HARRY POTTER :Dark Kingdom

He tried to occupy himself by looking through his textbooks, looking for spells he wanted to learn, but it only reminded him that he needed his wand to cast any of them. He finally settled on his potions book, which very rarely required a wand. He read the first chapter on the first fundamental principles of potion making for the next hour, still checking his watch often, when the last of the other students exited the shop.

"Your turn," they said, going over to gossip with the others. Eagerly, Harry left his supplies with the others and entered the shop. It was gloomy inside as it was out, with an air of antiquity that rivaled all else he had seen before. The walls were lined with open cubby holes, each containing long narrow boxes. There was a single wing-backed chair, inhabited by Snape who regarded him cooly, and beside him stood the most unnerving individuals Harry had ever seen. He was elderly, sort of frail looking, but his eyes were ice blue and sharp as knives. The air around him seemed thicker, wavering yet not. Harry felt the air reach out and touch him, and shivered.

"You are Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Mr. Ollivander," he said, thoroughly unnerved. The man's gaze lingered for a long moment before he turned away and headed for the shelves.

"Stand on the stool there," he said. No sooner had Harry done as he was told, than a miniature tape measure came zipping up to him. On its own it began to take measurement, none of which the wand-maker seemed to be paying any attention to. It measure his height, the width of his shoulders, the size of his feet, the circumference of his head, and strangely the distance between his nostrils. "Which is your wand hand?"

"Er... I'm right handed." The measuring tape then went to work measuring the length of his fingers, distance from wrist to elbow, armpit to floor, and so many other random distances Ollivander continued to ignore.

"Right then, that's enough," the tape measure crumpled lifeless to floor. "Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstrings. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry accepted the wand, and feeling extremely foolish under Snape's ominous regard, and waved it around a bit. Immediately the wand was snatch out of his hand.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-"

Harry tried, but that too was snatched from him even faster than the first. And that was how it went. He tried all sorts of wands. Unicorn hair, phoenix feather, dragon heartstrings. Hard woods, soft woods, and woods from distant lands. He tried short, long, flexible, and rigid. Yet no matter what he tried, nothing was quite right. As they started approaching half an hour, a sort of despair settled around Harry. For every wand that rejected him began to feel like a personal failure. His only consolation was that Ollivander only seemed to become more enthused with the hunt, and not the least bit discouraged.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere- I wonder, now. Why not try this one? Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Here-"

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. His arm lifted, almost of its own accord, and came down in a powerful swish. Gold and red sparks flew out of the end like fireworks, sending the whole store dancing with light and shadows. In his chair, Snape's grip on the armrests tightened. Mr. Ollivander smiled in pure bliss and cried, "Bravo! Yes, indeed, very good. I've waited a long time to find the owner of that wand! I made this wand almost seventy-five years ago. The phoenix that donated the feather only gave two. I knew then those wands would be something special. And I was right. Within twenty years, its brother had risen in infamy along with its master. That fifty years should pass before its equal could be found. How remarkable!"

"Ollivander, you overstep your bounds," Snape suddenly hissed, jumping to his feet. "To even suggest this...boymight somehow be His equal."

Harry, his insides feeling as light as air, and his fingers tingling felt suddenly invincible and turned to both men. "And who's the owner of the other wand?"

Snape did not reply, and amazingly he even looked away from Harry. Ollivander, on the other hand, grinned and fixed him with a pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. Your wand's brother- Yew, phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches- just so happens to belong to the most powerful wizard in Britain. Curious, indeed, how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, you know... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, You-Know-Who did great things- terrible, but great."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry sat in the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade, looking into his butterbeer and wishing there was actual alcohol in it. His wand was tucked into its thin leather case under his shirt. There was a strange feeling emanating from it, luring Harry to take it into his bare hands again. It was a feeling that promised magic. He could do anything once that bit of wood and feather was in his hand... just like Voldemort had.

"Jeez, Harry, you're not still sulking are you?" Natalie mocked, interrupting his dark thoughts. "I know Snape was an utter prat, but you'll have other opportunities to go shopping in Daigon Alley. I didn't think boys even liked shopping."

Hermione, of course, was quick to come to his defense... or argue with Natalie. One of the two.

"Don't be sexist, Natalie. Besides, Harry's never been to Daigon Alley, remember?"

Natalie waved off the logic with her usual feminine grace.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, smiling weakly. "There's always next year."

"Hey," Clyde said, wiping away his foamy mustache, "We won't need our teachers as escort next year. We should all go out together and show Harry around. It'll be a riot."

Natalie grinned and lifted her mug. "I'll drink to that. What do you say, Harry? Hermione? Shall we all go together next time?"

This time his smile was a bit more real, and he lifted his mug. Hermione and Clyde lifted theirs, and they clinked them together and took a drink... and kept drinking. Whether they'd planned it that way or not, once they'd started Natalie and Hermione had somehow turned it into a contest, one which Clyde seemed more than willing to compete in and Harry wasn't going to be left out of. There was few seconds of silence and they gulped down the sticky liquid, and then...

"Ha!" Clyde cried, slapping his mug down, "I wi- BLEEEELCH."

Hermione choked on her glass. The boy winced, patting his chest. "Crikey, that actually hurt/"

The rest of them burst out laughing, causing Natalie to let a considerably smaller belch of her own, sending them all into even harder laughter. As Harry sat there in the little pub, sitting between his friends and trying not to shoot butterbeer through his nose, he felt the uncertainty of the day fade away. Harry Potter, he knew, was no Voldemort. Voldemort more than likely had never sat amongst muggleborns and halfbloods in a pub, belching and laughing like a loon. Surely, the Dark Lord had never felt this feeling Harry felt now. The feeling that he was in one of those perfect moments of time, ones he hoped he would always remember, because everything was so vivid and warm and beautiful.

Which was why he could never tell them. Not about his wand or what Ollivander had said about it. If there was ever to be perfect moments like this again, then he could never reveal to them that some part of him echoed of the British wizarding dictator. Natalie probably wouldn't have cared, may have even found it cool, but Hermione would pry and poke and worry and doubt. He didn't know what Clyde would do, but their friendship was still tentative and their bond easily broken even without this bit of knowledge.

It would just be a secret between him and Snape, who didn't look like he wanted to admit it to himself let alone anyone else, and Ollivander, who didn't seem the type to gossip. No one else would ever have to know.

Ever.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

This was the sort of thing that may potentially get a man killed or have no consequence whatsoever.

That was what Snape thought as he made his way to the dungeons to begin his report on that day's visit to Ollivander. The visit had gone as smoothly as it always did, each of his young charges to petrified of him to cause trouble, as they procured all they would need for the coming school year. He would never admit it to anyone, but he did take some enjoyment from his yearly appointments with Ollivander. There was something strangely exhilarating about seeing a child obtaining their first wand, the first conscious flush of power streaming through their small bodies, that look of epiphany on their innocent faces. Yes, child, that is magic. And you thought you knew, didn't you?

And of course, Potter just had to go and ruin it.

Well, perhaps not ruined it. His reaction had been just as exhilarating as everyone else's, perhaps more so when the sparks illuminated those brilliant green eyes and memories of another overlaid the reality of the moment. Lily's joy of her magic had never faded in all the time he had known her, and he briefly wondered if Harry would be like her or if that joy wouldn't fade into the arrogance of his father?

So, Ollivander had to go and ruin it.

Telling an eleven year old boy and him, one of Voldemort's own henchmen, that he may be the magical counterpart in the Dark Lord. Of all the stupid...

Now Snape had to deal with it, and it all broke down into two choices. One, he kept it a secret. There were two eventual outcomes of this decision, the most optimistic being that no one found out and nothing happened, and the other (and more likely outcome) was some one finding out and his possibly being accused of treason and dying horribly. Two, he could tell the Dark Lord. Option two had two outcomes as well. Optimistically, the Dark Lord wouldn't care and at most have the child observed for undue ambition. Realistically, he wouldcare and have the child either killed as a potential competitor or brought into the fold of his dark court to be used as the wizard saw fit.