"Mon dieu!"
It was something of a shock to Harry that exactly a year ago he had been locked in his room, incapable of doing anything that passed as enjoyable. Those were the rules when it came to living with the Dursleys - or at least, those were the rules for him.
Granted, Harry did still live with the Dursleys. But the rules were much more lax now - no doubt due to the intervention of Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. It was quite a nice change, Harry admitted begrudgingly.
The change, combined with Hedwig (for Harry could not apparate due to the lack of a wand) made it relatively easy for Harry to vanish everyday for hours on end.
He had initially been rather cautious, concerned that he was being watched - though he quickly realized that he was merely being checked up on around every few days. After that, Harry and Fleur relaxed quite a bit.
Their ability to relax, unfortunately, was slightly weakened by the verbal onslaughts of the British Ministry. Harry himself didn't care much; he already had the support of everyone he truly cared about. The words of people who had not so much as met him mattered little.
Still, Fleur had been upset. She had not liked the way the British Ministry of Magic had discredited him, especially after the recent events.
"You literally fought the most powerful dark lord of all time!" Fleur had screamed angrily in French upon receiving a rather rude article published by the Daily Prophet, "What more could they possibly ask for?"
Aside from that, however, the time they spent together had been the best of Harry's life. They had not been rather productive (although Harry was making progress with his wandless magic) - something that was not surprising given that it was now summer.
They had spent the majority of their time together on the shores of a river near the Delacour Chateaux. It was nice, sitting by the shores - something they both liked. They would bring food (both French and British) for them to munch happily upon, each attempting to convince the other that their meal was better.
Fleur's sudden interest in visiting the river was not something that had gone unnoticed, unfortunately. Fleur's mother and father had both questioned her about it, although in the end they had thankfully accepted the bogus answer she had given them.
Gabrielle, however, was much less trusting. The young Veela had journeyed over to the river several times now, no doubt curious to see what her sister was up to. She would hastily run away each time, squealing with laughter as Fleur ran after her. Harry, covered by his invisibility cloak, would watch on with amusement.
Harry and Fleur had also visited Salazar a number of times over the summer. These were the times when Harry and Fleur made the most progress. The portrait had not allowed them much respite, instead choosing to push them - especially Harry - to their limits.
Harry was more than fine with the arrangement, as was Fleur. The progress he had made in the past few weeks was astounding; he was now capable of wandlessly levitating Fleur several dozen feet off the ground with little to no effort.
The feat (which Harry had performed a mere week ago) had left Harry rather curious about a few things, particularly flight. If he was capable of wandlessly levitating others, why could he not do the same to himself?
The answer to that peculiar question lay within the book that Harry was currently reading.
'Some of the most complex of all magics are those that affect the caster. The sheer number of magics that affect the caster are very minute, the majority of which typically revolve around transfiguration and charms.
In many instances, it is not possible to use certain magics on oneself. For example, both the Levitation Charm and the Cheering Charm (amongst numerous others) must be cast by another. Healing Charms that affect the caster, however, are more then possible - to the point where some would consider them to be relatively easy. But why is this the case?
While most experts disagree with just about every magical theory in existence, they all agree with one: Magic is sentient. When one heals themselves, their magic almost always understands the need to heal, and therefore allows the spell to affect itself. It is a question of survival, after all - your body is practically made to aid itself in such a situation.
In other cases (such as the two aforementioned spells), magic almost always does not deem them necessary. A witch or wizard's magic does its best to protect the witch or wizard in question - the reason why wizarding children do not die when using accidental magic. It will therefore block any and all attempts at self-performed magics it deems unnecessary for survival.
One must remember that the mind and the magic are not the same - just as the mind and the heart are different as well. One may believe they require something, but their magic may disagree. Trust it. The magic and oneself are one in the same, a sort of instinct if you will.
It is worth noting that "unnecessary" magics (such as the Levitation and Cheering Charms) can both be used in life threatening situations. Other magics (such as Self-Transfiguration) can be used at almost any given time. These magics were created in such a way that it would negate the protective attempts of a wizard's magic.'
The book was one Fleur had given Harry, locked deep within the dusty shelves of the Delacour Library. It was a fascinating tome - it confirmed many of the beliefs Salazar had instilled into him.
Harry casually looked up from his book, having understood Fleur's words.
"What is it?"
Fleur said nothing, instead pointing at a miniscule speck in the morning sky. The dot slowly grew larger as the seconds passed, growing what appeared to be wings. It grew closer and closer, eventually landing in front of Harry and Fleur.
"It's an owl." said Harry plainly, causing Fleur to roll her eyes.
"They are my exam results." said Fleur hastily, "We take our equivalent to the O.W.L.s in our sixth year."
Fleur hastily removed the letter from the owl, watching as the bird flew away at a leisurely pace. Once the speck in the sky had vanished, the Veela returned her attention to the letter in her hands. She carefully opened it, pulling out a single piece of parchment. She held it out in front of her, allowing both herself and Harry to read it at the same time.
Wizards' Ordinary Magic and Basic Aptitude Test Results
Pass Grades Fail Grades
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)
Fleur Isabelle Delacour has achieved:
Ancient Runes O
Arithmancy O
Care of Magical Creatures O
Charms O
Defense Against the Dark Arts O
Enchanting O
Herbology E
Offensive Magic O
Potions O
Transfiguration O
Harry's jaw hung wide open. Harry was not sure how special examinations such as O.W.L.s (and W.O.M.B.A.T.s, apparently) were graded, but there was absolutely no way that Fleur had done poorly. The only subject which she had not performed perfectly on was Herbology, something that made sense to Harry. Fire and plants didn't mix very well, after all.
There's absolutely no way I can top that.
Fleur turned to face Harry, affectionately pinching his cheek upon seeing his dumbstruck expression.
"You can't win at everything, mon ange." Fleur said in a teasing manner, "It wouldn't be fun that way, would it?"
"I still have the Triwizard Cup." said Harry stubbornly.
"A Triwizard Cup will not help you write an essay."
"But you wouldn't know that, would you?" refuted Harry with a smile, "After all, you don't have a Triwizard Cup."
Fleur rolled her eyes, allowing Harry to return to his book. After a quarter of an hour Harry put it to the side, engaging in amusing conversations with Fleur. They sat like this for quite some time, allowing the sun to slowly rise to the middle of the sky where it eventually began to fall once more.
"I think we should get it now." said Fleur softly, her head in Harry's lap, "You will have to do it eventually, there is no point in putting it off."
Harry nodded in agreement, stroking Fleur's hair absentmindedly. The conversation between the two of them had slowly moved towards Harry's lack of a working wand.
Harry carefully pulled out the broken pieces of his wand, which he kept in his pocket. He was beginning to understand why Hagrid kept the remains of his old wand after all this time. They were a rather intimate part of Harry. He did not want to let them go - not yet, anyway.
"Do you think Ollivander would tell anyone?" Harry asked Fleur quietly.
The latter shook her head.
"Non, I do not. Wandmakers are notorious for being secretive - the only secrets they would ever divulge are those of a wand they sell. If you truly wish, I can take you to a French Wandmaker in Paris. She's quite talented."
"But not as good as Ollivander?"
"No," admitted Fleur, "She is not."
"Then we'll go to Ollivanders." declared Harry, "I doubt Ollivander would mention it if I asked him not to - he treats wands with as much respect as he does people."
The two of them stood up as one, slowly making their way towards the Delacour Chateaux.
"Well, this is rather bizarre." said Salazar tiredly, his eyes lined with amusement.
Harry and Fleur stood within the Chamber of Secrets, each covered from top to bottom in Glamour Charms. They had been expertly cast by Fleur in preparation for their trip to Diagon Alley, during which they hoped to get Harry his new wand.
It was as though the two of them had mixed somewhat. Fleur, although still possessing the majority of her own features, now had jet black hair and emerald eyes. Her skin tone was now paler than usual (closer to Harry's than before), but Harry's skin tone was still slightly lighter.
Harry now sported beautiful sapphire eyes and silvery-blonde hair. His skin was a bit more tan now, his features slightly softer. All in all, he looked rather peculiar in the eyes of those who knew him - something Salazar had no doubt picked up on.
"It'll be fine." said Harry in exasperation, his voice slightly deeper than usual (thanks to a useful set of charms Fleur had employed), "At least we don't look like ourselves. We'll wear our hoods up as well, just to be safe."
"That may help with Ollivander as well." Fleur noted, "He may not recognize you."
"Maybe." said Harry, although he wasn't entirely sure. The man had always seemed to know who he was talking to - he had, after all, recognized Harry in a split second when they had first met, all before he had even noticed his scar.
Ollivander's ability to recognize him even without his scar could aid the old wandmaker today, considering that Harry's scar was now significantly faded. It was still present, of course - but it was less obvious. Regardless, one would only truly spot it if they were looking for it.
Harry, Fleur and Salazar had all agreed that the loss of his scar signified the destruction of the horcrux within him. Even before that, Harry had known that Voldemort's soul piece was gone. Harry didn't really know how to explain, but ever since the night of the third task, Harry had felt . . . alive.
It had been affecting his casting as well, although he had not yet done any magic with a wand. His wandless magic was more controlled now, more refined. He was not more powerful, nor was he weaker - he was simply in control.
"You should get going then." advised Salazar, "Venture to other shops as well. Although the knowledge within this chamber is both powerful and ancient, it is but a drop of spells in the relentless sea that is magic."
Fleur nodded, as did Harry. That was something else they had both agreed upon.
The two of them slowly moved together, each holding the hand of the other within their own. The world around them suddenly faded out of view, returning just as quickly as it had left. They were in the Leaky Cauldron now, specifically the room designated for guests to apparate into.
They both hastily put on their hoods, making their way towards the main door. The Leaky Cauldron was roaring with life, as usual. Dozens were seated at every table, all speaking loudly to their neighbors. The bar too was filled, as were the many booths at the end of the room.
" - barking mad, that Potter lad!" guffawed one man to those who sat beside him.
"You-Know-Who, back?" exclaimed the man to the right of him, "Off his rocker, he is!"
"Him and Dumbledore both." said another, "The old man's gone senile."
"Potter's being a right fool, you know." replied the second, "He's famous for defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! You'd think he of all people would tell us the truth about it!"
"Eh, you know what happens to famous people. Gets to their heads, it does -"
Sizzle.
Harry quickly turned around, his eyes landing upon Fleur. She had frozen in place, steam wafting away from her right palm, which was closed in a fist. Her head was turned towards the group of men, and although Harry could not see her expression, he knew it was one of anger.
"Come on." said Harry, grabbing her gently by the arm, "Forget about it."
"I will slaughter them all!" she hissed in rapid French, allowing Harry to lead her towards the exit.
"It's not important." assured Harry quietly, "They don't know me, it doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." said Fleur, her arms crossed over her chest.
Harry sighed.
The two of them made their way through the backdoor, Fleur stopping to watch as Harry tapped his wand against the brick wall in an unorthodox manner. The brick wall slowly parted, each brick collapsing on itself to form an archway.
"Hagrid showed me." whispered Harry, "On my first visit to Diagon Alley."
The Alley was packed with life, no one seemingly worried that the most powerful dark lord of all time had returned at last. In fact, the Alley seemed nearly packed to the brim. It appeared as though many wished to enjoy a lovely summer day by wandering through the countless shops that surrounded them.
"One gryphon claws for a quarter of a thousand galleons?" muttered a rather old man as he stormed out of one of the many shops, "Barking mad, the whole lot of them . . ."
To the side of the shop were a number of children, all of whom had their noses pressed against the glass, staring at what appeared to be a broomstick with wide eyes.
"Look at that!" Fleur heard one of them say, "The Firebolt - prices have gone down, too! Think mum might get me one?"
"'Course not, still costs an arm and a leg, doesn't it?"
Overhead, dozens of owls soared through the alley, occasionally resting upon the roofs of the strange buildings. Adults stood around the alley, watching with amusement as their children wandered around.
Harry and Fleur moved forward, the latter covering the both of them Notice-Me-Nots. The crowd subconsciously parted for them. The two quickly continued onwards, walking towards a shabby shop near the corner of the alley.
"Ollivander's." said Harry as they arrived, his eyes upon the sign that rested just above the entrance.
Hastily making his way up the cobbled steps, Harry pushed the door open, allowing both him and Fleur entrance into the ancient building. It was just as it had been four years ago: dust lined the walls from ceiling to the floor, cobwebs littered the corners and hundreds of rectangular boxes were held haphazardly within large shelves.
"A tad bit too old for wand shopping, I daresay, but if that is what you are here for -"
Harry turned to the side, his concealed eyes falling upon the form of Garrick Ollivander.
"- then that is what you shall receive."
Ollivander carefully climbed down from his ladder, making his way over to the front desk (behind which Harry and Fleur stood). His eyes lingered upon Fleur's hooded form for a moment, eyes brimming with curiosity, before turning back to Harry.
"Will it be one wand?" asked the old man, "Or one for both?"
"Just one." said Harry, his voice deep.
Ollivander nodded quickly before suddenly grabbing a tape measure from behind the counter.
"Right handed?" asked Ollivander, measuring the arm in question upon seeing Harry slowly nod his head.
The eccentric wandmaker spent the next several minutes measuring every part of Harry's body, just as he had done many years ago. Once he had finished, he happily retreated behind one of the many shelves, clearly in search of a wand.
"This is the premier wandmaker in all of Britain?" hissed Fleur quietly, "He was not nearly this mad during the wand-weighing Ceremony!"
"They're all like that." said Harry, "Dumbledore and Riddle as well."
"You have forgotten Salazar." noted Fleur, a small smile growing upon her features.
"And he's heartbroken, I'm sure." whispered Harry in amusement.
"Rosewood and dragon heartstring." said Ollivander as he returned (causing both Harry and Fleur to quiet down), "Twelve inches. Nice and flexible. Just give it a wave, go on now."
Harry carefully grasped the wand in his hand, feeling its smooth texture. Before he could move it so much as an inch, however, Ollivander snatched it back, shaking his head all the while.
He retreated back into the depths of his shop, returning moments later with another box.
"Beechwood and Unicorn Hair. Ten inches. Supple."
Harry took it. This time he was at least able to move it around in his hand; it was quite rough. When he tried to wave it, however, Ollivander reclaimed it once more.
"Certainly not, certainly not - try this one, ebony and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, flexible. Come on now, give it a wave."
I swear he made me try all these wands the first time around.
Harry tried again and again, counting as the number of wands slowly increased.
Five . . . ten . . . fifteen . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . forty-five . . . sixty . . .
Harry had lost count, his excitement at getting a new wand having receded a long time ago. Fleur, although still standing by his side, was just as impatient as he was. She had been repeatedly tapping her foot against the floor for a quarter of an hour now, and showed no signs of stopping.
Ollivander had been speaking to Harry and Fleur as the former tried the vast number of wands. He knew the majority of what he was being told, thanks to having briefly studied wandlore during the past year, but it was still somewhat interesting to hear.
"Curious . . ." Ollivander finally whispered after quite some time, his eyes resting upon Harry's form.
"What is?" questioned Fleur.
"It appears as though none of the wands in this shop are a match for you." said Ollivander, his eyes still on Harry.
We tested all of the wands in the shop?
Harry looked around, suddenly noticing the surplus of wand boxes that were stacked behind the counter - hundreds of them, at the very least. Judging from what Harry could make of Fleur's expression, she was finally noticing as well.
"It is not an issue, thankfully." continued Ollivander excitedly, "It simply means that your wand will have to be crafted perfectly to fit you."
With that, the excited wandmaker spun on the spot, practically racing towards the back of the shop.
"We should have requested a custom wand in the first place." muttered Fleur, shaking her head in disbelief, "How could I have been so foolish?"
"What do you mean?"
Fleur pulled her wand out of her robes, handing it to Harry.
"Most magicals use wands that match them the best." explained Fleur, "Mine, however - and soon yours - were crafted specifically for us. Perfect matches, if you will."
Bang.
Harry quickly snapped his attention back to the counter, watching as Ollivander slowly approached them. His arms were filled to the brim, carrying what appeared to be a number of large boxes. He carefully set them down upon the table, opening each of them up.
The majority of the boxes held objects of some kind: woods and wand cores, as well as a few other objects Harry didn't recognize. From the last box Ollivander pulled out what appeared to be a number of odd instruments. He placed them to the side, finally returning his attention to Harry.
"Now, if you would please hold your hand over each of these woods." said Ollivander, pointing at the number of wand woods, "You will know what to do when the time comes."
Harry nodded slowly, moving his hand over the wood samples as instructed.
No, nothing. Nope. No, no, no . . . wait -
Harry shook his head, turning back to the pile of woods. The 'feeling' he had felt had been Fleur grabbing ahold of his hand, nothing else. Clearly the 'time hadn't come', as Ollivander might have said.
Which is a good thing too. I certainly didn't know what to do.
Harry continued waving his wand over each of the woods, stopping occasionally in the hopes of finding a match. He continued at a slowly decreasing pace, his focus suddenly leaving him . . .
Fwoosh.
Harry lifted his head, his eyes landing upon a particular piece of wood. It was dark brown in colour, its texture appearing to be rather smooth. Harry allowed his fingers to touch the wood, practically tasting the strange power that resided within it.
"Elder." said Ollivander, watching Harry carefully. He cautiously lifted the wood, placing it upon one of the instruments, before turning back to Harry.
"As I have done all the necessary measurements for wand shaping and length, all you must do now is select a core."
Ollivander turned the smallest of the boxes towards Harry, allowing the boy to gaze into it. The box almost entirely consisted of what appeared to be Unicorn hairs and dragon heartstring. There were other cores present as well, but they did not seem nearly as powerful as the former two.
The only core that truly seemed to be a match for the two (and, if Harry's primitive knowledge of wandlore was accurate, possibly more than a match) were the few phoenix feathers within the box. They were sparse in number, however - not that such a thing would matter to Harry, who only sought a single wand.
What did matter to him, however, was the lack of connection he felt between himself and the cores. There was no feeling of familiarity, nothing that linked Harry to any of the wand cores.
Fwoosh.
Harry and Fleur both turned to their hand, which remained intertwined. Harry carefully pulled his hand away from Fleur's, opening it carefully.
Within his palm sat a single white feather, angelic in appearance. Miniscule violet flames danced upon, so small that they could easily be overlooked. Harry turned to Fleur, whose eyes were glued to the feather.
"Hedwig." she muttered softly.
Harry slowly turned to Ollivander, who was observing the feather with fascination. The wandmaker graciously accepted the feather, looking it over with curiosity.
"A phoenix feather." whispered the wandmaker, "But . . . how strange."
The wandmaker gently placed it upon the sample of elder wood before turning back to Harry and Fleur.
"I should be finished in a few hours." said Ollivander, "You are more than welcome to wait if you would like."
With that, the wizened wandmaker retreated towards the back of his shop, carrying several boxes, as well as the sample of elder wood and Hedwig's feather.
"How did she know?" asked Harry quietly as he and Fleur made their way towards the door, both anxious to leave the shop for as long as they could.
"I do not know." admitted Fleur, "But we will have to bring some bacon with us the next time we see her."
Right.
"Of all the places we could be, this is your choice?" questioned Fleur indignantly, her eyes resting upon an old, run-down building.
The building, if possible, seemed to be in worse condition than even Ollivander's shop, although it did not appear to be nearly as old. It was rather small, making it somewhat invisible to the casual passerby - something which Harry was not.
"Borgin and Burkes." whispered Harry quietly, not particularly interested in attracting the attention of those nearby, "I accidentally ended up here, just before my second year."
"I have heard of it before." replied Fleur quietly, now gazing at the sign with slight interest, "My father told my maman and I about it. It is the place where people find rare objects, apparently."
"Rare?"
"Illegal." clarified Fleur, "But also quite hard to come by, unless papa was mistaken. Ancient books, objects, artifacts, and so on."
"Could be useful." noted Harry.
"It could." agreed Fleur, "There are likely objects here that can not be found anywhere else in the world."
With that, Harry cautiously made his way towards the door, Fleur walking slowly by his side.
The inside of the shop seemed to be somewhere between an old museum and a rundown library. Hundreds of books were placed haphazardly within shelves, their bindings peeling slightly. Artifacts and instruments sat upon the stands, some glowing dangerously while others happily sulked within the shadows.
"One second, just one second." said an oily voice from the back of the shop, "I'm coming."
A stooping, balding man slowly made his way into view, a large yet false smile upon his face. His robes were almost entirely black, with only a small white patch that read 'Mr. Borgin'preventing that.
"Anything catch your eye?" asked Borgin, eyeing their hooded features warily upon noticing them (something which had caused his smile to weaken slightly).
"Nothing yet," said Fleur coldly, "We are still looking."
"Of course my lady, take your time." said the man, bowing low to the ground. He quickly retreated towards the back of the shop, his eyes trained upon the two of them all the while.
"He was like that when the Malfoys visited him." whispered Harry, "He must think we're important customers."
"Or the hoods." Fleur supplied, "He does not know who we are; it is best to be wary."
Harry nodded, making sure that his hood properly obscured the entirety of his face.
Fleur and Harry carefully made their way towards the back of the shop, observing the countless objects with caution. There were objects of all sorts, many of which did not seem particularly friendly. One of the books even tried to scream at them; it was only thanks to a quick wave of Fleur's wand that Mr. Borgin did not disturb them.
The back of the shop was much more interesting than the front, at least according to the pair. It was filled to the brim with books of all kinds, many of which were clearly of a variety that the ministry would not approve of. They were old too, judging by the yellowing of the pages they held.
"These must be worth a fortune." muttered Harry, his eyes upon a single shelf in the very back of the shop.
The shelf (which held about twenty books) was covered from top to bottom in powerful wards, wards that even Fleur would have a hard time with. The books within them practically radiated value - their age, design, and subject matter all but assuring that.
"Merde." whispered Fleur, her eyes upon one of the books within the shelf.
Harry turned to look at the book in question. It was old, perhaps older than all the others. The words written upon it were written with ink and quill - whatever it was, it had been made by hand.
What it was, however, Harry did not know, for the words were written in what appeared to be Greek.
'μυστικά της ψυχής'
"Secrets of the Soul." Fleur translated quietly, an unusual amount of shock present upon her face, "A book on soul magic, written by Herpo the Foul."
Herpo the Foul?
"He is a famous dark wizard, I read it in one of the books you gave me from the chamber." explained Fleur, having seen Harry's expression, "He is attributed with the discovery of basilisk creation, but more importantly than that -"
Fleur paused, waving her wand around them quickly. Harry felt a number of powerful privacy wards form, surrounding the both of them.
"- he is credited with the invention of the horcrux."
Harry's eyes widened, his head turning at breakneck speed to face the ancient tome.
"He invented the horcrux?" whispered Harry.
"According to the tome on Ancient History within the chamber."
"Is it real?"
Fleur looked at the tome carefully, waving her wand every few seconds as she observed the book. After a few moments, she turned back to Harry, a smile on her face.
"We're buying it." muttered Harry quickly.
Fleur nodded in agreement, turning to face Mr. Borgin (who stood at the other side of the room, watching them with suspicion).
"We would like to purchase one of these books." said Fleur, her voice cool.
Mr. Borgin nodded quickly, hastily making his way towards them.
"Which one, Madam?" he asked, his voice just as oily as ever.
Fleur pointed towards the book in question, which happened to be at the very center of the shelf. Borgin's eyes narrowed slightly, though he did not say anything. Instead, the man nodded respectfully, making his way towards the shelf. He carefully grabbed the book (the wards doing nothing to prevent him from doing so), before turning back to Harry and Fleur.
"Twenty-seven thousand galleons, Madam." said Borgin with a grin.
That's going to make a serious dent in my account.
The only account which Harry currently had access to was the Potter Trust Fund, which, as far as Harry knew, held about fifty-thousand galleons. Harry had managed to go the last several years without using more than a few thousand galleons, something that would not be the case for much longer.
This is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Harry pulled his Gringotts bag out from his robes, carefully putting his hand within it.
"Twenty-seven thousand galleons." he whispered.
Harry withdrew his hand, which now held another, somewhat smaller bag. The size of the bag, however, was misleading, for within it was twenty-seven thousand galleons - more than most wizards had ever seen in their lives.
Harry carefully handed it to Borgin, who took it with a smile. The man handed them the book before opening the bag he had been given, grinning upon seeing its contents.
"A pleasure doing business with you." said Borgin slyly, bowing lowly before retreating towards the other end of the shop. Fleur and Harry nodded respectfully before departing from the shop, making their way back to Ollivander's.
"Ah, back at last!" cried Ollivander as they entered the shop.
The sky was beginning to darken now, the sun just barely visible. Diagon Alley, although still filled with life, now held a lot less children than it had earlier. It seemed as though the parents at least had enough sense to take their children home before nightfall.
Harry nodded appreciatively towards the wandmaker, moving forward to accept the box held reverently within the man's hands.
"One of the most peculiar wands I have ever made, no doubt." said Ollivander excitedly.
Harry took the box, gently pulling the lid off. From the looks of it, Ollivander was telling the truth; the wand was beautiful, angelic even, yet unlike any other Harry had ever seen before.
It was dark in colour, with a single thin line spiraling around it from the bottom to the top - a snake, Harry realized upon seeing its head, which looked incredibly similar to the basilisk that currently lay upon the chamber floor. At the base sat two flowers, each expertly carved into the wood - a lily and a violet. The pair were pressed so closely against one another that they appeared to be a single large flower, the fangs of the basilisk surrounded them on either side.
"It's beautiful." Fleur whispered quietly. Harry couldn't help but agree.
"The wand liked that." noted Ollivander quietly, "The designs, I mean. It preferred them. Elder, thirteen inches, with the phoenix feather you provided me with. Quite unyielding, although perhaps it might make a few exceptions."
Harry lowered his hand into the box, gently wrapping his fingers around the elegant wand. It was just as it had been all those years ago - a memory Harry recalled with ease. Power flooded through him, coursing through his veins with undeniable pleasure. His sapphire eyes took on a soft emerald glow, his hair stood on end, and a sudden breeze formed within the shop, seemingly ignoring the fact that the door was closed.
But there was a single difference this time, one that he was only realizing just now.
This wand felt more personal. This wand felt like him. This wand was his.
And what a difference it made.
"It's brilliant." Harry breathed quietly, moving it around his hands. Despite what the wand design might suggest, it was very comfortable to hold within his hands, the carved snake providing a sort of grip.
"One of my finest works, I do believe." said Ollivander earnestly, "Just like your other wand once was."
Harry tensed suddenly, as did Fleur. Her hand, which he held within his left, was beginning to warm slightly. Harry squeezed it in a comforting manner.
"How did you know?"
Ollivander smiled.
"In the last several decades, I have only had a few customers older than eleven." said the wandmaker, "I can only think of one such customer who might need me now, Mr. Potter."
Fleur opened her mouth to speak, though Ollivander kept going.
"I will, of course, keep this all under wraps." continued Ollivander, "The joining of the wand and the wizard is an intimate one, and one that should be kept private when possible."
He's telling the truth.
Harry could practically feel the honesty flowing from him, no doubt due to the Legilimency he and Fleur had begun learning. Judging from the way Fleur had relaxed, she had felt it too.
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander." said Fleur quietly as Harry handed over seven galleons.
"It is I who should be thanking you." said Ollivander kindly, "It is always a pleasure to make a new wand."
With that, the wandmaker stepped away from the counter, slowly returning to the back of the shop.
"Ready to leave?" asked Fleur as the two of them made their way into the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry nodded, and the two of them disapparated.