're keeping the pieces in adequate order."

There was a sudden hardness in his voice when he said trust. Hagrid seemed to have noticed as well as he stood up straighter and an embarrassed blush overcoming his features. "Yes, I 'ave, Mr. Ollivanders, ter the best of me ability."

Ollivanders hummed for a moment, evaluating Hagrid, and then nodded. "We do what we must with what we have. We're all not granted miracles, but, sometimes, miracles can find us."

He turned his gaze to the Gundam pilots, a smile breaching his wrinkled face. "Curious. I do not recall seeing these boys here, and they seemed past their age of acceptance when witches and wizards receive a wand. Hogwarts, I presume?" he said with an incline of his head towards Hagrid.

Hagrid nodded politely and said gruffly, "Yes, they are. These'll be our new students joinin' us this school term, ready ter begin their studies. Dumbledore sent me ter make sure they're acquainted wit a wand."

"A task usually suited for Minerva McGonagall," Ollivanders stated with a soft laugh. It was not a question. "No matter. No matter. Can I have their names?"

Like a slow-moving procession, the teens introduced themselves. Ollivanders stood behind the counter with a small, soft smile, his silver eyes uncharacteristically bright. He seemed to find great delight in their names. "One, two, three, four, and five," he counted. "A surprise coincidence, perhaps.

"Let's get them suited for their ideal wand."

Ollivanders snapped his long, white fingers. The tape with silver markings floated up from the counter and when his eyes hovered over Duo's, was when the tape stretched. It flowed over each arm, down his legs, around his neck, up to his nostrils. "Which is your wand arm, Mr. Maxwell?"

A flash of annoyance came over Duo's face as his lips twitched. "Hey, now!" Duo snapped. It was not from Ollivanders's question, but how the measuring tape had gone through his legs, hitting his groin.

"I'm ambidextrous, but I prefer my right hand. Although, not by a lot."

A snort came from Wufei. "I could have sworn you were a lefty. It would make the most sense, considering your… extroversion."

Duo laughed lightly, turning his head to him as the tape curled up and went to the counter. "Hate to break it to ya, Wufei, but I'm just more well-adjusted than you."

Wufei smirked.

"So, old man, what's the situation?" Duo asked Ollivanders, smiling, the trace of humor still hovering largely over his face, only for the humor to vanish into confusion as the man disappeared into the stacks of wand boxes in the back.

A few shuffling moments later, Olivanders came back with five boxes. He set them over the pages of his large book. "Try this," Ollivanders encouraged, taking out a bone-white wand. "Made from Canadian Birch, dragon-heartstring, twelve inches and three-quarters, flexible and a bit springy."

Duo picked it up and eyed it with open curiosity, letting his fingers run through length of the wood. "Come on, Mr. Maxwell, give it wave," encouraged Ollivanders with a slight wave and energetic smile.

Duo flicked it absently in Trowa's direction. It was like he was caught in a thunderous gale. Trowa felt a push from an invisible force plow into his body. It swept him off his feet and drove him backward. Before he knew it, pillars of stiff cardboard met his back, slamming and poking into him as he sank into the stack of boxes. Thump, thump, thump. Boxes upon boxes tumbled on his head as he lay splayed over wand boxes until it covered his vision in dusty darkness.

Narrowing his eyes, he withheld a sigh and reached out a hand to remove a box from his face. He saw Duo looking embarrassed, his head bent and a hand shakily ruffling the tips of his hair.

Ollivanders swiftly plucked the wand from his hand, shaking his head. "No good, no good. Best not use this one."

Quatre rushed to his side and slightly bent forward, offering his hand. "Trowa, you alright?"

Taking his hand and pulling himself up, Trowa broke through the boxes. He dusted the light dust that had gathered on his clothes off with a few brushes of his hand. "I'm fine," he replied tersely.

"Sorry, man," Duo said sheepishly. "Don't know my own strength."

"Keep that strength to yourself," Heero replied, earning a snort from Duo.

"I'll try, but I can't make any promises," said Duo with a wink. "My power might be too great to comprehend."

Ollivanders soon took the role of a pleasing storeowner as wand after wand fell and were taken from Duo's hands. The annoyance and wonder were building. The chaos and confusion surrounding Duo made from trying out the few wands he could was priceless. He made Hagrid's beard freeze which caused the tall man to jump in surprise, quaking the floor. Ollivanders quickly undid the spell, smiling at the small disasters caused by Duo, growing unnervingly more enthusiastic.

"Hornbeam, unicorn hair, twelve inches, hard and unyielding, a bit stubborn," Ollivanders listed, placing the brown wand into Duo's hand.

Duo flicked it and Heero found himself flat on his back. Duo shrank back from the cold, arctic glare Heero leveled on him as he slowly gathered to his feet. "Do that again, I'll kill you next time," he stated.

Duo held his hands in front of him in placation. "Man, that was an accident."

"A tricky, tricky customer!" exclaimed Ollivanders brightly. "Mr. Maxwell, would you please answer this question. It'll help me narrow and identify the most suitable wand for you."

Brightening, Duo nodded. "Sure thing, old man."

A creeping smile slowly gathered at the corners of Ollivanders mouth. His grey eyes flickered with emotion. "How would you describe the last two years of your life?"

Duo fixed his gaze on Ollivanders, bright cobalt eyes dimming in thought. The smile from his lips was removed in place of a ponderous frown. He blinked slowly as his eyes seemed to shift in emotion. A low hum came from his throat as Duo thought on the question.

"The last two years, huh?" Duo echoed. "Well, buddy, I got two for ya!"

Duo held up two fingers. "Death and hope."

The arrival of an idea landed on Ollivanders. His back straightened as if an invisible string pulled it upward. His silver eyes brightened in knowing, a knowing that Trowa could not decipher. He soon dashed back into the forest of boxes.

When he came out, he held a box covered in a thick blanket of dust. He set it over his book. With a tap of his wand, the dust cleared off. "I wonder…" he said slowly, gazing at the box, silver eyes becoming heavy, laden with meaning. "Although it's not unheard of, there are certain boxes wandmakers keep to themselves, for sometimes the magic is too great for the witch or wizard to manifest. I wonder about this."

He opened the box. Lying inside, cradled by cushion, was a polished reddish-brown wand. The reddish hue of the wood almost seemed to stain the wood, like blood had infused into the brown bark, drenching and dying it. Its handle was slightly curved.

A strange and bizarre feeling overcame Trowa. He felt his fine hair rise and stiffen as if an invisible presence had announced itself. There was an eerie feeling radiating from the wand. It felt familiar, like something he had once felt before, an empty feeling devoid of warmth. He could not remember where he had felt it, but the feeling seemed to cling to those deep, hidden memories when he was in space when the Vayeate had...

An epiphany struck Trowa like lightning! A chill ran down him and then into him, freezing his blood. He took a breath to calm himself and fought the fear that quivered in his mind and then silenced it. Then, inwardly, he felt amused as his eyes landed on Duo. Death followed the boy like a shadow, always close and never too far away.

Ollivanders looked at Duo carefully and then to the wand. "Thuja plicata, a North American, western red cedar, eleven and a half inches, with a hair from a threstral. Durable and cool. A core of death. I crafted this when I received some shipment from British Columbia. Hair is from yours truly, Hagrid. I thank you for it."

Hagrid preened himself by smoothing down his jacket. "Not a problem, Mr. Ollivanders. I'm glad I could be of help fer the next generation of wizards and witches."

Ollivanders nodded politely at him, and then picked up the wand and held it out for Duo. "A wand of perception and perspicacity. A wand of insightfulness. My father once said, 'You'll never fool a cedar wand carrier,' and I quite agree. They cannot afford to be fooled less fall victim to their own delusions and misperceptions. The wand chooses the wizard, and a wand's perception is never misperceived nor wrong. Let's see how this wand perceives you."

"Death, you say? I think I like the sound of that," Duo remarked as his fingers wound around the handle of the wood. A devilish smile lit his features.

It happened immediately. The light in the room dimmed and then flickered, the jumpy flame growing agitated by the second. Silently, the light was extinguished, darkening the room while leaving threads of silver smoke trailing to the ceiling. The room was void of warmth and light.

The room plummeted in temperature, becoming frigid like a sunless space had touched the room. It was Antarctica all over again as the frigid air bit against Trowa's skin. Ice began to form on the windows, crawling up the sill and crystalizing into thick, freezing chunks. Trowa's breath, and everyone's around him except for Duo's, became visible, ephemeral phantoms.

"Whoa! This feels awesome!" Duo exclaimed while looking at his wand. "It's like I'm holding a warm candle. This rush of energy is unbelievable! I literally feel like I can fly!"

Looking at Duo, besides the freezing temperature pervading the room, he looked perfectly comfortable in it, almost to be basking in it. An aura of blue and purple coalesced above him, rising from his shoulders, and then shifting into something else. It happened briefly, but the amorphous aura, for a moment, seemed to the take shape of a hooded figure looming over Duo's head before collapsing over him and dissolving into the air.

"Co-comfortable?" Quatre jittered. He had his arms crossed tightly around his chest. "It's f-freezing like the c-c-cold d-depths of s-space," he complained.

Duo looked up and his blue eyes glanced around the room. They seemed to jump at the icicles now hanging from the walls and the vapor emitting from his fellows' mouths in the room. Confused, he turned to Ollivanders who had been staring at him, curiosity, speculation, and something else in his appraisal. He had then taken a thoughtful if not measuring look before slowly nodding to himself.

With a flick of his wand, the room became warm, and the icicles and ice melted away. They dripped and pooled on the floor in small puddles, and Hagrid used his umbrella to clear it away with a few flicks of his wrist and four puffs from the tip of his umbrella. The chill on Trowa's skin dissipated and warmth kissed his skin once more. The lights in the room resurged in brightness.

Ollivanders spoke in a louder whisper, in awe. "How curious. Every time I had touched this wand, it was like Death was speaking to me, his shadowy presence lurking over my shoulder like winter cold, his aura deathly freezing and terrifying. There was no warmth when I had finished this wand. It was hollow and cold. How curious it has chosen you, giving you warmth where it had left me hollow, as if Death had found a companion of sorts."

Ollivanders eyed Duo carefully for moment. "Wands certainly do know their owners."

Then, Ollivanders, peeling his eyes away from Duo, turned to the group of teens. "Now, who is next?"

This time it was Quatre who went. Again, the process resembled Duo's. Several wands transferred into Quatre's awaiting hand and none of them had chosen him, which spurred Ollivanders energetic excitement. The energy he was radiating had melted years from his face. His eyes and face were aglow in boyish wonder, and there seemed to be a competitive edge urging him on to find a wand suitable for Quatre.

"Quatre, right?" Ollivanders spoke. Quatre nodded his head. "What is your full name?"

Quatre blinked. "Quatre Raberba Winner. Is there something wrong?"

"Raberba, Rababah. Hmm," Ollivanders muttered looking at the brown teen, stroking his chin. "Arabic. A player of instruments, specifically string?"

Quatre blinked and a slight blush found his cheeks. "You would be correct, Mr. Ollivanders. I play many, but I do have a love for the violin."

Many is an understatement, Trowa thought with some humor. The kid has too much talent to keep it centralized to one instrument.

Quatre was a known musician to all five of them, and the most likely to play almost any instrument in existence. If Quatre was not focused on radical, violent revolutions, he would have made a masterful musician and artist. He had an ear, a gift, for music. Whatever instrument he let his fingers or mouth touch, symphonies were orchestrated by his extraordinary imagination.

Ollivanders gave a knowing smile at him. "How interesting. I think I know what might work for you."

He disappeared into the back. A moment later he came back again, holding a red wand box. "Two. I did not think I would have to retrieve another box from outside my originals, but here we are."

He placed the previous box on the floor and placed the new one over the large box. Anticipation leaking like a dam, Ollivanders grinned while rubbing his hands. Excitement was bubbling in his eyes. He looked down.

Slowly, he opened the box and a deep brown wand lay neatly inside. It was bone straight with streaming lines that curved from the handle to the tip. "Twelve inches, vine. Flexible and resilient. The core is strange. Never had I matched it with the wings of a Bashmu feather. Quite a long-complicated process. Dangerous and temperamental beasts, they are."

Hagrid laughed loudly at the statement. "They can be a bit ferocious, but they're downright lovely inside. Yeh jus' need to know 'ow to get on ter good side before they take a piece out of yeh."

Bewilderment reflected in Ollivanders's silver eyes. Ollivanders gave Hagrid a skeptical look, scrunching his brow, where his thin, white eyebrows bumped against each other like marbles. "Yes… quite lovely," he said hesitantly.

"Take a wave," he said, but there was something in the way he said it. Trowa flicked a green eye on the old man. There some anticipation waiting in Ollivanders's tone that Trowa noticed. Ollivanders's eyes were locked on Quatre's moving hand, waiting for something.

Before Quatre grasped the wand, the wand moved on its own accord. It hovered up, pointed to the ceiling. It let out warm hum as if it was singing. A pleasing warmth grew in Trowa, starting at his stomach and then coursing through him. It sprung against his skin and then overflowed, washing him a warm embrace. It was like when Fawkes was trilling in Dumbledore's office. It was music to the soul.

Pure lights of gold, reds, and greens spouted from the wand as it sung. The colorful lights strobed the ceiling, revolving in a circular motion. The show soon came to an end as the lights faded away. The wand remained still for a moment before flying into Quatre's open hand.

It was when the two connected was when the world lit up in brilliant light. It was so blinding, so intense, it hurt Trowa's eyes. He closed them, but the pain still lingered. His eyelids trembled furiously.

A minute later, a sound of loud clapping rang in ears. "Bravo, Mr. Winner! Bravo! Never, never had I seen something so miraculous of those wielding vine woods. Oh yes, there is something special in you. A wonderful match, Mr. Winner. I expect great things from you and your wand as your wand knows what to expect from you."

Trowa carefully opened his eyes to find Quatre looking at his wand with a large smile of wonder on his face. Hovering beside him, giddy with joy, was a beaming Ollivanders. Pride painted his features as he stood tall, nodding at the match.

"How does it feel, Quatre?" Trowa asked as the teen joined his side. Trowa was curious if Quatre experienced the same reaction from his wand as Duo's.

Quatre beamed a brilliant smile that lighted his face. "It's amazing, Trowa!

A melodious laugh left his mouth. "It's like I'm holding an old friend. Duo wasn't wrong about the energy. It's like the melding of our magics, when in sync, become harmonious symphonies. It's… it's a great feeling."

Quatre held up his wands, eyes ravishing it with delight. "Feels like a missing piece finding its way back to the board."

Following Quatre's extravagance, Quatre settled next to Trowa. Wufei had found his wand after a more thorough search than the previous two. Nothing seemed to fit right for Wufei. Each wand barely touched his fingertips when Ollivanders would quickly grab it, give him a strange look, then jump back to his boxes, using his rolling ladder to climb higher, amid his city of boxes, to scour for the right wand.

"Beech, phoenix feather, twelve inches and three-quarters. Flexible and supple. For young wizards beyond their time in knowledge and experience," Ollivanders remarked, holding the wand carefully between his thin fingers.

Wufei took hold of the wand. The wand let a pleasing hum when grasped. Ollivanders started to smile but then it crashed and deflated when the pleasing hum became an audible sigh, and the wand became a noodle, limp and listless. It was one of the strangest things Trowa had ever seen. It was almost as if it was sentient.

Duo let out a boisterous laugh. He cackled so hard he was holding his stomach. "Come on, Wufei, get it together man. Ha ha ha! You can't be poor peformin' like this," Duo said between laughs. "Ha ha. It'll make you less of a man."

"Not the right one," Ollivanders muttered to himself, cupping his chin between his thumb and index finger. "No, that's not it. It reacted well, but something went wrong. A feeling? A thought?"

Wufei gave Duo a solid, stony look, dark eyes penetrating. If Heero was cold, then Wufei could be a tempest of fury. "I think I'm behind Heero in killing Duo if Heero doesn't do the job thoroughly."

"Sheesh, I didn' think I'd be that popular on everyone's hitlist," Duo said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. "At least, Quatre and Trowa are behind me. Y'all back me up. It's only three against two."

Trowa raised an eyebrow. Duo had it all wrong. "You got me wrong, Duo. I'm ahead of Heero after the box incident. I figure I'd be first in laying claim. I'll be thorough enough where there's no second or third attempt."

Duo grumbled about while Quatre laughed at him softly. Wufei returned the limp wand to a disappointed Ollivanders. As Ollivanders took the wand, his eyes travelled down Wufei's hand, and they seemed to electrify. "Mr. Chang, I take it you're an athlete or you work with your hands?"

Wufei studied Ollivanders for a moment. "I'm a soldier," he said simply, confidently.

"Soldier? Wha' does he mean by tha'?" Hagrid asked. Duo came to him and whispered something that caused Hagrid to open his mouth and give a few thoughtful nods.

Ollivanders blinked for a moment. He didn't seem to hear him correctly as his brow scrunched tightly. However, when Ollivanders stared into Wufei's eyes, something seemed to click. Gleaming in his onyx eyes, past the cool, cerebral surface, was a fearsome black storm buried beneath. It silently moved, languid, ponderous and purposeful, and electrifying.

"A soldier," Ollivanders said softly, almost inaudibly. He gave Wufei another careful look, his hands idly fingering his wand. He left the storefront to the back. When he returned, he had a box under his arm. This box was different. It was a strange box, unlike the rest. This box was wrapped in chains.

What monster of a wand lay behind those locks, Trowa pondered silently. To restrict it so, it would mean this wand proved dangerous to its prospective owners.

Trowa looked at Ollivanders and narrowed his eyes. Or it could be dangerous to the creator.

Ollivanders laid the box carefully on the countertop. "A third box. There seems to be a pattern," he smiled thoughtfully. He then gave a low hum. "A pattern of five."

"This particular wand I did not craft, unfortunately. I was gifted this in 1925, from Zhuge Liu, a descendant of the ancient wandmaker and military advisor Zhuge Liang. It is a most unusual wand. It is severely temperamental, capable of burning the owner's hand if the wand disagrees with its choice. I don't often sell this to customers. One has to earn this wand's respect; they have to have certain virtues that allow it to be wielded by a mage. Any standard below its expectations is a scolding refusal."

He tapped his wand on a chain link, and the chains snapped and fell around the box in a heap of coils. With gentle and anticipatory hands, he lifted the lid. Lying inside, cushioned in metallic red silk, was a deep brown wood stained black along the handle.

"Twelve and a half inches, dragon heartstring from a Chinese Hong dragon, and blackthorn wood from Asia. A hard and temperamental wand to wield. Liu said to me, 'Only those this wand deems brave enough, that has the warrior spirit, can wield it. It is untouchable to those it deems inferior in mind, body, and spirit.'"

At the name of Hong did Wufei fully give the wand his attention. Onyx eyes looked on in fasciation and restrained curiosity, seemly encouraged by the words of Ollivanders. Wufei, then, fixed his eyes on Ollivanders. "Hong dragons? They exist?"

"Exist?" exclaimed Hagrid from the back. "Bloody 'ell they do! They're downright one of the most beautiful, ancien', and fierces' creatures to ever walk this planet. They're very, very rare. I've never seen 'em in person, but I read about 'em as a boy. They say to witness one after a 'eavy storm is like viewin' the divine when they appear at the beginnin' of a rainbow. They're from the Yunnan province, lurkin' in emerald mountains dusted by swirls of marshmallow clouds and mist. It's nearly impossible to getta 'eartstring from 'em! For when they die, their bodies immediately decompose to become bones worth more in value than gold, compared to the red scaled Chinese Fireball dragon."

"An accurate depiction, Hagrid," Ollivanders agreed with a nod to giant man. "They were hunted almost to extinction because of their bones. One has to be unnervingly timely on arrival to attain a heartstring from them when they die and keep the body preserved in stasis. They are fiercely territorial, and any person deemed unworthy would find their bodies devoured or turned to ash. It's a quick, gruesome death."

Ollivanders moved to stand next to Wufei. "Immediately when you feel the burn, drop it. Do not hold onto it, otherwise a trip to St. Mungo's would be in order."

Brow slightly crossed, Wufei gave a curt nod. He stepped up to the box and looked inside. Steadfast, he moved his hand swiftly to the wand. As soon as his fingers wound around it, he lifted the wand up by the handle.

"Careful, careful," Ollivanders repeated, wand at the ready.

A moment of high tension surrounded the occupants in the store, and then dissolved when Wufei turned his eyes onto Ollivanders, bewilderment and disappointment expressed in his eyes. "Was this supposed to happen? I don't feel a thing."

"Wasn't it supposed to be temperamental?" Duo asked, moving over to Wufei look at the blackthorn wand.

"Who knows? Maybe Wufei tamed it?" Quatre guessed unsurely.

Ollivanders peered at the wand. There was an intensity in his eyes. He started moving backwards. "Mr. Maxwell, please move back. Mr. Chang, please point the wand at the ceiling."

Wufei and Duo blinked. "At the ceiling?" Wufei gave Ollivanders a skeptical look, narrowing his eyes, as Duo moved to stand near Ollivanders.

Wufei held the blackthorn wand up. Not a second later, the wand began to glow red at its tip. Something wet trickled down Trowa's neck. He moved his hand to it and brought it back. Sweat?

"Is it me, or did it just get hotter in here?" Duo asked, fanning himself with his hand while his other hand, with his wand, tugged at his collar. "Feels like a sauna."

There was thick warmth that spread through the room, permeating, building. The room had grown uncomfortably warm, and it was growing hotter by the second. The room, along with the air, appeared to undulate, blurring the boxes in the back to one solid, blurry state. Wetness started forming underneath Trowa's armpits, and he found even between his toes were slippery, slick with sweat.

"It's not you. Wufei's wand is radiating heatwaves," Heero said, his face wet with sweat. He used the end of his sleeve to wipe his forehead. "It's pulsating thick waves of heat."

"Reminds me of the morning heat of Arabia," Quatre added. Compared to everyone else, he seemed comfortable in the heat, almost basking in it.

Looking back at Wufei, the red glow started to seep in him, creating an aura. "It's thrumming; the pressure, the power," said Wufei wondrously. "I think…"

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a burst of red-orange flame erupting from the tip of the wand. The torrent of flame took shape, morphing into a serpentine, twin-headed dragon. It gave a mighty roar! The sound slammed into Trowa's ears and trembled the windows.

The twin-headed dragon danced around the room, winding around the ceiling, then soared downward!

Adrenaline pumped into Trowa. Trowa dashed out the way as its open fiery maw nearly claimed him. He edged to the side of the room, watching the fiery dragon curve its way upward. The dragon moved along the boxes until it righted itself and in front of them, went on the attack, diving down again.

Hagrid and Duo dove to the ends of room. Hagrid was less fortunate. Because of his size, the dragon's flames clipped him, burning his jacket and setting the material alight. He hurriedly patted it down as the dragon circled the room again.

"Wufei! Call it off!" Duo shouted.

"Yes," came Ollivanders. "Control the dragon! You must master the wand, or it will devour you and this building!"

"How do I do that?" Wufei called, directing his wand at the dragon.

"I don't know – yell at it or something!" Duo shouted, ducking low as the dragon swept above him and then roamed above again. "Just tell it to stop!"

"Fine," Wufei said. "DRAGON!"

It was at Wufei's voice did the dragon pause its warpath. It turned its attention to Wufei. Wufei had his wand aimed at the dragon. "I command you to stop!" Wufei bellowed.

All was silent besides the flaming tongues that made the twin-headed dragon as they licked the air.

"You, boy, command us?" the right head of the dragon started.

The left head then spoke. "What gives you the right to subordinate us. We should claim you and reduce you to ash and throw you into the wind, to be left forgotten as we have."

"That thing can talk!" Duo exclaimed.

"Oh, what a wonderful occurrence. Never have I seen something like this!" Ollivanders praised in awe, his face euphoric. "What a rare opportunity is this!"

Trowa found Duo's eyes and then they both sighed. Some people loved the experience of danger too much. Ollivanders large, silver eyes shined at the scene. He looked like a child would when they came to the circus for the first time and witnessed the magic of their performances.

"I am your master," Wufei commanded authoritatively.

Wufei took a step forward. The twin-headed dragon raised its heads. It almost looked as if they were intrigued or affronted by Wufei's boldness. Trowa smiled inwardly. The dragon would soon come to find Wufei was just as fierce as any living dragon. He was a sword of temerity and a torrent of courage. Most dangerously, he could wage war.

"You declare with aplomb, but I feel conflict within you, boy," the right head of the dragon said. "I sense your feelings and your lack of clarity, of resolution and closure from the past."

Wufei narrowed his eyes. "Then, I stand before you," Wufei said.

He opened his arms. Whether he was asking for the dragon to attack him, showing placation, or extreme boldness, Trowa could not discern, but he did notice right headed dragon tilt its head at the move.

"I am a soldier. I stand here because I am still fighting, even now! I am willing do all that is necessary to resolve that conflict and gain clarity. I will fight you, too, dragon if it means sticking to my justice!"

"Oh, man," Duo groaned. "Why even bother trying to command it if you're letting yourself be offered like a snack to it. I thought you had it under control."

The twin-heads looked at each other; their faces seemed to hold a silent conversation. Slowly, deliberately, their menacing gazes fell onto Wufei. "Pain and suffering war within you. To wield me you must be resolute. To whatever cause you face, you must not hesitate to find your truth."

"Integrity," Wufei answered. The heads nodded as one.

"Integrity and character," said the left head of the dragon. "These are not mutually exclusive virtues. One cannot arbitrarily discard one without the other. One cannot use one without the other. They all lie in the same path, deeply rooted and intertwined to the individual. They seek introspection and understanding of your values.

"What is your justice, Chang Wufei?" the heads said as one.

"My justice?" Wufei asked.

Something cold flashed in Wufei's as he narrowed them. His hesitation vanished. "My justice… I will find out for myself the justice of this world, and I will interpret it as I see fit. I'll take on anyone, even you, to find our reason for existing, to determine humanity's worth."

The twin-headed dragon studied Wufei for one ponderous moment. Trowa studied Wufei for one long moment. Something pulled at Trowa's heart, and it did not relent. It was as if that thing had hooked its claws into him. Wufei's words had stirred something inside of him. The determined visage of Wufei belied the conflict raging in the boy, from the war, from his battles and losses. The war still echoed and resonated as if it had not left.

What happened to you, Wufei? What are you truly thinking? Trowa thought.

Trowa chanced a glance at Heero. There was something intense that held Heero's gaze on Wufei, almost outraged, and it fought with understanding. The people who knew Wufei best were he and Heero, and Trowa recognized, probably as Heero did, Wufei was still finding his path back from the war.

The stain of war leaves its visceral marks.

Wufei's wand started to glow red again as did the body of the dragon. "Your strength of heart is unlike any we have felt in a long time. We await your answer, Chang Wufei."

The twin-headed dragon's flames started to change color. It flickered a spectrum of colors, ranging from red then orange, yellow, blue, green, purple, pink – all the colors of an illustrious rainbow. In a split second, the twin-headed dragon charged towards Wufei, letting out a mighty roar that shook Trowa's eardrums and blasted hot wind in his face.

"Get out the way, man!" Duo yelled.

"Wufei!" Quatre shouted.

Wufei remained still, wand pointed towards the dragon as it grew closer. "I will not. I do not fear death."

Onyx eyes gleamed determinedly as the dragon flew into the wand tip. When they collided, it was at that moment the dragon morphed into a brilliant rainbow, unsupported by clouds and the sun. It was almost a surreal experience, like an illusion, a mirage made from chaos. It was simply stunning.

Silence came and then was broken by Ollivanders's hardy clapping. He clapped hard and with gusto, eyes shining in unshed tears of appreciation. He wore a splitting smile. "Never… never in my lifetime had I seen something so magnificent! Great things, yes, great things, will come from you and that wand, Mr. Chang."

Wufei nodded tightly, eyes still on his wand. "Well, who's next?" asked Ollivanders, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. "Magic awaits!"

Heero and Trowa took a step at the same time. Their eyes met, and for a second, Trowa wanted to be selfish. He wanted to see what wand would take to him, to feel that power that Quatre had said. Relenting for his friend, he took a step back.

"Go on, Heero," Trowa ushered. "I can wait."

Heero gave a friendly nod. "Thank you," he said softly.

And again, Ollivanders went through his stack of wands, trying and failing to find a home for Heero. Minutes blurred to an hour, and still, little hope came with Heero finding a wand. Trowa chanced a look outside and noticed the sun had changed its position, lurking over the western buildings, outlining the structures in golden light. It was afternoon. They had spent far longer in here than he had estimated.

Who knew shopping for wands would be this time-consuming?

Returning another failed attempt to its box, Ollivanders paused for a moment and looked at Heero. "Mr. Yuy, I wonder if you would humor this old man. Who are you?"

It was small, almost imperceptible, but Heero narrowed his eyes at Ollivanders. He looked to be defensive. "What do you mean?"

"It's a simple question, yes. Who are you, Heero Yuy?" Ollivanders asked simply. "Wands respond to an individual's heart and mind. They are the physical manifestation of a bond. We bond because we seek warmth and community, to grow and develop, to connect, to learn, and to set our paths."

Who is Heero Yuy? Trowa ruminated quietly. It was a very good question, posed by a person who certainly knew people's characteristics best, but would never know how poignant the question was to the interviewee. It was a question Trowa had thought to himself as he had taken on the name of Trowa Barton and enmeshed himself in the world of rebellion.

A name can mean many things, and in that name, is who we have come to be, are growing to be. Heero Yuy, like Trowa Barton, have you too come to accept that name, that responsibility?

Heero's own name far exceeded the relevance of his own. Trowa may have taken on the name of the son of Operation Meteor's director, but Heero's was different. His was a name of a fallen, venerated politician, assassinated in the names of "peace" and "justice." The politician Heero Yuy was loved by all and supremely celebrated amongst the Spacenoids and hated by the Earth military elite.

Heero, the teenager, was one of the most complicated, bravest, meticulous, foolish, strongest and honorable individuals Trowa had the honor to meet and fight with. He was courage made real, solidified by his actions and emotions. Everything he did had a reason, a structural purpose far greater than himself. It was almost like he was not real, more of a metaphor, a symbol of change – but his serious faults made him far human than even Heero would care to admit.

He was not a tool. He was not an emotionless killing machine. He was a person, like everyone else, capable of the extraordinary and capable of falling. He did what he thought of as right, failed timelessly in achieving it, but strove forward because he could not capitulate (even though he wanted to) to a world stricken by fear and terror. His victims would never let him forget.

Heero was quiet. "I'm a…" Heero began but was interrupted by Duo.

"An anti-social, over-flamboyant idiot with a heart of gold and knows how to stop a show," Duo stated.

Duo laughed lightly, seeing the annoyed glare from Heero, and dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Sheesh, Heero, lighten up. No need to overthink it. Just be yourself. Should be the first thing that comes to mind."

Heero gave him a firm glare. "Hey!"

"What now? I gave you some help," Duo said defensively. "The least ya can do is give a thanks."

"Keep it down. It's not your turn to talk. You had your chance," Heero said brusquely.

Rolling his eyes in one full revolution, Duo just smiled. "Then, let's hear who you really are, pal."

Throwing one last glare at Duo, Heero refocused on the Ollivanders. "I'm a survivor. I do what I need to ensure the survival of others. Who I am, matters not. What matters the most is how I can act and determine the best way to live my life on my own terms and emotions."

"Curious. Very Curious. A normal child would have given what they're good at, some things describing themselves, usually coaxed by me or an adult when they don't know what to say. Instead, it seems you had time to really think about this question beforehand," Ollivanders said with a nod. His eyes had narrowed into calculative slits while Heero returned no response, eyes almost mirroring Ollivanders.

"A selfless individual, especially for one so young. I know what will work for you," Ollivanders muttered. He retreated to his backroom. He took far longer this time. Twenty minutes had gone by when he returned finally.

Ollivanders returned not with a box, but a wand covered in green cloth, strapped in black rope. He carefully placed it on the counter. With a tap of his wand, the rope unknotted and loosened along the green cloth. A dark cherry red wand lay in the cloth, shining as if it was brand new. It was beautiful by its coloring and design that it almost seemed ornamental – something to stare at than use.

"Oh, yes, it's been a while since I brought this one out. Out of most of my wands, this one requires a mage strong in will and in mind. One who accepts difficult challenges and decisions. A person who acts.

"This wand will not accept a lesser person. Its power is electrifying and frightening. Ordinary wizards and witches, sorcerers and mages can never hope to reveal its true power. Anyone less worthy who tries will find this wand less than stellar and satisfactory. This wand needs an exceptionally powerful and gifted wizard or witch, one that can manifest its true abilities."

Ollivanders silver eyes seemed almost spellbound. "Twelve and a half inches. Wood from a Japanese cherry blossom tree with a griffin's feather core to complete the set. Wands of this nature are paired with unicorn, and for some, dragon heartstring. This wand took a different approach in its creation. It's a wand served to protect and of intelligence.

"Would you like to give it a try, Mr. Yuy?"

Determination set in Heero's eyes. The young man proceeded to grasp the wand. When his fingers met the wood was when wings exploded from Heero's back, all glowing feather white as they fluttered with each strong flap. Wind brushed against Trowa's face as the wings gave to two more flaps before vanishing.

It started at the lustrous feather tips and moved down the feather, dissipating into beads of white light, then vanishing from sight. One feather, two feathers, three feathers, hundreds of feathers vanished in shimmering white light until Heero was free of his wings. Only his jean jacket-covered back remained, unobstructed.

The wand hummed approvingly in an animalistic tone, and Ollivanders smiled fondly at Heero and the wand.

"Hagrid, I hear you are a professor of Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, right? Tell us what that sound means," said Ollivanders.

Hagrid blinked and then listened, turning his large head to the side so his ears could hear clearly. A large smile took form on his bearded face. "Haven't 'eard tha' sound in a while. Now tha' pleasin' sound was a matin' sound if I ever heard one, especially from a female griffin. Ya see, griffin's only mate and bond once fer life. If yer bonded, tha' means tha' wand will be with yeh forever."

"Exactly, Rubeus. That wand is your sole owner. It will not bond or work with anyone else," lectured an enthused Ollivanders. "There are no second turns or do-overs. This wand judged you of strong will and mind to do what needs to be done. It will trust you, Mr. Yuy, for life. Without question or hesitation."

Heero looked at his wand and nodded. His fingers tightened over the wood. "Roger that."

Heero took a step back. Duo made a whispered comment to him that sounded like, "I guess Relena's got competition. I feel bad for her. Someone got and warmed that cold, Gundanium heart first."

Heero gave him an exasperated look and distanced himself. Duo just laughed quietly to himself. It was when all eyes found him, was when Trowa knew he was next. At last, finally, it was his turn. He was always one for patience, but seeing the magic in the room, at his comrades' fingertips as they performed wonders, he could not help but feel slightly impatient.

In what was a facsimile situation of his friends, Trowa struggled to find the right wand. They fumbled for wand after wand, testing their uniqueness and seeing if there was a match. It was not until Ollivanders said, "You know what, I think there's a pattern here of my unusual crafts," that Ollivanders paused his search and gave Trowa poignant stare.

"Mr. Barton, a wand chooses the wizard. It evaluates whether it can bond with you or not," Ollivanders paused, letting his words sink in. "When you look at a painting, what do you see?"

"A painting?" Trowa questioned. Was this another introspective question?

He was proven right when Ollivanders continued, "Yes, a painting. We all see the world differently; it's just how we see it that matters. Our perception."

Trowa nodded, thinking, before he answered. "When I look at art, I see the surface, what's portrayed in front of me. Then, I look closer, for art always has a message. I think of the author's intent, their use of colors to convey a story or emotion, how it's arranged, how the brush strokes work in conjunction to portray that message. Not to mention, the author and their living situation, their social life plays a factor in how they construct their work. We must look beneath the surface as our eyes can fail us. We can't be ruled by assumptions."

Trowa chanced a glance at Heero when he said the last. The young man merely eyed him; within his eyes spoke of and shined approval. Trowa knew never to assume again after his assumption proved flawed from Quatre's grief-stricken disposition. It was a lesson he learned harshly of how far Gundam pilots could sink when the world they sought to protect had betrayed them. It proved nearly fatal.

Ollivanders focused expression soon took on a smile. "Nothing is ever as it seems. Very true, Mr. Barton. I know how I can help you."

He left to the backroom and returned with two boxes. He put them on the counter. "These two are highly unusual wands. My father made this one." He pointed to the right box.

"Hornbeam, basilisk venom, ten inches. Temperamental, inquisitive, and territorial creatures are basilisks. A wand of power and transformation. My father was even more so gifted in the arts of wandmaking and crafting. His work still sells. He said this wand is for those who seek change, who are determined to use any necessary means to achieve that. Take a spin at it."

Trowa grabbed it, and he immediately let it go. It wasn't that the wand didn't accept him, no, it felt happy to be in his hand, but, strangely, it lacked certainty. It gave a slight timid shudder. It was as if the wand could not determine whether to bond with him or reject him.

"It's uncertain on how it feels about me. It wants to accept but is hesitating." Trowa confessed to Ollivanders.

Ollivanders gave a ponderous hum. "Interesting. Let's try the wand on the left."

Ollivanders then smiled at Trowa. "Let's see if this wand is a better fit."

The wandmaker opened the left box. It was a simple and rich in color brown wand. Besides its shape, one could have thought it was a mere, polished stick, a carved leg of a table. On the surface, there was nothing remarkable about it.

Ollivanders seemed to know his mind as he said, "Nothing unusual on the surface, but that's where the magic is. Wands do not need to be beautiful to have a purpose, to actualize terrible and great magic. Even simple, boring designs hold beauty.

"Now, I crafted this, say, hm, fifty years ago. This wand has hardly been used for its needs a worthy holder. A subtle wand for a mage of gifted magic, who does not boast. I only keep acacia wands and material in small supply as they are challenging to fit with a particular wizard or witch, and even that person may never manifest its true abilities. The core is a feather from a chimera and eleven inches in length. Flexible yet durable."

"Not all chimera's have wings. Some of 'em, mos likely all, are pretty much wingless. The ones wit wings typically live in Egypt or Mesopotamia. They're fiercely individual creatures, travel in no more than twos or threes. Intelligent, the lot of 'em are. I'd be careful of their fire. Not as hot dragon flame, but they can certainly cook ya if ya offend 'em," added Hagrid.

Ollivanders looked to Heero, to his wand. "A distant relation to the griffin, too, I might add."

Trowa peered at the wand, eyeing its tip and then moving to the handle. With care, he carefully touched the wood first, his fingertips pressing a gentle kiss to its surface. It was smooth. He let the tips of fingers glide along it like ice skates on ice, feeling the contours of the shape. When his fingers glided back to the handle was when he grabbed the wand out of its box.

Warmth emitted immediately. It came from the wand and then coursed through his body. His breathing sped. His heart hammered in chest.

His body became electricity, jumping and shooting at every corner and fiber of his being. His nerves jolted, shocked. All sound had been transformed into thick ocean currents, rushing through his ears. The power was intense, indescribable, and he almost felt like he could do anything – punch through a wall, fly through the ceiling, summon a storm.

The magic pulsed in him, beating his blood. Something had awakened in him. It had released the binds that had been limiting him. Trowa squeezed the wand and the wand responded in turn, vibrating approvingly in his hand. As Trowa focused on the wand's power moving through him, a voice echoed to him, like it was calling from a great distance.

"…Trowa! Trowa! Whoa!" Duo called. "Man – Trowa, are you feeling all right?"

Distancing himself from his thoughts, the ocean currents dying, become distant echoes, Trowa looked at Duo, watching the concern etched in his face. It was not just him, but the rest of his friends were giving him a certain look he could not discern. It was telling, and he had to check himself to see if he felt any differently.

Feeling all right? Trowa repeated Duo's in his mind. He had never felt any better. The world was lighter with this wand in his hand. It was like he and the wand were one.

"Never better," admitted Trowa, slowly twirling his wand.

"It's just… your eyes are glowing," Quatre said hesitantly.

Trowa blinked. He lightly let his fingers tread down is right eye. "My eyes?" Trowa asked.

Grinning, Ollivanders laughed. "Augmentation, Mr. Barton. Wands amplify magical power. Mr. Barton's wand has chosen right. Not as flamboyant as the others, but this wand never needed to boast. I'm sure you can attest, Mr. Barton."

Trowa nodded. "It chose well, then."

Ollivanders grinned in return. "It sure did."

Then, a sudden look towards Hagrid. "Now, about payment, Rubeus Hagrid. That would be thirty-five galleons. Please place them on the countertop," Ollivanders pointed with a smile.

Hagrid's eyes enlarged, bolting out. He sputtered for a moment. "Thirty – thirty-five galleons. Well, um," Hagrid fumbled for his moleskin money bag. The money jingled as he pulled out a handful of coins.

He counted them as he handed each coin to Ollivanders's counter. As they turned to leave, Ollivanders spoke, "The future is yours if you should take it. Never let it go, otherwise you'd spend fruitless time gathering it back. I expect great things from all of you."

XXX

Leaving the shop, they headed out the alley, walking north, back in the direction of Chimney Alley. Hagrid had said their next destination was Gringotts the Wizarding Bank. "Yeh couldn't miss it even if yeh tied," Hagrid had said in alley, acting as a buffer against the current of magical travelers and itinerants.

When Gringotts came into view, one could not look away from its conspicuous visage. Hagrid was right: it was far too noticeable to avoid detection. The bank stood out like a snowy mountain among uneven, small hills. Gringotts was a towering, snow-white, multistoried building that intimidated the smaller shops, making them appear like fencing around its entirety.

Its looming structure intimidated, and Trowa thought that was the point. The people running it probably wanted renown, an advantage, to hold the Wizarding World into submission. The juxtaposition to the modest, wizarding dwellings in comparison made that all truer.

"Gringotts Wizardin' Bank," Hagrid declared, stopping a few paces before its marble stairs. Two guards stood, flanking the large entrance doors. "Before we go in, a warnin' for yeh. The bank is runned by goblins. Clever creatures, they are. Never mess with goblins, boys. They're not the sort to, um, to deal by wizardin' rules, not wit money on ter table."

"Goblins? You're not serious?" Wufei asked the older man, looking up at him and then switching his gaze to the guards, slightly narrowing his eyes.

Hagrid only smiled. "Yer in fer a treat. Mind yer manners, though. Goblins do not like to be talked down, especially by wizards, or children, or no one fer tha' matta."

As they approached the bronze burnished doors, two beings, Trowa would call, perhaps goblins, flanked the doors. They were short menacing things, with slanted, guarded eyes, and long pointed ears. They were relatively young with short brown hair slicked backwards. Drabbed in scarlet and gold uniforms that would that was reminiscent of the regalia of the Romefeller Foundation, they stood like statues. Their clawed hands held glinting battleaxes to their body while sheathed swords decorated their sides.

When they were in distance of the doors, the guards remained focused, but Trowa doubted, without hesitation, if they proved to be a threat, they would have been cut down immediately. Opening the doors revealed a long entrance hall covered in gleaming marble flooring. Flanking the hallway, in booths, were a rows of Goblin tellers, peering over their clients, like judges.

They stopped at the front booth where a goblin receptionist was writing something on parchment with a quill. Despite hearing their approach, the goblin paid them no mind. Trowa blinked for a second, astounded and startled. His eyes landed on the quill.

Is the wizarding so far behind in technology that they resort to ancient methods?

There seemed to be an implied agreement and commonality of medieval methods and aesthetics that differed from modern technology, solely relying on the esoteric. It looked primitive in Trowa's eyes. How backwards, how ancient were these people and magical beings?

Or did magic solve most of their problems and inhibit modernity?

"What is it you are seeking?" came the goblin's squeaky voice.

He paid no attention to Hagrid, or the teens gathered around him, as if they were just an afterthought. He continued his writing, eyes sharply focused on his document. They were background noise to his work, which he seemed to prize above all customers.

"I'm looking fer the person that coul' point us to a client's registry fer a blood test?" Hagrid asked.

The goblin continued his writing, purposeful, willfully ignorant of them. Finally, after a long moment, the goblin looked up. His dark eyes were dull, swimming with boredom and impatience. He placed his quill gently on his countertop next to his ink bottle. He gave a careful cursory glance over the teens and Hagrid.

"Who is it that you are seeking a blood test to discern ancestry?"

"These lads righ' 'ere. We're lookin' ter see if they or their family have accounts at Gringotts," Hagrid answered politely.

The goblin again peered down (or up at Hagrid) as if they were specimens in a lab, weighing their worth, or, perhaps, neglect. "Teller Warnok. On the right, fourth in the column. He will accommodate you."

The goblin then gave a peculiar look, sharp teeth flashing in what seemed to be vicious grin. "There's an application fee for" – and his look stretched across all five of them – "the five boys."

"How much?" Hagrid intoned. Suspicion colored his tone as his brow scrunched and lips curled.

"That will be decided by Teller Warnok," the goblin answered simply. "Please see all questions toward him."

The goblin directed his long pointy nails to Warnok. Hagrid nodded. "Let's go, then."

They set down the bank to Warnok's booth. Heads of the tellers poked up between their booths, keen and suspicious eyes followed them on their way to Warnok. Trowa knew right away that these goblins did not trust them. They were not curious eyes, but eyes filled with heaps of caution and dislike. They said nothing, whispered nothing, but their eyes revealed everything: these goblins only tolerated them – their kind.

"Hagrid, what's the exchange rate – the currency in the Wizarding World?" Quatre asked as they walked to the teller.

"It depends on where ya goin', I guess. In Wizarding Britain, we use galleons, sickles, and knuts. One gold galleon is worth seventeen silver sickles and twenty-nine bronze knuts."

"Do you happen to know the exchange rate between the pound and a galleon, sickle, and knut?" Quatre asked.

Hagrid shrugged. "Not too sure as I don' venture too often around the Muggle world. As yeh can see, me size migh' get more questions than I have time to answer. Takes too much time, anyways."

The conversation stopped when they came to a halt at Teller Warnok's booth. Warnok, sitting at the top of his counter, his large, round dark eyes, the size of coat buttons, was focused on a parchment that curled at the bottom. Large ears twitching besides his balding brown hair, Warnok lifted his gaze on them.

"Yes?" came the half-growl, deep voice of Warnok.

"We would like a blood test ter track the ancestry of these five boys," Hagrid said.

Trowa slightly narrowed his eyes on the larger man, finding his tone had taken one of subdued humbleness. For a man his size, it would be all too easy to threaten these small beings. He was a giant amongst men, and a goliath above these goblins.

How important are these goblins to deserve this respect? What do they have that wizards don't or by chance fear?

Like the receptionist, Warnok gave them a cursory if not apathetic look. He seemed more bothered that he was interrupted than helping them. "A blood test to track ancestral clients at Gringotts or near any related Gringott banks requires compensation. Since there are five clients, ten galleons for the documentation and the blood requirement. Should you go through with this, and by chance, there are relatives who hold vaults within our bank, access can only be granted by those who are of age, consented by their guardian, a will in place, or they are the last magical heirs of their families."

This statement perked Duo up. "Blood requirement? What do you mean by blood requirement?" Duo asked.

Warnok sniffed disdainfully at the question. "Within all necessitated transactions and privacy laws, blood is required to find any matching ancestor who has used our bank or any affiliated ones throughout the world. Blood has magic and can trace any ancestry. Privacy is mandated and all information safeguarded, should you choose to release it to a subsidiary or third party."

Duo crinkled his brow. "What you're sayin' is that just by one drop of blood, without technological or documented records, you can trace ancestry?"

Warnok sniffed again. "Definitively."

"So, how does it work?" Wufei asked.

"Gringotts needs to be compensated first," Warnok stated, holding his hand out.

Hagrid brought his moleskin pouch and deposited ten galleons into Warnok's white, wrinkled hands. Warnok looked at the coins. He rolled them in his fingers before opening a drawer and placing them inside. "Payment received."

He then opened another drawer and pulled out five scrolls, each neatly tied in a red ribbon bow. He unfurled one. The parchment was blank. He then pulled out a sharp gleaming dagger. "One drop of blood should suffice."

Then, Warnok gave a toothy grin. "Now which one of you would like to go first? You can prick yourself, although, I would not mind offering some assistance?"

Judging by the sharp tooth grin, Trowa understood the implied message. It would seem if Teller Warnok got his way, they'd probably be losing more blood than necessary, perhaps even an appendage if they did not specify clearly.

"No way. I'll take my chances by myself," Duo said, taking the dagger from Warnok's hand. He held the curved shape thing to his pointer finger and gently pricked it. The blood did not drop down. Instead, it looked as if the fuller absorbed the droplet. The blade flashed crimson before returning to normal.

Duo narrowed his eyes. They grew cold. "This isn't a normal dagger?"

"A blood dagger. It feeds off blood the more it cuts," returned Hagrid, "thus growin' its magical power. Highly illegal and dangerous. Agains' Ministry regulations, I think."

"Illegal for wizards," lectured Warnok. "Not for goblins. This blood dagger is tempered. It knows when to release and when to prolong wounds." Taking the dagger back, Warnok pointed the dagger down and a drop of blood was released from the tip.

The blood splashed down the parchment then seeped inside it. A wall of black scrawl appeared, moving back and forth in a strange language as it spread through the parchment. "Gobbledegook," Hagrid replied. "Goblin language."

Warnok read it quickly, eyes blitzing over the scrawl of words. "Hmm. It looks like you are related to a man named Richard Belington. He last made his transaction in, say, 1606, before he and others ventured to the New World. He was an a… an inventor, though, he did not have much means, he still was able stash some gold in Vault 256. The rest of his family have made no transactions within over three hundred years."

Duo looked surprise. "I have a real ancestor? Wow, wasn't expectin' to hear that."

"Indeed," Warnok stated, rolling up and tying the parchment and presenting it to Duo. "You will need a key. To make another cost 1 galleon, but since it's been three hundred years, there's the cost of interest."

Duo thinned his lips. "You don' mean?"

Warnok nodded heavily like a chastising guardian. "Losing keys is highly frowned upon at Gringotts. However, we shall see what's left in his vault."

Taking his right hand, Warnok rang a bell at his side.

Another goblin appeared at the sound. He had matted brown hair, red eyes, and lone, curved tooth poked out his mouth. "Teller Warnok, what is thy bidding?" he asked in a squeaky voice.

"Belington, Richard had left his key with us in vault 256. You are to track it down and report back. Is that clear, Spearteeth?" Spearteeth nodded and went behind the counter.

"Now, let us move on."

Heero was next. As the blood dropped, less black scrawl appeared than Duo's. Dismissively, Warnok sniffed. "It would seem, Mr. Yuy, you nor your ancestors were ever clients of ours. However, if you would like to set an account, we have services ready for you. I guarantee you Gringotts is one of the safest banks in the world to store your riches, treasure, and secrets. We goblins make it a number one priority for our clients to keep safe their privacy."

Heero dismissed it with a wave. Warnok took that with ease and gave the dagger to Wufei. Wufei pricked his finger and watched the parchments bleed black. The black scrawl spread down the page. Warnok quickly read it, and his eyes seemed to jump in surprise.

He picked up the parchment and let his eyes scan it, his brow jumping up his forehead. He placed it down gently and gave Wufei a serious look. "Chang, Wufei. Your ancestors and current relations have an agreeable communication with Gringotts. As to relation, you are part of the Long Clan. We take this relationship with the utmost surety as the Long Clan are financial powerhouses and have fought for goblin rights in China and throughout Asia. The known head of your household is Li Zhao, an elite figure in the Long Clan. A highly respectable wizard, I might add. Mr. Zhao would need to give you access to the vaults here.

"We do have his contact information. Would you like for me to write it down?"

Wufei nodded, and Warnok quickly wrote a note and gave it to Wufei, along with his scroll.

"Tha's quite a compliment," Hagrid said, surprised.

Warnok dismissed his surprised with a wave. "The Long Clan are our highly valued customers. Even for wizard standards, they are decent people."

Next was Quatre. When something similar happened was when Warnok reached for his handkerchief to wipe his sweaty forehead. "Another valuable relation. Quatre Raberba Winner, your family is a known client of our facilities and banks. The current head is Saud Hariri of Alexandria, Egypt. A leader in known magical textiles and manufacturing businesses."

Duo laughed and jokingly hit Quatre in the shoulder. "Out of all things, even in the past you are still hella rich."

Quatre blushed and looked to the sides before focusing on Warnok. "Would vaults still be restricted, like Wufei's?"

"That is correct. You will need permission from Mr. Hariri for direct access to the vaults at Gringotts. They are highly, highly valued, and as such, strict security has been applied. Would you like for me to give you his contact information?"

Quatre nodded. Last was Trowa. A slight sting came when he pricked his finger, and it splashed on the parchment. As the parchment filled with black scrawl did Warnok's eyes bulge. He gave Trowa a look and then the parchment, and then Trowa another look.

"How intriguing," remarked the goblin teller. "It's been a while, heir of Sibyl. According to our records, your house has not made a single transaction since 1353. It was suspected that the Black Plague had wiped out all heirs to your House, or some had ventured to the New World, specifically South America, to learn about magic from the Mayans. The last transaction was by Solomon who was overcome by the plague. He died in 1353 in his estate, in Venice. There are no known magical relatives as most of your line had either died out or magic had been nonexistent until now.

"We are welcomed to have you back as a client, Trowa Barton, heir of House Sibyl." Warnok, dark eyes piercing, peered down at him. "Are you the only magical heir left, heir to House Sibyl?"

"As I'm aware, as my parents are dead, I am," Trowa answered. Warnok stared at him for moment. He seemed to be looking for something. He gave a stiff nod.

"Would you be needing a key?" Warnok asked. "And any record information to estates owned by House Sibyl and any account information?"

Estates? Trowa thought perplexedly. How wealthy is my family?

"Yes, I will," Trowa said curtly.

Trowa looked at Hagrid who paid the two galleons to Warnok. "Spearteeth!" called Warnok.

Spearteeth appeared, jingling a key. "We need one more key for House Sibyl."

A few moments later, Spearteeth came with one more key. He presented one to Duo and one to Trowa. The keys were golden and long, fork-shaped metal. Trowa stowed the cold metal in his pants pocket.

"Can I get a copy of the contact information of the kids, too, Teller Warnok?" Hagrid asked. The goblin gave him a suspicious look, frowning. "It's for Hogwarts, for the 'eadmaster to contac' their related families," clarified Hagrid.

"Due to privacy concerns, financial and personal information is privately secured from third parties and anyone seeking bank-client personal information. However," and Warnok stated this seriously and with emphasis, "contact information can be obtained by the client's privilege."

"Messrs. Chang, Barton, Winner, and Maxwell, do you agree to hand contact information only of your families to Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

They nodded. "Approved." Warnok then smiled at Hagrid, a pointed teeth smile. "I'll be sending the information to headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts, Mr. Hagrid."

"Spearteeth will take you to your vaults," said Warnok, and then moved his eyes back to his desk. He filed through some paper. Trowa immediately knew the look of dismissal.

They were soon led past the main head goblin into an entry room behind the main teller's booth. They went down a series of stairwells and until the structure of the building, the stone tile walls, transformed into misshapen and rocky rocks of a cave. The air turned cool and damp, and a strange smell pervaded in the air. Awaiting them at the end of stairs was a small station containing a mining cart with an extra sidecar attached.

"You don' expect all of us to fit in there, right?" Duo asked unsurely as his fingers gripped the metal door of the car.

The metal mining cart looked small and cramped. There were seatbelts, but they looked so worn that the slightest of movement could snap them.

"You all will fit just fine," came Spearteath as he walked up the back of the mining cart where he manned the controls. Finding a pair of goggles hanging from the rail, Spearteeth grabbed them and put them on. "Get in, please."

Trowa looked at Duo. Duo looked at Quatre. Quatre looked at Wufei. Wufei looked at Heero. Heero looked at Trowa, and they all, together, looked at the mining cart. Sharing the same uncomfortable expressions, they squished in.

"This should be fun," Trowa heard Duo mutter in his ear. Trowa's lips tingled. He would have smiled if he had thought this would be fun. This looked more like a chore.

It was more than tightly packed as Trowa sat against the door of the mining cart. His knees and sides squeezed against Duo's, kneecaps bumping and cramming against each other like packaged meat. His "free" side was pressed hard against the cold, metal door as metal knobs and bolts dug into his side. He felt like a gummy bear jammed in a jar.

Trowa then tossed the buckle across their laps where Quatre, sitting in the middle, connected the other end. A large bar soon came down over their laps. "Geez, ain't this comfortable," Duo complained sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Make sure your seatbelts are tight. It is best for your own safety," Spearteeth spoke over them. "Otherwise, you'd be falling to your death," he added. Trowa could hear the brutal joy in his voice carry over them like a wish.

"I bet you would," Trowa whispered to himself.

"I woul' do it. The cart rides can be wild," Hagrid offered from his sidecar. He seemed to grip the rail tightly as it squished against his belly. Despite the dim lights lit by the torches, his forehead glistened, and he looked a bit paler.

"Look at Hagrid," Duo whispered in his ear. "The thing could barely fit him. He looks like he's goin' to be sick. Do you think this –"

"All passengers set?" Without waiting for an affirmative, they burst down the rail line at breakneck speed.

They sped along the rail, curving up and down the rail track. The cave passed by them in a blur. The cart gobbled the tracks quickly as it sped with tremendous speed. Despite being squished, Trowa heard Duo and Quatre laugh while Heero and Wufei wore indifferent expressions. The wind tore through Trowa's hair and whipped against his face, but he enjoyed it. He imagined this was it felt like to be on a rollercoaster at an amusement park.

All too suddenly, they stopped, and Trowa felt himself jerk forward. He let out a low grunt as the metal bar dug against his stomach. Air pushed from his diaphragm and ejected from his mouth. He growled lowly. His mind went to overdrive in listing the safety precautions he could apply to this ride.

"Vault 256," Spearteeth announced. He wobbled out the cart first, followed by Hagrid. "Lamp, please."

Taking the lamp from its placeholder on the cart, Hagrid gave him it. "Key, please," Spearteeth said, his open hand in waiting.

Duo, jumping out of the cart, fisted through his pocket. Finding the key, he gave it to the goblin. Spearteeth keyed it into the lock and click after click came until with a loud creak, the door opened.

In front of Duo was a small room filled with gold, silver, and bronze coins. There was not much else. Trowa imagined he could scoop up the coins in his arms. Duo peeked inside, gathering some in his backpack. What was more prized, were the stacks of books inside. He came out with an old tome that read: Book of Historical Inventions.

"It seems your ancestor was a reader and a writer," Wufei said approvingly.

"Seems like it," Duo said as he stuffed his bag. "This dude looked like a traveler before he set sail for the Americas. I mean there are some with Arabic writing, Swahili, French, Chinese. Ha! A traveler of the Silk Road."

"Gather what you deem as necessary. It should help us down the road, hopefully not proving an obstacle in our path," Heero said, arms crossed.

After putting two more books in his backpack, Duo squished back in the cart. They then went down another series of turns, curves, and spirals. They were going further underground. The walls of the cave now appeared like grand caverns, where the rocky walls were hundreds if not thousands of feet high.

A great roar echoed through the caverns, reverberating in Trowa's ears. It came with great force. Up ahead, Trowa spied, in the dark, a sparking waterfall. The water barreling out of its entrance and cascading over the tracks, straight down into the bottomless ground. Trowa nearly cursed. The very last thing he wanted was to be wet and cold.

Outstanding, he thought resignedly, as he headed towards his fate.

Without warning, they ran through it. The water came at once, gushing over and down him, drenching him bone deep. He nearly ground his teeth at how cold it felt as it soaked his clothes. It was ice cold.

"Precaution," Spearteeth said over noise of the cart in a tight voice, goggles covered by streaming droplets of water, "from disguises and thieves seeking to take goblin valuables and gold."

They finally stopped came to a screeching stop at another cave of vaults as the metal brakes grinding against the rotor. The noise echoed in the cave and pierced Trowa's eardrum something fierce.

"I'm soaking wet," Duo complained, shaking his wet bangs.

"We all are," Wufei retorted back with a tired sigh, wiping Duo's flecks of water from his face. "Keep your water to yourself, not on me."

They all clamored out the cart. Trowa grabbed the hem of his shirt, rolled it up, and squeezed all the water he could. He watched it spash across the ground in indifference. He then slicked his hair back, brushing away the falling tendrils of water that had gathered at the tips of fringe.

"Lamp. Key," Spearteeth asked, and Trowa realized he was directing his gaze at him. As Hagrid presented Spearteeth with a lamp, Trowa jammed his hand into his wet pocket and pulled out the key. He gave to Spearteeth who nodded and wobbled to the vault.

Now, this vault was a lot larger than Duo's as the door seemed to tower over the teens. Spearteeth unlocked the vault with the key and then used the nail on his pointer finger to drag it down against the door. Lock after lock, clicked and unclicked, as the fingernail screeched against the metal. It was a piercing wail. The door unlocked with a last, resounding click and, groaning, swung open.

"How is this fair?" Duo uttered as the torches across the wall lit up one by one. "Man, some of y'all have the best of luck!"

"It seems there's no need for want, is there, Trowa?" Quatre asked sardonically.

"You're right," Trowa admitted as his eyes raked in the massive vault and the gleaming golden treasures within.

There were thousands upon thousands of gold coins piled high like towers, red sparkling and alluring rubies, eye-catching sapphires and lapis lazuli, diamonds as big as a closed fist, amethyst and silver and so much more within eyesight. There was so much gold it almost seemed unreal.

How did my ancestors accumulate so much wealth? This is incredible.

"As the stories goes, Sibyl was known as valuer of art, jewels, and gold," Spearteeth commented as he stood off to the side. "She was known as a seductress of men. Her beauty was so profound that men fell to their knees in lust and love to court her. They fought and killed each other to win her affection. Many human men fell under her sway and so did their wealth, for she hoarded it all. They say she even seduced the famed sorcerer Merlin to learn the secrets of his power, but those are tales of gossip."

Trowa had never seen much money in one place. And he was quite beguiled on what to do with it. He had never needed money. Resourcefulness was a salient experience for an orphan like him. Now that he had it, he wondered what he would do with it. He imagined how helpful this would have been during Operation Meteor.

From his periphery, he saw Spearteeth eye a particular jeweled goblet. "You see something that catches your eye, Spearteeth?"

Spearteeth picked up the goblet. Greed gleamed in his dark red eyes as he tightened his hold on the cup. "This goblet is goblin-made. Twelfth century, given to Lady Sibyl from Daggerclaw the Great as a symbolic oath to aid the goblins after the Daggerclaw-Wizard War. It was said drinking from this chalice was said to give the drinker incredible youth. Now that both are dust to the wind, would you be needing it?"

Trowa gave him an indifferent look, one that made Spearteeth hesitant. "What does it mean to you, Spearteeth?"

An unkind look enveloped Spearteeth's expression, darkening it. "It would be rude of me to speak my thoughts, heir of Sibyl, as you might find them unflattering."

Trowa simply stared at the goblin and said, "Give me the truth."

His expression turned outraged as he bared teeth. "Everything! Wizards have stolen and continued to steal goblin-made artifacts for centuries. They covet them as if they were their own, as if they were entitled to such values. We goblins have curtailed to the demands of wizards, opening vaults and looking at what we own in the hands of their entitled heirs.

"What gives wizards the right to continue ownerships of our artifacts after they have passed on to the next life? Even the sword of Gryffindor, made by Ranruk the First, one of our greatest silversmiths, was stolen by a wizard."

"Now, 'old on a moment! Gryffindor stealin'? That's a load of bollocks!" argued Hagrid. "The stories say 'e was given the sword by Ranruk. 'e never stole it. It was the goblins who tried to steal it back!"

"A lie. A narrative written by humans to falsify their lies into truths," Speerteeth growled back. "A narrative created on the bones of our ancestors to justify the taking of our culture, of our wealth, and our magic."

"Spearteeth," Trowa called. The small goblin turned to him, breathing hard, clutching the goblet to his body like he was protecting a baby from kidnappers. "My friends and I are new to this society. How long has this unequal relationship between goblins and wizards existed?"

"Centuries upon centuries upon centuries," he growled out. "When your ministry continues to push prejudice and hate, there's only so much we can stand. There's only so much we can take before we rebel."

"The goblin wars," said Hagrid lowly.

"Aye," Speerteeth agreed, smiling cruelly.

"I see," Trowa said softly. Spearteeth's ears twitched, and he gave him a quizzical look.

"And what do you see, wizard?" Speerteeth asked.

Trowa walked to Spearteeth and took a knee until he was eye level with him. Spearteeth held the goblet tighter. "I was once a person living in an oppressed society, where there were those who were entitled to our land. They thought they could take our land, restrict our rights, because we were nothing to them. In the names of justice and peace, they created a lie to scapegoat us and then colonize us. They restricted our movements, threw us in prisons, and killed our pacifist leader who brought everyone together. They were unwilling to understand us. So, like you, in time, we rebelled. We rebelled and then they put us down like dogs.

"But our spirit wasn't broken. We put so much of our lives on the line, and most of all, we wanted revenge for our leader's death."

Trowa glanced up, watched the stoic and closed expressions of his friends. Hagrid had taken a few steps forward, face attentive. Trowa looked back down at Speerteeth, who had lessened his hold on the goblet, and seemed to be listening closely as well.

"I take you got your revenge?" Speerteeth smiled. The smile stretched until it split his face.

Trowa blinked once, and his frown deepened. He stood up. Revenge? If only the world was that simple.

"No. We were betrayed by home, by our own. They wanted peace at all costs and had allied with our enemy through their insidious diplomacy. But we learned and kept fighting, until we truly understood what our people and our enemies wanted: Peace. So, right now, I seek to make amends.

"Whatever is goblin-made in my vault is yours take," Trowa announced.

Spearteeth craned his neck upward. He looked at Trowa in astounded incredulity, large eyes appearing like small plates. "Do you know what you are saying human? The amount of value these objects have?"

"It's as you say, what was given initially, according to Goblin culture, shall be returned. It's a price I am willing pay," Trowa said simply.

Spearteeth, hesitantly, looked at Trowa. Then, he looked to the treasure, the goblet in his hand, and then back at Trowa. Though the hunger of greed still pervaded in his eyes, it had lessened. He almost seemed speechless. He ran his tongue over his lips.

"It's a small start," Spearteeth said quietly. "It's a small start, but this is not something we goblins are ever afforded. You are a most curious human, Mr. Barton. Truly. We goblins will remember this. I shall take this up with my advisor."

Taking a bag, he started scavenging the vaults putting things in his own bag. Trowa watched the small being trudge through the treasures of Sybil and his ancestors.

"Blimey. What an arrangement! Not many wizards would do somethin' like this. They'd rather 'oard their wealth, thinkin' they're better than the goblins," Hagrid said astounded. His black eyes were large, and he was looking at Trowa like this was the first time he was seeing him.

"Do yeh thin' it was good thing to do?" asked Hagrid. "To blindly trust the goblins? They'll take more than they can get if yeh let 'em."

"Money is only a necessity for resources," Trowa said, turning his eyes onto Hagrid. "I know how to make my way without it."

"I just hope whatever valuable you did give away would not prove helpful in our mission against whatever these shadows are," Heero remarked. He gave the treasure another glance. "Still, this is a substantial amount."

"It'll work out." Quatre smiled at them. "Trust in Trowa. He knows what he's doing."

"It's a lot of money, Trowa. How much do you think we'll need?" Duo asked. His eyes danced across the gold. "Never seen this much money in my life. I bet it'll make those old, Romefeller men green with envy."

"We just need enough to get going. Go, grab what you need. Spearteeth!" Trowa called to the barely visible goblin. Spearteeth glanced at him.

"When we get back to the surface, I would like to setup an account in my name."

"We can take care of that in the main hall. For what purpose, Mr. Barton?" called Spearteeth.

Trowa smirked. "Entrepreneurship and investments."