Time Shift to the year: 1998
Diagon Alley-Ollivanders Wand Shop
Lily Potter tried to put the sense of apprehension that had settled on her aside however, she just couldn't help but feel discomforted in this shop.
Not that there wrong with Ollivanders Wand Shop. It was just that the old man who ran the shop always unsettled her.
Of course, it's not like he was an unpleasant individual or anything. Quite the opposite in f kind and patient man who did his best for his customers. It was just the eldritch presence the man had that put her on edge.
She hugged her arms as a shiver wracked her body. A warm touch settled on her shoulder and she looked over to peer into a pair of kind chocolate eyes.
"You all right there Lils?" Her husband asked with a minor back at him.
James had changed a great deal since their days in Hogwarts. Gone was his brash and cocky attitude. He was now a fully devoted husband and father who always puts his family first.
"I'm fine. Just remembering the time I first came in to get a wand." She said quietly. James chuckled beside her. "Yeah, I remember when I came to get mine as well. Nearly had a heart attack when Ollivander came out of nowhere from behind practically jumped right into my dad's arms. He never let me live it down."
She laughed with him and together they returned their attention to their son who just put down another wand. Charlie (Charlus) Potter was the spitting image of him, she wished that Chalie had also inherited her eyes. Suddenly. The smile on lily's face disappeared when an image of a dark curly haired young man with startling green eyes flashed through her mind. She tried to focus on the image but, the harder she tried the more difficult it became to remember. Her mind fogged over and she couldn't remember what she blinked away the sudden daze and realized that Ollivander had left them and gone into the back of his shop. "What if I can't find a wand," a timid voice came from in front of her. Lily looked down to see an apprehensive and nervous Charlie shuffle before her. Charlus was a sweet boy. He was quiet to a fault and extremely well-mannered. Thoughtful, kind and very shy around new people, her son was the apple of her eye and the joy of her life. It crushed Lily to know that her beloved son was tied by fate madman. How she cursed the day that Dumbledore came to the Potter's household in Godric's Hollow ten years ago and informed them of the prophecy that fraud of as that damnable prophecy that drew Voldemort's wrath down on her family and had cost them any semblance of a normal life.
"Don't worry Kiddo," James said kindly from next to her. "I'm one hundred percent sure your wand is here somewhere. Mister Ollivander just has to find".
"But-but what if I'm not good enough for any of these wands." charlie said forlornly.
"Nonsense," James scoffed. "You're a Potter. If anything, these wands aren't good enough for you."
"Ah, but it isn't about being good enough Mister Potter," a voice called out causing all of them to jump.
"Oh no, a wand must properly feel matched to its wield as one" they all turned to look at the wand crafter as he carried with him a single box and laid it out on the sales counter.
"Let's try this one shall we Mr Potter Eleven and a Half inches. Holly and phoenix feather. Very supple." Ollivander said with strange gleam in his eye. Lily was suddenly hit with the urge to grab Charlie in her arms and make a run for it for some strange reason. She watched in dread as charlie took a hold of the wand rush of magic that was sure to happen. Problem was, the magic never came. Charlie looked down on the wand with a small frown and said, "I feel…something…but it's like a small tug. Nothing big."
"I was so sure," Ollivander muttered disappointedly.
Lily on the other hand, let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding in. For one reason or another, the very unpleasant sensation. Lily looked towards the pile of wands that was laid out on the counter and wondered if Charlie had broken some sort of record. In an abrupt bout of curiosity, she asked "what is the longest you've ever taken to find the right wand for someone, Mister Ollivander?"
The old man looked up at her surprise before waving his hand dismissively. "Oh I can assure, your son doesn't even fall on the list of longest time I've spent looking for a matching pair. I remember nearly thirty years ago I had a young muggleborn lad come into my shop. Took me four days to match him up!"
"Four days!" James exclaimed incredulously. "Must have been one hell of a wand." Ollivander nodded his head before falling into silence. Then, he looked at Charlie with a curious gaze. "Perhaps…yes…just maybe," he muttered to himself. Lily once again felt the anxiety crawl back into her chest as Ollivander looked back and forth from her son to the back of the shop, conspiratorially. He rushed into the rear of his shop and hurriedly returned with another box.
As he laid the box down, he took out a sleek brown wand with near holy reverence." why not," he said. "Give this one a wave why doesn't you." He said with a wide grin.
Charlie took hold of the wand and there a rush of magic that ran through the small store as the wand let out a shower of silver sparks. Charlie's look of joy at finally finding his wand only surpassed by the absolutely positive look of delight on Ollivander's face.
The man looked like he was about to start jumping up and down in joy, if the way was any indication to go by.
"Marvelous, absolutely Marvelous! And entirely unexpected if not amusing!" The wand crafter said with glee.
"Any particular reason it's unexpected, or amusing for that matter," Lily asked tentatively. Ollivander smiled at her and then returned his attention to Charlie.
"I've remembered every single wand I've ever sold Mr Charlie Potter. Yours is twelve inches of Ebony with cores of Thunderbird feather and Hebridean dragon heartstring. Coated with basilisk venom." From next to her, James let out an appreciative whistle. Both mother and son looked towards him with curios glances. When he didn't say anything, Lily nudged him with her elbow. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.
"It's just that Hebridean's are a rather infamous breed. They have the hardest hide of any species of dragon and are considered most vicious and violent creatures to ever exist. But most importantly they are the symbol for Potters" charlie looked at his wand with new appreciation.
Lily on the other hand, didn't like the idea of her son associated with form of viciousness or violence
"Indeed Mister Potter however, the reason I find that you are destined for that wand is well, as I said, I remember every wand I've sold."
Lily wasn't quite happy about how Ollivander's voice became eerily quiet and how the wand crafter peered down into her son's eyes. But she and James went to select wand holster for their son.
"The particular dragon's wand's core originated from, gave one other sample. Just. One. Other." The old man leaned back and in a grave voice and said, "And how well I remember that wand. Thirteen inches. Elder wood, with Thestral tail hair and Hebridean dragon heartstring as cores, which both were fused with basilisk venom. Tremendously powerful wand meant for channelling raw power in a brutal fashion. Much like the dragon it derives its magic from. You see Mister Potter, it's both unexpected and amusing for me because the brother of your wand … rests in the hand of your brother."
Potter Manor
That night, Charlie Potter woke with a start, his body drenched in cold sweat. The shadows in his room danced menacingly in the flickering light of the enchanted lanterns, and he instinctively glanced toward the corner of the room, half-expecting a pair of crimson eyes to emerge from the darkness.
It was just a nightmare—one of many that haunted him over the years. Carefully, he pushed back the heavy blankets, the cool night air brushing against his damp skin. He reached for the soft robes hanging on the chair beside his bed, wrapping them tightly around himself for comfort. Padding softly across the room, Charlie opened his door and stepped into the silent corridors of Potter Manor.
The nightmares were not unusual. He had been plagued by them ever since that fateful Halloween night ten years ago—the night Voldemort's curse had failed to end his life but succeeded in tearing apart his family's peace forever. Most nights, the dreams were the same: flashes of green light, a cold, high-pitched laugh, and the echo of his mother's anguished scream as she begged for his life.
But tonight had been different.
The vision of Voldemort's twisted face remained, but it was overshadowed by something new—something that felt ancient and powerful. He had seen a tall, shadowed figure standing in the midst of chaos, emerald eyes burning like molten fire. In one hand, the man held a gleaming sword that pulsed with magic, and in the other, a wand that seemed to hum with a life of its own. Behind him loomed a battlefield, shrouded in mist and lit by flashes of spells being cast.
"What does it mean?" Charlie whispered to himself, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the manor. He shivered, not from the cold but from the strange, unshakable weight the dream had left behind.
As much as he wanted to dwell on it, he had more immediate worries. Hogwarts was just around the corner—a place filled with as many dangers as it was wonders. Not everyone there viewed him as the Boy Who Lived with admiration or kindness.
Some, like a certain red-haired boy with a loud voice and a rude temperament, only saw Charlie as an opportunity for friendship with someone "famous." His fists clenched at the thought of Ronald Weasley, whose arrogant behavior at a family gathering still grated on his nerves. Then there were the others, the ones who bore grudges against him for what he had done to their fallen lord. Though Voldemort's curse had failed, Charlie often wondered if the price he'd paid for survival had been too high.
And then, there were those who viewed him as nothing more than a pawn.
His thoughts darkened as the image of an elderly man with piercing blue eyes and a long silver beard flickered in his mind. Professor Albus Dumbledore—revered as the greatest wizard of the age—had always seemed to hover too close, watching Charlie with an unsettling mixture of pride and expectation. The headmaster often spoke of duty, of destiny, but Charlie could feel the weight of manipulation lurking behind every kind word.
A low growl escaped his throat before he could stop it.
Amidst his frustration, his mind drifted back to the moment that had been troubling him most of all—the encounter at Ollivanders Wand Shop. He had been so focused on finding his wand, so eager to prove himself worthy, that he hadn't stopped to fully process what the old wandmaker had said.
"Your brother's wand," Ollivander had remarked with a mysterious gleam in his eye, as though he knew some great secret that Charlie himself had no memory of.
Brother? What brother?
Charlie frowned as he reached the end of the corridor, his bare feet brushing against the cold stone floor. It didn't make sense. He didn't have a brother. He had his parents, James and Lily, and his little sister, Rosaline, who was only five years old. Beyond that, there was no one.
"Then why did he say that?" Charlie murmured to himself. The memory of Ollivander's expression—an odd mix of excitement and gravity—sent a shiver down his spine.
What was he missing?
The rest of the night passed in restless silence. Charlie returned to his room, but sleep eluded him. He sat by the window, staring out into the moonlit gardens of Potter Manor. His thoughts churned, piecing together fragments of memories and whispers of things left unsaid.
Somewhere, buried beneath the weight of his destiny and the lingering echoes of his nightmare, was the sense that the answer he sought was just out of reach—like a shadow slipping through his fingers.
And yet, no matter how hard he tried to make sense of it all, one thing remained clear:
The dreams were trying to tell him something.
