Chapter 5: An Unexpected Encounter

The door to Ollivanders closed behind Harry Potter with a soft click, sealing him in the dim, musty shop. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old wood, dust, and the faint, sharp tang of magic. Harry hesitated, his heart beating fast, partly from the excitement of getting his first wand and partly from the overwhelming newness of everything in the wizarding world.

Harry had been led to Ollivanders by Hagrid, the gentle giant who had introduced him to the magical world. But now, standing in the shadowy interior of the wandmaker's shop, Harry felt a flicker of nervousness. The walls seemed to close in around him, and he couldn't help but feel that the eyes of the two other people in the shop were watching him closely.

One of them was a tall boy, about Harry's age, with jet-black hair and an air of quiet confidence that seemed out of place in someone so young. His emerald-green eyes, eerily similar to Harry's own, were fixed on him with a calm intensity. There was something regal, almost intimidating, about the boy—an aura of power that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on.

The boy held a wand in his hand, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw it pulse with a faint, otherworldly light. The boy's posture, the way he held the wand, and the subtle nod of approval from the older woman beside him all hinted that this was no ordinary wizard. Harry felt a strange mix of curiosity and unease.

Hagrid, who had been standing behind Harry, cleared his throat. "Don' be nervous, Harry," he said in his deep, rumbling voice. "Mr. Ollivander here'll find the perfect wand for yeh, jus' like he has for every witch and wizard in Britain."

Ollivander, who had been observing the exchange with an inscrutable expression, finally spoke. "Mr. Potter," he said, his voice soft and measured, "I wondered when I'd be seeing you here."

Harry swallowed, trying to shake off his nerves. "Erm, hello," he said, not quite sure how to respond to the intense atmosphere.

Ollivander's gaze flicked briefly to the boy holding the elder wand before returning to Harry. "Let us find the wand that will choose you, Mr. Potter," he said, his tone shifting to one of business-like efficiency. He moved with purpose, plucking boxes from the shelves and laying them out on the counter.

The first wand Ollivander handed Harry was made of beechwood and dragon heartstring. Harry took it, feeling a faint tingle in his fingers as he held it up. But when he gave it a wave, the tingle faded, leaving the air still and unimpressed.

"No, no, that won't do," Ollivander muttered, taking the wand back. He handed Harry a second wand, this one made of ebony and unicorn hair. The connection was a bit stronger, but still, the wand remained silent in Harry's hand.

As the process continued, Harry's nervousness began to ebb away, replaced by frustration. Wand after wand failed to choose him, and each time, Ollivander grew more thoughtful, more contemplative. The boy with the black hair continued to watch, his expression inscrutable, while the older woman, who Harry assumed was his mother or guardian, murmured something to him that Harry couldn't hear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ollivander paused, his hand hovering over a box that had been tucked away on a high shelf. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were weighing some unseen factor, before he carefully removed the box and brought it to the counter.

"Holly and phoenix feather," Ollivander said quietly, handing the wand to Harry with a certain gravity in his voice. "Eleven inches, nice and supple."

The moment Harry took the wand, he felt a rush of warmth spread from his fingers to his very core. A spark of power.

The moment Harry took the wand, he felt a rush of warmth spread from his fingers to his very core. A spark of golden light shot from the tip of the wand, and a strange, almost musical note filled the air around him. Harry gasped, the feeling of the magic coursing through him so powerful that it was almost overwhelming.

Ollivander's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched the wand react. "Curious," he said softly, more to himself than to Harry.

"Curious?" Harry echoed, his voice tinged with awe as he gazed at the wand in his hand.

Ollivander nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Yes, very curious indeed. The phoenix whose feather resides in your wand gave just one other feather—just one. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother..."

Ollivander's gaze flicked once more to the boy with the jet-black hair, who was still watching with an intense, unreadable expression. The air in the room seemed to thicken as Ollivander continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The brother of your wand resides in the wand of a great and terrible wizard... one who left a mark on you, Mr. Potter."

Harry swallowed, feeling the weight of Ollivander's words settle over him like a heavy cloak. He had known, on some level, that his life would never be ordinary, but hearing it spoken aloud, in this context, brought a new level of reality to it.

Before Harry could respond, the other boy stepped forward, his expression finally shifting into something resembling curiosity. "My name is Alaric Peverell," the boy said, his voice smooth and confident, but with a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, somewhat awkwardly, as he shook Alaric's outstretched hand. The boy's grip was firm, his hand cool, and his green eyes bore into Harry's with a strange intensity that made Harry feel exposed.

There was a brief, charged silence between them, broken only by the soft rustle of Ollivander's robes as he moved to put away the unused wands. The connection between Harry and Alaric was palpable—two boys, both carrying the weight of ancient legacies, both destined to leave their mark on the world in ways they could not yet comprehend.

The older woman—Morgana—watched the interaction with a keen, appraising eye. "You carry the name of Potter," she said, her voice low and measured, "but you are more than just a name, aren't you?"

Harry blinked, unsure of how to respond. "I—I guess so," he stammered, feeling suddenly out of his depth.

Morgana's gaze softened slightly, but her words remained sharp. "Remember this, Harry Potter: in our world, names hold power, but it is the choices you make that define you. You and my nephew will find your paths intertwined, of that I am certain. But tread carefully, for destiny is rarely kind to those who wield great power."

Harry nodded, still trying to process the strange encounter. He had expected his trip to Ollivanders to be simple, straightforward even—get a wand, and be on his way. But now, with the weight of Ollivander's and Morgana's words pressing down on him, he realized that nothing in the wizarding world was ever simple.

Hagrid, who had been standing quietly to the side, finally spoke, his voice breaking the tension. "Well, Harry, looks like yeh got yer wand. Ready to head back to the Leaky Cauldron? We still need to get yer books an' supplies."

Harry nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, let's go."

Alaric watched as Harry and Hagrid turned to leave, his expression unreadable. "We'll see each other again soon, Harry," he said, his voice carrying an edge of certainty. "At Hogwarts."

Harry glanced back at him, unsure of how to respond. There was something about Alaric that intrigued him, but also made him uneasy. It was as if the boy carried secrets that could either be a source of strength or a dangerous weapon. Harry couldn't quite tell which it would be.

As Harry and Hagrid left the shop, Ollivander turned to Alaric and Morgana, his expression contemplative. "Two boys, both destined for greatness," he murmured. "But greatness comes in many forms. Only time will tell what paths they will choose."

Morgana nodded, her gaze lingering on the door through which Harry had just exited. "Indeed. And the choices they make will shape not only their destinies, but the destiny of the wizarding world itself."

With that, Morgana placed a hand on Alaric's shoulder, guiding him out of the shop and back into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. The day was not yet over, and there was still much to do before Alaric could begin his journey to Hogwarts.

But as he stepped out into the sunlight, Alaric couldn't shake the feeling that his encounter with Harry Potter had set something in motion—something that would change both their lives forever.