Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Year 1991
The office of Albus Dumbledore was a haven of calm amidst the perpetual bustle of Hogwarts. The walls were adorned with magical artifacts, and portraits of former headmasters observed everything with silent curiosity. However, the usual serenity was abruptly shattered when Minerva McGonagall burst into the room, her face etched with an uncharacteristic concern.
"Albus," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "we need to talk."
Dumbledore looked up from the thick tome he had been reading. The flickering candlelight danced across his half-moon spectacles as he regarded his colleague with a mix of interest and caution. Closing the book gently, he set it aside.
"Of course, Minerva. What troubles you?"
She lingered by the door for a moment, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if trying to steady herself. Her usual composed demeanor was replaced by a look of unease.
"It's the Book of Admittance," she began, choosing her words with care. "Something… unexpected happened today."
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, inviting her to continue.
"A name appeared," McGonagall said, stepping closer to his desk before finally taking a seat. "Lucian Aurelian Grindelwald."
Dumbledore repeated the name softly, as though testing its weight once more. "Grindelwald?"
Minerva nodded gravely, leaning forward. "I know what you're thinking, Albus, but this is no coincidence. That name doesn't simply appear without reason. If this boy truly is a descendant of Gellert Grindelwald, we must tread carefully."
Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The mention of the name had stirred memories of a very different time, of choices and consequences that had shaped his life and the lives of so many others.
"Albus, we cannot ignore this," McGonagall pressed, her voice taut but controlled. "A Grindelwald at Hogwarts… Is it truly wise to accept this child?"
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "The magical quill and the Book of Admittance do not discriminate by surname or family history, Minerva," he replied gently. "If Lucian's name is there, it means he has a right to attend Hogwarts like any other magical child."
"I know," McGonagall said quickly, sitting up straighter. "But this isn't just about rights, Albus. What do we truly know about this boy? Who raised him? What values has he been taught?"
Dumbledore reclined slightly in his chair, exhaling a soft sigh as his gaze flicked momentarily to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who watched from his frame with a raised eyebrow.
"Minerva," he said, his tone measured, "Lucian is, as far as we know, an eleven-year-old boy who is simply at the age to receive his Hogwarts letter, like any other."
McGonagall scoffed lightly, though without disrespect.
"You cannot say that as if he were any other child, Albus. His surname alone sets him apart. His… lineage."
"I admit, we know little about Lucian or his current family," he conceded. "But we must not rush to judge him solely by the legacy his name carries."
"It's not just distrust, Albus. It's caution. After Voldemort's fall, there were rumors—rumors that Grindelwald's followers were working to rebuild his legacy. There were whispers of movements in the shadows, of old alliances being rekindled. No one knew if they were true, but now…" She paused, fixing Dumbledore with an intense look. "Now, a Grindelwald appears at our doorstep, just as the Potters will also enter Hogwarts. You cannot tell me that's a coincidence."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his expression calm but reflective.
"I've heard those rumors, Minerva," he admitted. "And while I cannot assure you they are false, neither can we assume they are true."
"And what if this boy is part of that supposed plan?" McGonagall pressed, leaning forward. "What if he is a pawn in a game we cannot yet comprehend?"
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Dumbledore observed Minerva with a penetrating gaze, as though weighing something deeply personal before speaking.
"Do you recall what I always say, Minerva?" he asked finally, his voice laden with meaning. "Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."
McGonagall frowned, momentarily puzzled by his words.
"And you think this Lucian Grindelwald is asking for help?" she asked, her tone skeptical but less severe than before.
Dumbledore offered a small smile, a gesture both warm and enigmatic.
"Perhaps not in words," he replied. "But his very presence here may be a cry for it. He may not yet be aware of it, but if he has inherited even a fraction of the weight of his surname, we must give him the chance to free himself from that legacy."
McGonagall remained silent, her mind wrestling with her fears and the unshakable logic of Dumbledore's words. Finally, she exhaled deeply.
"Very well, Albus. I will try to keep an open mind," she said at last. "But let me say this: this year will be critical, and we cannot afford mistakes."
Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes shining with a mix of compassion and determination.
"Minerva, times of uncertainty always bring the potential for great change—for better or worse. We must be prepared for both. But remember, in this castle, we will always strive to guide those who are lost. And until Lucian Grindelwald proves otherwise, he is merely that: a boy in need of guidance."
"For all our sakes, Albus," she murmured as she turned toward the door, "I hope you are right."
As the door closed behind her, Dumbledore remained seated in silence, his gaze fixed on the flames with a distant expression. He knew this coming year would be pivotal, not just for Hogwarts but for the wizarding world. Two names with opposing legacies would walk these halls, and what would emerge from them would depend as much on their choices as on the circumstances surrounding them.
…
Helena had only been to London a handful of times, usually when Aunt Petunia was in an exceptionally good mood. But if she were honest with herself, she had never realized just how vast the city truly was.
Though Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, it was clear he wasn't accustomed to getting there the ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the underground and grumbled loudly about the seats being too small and the trains too slow.
"I don't know how Muggles manage without magic," he said as they ascended a broken escalator leading to a bustling street full of shops.
Magic. Just the mention of it sparked an immense curiosity and longing within her. It was strange—just a day ago, she hadn't even known magic existed. Dudley might have often called them freaks, but she had never imagined it would turn out to be true.
Now, she found herself following a complete stranger on a quest for school supplies to attend a magical school. The idea, while terrifying, was also somewhat hopeful—undoubtedly better than staying in the Dursley household.
Hagrid's impressive height parted the crowds with ease; all Helena and Harry had to do was hold hands and keep up with him. They passed bookstores and music shops, burger joints, and cinemas, but nowhere seemed likely to sell a magical wand. This was just an ordinary street filled with ordinary people. Could there really be heaps of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there truly shops selling spell books and broomsticks? And if so, how did they keep Muggles from finding out?
Moments later, Helena got her answer when Hagrid stopped.
"This is it," Hagrid said, coming to a halt. "The Leaky Cauldron. Famous place, this is."
It was a small, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Helena wouldn't have noticed it was there. The bustling crowds passed by without so much as a glance. Their eyes slid from the large bookstore on one side to the record shop on the other as though the pub simply didn't exist. In fact, Helena suspected that only the three of them could see it. But before she could ask if she was right, Hagrid had already ushered them inside.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few elderly witches sat in a corner, sipping tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was completely bald and looked like a wrinkled walnut.
The soft hum of chatter halted as they entered. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid. They waved at him and smiled, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid replied, placing a hand on Harry and Helena's shoulders, making them bend slightly under his strength.
"Good Lord," whispered the bartender, peering closely at them. "Could they be…?"
The Leaky Cauldron fell suddenly silent.
"Bless my soul," the bartender murmured, awestruck. "The Potters… it's an honor."
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushing over to shake their hands with tears in his eyes. "Welcome back."
Helena could hardly remember how Hagrid got them out of the pub. Not without enduring a round of handshakes and introductions, including one from one of their professors. The truth was, she felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of attention, attention she didn't even understand why she was receiving.
Once inside Diagon Alley, Helena's eyes wandered across the shopfronts. Their first stop was Gringotts Bank—a fascinating place, though Helena couldn't say she was eager to return.
Now, with a bag full of coins, she had no idea where to go first. She didn't need to know how many galleons there were to a pound to realize she had more money than she'd ever seen—more money, even, than Dudley would ever have.
"You could start with your uniforms," Hagrid said, pointing toward Madam Malkin's: Robes for All Occasions. "Mind if I pop back to the Leaky Cauldron? Can't stand the carts at Gringotts."
"Are we allowed?" Helena asked curiously. "To go alone?"
"Well…" The visible part of Hagrid's face turned a deep red. "Strictly speaking, I shouldn't leave you, but it's just a moment. You won't wander off, will you? Straight in, straight out."
Helena nodded, noticing how pale Hagrid looked. He truly despised the carts. She took Harry's hand and entered Madam Malkin's with a hint of nervousness.
Madam Malkin was a smiling, plump witch dressed in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dearies?" she said before Harry could even speak. "Got a lot here… another young man's fitting right now. Whoever's first, step up."
Helena glanced at Harry, silently asking if he wanted to go first. When he shook his head, she released his hand and followed Madam Malkin to the back of the shop.
At the rear, a boy with pale, porcelain-like skin stood on a stool as another witch pinned a long black robe on him. Madam Malkin guided Helena to a stool beside him, slipped a long robe over her head, and began marking the correct length.
"Hogwarts?" the boy asked in a soft, curious voice as he examined the robe Madam Malkin had pulled from the shelves.
Helena nodded, unsure how to respond. The boy seemed to notice her nervousness.
"First year?" he asked in a reassuring tone, as though trying to put her at ease.
"Yes," Helena replied, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She didn't want her voice to tremble, but it was hard not to feel nervous in her first real conversation with someone from the magical world outside of Hagrid and Harry. "And you?"
"Same," he said with a slight smile, which gave Helena a sense of relief. It was easier to talk to someone who smiled. His response surprised her, though. "But I doubt much of this is new to me. It's not that complicated, is it? A few spells here, some potions there…"
His gaze drifted briefly, as though all these things were already familiar to him, as if he'd been surrounded by magic his entire life.
Helena observed him for a moment before speaking.
"I… don't know any of that," she said, lowering her eyes and almost whispering, her voice barely audible, as though afraid someone else might overhear her. "Spells, potions… I didn't even know magic existed until yesterday."
The boy stared at her, as if her words carried more weight than she realized.
"I see," he said softly, understanding the significance of her admission. "Then I suppose you're from a Muggle family. Don't worry; even if it feels like you're starting at a disadvantage, it's not so bad. Even those from pure-blood families don't always have everything figured out. Magic isn't something you learn by inheritance, you know?"
"How is it?" Helena asked, trying to return the question. She didn't feel comfortable telling him that her parents had passed away, so she preferred not to correct him about her family being Muggle. Before she could continue, the young man smiled again, as if he had already anticipated her curiosity.
"Me?" he repeated, a slight smile showing a hint of amusement. "Well, you could say I'm a special case. I doubt there's anyone like me among the first-years. It's complicated, but that doesn't mean it's bad, just... a little unique."
Before Helena could say anything, the young man seemed to notice something and turned his gaze toward the shop window. Hagrid was there, smiling at Helena and pointing at three large ice creams to show her why he hadn't come inside.
"That's Hagrid," Helena said, pleased to know something the other didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."
"I know him... well, better said, I've heard of him... Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," the young man said confidently after thinking for a moment.
Helena raised an eyebrow, surprised that he knew so much about Hagrid.
"You know him?" she asked, slightly incredulous.
"Not exactly," he replied with a slight smile. "It's just that I've done my homework about Hogwarts. After all, it'll be my second home in the years to come, so I think it's important to know about it beforehand."
The young man's logical words made Helena have to agree with him. She had been so excited about the idea of magic and everything it entailed that she had overlooked many other important things about the new world she was stepping into.
"Seeing your confused look, I can tell you don't know about the Hogwarts Houses either," the young man commented.
"Houses?" Helena asked, her voice filled with curiosity and a bit of confusion. She didn't quite understand what he meant.
"Yes, the Hogwarts Houses. Every student at Hogwarts is assigned to one of four Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin," he explained, as if it were something every witch or wizard in the magical world should know. "I'd recommend reading the history of Hogwarts, although it has parts that aren't that useful and others that are incomplete. Still, it'll serve as an introduction. It'll help you understand a bit more about how all of this works."
Helena nodded quickly, aware that she had a lot to learn before classes began. She mentally noted the name of the book. She would definitely need to spend some time preparing. Her gaze returned to the young man with black hair.
"And you? Which House do you think you'll end up in?" she asked, a little nervous. She wasn't sure if it was an appropriate question, but her curiosity pushed her to ask.
The young man smiled softly, as if the answer was something he had already thought about long ago.
"It's very likely I'll end up in Slytherin," he replied with an unusual calmness. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of confidence and something else, a glimmer that Helena couldn't quite decipher. "I wouldn't be surprised at all, actually. Most people who know my family would say the same."
"Your family?" Helena asked, now more intrigued, trying to understand the connection. Something in his tone told her there was more to those words.
"Yes," he said, thoughtfully. "My family is... a bit peculiar. Not that I like to talk about it, but yes, it has its history. Though, of course, the Sorting can be unpredictable. But honestly, I wouldn't mind being assigned to Slytherin. I wouldn't take it as a negative thing."
Helena was about to ask more, but at that moment, the young woman who had been helping with her uniform approached, smiling.
"That's it," she said as she helped the young man down from the stool. "The uniform is ready."
As he stepped down, he looked at Helena, a smile forming on his face. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke in a slightly playful tone:
"You know, I never asked your name."
"Helena," she replied softly.
"It's a good name," he said, nodding slightly, as if he were satisfied with the answer. "Lucian." After a brief pause, he added, as if sharing a thought for the first time, "I hope to see you at Hogwarts, Helena."
With those words, Lucian turned and left the store, leaving her with a strange feeling. Helena, on her part, simply stared into space, after all, she had to wait for her uniform. A few moments later, Harry appeared and was placed beside her, though he seemed in a bad mood. From what she could gather, it seemed like he had had some kind of conflict with a boy who reminded her a lot of Dudley.
…
When Lucian left the robe shop, the first thing he noticed was Hagrid, eagerly waiting for the Potter siblings near the entrance. A brief nod of recognition was all Lucian gave him before continuing on his way to his next stop.
His eyes wandered through the bustling Diagon Alley, where the activity was relentless. Children ran excitedly from one side to another, while pure-blood wizard families, with their characteristic elegance, sharply contrasted with the muggle families who ventured into this new world with awe. Curiously, it was this very contrast that gave the Alley its peculiar and vibrant atmosphere.
"Have you finished your shopping?" a delicate voice beside him resonated, soft but with an authoritative tone.
Lucian turned his head slightly toward the woman who had appeared at his side without warning. She was a figure of aristocratic bearing, with a fine face and serene expression, whose stride exuded confidence typical of someone accustomed to a high position in society.
"Just one more stop," Lucian responded calmly, not seeming surprised by her sudden presence. His tone reflected more familiarity than discomfort with the situation.
The woman remained silent for a few moments as they walked together. Her eyes moved between the people filling the Alley, analyzing each figure, as if evaluating the potential danger they might pose. Finally, she broke the silence.
"Was it really necessary to meet them beforehand?" she asked seriously, not taking her eyes off the bustling crowd.
Lucian did not respond immediately. Instead, he walked in silence for a few moments, as if organizing his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm and distant.
"Not really. But let's say I wanted to observe a possible investment for the future."
His words seemed to end the conversation. The woman did not insist; she knew she was there to protect him, not to guide him or interfere with his decisions. And although she did not share his perspective, she understood that any discussion would be pointless.
Shortly after, Lucian arrived at his destination: Ollivanders. As he stopped in front of the shop, he couldn't help but notice the unique air emanating from the place. The façade seemed trapped in time, a complete contrast to the modern hustle of the Alley. The atmosphere inside was different, as if crossing the threshold meant leaving behind all the noise and agitation of the outside world.
Without hurrying, Lucian gently pushed the door, and as soon as he entered, a fresh breeze greeted them, carrying the characteristic scent of wood and antiquity. The place was narrow, with shelves extending all the way to the ceiling, filled with boxes containing wands that could have belonged to other times, each with its own history, waiting to be chosen.
Garrick Ollivander was behind his counter, carefully adjusting a stack of wand boxes. As soon as the door opened, he looked up. His silver eyes, sharp and curious as always, first landed on Lucian. Then, his attention shifted to the woman accompanying him, and this time a gleam of recognition passed through his gaze.
"Miss Catherwood!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "It's a pleasure to see you again. Ebony, twenty-nine centimeters, rigid, excellent for Transfiguration. A powerful wand, without a doubt."
The woman responded with a slight smile, polite but distant.
"Mr. Ollivander, it's a pleasure to see you again. I see your memory remains as sharp as ever."
"Of course!" said Ollivander, giving a slight bow. "I never forget a wand, Miss. Each one is unique, just like the person who wields it."
His attention returned to Lucian, and his tone took on a more inquisitive edge.
"And this young gentleman? Could he be your younger brother?"
Before Charlotte could respond, Lucian spoke serenely, "No, Mr. Ollivander. Miss Charlotte is a friend of my mother's, and she's helping me with my purchases for Hogwarts."
"I see..." Ollivander said slowly, though his gaze suggested there was much more on his mind. "However, I must admit, I'm a little confused. I don't understand why you would need a new wand when the one you have should work perfectly."
The air in the shop seemed to freeze for a moment. Charlotte, who had been calm until now, showed a hint of hostility in her gaze, which she quickly concealed.
Her posture stiffened, as if she were evaluating whether to intervene. However, seeing no signal from Lucian, she opted to remain silent, observing closely for any suspicious actions from Ollivander.
"I think you're mistaken, Mr. Ollivander," Lucian said calmly, raising an eyebrow. "I don't own any wand."
Ollivander's eyes narrowed, studying the young man with renewed interest. Finally, he gave a slight nod and turned to the shelves full of boxes.
"My apologies, young man. These eyes of mine aren't what they used to be. Let me find something suitable for you."
As Ollivander disappeared among the shelves, Charlotte cast a fleeting glance at Lucian, seeking his confirmation. But the young man simply shook his head, a subtle gesture indicating there was no need to act.
The wandmaker returned shortly with a well-polished wooden box.
"Let's try this one. Holly and dragon heartstring, twenty-seven centimeters, flexible. Go ahead, take it and wave it."
Lucian obeyed without hesitation, but he didn't feel anything special. Ollivander tilted his head, muttered something to himself, and disappeared once more into the shelves. This process repeated several times, each attempt with wands of different woods and cores, and none seemed to suit him completely.
"How interesting..." Ollivander murmured as he disappeared again. This time, he took longer to return than in the previous attempts.
Charlotte crossed her arms, her gaze alternating between the shop's window, which revealed the bustle of Diagon Alley, and Lucian. Even standing still, she maintained a habitual posture of calm and authority. Finally, the wandmaker returned with a dusty box.
"Here we have something very special." Carefully, he opened the box and extracted a black wand. The handle had an intricate spiral design, resembling a coiled dragon's tail.
"Yew and dragon heartstring, thirty-two centimeters, unyielding. A peculiar combination, I must say. Go ahead, try it."
Lucian took the wand. As soon as his fingers brushed the wood, a pleasant warmth traveled up his arm, and an explosion of purple and blue sparks lit up the shop like a fireworks display.
"Oh, bravo!" Ollivander exclaimed, visibly excited. "Well, well, well... How curious, truly curious..."
As he wrapped the wand back in its box, he continued murmuring: "Curious... very curious."
Charlotte frowned, unable to ignore the wandmaker's strange behavior. Finally, she broke the silence.
"What's so curious, Mr. Ollivander?"
The old man looked directly at Lucian, and his expression grew solemn.
"You see, Miss Catherwood, as I mentioned earlier, I remember every wand I've sold. Wand woods are temperamental, hard to work with, especially one as unusual as yew. From an entire tree, only two wands could be made."
Charlotte said nothing, but her gaze grew sharper.
"The first," Ollivander continued, not taking his eyes off Lucian, "ended up in the hands of a young wizard who grew up to do extraordinary things. Terrible things, yes, but extraordinary. And now, this wand, its twin, seems destined for the young man before me."
Charlotte frowned, displeased with the mysterious words from the old man, while Lucian remained unmoved, though his clear eyes glowed with a calculating intensity, as if he were carefully considering the implications of what he had just heard.
"Your reputation is well deserved, Mr. Ollivander," Lucian finally said, breaking the silence with a polite but firm tone.
The old man nodded slightly, as if accepting the compliment, but his eyes remained fixed on Lucian.
"The wand chooses the wizard, young sir," Ollivander murmured, as if this truth were deeper than anyone could understand. "And sometimes, destiny intervenes in ways we cannot comprehend."
Charlotte took a step forward, her expression hardened.
"Mr. Ollivander, I appreciate your insight, but I believe this conversation has come to an end," she said with a courtesy that barely masked her sharp tone. "If there's nothing else, we'll proceed with the payment."
Ollivander nodded slowly, though a faint smile crossed his face, as if he were pleased with something only he understood.
"Of course, Miss Catherwood. Seven gold galleons."
Charlotte took the coins from her bag and placed them on the counter, her movements precise and deliberate. Lucian, meanwhile, held the box containing the wand, his gaze still fixed on Ollivander, as if he were trying to unravel the mysteries the man had left unexplained.
When they finally left the shop, Charlotte maintained her pace behind Lucian, her eyes scanning the Alley with utmost vigilance. Only when they were far enough did she speak.
"You should have let me intervene," she said, her voice low but full of reproach. "That man knows more than he lets on. His interest in you isn't casual."
Lucian stopped and turned his head toward her, his expression serene but determined.
"Ollivander knows a lot because in his work, he's seen thousands of things and people. Besides, he seems to have an innate affinity for the wands he makes," Lucian said, gently caressing the box containing his new wand. A slight smile crossed his lips. "But I'm not worried. Not more than I should worry about anyone else in this alley."
Charlotte pressed her lips together, but did not reply. She had learned that arguing with Lucian usually led to nothing. His ability to anticipate things and his sharp instincts had proven right more times than she could count; perhaps only a young man like him could be worthy of carrying the legacy of that man.
"Still, be careful," she said finally, softening her tone.
Lucian nodded slightly and began walking again. As they moved forward, Charlotte stayed one step behind him, her eyes alert to any suspicious movements.
In this way, the young man and the woman delved back into the bustle of Diagon Alley, walking with an almost unsettling fluidity. Despite the hustle and bustle of families, the cries of children, and the clatter of doors and trunks, they seemed to move like shadows, avoiding any unnecessary attention.
Within seconds, the two disappeared into the crowd, their figures fading as if they had never been there. It was as if the alley itself had absorbed them, leaving only the fleeting trace of a conversation that few, or perhaps no one, could fully understand.