Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

The wand maker stiffened and answered, "What happened on that fateful day was a mystery for everyone. It was a few days after the defeat of He-who-must-not-be-named, and the entire nation was celebrating his downfall. However, a few of his loyal servants decided to attack Godric's Hollows to find their master. Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Rabastan Lestrange gathered a fighting force of over two hundred dark wizards and creatures and attacked your parents. No one knows what happened afterwards, only that all that remained of Godric's Hollows was a field of flames."

"There were no traces of James and Lily Potter, no traces of the Lestranges, only a small babe in the middle of a ruined cottage, you. Godric's Hollows is a historically significant place for our civilization. It's the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, the home of countless magical families over the centuries. On that day, it's not just your parents that perished, but it was the lives of thousands of people, wizards, witches or muggles, that lived in this village. It's one of biggest tragedies in recent times, one that very few wish to remember."

By the end of it, Mr Ollivander was staring far behind Harry, as if he was lost in a distant memory.

Harry, though, was flabbergasted by the story. He expected his parents to be dead, that was a given, but to be the only survivor of an attack that destroyed an entire village was not something that he ever thought about.

It made sense why people chose not to adopt him in the wizarding world, and that the ministry left him at his aunt's doorstep. They thought that he was a dark omen, a sign of future misfortune, and Harry couldn't truly blame them. Perhaps he would have ended up in the hands of someone who would have released their frustration on him, cursing him for the loss they experienced. Harry would need to read more about it later. But Mr Ollivander gave him a place to start from.

Finally, Mr Ollivander shook his head and said, "Let's not speak more of such a painful subject and focus on you. Let's see, which is your wand arm?"

Assuming that the wandmaker was speaking about which hand he write with, Harry raised his right hand. Mr Ollivander just grabbed his arms and started measuring Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. It was so fucking weird.

As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand is primarily made of a wood that has been alchemically altered, and a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We commonly use unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons, since they are usually the elements that are the more suited for wizards to cast wands. However, sometimes, people provide their own cores with which they share an intimate connection. Magic remembers, Mr Potter, make sure you do not forget that. But those cases are usually curse breakers that need new wands and have killed various magical beasts along the way."

"Are certain wands better than others?" Harry asked, curious.

"No. The process is the same. Bonding with a wand means that the two of you are compatible magically. It will never be perfect, but slowly as you start using it, the wand will attune to your magic until it allows you to perfectly control it. If a wizard uses a wand that is unsuited to his magic, his spells will simply be weaker. In the end, a wizard's strength depends entirely on the combination between their magic and their wand, not the wand itself. You could use Merlin's wand, and it would be nothing more than a stick in your hand if it's not compatible with your magic. Although, when a wizard defeats a magical beast, their magic bonds with the body, which makes any wand made with its remains already connected to the wizard, which almost always guarantees that it would be a match and that the acclimation period would be extremely small for the wand and wizard to synchronize. In the end, the magic comes from the wizard, not the wand."

Well, that was proof that Ollivander knew what he was talking about and guaranteed that Harry would not seek out another more 'powerful' wand. After finishing his impromptu lecture, the wandmaker stopped measuring Harry's nostril and went to grab a box, "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Cedar and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harry grabbed the wand and felt its melody. It was loud and somewhat volatile, it seemed upbeat but very consistent, and very loyal. Immediately, Harry knew that it wasn't his wand. He didn't have anyone to be loyal to, no matter how much he wished he had.

As commanded, Harry swished his wand and a glass vase shattered into pieces. The wandmaker snatched the wand from the young wizard and gave him another one, "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try…"

Again, Harry felt its song, and it was too upbeat, too extroverted. It was hard to put it into words and the moment he touched the wand various shelves exploded. Yes, Harry was an introvert, in both of his lives, but this was not his wand.

He tilted his head and looked at the wandmaker, "This wand is too extroverted, do you have something that's a little less so?"

Garrick Ollivander blinked, "How did you know that?"

Harry shrugged, "It's hard to explain. It's like every wand has a song. It's very beautiful."

The young boy wasn't even lying, the melodies were amazing. They were like personalities given form, and when they synergized with other wands, they made some beautiful songs.

"Such sensitivity to magic, at a young age no less," the wandmaker murmured. He then spoke up, "See me after you graduate, my boy, and I will see if you have what it takes to be a wand maker."

The young Potter nodded, "Thank you, Mr Ollivander."

The wandmaker waved him off and kept on giving him wands. A lot of explosions later, Ollivanders gave Harry a beautiful wand with a cloaked handle and spiralled shaft. The wand was light, almost white, and Harry knew that it was special, "Pine and Phoenix feather, a rather unusual combination."

The wand's song was so familiar to Harry. It was a song of loneliness, of creativity, it simply to understand, to know what was underneath the underneath. It was a wand seeking discovery and creation, and Harry was a scholar at heart. Before he could even touch it, Harry knew that it was his. It was just too familiar to his own existence. Harry never thought that there would be a song that could describe his entire personality this perfectly, and yet he was surprised by the accuracy of the song.

When the young wizard touched his wand – because it was his wand - he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of blue and green sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

This didn't sound good, "Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And yet, this is the first time I ever sold a wand I did not make. My grandfather made that wand, centuries ago, and I remember my father saying that he was quite obsessed with finding its wielder. I just find it curious that after so long, after hundreds of thousands of tries, this stubborn wand finally found a companion."

Harry let out a smile and nodded. He paid the seven Galleons for his wand and left pondering. He didn't care too much about it because he had his wand now. He could feel it thrum in his hand and couldn't be happier for it. Because Harry Potter was a wizard, and he was certain that he would surpass all who came before him.

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