Chapter 1

Prologue

All stories have a beginning, the issue is in determining where it lies. Does the life of a tree begin with the conception of the acorn, or when it becomes a sapling? Do the characters of a book already exist before the first chapter is written? Where does one draw the line between the blurry boundaries of continuity when looking at something as complex as a human life.

For Harry Evans the story had already been written, in a different time, in a different place.

It had also ended there in a manner that left many dreams unaccomplished and many a person grieving.

He'd died.

A traumatic affair for those involved. Parents having to come to terms with having outlived their child. Classmates being confronted with their own mortality by the empty seat in the lecture hall. Friends with a number on their phone that they will never call again. Lovers having their future hopes ripped apart, sentenced to forever mourning the loss of their unborn children.

But what about the deceased? Do the dead mourn their own death?

Seldom does a person gladly go into the embrace beyond, having done all their work on earth and given all the love they could. They are rarely happy with their last chapter. We are hesitant, however, to consider their opinion on the matter. The dead do not have opinions after all. So is the common consensus.

Rather than entering the discourse on the autonomy of the deceased, an undoubtedly interesting topic, we shall rather look at a certain mysterious case study.

If someone were to survive their death, through reasons unknown. How would such a person mourn? While the loved ones of the deceased have lost one connection, no matter how dear, the deceased individual has lost everything. Their family, their friends, their life partner, all the way down to their bicycle, notebooks, laptop, career, apartment and lastly their body.

How long does it take a dead person to get over having been deprived of everything they'd ever experienced?

1st of November 1987

A boy is kneeling on the ground in a forest clearing. An hour by bike away from his home, so that nobody can stumble upon him. He has been here for an hour or two a day, spread out over the past month. The only thing he has been doing is digging holes.

The child's name is Harry. He is nine years old and wants to move on with his life. He wants to walk towards an uncertain, but existing future.

The holes are graves, there are three of them. There are also three Crosses, carefully bound together from planks and twine.

Harry stood up from his kneeling position next to the largest of the holes in the ground and discarded the garden trowel he'd been using onto the pile of dirt he'd dug out. He was sure he looked comical in his bright yellow anorak, plastic red pants and green boots with little frogs on them.

"Today we are gathered here to mourn. Fitting, for it is the first of November. The day of the dead on which the connection between the living and the departed is said to be the thinnest." He said in a boyish voice, but with a solemnity and verbosity that would make any adult look twice to see if they had perhaps misjudged the age of the speaker. "Three loved ones have been taken from me on this very day, nine years ago."

A small notebook was retrieved from the right-side pocket of the anorak. Harry flipped through it, some words sticking out to him from the quick perusal. Apartment, diary, passport and copper cooking pots being some of the notable ones. He threw the notebook into the smallest hole, put his hands together and bowed his head. "We grieve the loss of the material for it has been imbued by interaction with the spirit." He said and remained in the pose for a short minute.

The next item was a drawing of what appeared to be a young man holding a diploma standing in front of a large and diverse group of people who were all turned towards him with smiles on their faces. The picture was thrown in the pile in the middle. "We grieve the loss of the plans we had and the people we leave behind. We grieve the loss of the sweat that has been spilled on defunct goals and the love shared in now severed bonds." The words echoed through the clearing. A quiet sobbing started to accompany them somewhere in the middle. Harry brought his head down and his hands up to say goodbye to the second grave. The last one was the one he feared the most. Because there were some things in life, beyond items, dreams, friends and family, that one never got over losing.

He half-hoped that it would be possible to let go, to forget. But the other half of him wanted to remember, to use the suffering as fuel. Integrate it.

After some searching, made harder by the trembling of the small hand doing it, a very realistic doll was brought forth. A blonde girl wearing pale blue jeans and a green sweater. Tiny little slippers adorned her feet. Harry stared at the abstraction as tears slid down his face and threatened to obscure his view. A superimposition of the woman that the doll was meant to represent appeared over the lifeless features. The ghost smiled sadly and mouthed something. Harry wasn't a lip-reader. But he thought he could identify the lip movement of the phrases he'd heard often enough.

I love you and goodbye, it said and Harry accepted that he had finally gone fully insane.

"I love you too." He whispered to the ghost. The words disappeared like the stillness of a lake under the influence of a skipping stone. The doll was a doll.

Harry squared up, hiccupped through the intense tremors that were beginning to take control of his whole body and threw the representation into the last, largest hole. He was too distraught to bring himself into the proper position and simply began talking without preamble. "We grieve t-he most che-rished person left behind in another world, hop-ing that they may fi-nd happi-ness in a well-lived life." He managed to croak out shakily. The feeling that was starting to overwhelm him was hard to describe. If pressed he would have described it as half missing one's heart and half floating away, struck by an unbearably painful lightness of being.

He stumbled from where he was standing and fell on the ground. Rather than just metaphorically feeling as if his heart was missing from his tiny chest, he now felt something very real, if ephemeral, flowing from somewhere inside of him. It was his magic, the force that had accompanied him since his birth in this new life. He gasped and tried to stop what was happening, but it was impossible. The ground was demanding too much and his magic was too willing to give all that it had. Just about when black spots started appearing in his vision did the event finally stop, leaving him gasping and trembling with his wet cheek turning the earth it was laying on into mud. He managed to force his head upwards to look at the graves he'd dug. It was because of this that he saw a soft green light appearing above the graves. It floated carelessly in the air for a few moments before apparently deciding that it would rather be in the ground. It softly tumbled down like a leaf and disappeared into the most important of the holes.

Harry was pretty sure that his jaw was hanging down, that his eyes were bugging out and that he looked like a complete idiot. There was a non-metaphorical gaping void somewhere inside of him but he nonetheless scurried up with an energy only to be found in young children to stare wondrously at the graves. He was about to step forward and try to glimpse inside, see the green light again, discern its properties, but the ground trembled again and he stumbled back. It was good that he did, because the big pile of dirt that he'd pulled out of the ground heaved to the left, it heaved to the right, it heaved to the sky before suddenly slumping over the graves as if having been kicked by a giant. All the graves were perfectly filled, flattened, as if by someone who had taken great care to do so.

The entire phenomena, short and wondrous as it had been, left behind one stupefied and dirty kid and absolutely no proof that anything interesting had happened on the 1st of November in a forest clearing one hour by bike away from Privet Drive 4, Surrey.

Harry for his part turned around and ran back to his bicycle. If he had stayed a bit longer, he would have perhaps seen a small sapling pushing itself out of the largest grave, defiantly pushing its bud out against the heavens.

31st of October 1981

Harry stared at the fireworks exploding over London from his bedroom window as owls fluttered across Surrey. The three-year old sighed and clambered down from the small chair he'd used to stand on so he could reach the windowsill. He went back to bed and slipped under the sheets just as his bedroom door creaked open.

"He's somehow sleeping through the racket." His aunt's voice said quietly, eliciting a deeper, male grumble.

"He's the most lethargic boy in England, pet. He'd sleep through a world war if you'd let him." His uncle said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"Vernon, quiet, you'll wake him up. You don't need to add your shouting to this ridiculous display as well. Really, what are peop-" The door quietly shut, blocking out any further talk.

Harry continued laying there, back to the door, the light from the street illuminating just enough of the wall for him to be able to fixate on it. He could make out the grains, the bumps of paint, everything that the wall had to offer, in perfect clarity.

"The tyrant is dead. Long live the saviour." He whispered. He brought up a hand and snapped his fingers, a spark briefly lighting up his fingertip before being extinguished.

A pause.

"But if this is the Wizarding World celebrating Voldemort's defeat and I've been living at my aunts since I was born… then, who the fuck is Harry Evans?"

31st of July 1989

"It's helpful to always set one end of the equation to 0, unless you're dealing with multiplication or division." Harry explained and scribbled a short equation on Dudley's homework sheet, before solving it with the method he'd just described. "The moment one part of the equation is 0, all additions and subtractions become much easier. Less to get confused by."

"Thanks Harry." Dudley said as he scratched his blonde head with a pencil. "You'll come look over it later?" He asked.

"Of course." Harry replied. "The moment I'm done helping dad in the garage. We'll get this summer's workload out of the way before you know it and then you can go to summer camp with a clear conscience."

Staying long enough to see Dudley start working on the maths equations, Harry gave his cousin an encouraging pat on the back and left the boy's room.

Dudley had grown up much differently in this world than he would have in the books Harry had read. He was a polite, naive young boy, who was aware that one needed to work to achieve anything. This was why he was top of his class and had even skipped a grade. This was either due to Harry's positive influence, or perhaps the lack of a negative influence from not having a Horcrux in the house.

Popping down the stairs Harry joined Vernon in the garage, where the portly man was inspecting the laid down tools they were going to need today.

Vernon glanced up when he heard approaching steps and when he noticed that they belonged to Harry, he bellowed, "Finally done helping Dudley with maths I see?! Good, let's get to work." He said enthusiastically and gestured to the very beaten up boxy Vauxhall viva 1963 they'd recently purchased for a few hundred quid, half of what they'd earned from flipping the last car. It sat breezily in the garage due to its small size while their actual family car was exiled outside, into the merciless summer sun.

"Yeah, let's get to work." Harry said as he picked up a power drill and went over to the rusted front-chassis of the old vehicle. "This part will definitely need to be sanded down before we relacquer and repaint it, but we'll need the exterior off first anyway so let's just start with something easy." He quipped with a smile before bending down and loosening the first screw.

"Always hated the rusted one's the most to be honest." Vernon said as he came over and held up the chassis with thick arms covered by gloves so it wouldn't fall on Harry as he unscrewed it.

"Well, we needed to invest into a few stocks to save and grow money to afford Dudley the opportunities he deserves. It would be a damn shame if he didn't have his pick due to financial reasons, considering his grades," Harry replied as the chassis dropped into his uncle's waiting hands and Harry made his way to the car doors. "And that means…"

"That more of the money made flipping has to go for stocks instead of rebuying the nicer to work with cars, I know." Vernon said and while Harry didn't have the man in his sight of vision he could feel the eye-roll.

"It's a steadier growth prognosis over the year." He muttered

Non-blood related uncle and nephew chatted amicably as they worked in the garage, dismantling the used car they'd bought from a work colleague. Eventually the aunt in the equation called them in for dinner and that was that. A quintessential Monday when his aunt and uncle were on holiday, however, it was also the 31th of July, the day that Harry turned eleven. A birthday party would take place in the evening, unless something happened to disturb it.

Chapter 1

The doorbell rang very rudely, just as the Dursleys were finishing up lunch. The sound caused all other noises to stop and everyone to freeze. Harry stood up from the heavily lade table, "I'll go get it." He said, at which point his aunt's nose flared and she sprang up with the energy more reminiscent of a professional athlete, rather than a sedentary woman in her late thirties.

"No, I will." She said before rushing off to open the door, the yellow of her dress blurring in with the pastel house decorations from how fast she'd walked. The door slammed shut, leaving the visitor, whoever they may be, and his aunt, outside.

"Dudley, do you want to go finish up and practise the guitar for a bit, I think someone just came for Harry's school admission. You were working on that song… about bluebirds, or rainbows or something." Vernon said seriously while looking down at the table with crossed arms, seemingly frustrated.

It was a testament to how tense the atmosphere in the room had gotten ever since the doorbell had been rung that Dudley simply nodded and went up to his room without protest. Usually the boy would be much too curious to leave when something unusual was happening.

It was right as Dudley left that the screaming started from outside.

"Impressive volume." Harry muttered, Petunia must have been raving mad to shout loudly enough for her voice to carry into the house and thus definitely the neighbours as well.

Vernon snorted. "The things they did to her sister, your mother. They deserve more than just getting screamed at." He muttered darkly. Shortly after which the door finally opened and a red-faced Petunia came back into the kitchen followed by an overweight man with a walrus moustache wearing a green suit that clashed horribly with his scared countenance.

Harry recognized the character turned real-person and sighed. He had wondered if he was going to get a visit from a professor, or if he was going to receive just a letter. He had been expecting a professor, since he was just a normal orphan in this world, he just hadn't known which one. Technically it would have made sense for it to be either Snape or professor McGonagall. One was a childhood friend of his mother, even if presumably estranged and the other was her head of house.

The man standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking at him with a sad gaze was neither of these people, but rather Horace Slughorn. The potions professor of Hogwarts from back when Voldemort had been a student there. Harry was a bit disquieted at the apparent change in professorship, but considering he was alive, things were never going to be exactly the same anyway.

"Mr. Evans," Slughorn stepped into the dining room, his belly having entered it first. A furious-looking Petunia stood behind him, looking at him with eyes that could probably induce spontaneous heart-attacks in small animals. "you look remarkably like your mother. The same red-hair and green-eyes" He trailed off and then shook his head, as if to reawaken from some sort of dream that he'd fallen into. "Sorry, I got lost in some memories. An old man's mind isn't as robust as it used to be. Nevertheless, I am here to deliver the admission letter to Hogwarts academy for wizards and witches. I assume your family has told you about your magical heritage?"

Harry considered the man, who seemed more bereaved than excited to meet a prospective student and nodded, "come, sit. I imagine we have some things to discuss." He said and pointed to an arm-chair in the corner of the room. It was with a certain morbid curiosity that Harry then looked Slughorn in his blue eyes, wondering if the man was a Legilimens. It sounded like the sort of magic a Slytherin would appreciate, he broke eye-contact before he could find out. "I will be coming to Hogwarts. Considering my tuition is paid for as a British citizen, I just don't see the need to look for other alternatives." Harry prodded, hiding his true purpose. The real reason he was going to Hogwarts was because he had at least a certain amount of fore-knowledge about the castle and its inhabitants, theoretically making it safer than any alternatives. Not that he knew how to contact any alternatives, which was the other reason. "However, is the Wizarding World really safe?"

Slughorn sighed, handed Harry the acceptance letter before stiffly walking over to the arm-chair and sinking into it, as if burdened by the mere thought of the topic. " The conflict that raged while your mother was going through her schooling is over, for good. You-know-who was defeated eight years ago and the wizarding world has since been as peaceful as any magical population can be." He eventually explained.

"How was he defeated?" Harry asked as he stuffed the letter into his pocket, not bothering to read it yet. He already knew its contents.

"A magical anomaly led to his demise in the end. An attempted attack misfired, thus ridding us of the stain that the dark lord represented upon our world." Slughorn explained, wearily. Probably not that amused by the idea of sharing such grim topics with what was essentially a child.

"So you weren't even able to solve your own problems is what you mean." Vernon interjected from the other side of the table, "you had to rely on a freak accident!"

Slughorn perked up at the insinuation a bit angrily, before falling back into his seat. "Well, we don't know what really happened, it might have been something that Alice did before she…" Slughorn trailed off.

"It wasn't one of these terrorists that ruined my sister's life." Petunia said calmly. "It happened in school, under your supervision, if I recall correctly. I don't see a reason why we should send our nephew there considering what happened, tuition or not. What other options are available?" She asked brusquely.

Slughorn shook his head. "No, no, he should go to Hogwarts, it's his birth-right! Lily was one of the most brilliant students to ever grace our halls. There is no war going on that can spill over into the academy and distract the professorship. We can protect Harry! Not that there is anything to protect him from." He hastily added.

"What are the other school options?" Petunia asked with gritted teeth, clenching a tea-cup that she brought up to her mouth, but didn't drink from.

"France or America for the most part." Slughorn conceded, making Vernon cringe and drawing a chuckle from Harry.

"From my understanding of wars, they generally don't start over-night. There is an underlying tension, a build-up. If I notice that the Wizarding World is becoming unsafe again, what's to prevent me from simply leaving the country?" Harry asked.

"That's a good idea. Wouldn't want to leave Britain behind but there's war and there's inconvenience." Mumbled Vernon.

"Only the first five years of schooling are obligatory. After your O.W.L's you can discontinue your schooling without consequences, no matter how tragic it would be to see you go. You seem awfully bright, just like your mother." Slughorn prompted, once again striking a connection to Lily.

Harry tilted his head at the man, who seemed fairly insistent on Harry coming to Hogwarts. It might be explained away by the fact that canonically his mother was one of the man's favourite students, but this seemed like something more.

"These things on the list, cauldrons and wands and books. I assume we'll have to go shop for them somewhere not easily accessible. Which is why I'll need someone to guide me?"

"Diagon alley. You will be going with me to the bank first to pick up the coins and then we will buy your school supplies together, if you have time right now that is." Slughorn said a bit more jovially now that it seemed Harry was opening up to the idea of actually going to Hogwarts.

"The sooner the better. Let's be on our way then," Harry said and stood up. He noted the fidgeting his aunt and uncle were doing and shot them a reassuring smile, "I'll stay safe." He said and left the house with the professor, knowing that it was better to simply pull off the band-aid than to let them think about it too much. They'd told him about his heritage, from his mother's side and had been dreading this day since he'd been old enough to ask why strange things sometimes happened around him. Not that he'd ever experienced accidental magic. Except for one particular instance, all the magic that he'd ever done had been completely intentional.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins 1 September. We hope you have a pleasant supply run with your wizarding world introduction coordinator.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY; Required supplies

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

sets of plain work robes (black)

plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

-/-

"Diagonally, very clever." Harry said as he took in the magical street for the first time. It was more subdued than he'd imagined it to be, but he guessed he was here two years earlier than Harry Potter had been in the books. Maybe the next years were where most of the after-war upswing occurred. He scrunched his brows at the intrusive thought that this world was too different for his supposed fore-knowledge to be of any help. Soon, he would find out how much his knowledge would help him. He was just a few news articles or history books away from confirming what was real and what was not.

They started making their way to Gringotts. Harry stepped over a small pack of sugar mice running away from a small child and asked a question that would hopefully lead to being able to ask about the possibility of purchasing Occlumency material. He hoped there was a way to check how far his self-training had gotten him before he went to Hogwarts. "How do wizards deal with it if a non-magical sees them perform magic?"

"Obliviators, a special department created to upkeep the statute of secrecy. They adjust the memories of the witness. It's a respectable job, perhaps a bit unambitious, since you really only focus on one spell in the end." Slughorn said in a tone that he probably used on his students at Hogwarts. "But this will all be explained in the muggleborn guidebook we will get later, quite a useful thing, that. Only recently someone came up with the idea.

"That sounds like a very dangerous magic if misused though. Is there a way to defend one's self from it?" Harry asked.

Slughorn looked at Harry searchingly and slowed down a bit to consider his answer. "The mind arts, something one shouldn't be delving into at your age. The possibility of inflicting irreparable damage upon one's psyche is too high."

And that was that. No more answers were forthcoming despite Harry's continued prodding of the topic. All that he was able to find out was that Hogwarts did not have a newspaper collection in their library, which meant he wouldn't be able to check the usefulness of his knowledge at school. He needed to think of another solution. Retracing the history of what exactly was different in this world was one of his most important tasks at the moment.

They'd entered the bank, with its ominous poem and wide white arches, while Harry was stuck in his own thoughts. He only came to be as the money he was privileged to was handed over by a surly goblin, directly to Slughorn, who stuck it inside his vest. Apparently the ministry of magic had a holding account which needed a head of house to access. This explained why Slughorn was here. He was the head of Slytherin, still, or again, Harry hadn't been able to determine.

"Where does the money come from?" Harry asked, curiously, wondering who exactly was funding his schooling.

"Some foundations for muggle-borns, by other muggle-borns and the rest comes directly from the ministry." Slughorn explained as he rushed them out of the bank, apparently unwilling to spend too much time in the presence of the small but ferocious creatures that handled the wizarding's world gold.

"You mean taxes?" Harry asked, receiving a nod. "Huh, guess you can't escape those even if you're a wizard," He mused as they made their way to Madam Malkins, where Harry was fitted for robes made from the lowest quality materials, while wondering if one of the reasons that purebloods hated muggleborns was simply because their taxes paid for their education and they'd rather just keep the money. After the apprentice was finished taking his measurements, they moved on to other stores. His garments would be finished in an hour or two, while they completed the rest of Harry's shopping.

They stopped at the apothecary after and Harry paid particular attention to whatever advice the potions professor had to give, acting the part of the inquisitive student. It seemed to gain him back a few points that he had lost with his blunt manners and straightforward interest in Occlumency earlier. Harry bought one extra bezoar and added it into his potions kit, he would fashion a necklace out of it back in Privet Drive. He'd been doing a lot of handy-work in the garage so he had all the requisite tools.

Poisons scared him to be honest and the culturally almost mediaeval wizarding world seemed like it would still use them as a viable tactic against one's enemies. He shuddered to think what horrendous effects magical poisons could have on someone.

After buying the bezoar Harry managed to convince Slughorn to take him to a second-hand book-store in which he managed to find most of his text-books for cheap, allowing him to pick up an additional three books. One on household charms, one on personal hygiene magic and one on recent history. Nothing on the mind-arts was apparent and when Harry tried to probe Slughorn on the topic again the man shut down faster than a guillotine during France's reign of terror.

Harry had to distract the professor with other topics, such as saying how excited he was to get the books that he had gotten. He knew that Slughorn likely had a very justified fear of students too invested in material beyond their age which could be used for malicious purposes and decided to stop prodding.

"Your interest in household charms, does it have a particular reason?" Slughorn asked once they'd left the store, at which Harry shrugged.

"Time is a precious resource, cleaning up after oneself, folding clothes, cooking, doing dishes, painting walls, brushing teeth. These are all chores, that if substituted with magic would save one perhaps an hour every-day. This is 365 hours a year, which is a full 15 days. If one doesn't need to waste time or energy on these menial tasks then one can reinvest in something more important. Also, I imagine magically cleaning something is more effective than doing it by hand."

"Industrious thinking, although you will find that at Hogwarts most needs will be met by the house-elves." Slughorn complimented. "Never thought about it that way actually." He mused

Harry nodded, thinking of the new learning material he'd gotten. It was probably enough to keep him occupied for a month, especially if he was able to train in casting spells as well. He remembered that Hermione had been able to practise at home before her first-year. It would require some testing of the trace.

The last place they stopped at was Ollivanders, a seemingly rickety old shop that nonetheless held a function central to the life of most witches and wizards inhabiting this world. Harry entered alone, with the requisite money, Slughorn saying that he'd wait outside.

-/-

"What is a wand?" Harry asked as the old proprietor of the wand store set the measuring tape at him.

"Your mother was a curious one as well, willow wand, good for charms. A wand is a tool to afflict magic onto the world." Ollivander answered as he considered different boxes, taking some out and adding new ones as the measurement tape provided new information.

"How does it do so though? The magic is in me, but I'm being told I need a wand to channel it properly. Is a wand something that resonates with my magic in certain ways, the wavelength created being the magical effect? Is a wand an amplifier, does it simply enhance a spell? Is it a focal point, does it narrow magic down to create a more concentrated effect? Or is a wand a symbolic tool which helps codify and unify our magic system into something uniform?" Harry asked rapidly, having this one-time excuse to ask the wand-maker some questions that had been brewing in his mind for almost a decade now.

"Curious, perhaps not unicorn then. Too secure in their purity." Ollivander muttered and discarded almost a fourth of the boxes he'd accrued. He peered at the boy over the glasses he wore. Harry made sure to avoid eye contact with the watery blue orbs seeking his green ones.

"Wands are many things. Seldom is a tool prevalent only because it has only one advantage. Wands resonate, amplifying the effect, the focus, the ease of a given spell." He began explaining, Harry nodding along. "They unify the magical system into something comprehensible, predictable, researchable. Something with rules. Staves are powerful, but lack finesse. Sorcery, that is to say, wandless magic, is completely and utterly individual, meaning every sorcerer starts from the beginning. What can a sorcerer discover, learn and create in one life-time that the entire wizarding world working on a unified system for thousands of years cannot match a million times over. Wands are our friends, our allies, our third arm. They are what separates us from magical creatures. Our tool, birth-right and gift…" He trailed off, his eyes glazing over. "Does that answer your question?" He asked after he snapped out of whatever daydream his monologue had sent him spiralling into and went back to his assortment of boxes.

"For the moment. I'll research the topic more when I have the chance to peruse the Hogwarts library." Harry said.

"I recommend Wandlore throughout the winding winds of time by Bork Stavenot. Hogwarts should have a copy." Ollivander said before suddenly shoving a box in Harry's face. "Here, try this. Hawthorne and dragon heartstring."

Harry took the dark wooden wand out of the box and for want of anything better to do, swished it in the general direction of the floor. Nothing seemed to happen and the wand was taken away.

It was at the next wand that Harry decided that he needed to take an active role in the process. Perhaps his magic was too controlled in comparison to the average child. It would make sense considering how much he practised what was apparently sorcery.

It only needed a split-second for Harry to concentrate enough to bring about a small part of the power he had available. He focused the energy to the arm holding the wand and flicked the wand at a splinter lying innocuously on the floor.

It burst into hot white flames for but a second, before disappearing, leaving nothing, not even a scorch mark. Harry grimaced. "I was trying to levitate it." He admitted. The wand was snatched out of his hand.

"Hawthorn and phoenix feather."

A stab at the air. Intended effect, pleasant breeze. Result, one spark.

"We're getting somewhere, definitely not hawthorn, but phoenix…" Ollivander muttered and the next wand he produced from his pile of boxes was oak and phoenix feather.

The game continued, either the wand would not even attempt to reproduce the desired effect, or it would be so weak that it was clearly incompatible.

It was only when Harry received a light brown wand with reddish streaks that he felt something happen before he even attempted to cast anything. He furrowed his brows at the length of wood, about as long as his fore-arm sans hand, and decided on something more difficult. He began swirling the wand in a down-wards pointed circle, pulling on only a small amount of magic, something that the wand greedily sucked up, amplified, refined and focused. Water droplets started emerging from the air where the wand was swung and followed the magic stick around like a little colony of ducklings that gradually grew larger and larger, eventually becoming a stream, which became a miniature river. This was the point where Harry elegantly circled the wand upwards in tighter and tighter circles. This caused the gathered up water to bunch off into a perfect sphere, about as large as a tennis ball. The water sphere hovered where Harry had left it, not requiring much concentration to be kept in position.

Harry felt elated as he looked at the wand in his hand. 'Now this was a tool,' He thought. The water ball exercise was something he'd been working on recently, it was something that had been very frustrating to form and hold in position. The wand had allowed him to gather a larger amount of water in maybe a fifth of the time that he usually needed and the levitation of the ball felt like he could hold it forever. Thinking for a moment if it was the correct decision to try something new Harry decided to let his enthusiasm have its due. A light smile on his face, he smoothed out the surface of the water sphere and focused on stopping all motion within the localised phenomenon. A white ball began spreading in the middle of the sphere. It extended spindly arms around itself, growing slowly until it filled out the entirety of the sphere, its shell eventually turning to white jagged ice. Harry felt elated and slightly dizzy.

The ball dropped to the wooden floor, shattering into a million little ice crystals and Harry quickly handed the wand to Ollivander before sitting down on the floor and cradling his head. He had suddenly developed a thumping headache, which thankfully lessened with every second.

"Well, that was very impressive. I can't wait to see what you will manage to do when you start learning real spells, Mr. Evans. But for the moment, I believe it was a fitting display for the wand that has chosen you. Elder wood, not something given, or taken lightly. One has to wait for a branch to fall off this tree, for if one snaps it, the wood becomes cursed. There aren't many elder wands and there are even less elder wand wielders. The core is phoenix ash, something used much more rarely than phoenix feather. Mostly, because phoenix ash is not as powerful as a willingly given feather. However, its symbolic ties to rebirth are much stronger. An interesting wand." Ollivander said as he packed the wand away in a box, apparently unconcerned about Harry's condition. "I'd truly hate to see you again Mr. Evans." He said, paused for a moment, before adding a leather contraption to the box and handing the whole ensemble to Harry, who had by then managed to stand up.

"Here, a wand holster, free of charge. That will be nine galleons."

Harry handed over the money and made to leave, many things on his mind.

"Mr. Evans." Ollivander called out just as Harry had put his hand on the door handle of the store. "Elder wood is suited for healing, protection and funnily enough, music. Phoenix ash on the other hand… I've not made, or sold any wands that use the material. However, I imagine that the core will be suited for works of finesse. How that would be expressed I do not know. A warning however. Phoenix ash holds a residue of death and while it might signal potential to rebirth it might also mean that it would wish to inflict a similar faith on others. Be careful what you cast on people you do not like." Ollivander warned gravely.

"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander." Harry said and exited the shop. The magical world suddenly seemed much brighter now that he'd gotten a wand. He took a moment to glance at the alley, appreciating its contours and old architectural styles, interspersed with clearly magical colours and effects.

It was in front of the shop that Slughorn was waiting. "Hard find?" The man asked.

Harry nodded. "I feel like I tried half the wands in the store, but we got there eventually."

"There are a few knuts left from your yearly stipend. Not enough to buy anything worthwhile." Slughorn commented.

Harry shook his head. "I was actually thinking it would be nice to get you something as thanks for the help today, sir. I saw some ice-cream on the way here, would you say it's worth trying?" Harry asked, feeling genuinely grateful that the probably busy man had taken time out of his schedule to introduce him to the Wizarding World. The suggestion seemed to be well-received as Slughorn laughed fully, moustache twitching.

"Magical ice-cream, Harry, you're in for a treat. Let's go and give it a whirl." He said with a smile.

The ice-cream was indeed good.