HP: Ashborn

Studying magic was an exhilarating experience. The four months I spent immersing myself in its mysteries seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, though I must admit, I was remarkably productive during that time. I devoured nearly every book available, absorbing as much theoretical knowledge as I could. However, there was one significant obstacle: I couldn't cast spells while at the orphanage.

Determined to overcome this, I gathered all my Hogwarts supplies—thankfully just a bag and a trunk with an extension charm—and began planning my escape. Convincing the matron to let me leave early was no small feat; in fact, it felt like a task worthy of inclusion among Hercules's twelve labors. My efforts included crafting a series of heartfelt promises to visit regularly, coupled with the strategic deployment of my most disarming puppy-dog eyes. Eventually, she relented, though not without considerable persuasion on my part.

I arrived at the Leaky Cauldron via the Knight Bus, an experience that can only be described as utterly chaotic. Let me tell you, the books and movies hardly capture the dizzying, jumbled adventure that is a ride on the Knight Bus. It cost me 11 Sickles, a Herculean level of focus, and sheer determination not to lose my breakfast before safely disembarking at my destination.

Stepping into the Leaky Cauldron, I noticed details I had missed during my earlier visit with the Professor. For such a renowned establishment, it had a distinctly dark and shabby ambiance, filled with all manner of shady-looking characters nursing their drinks.

I approached Tom, the innkeeper, who greeted me with a glint of recognition in his eyes.

"Oh! You're the white-haired kid who came with the Professor a few months back. How may I help you, kid?"

"I'd like to rent a room for a month—until September 1st, to be precise. And make it a sturdy one; I plan to practice some spells," I replied.

Tom nodded thoughtfully before responding, "Alright, for a sturdy room, it'll be 2 Galleons a day, and that includes three meals. Or, if you prefer just the room without meals, it'll cost 1 Galleon a day."

"I'll go with the second option," I decided.

"That'll be 30 Galleons for the month, then."

I pulled out my pouch and began counting out the coins. "...Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Here you go—30 Galleons," I said, placing the money on the counter.

Tom handed me a bronze key and added, "Your room is on the second floor, marked 2D. The interior is moderately reinforced and should handle most spells. Oh, and try not to lose that key—it'll cost you 10 Galleons to get a replacement. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

Tom led me to the second floor and guided me to my room. Soon, we arrived at a door marked with the letters "2D." He unlocked it and gestured inside.

"This will be your room for the next 30 days," he said. "This floor has a common bathroom located at the end of the hallway. If you need anything else, come downstairs and let me know."

I glanced around the room and nodded approvingly. It wasn't bad, all things considered. After Tom left, I began unpacking my belongings, carefully arranging my essentials in the small yet cozy space.

Once settled, I decided to take a trip to Diagon Alley to pick up a few useful, albeit non-essential, items. With my enchanted bag slung over my shoulder, I headed out.

My first stop was a stationary shop, where I purchased several empty notebooks, self-refilling inkpots, and a set of high-quality, comfortable quills. I added a few other odds and ends, placing everything into my magically expanded bag with ease.

Next, I found myself outside Ollivander's wand shop once again. Curious and with a bit of time to spare, I pushed open the door, ready to greet the enigmatic wandmaker. However, I was immediately struck by an unexpected sight—something that, even with my two lifetimes of experience, I never thought possible.

Standing inside the shop was a red-haired girl about my age, accompanied by a red-haired woman. What caught my attention most, however, was their striking green eyes—both of them.

Am I overthinking this? I wondered to myself. Yet, as I would come to realize later, I most certainly wasn't.

Mr. Ollivander appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself as he worked to match the young red-haired girl with her wand. A moment later, his piercing silver eyes met mine as I stepped further into the shop.

"Good morning, Mr. Ollivander," I greeted.

"Good morning, Mr. Ashborn," he replied with a polite nod, his tone laced with enthusiasm. "Please wait a moment. I'm currently assisting a rather tricky customer—just the kind of challenge we wandmakers live for. I'll attend to you shortly."

"No problem at all, Mr. Ollivander. Take your time," I said, taking a step back to observe.

From my vantage point, I watched as Mr. Ollivander presented wand after wand to the girl, each time growing slightly more animated as none seemed to choose her. Finally, he disappeared into the depths of the shop and returned with an old box. Inside was a simple yet elegant wand, its craftsmanship immediately captivating.

The moment the wand caught my eye, I couldn't help but murmur, "Amazing," almost without realizing it.

My exclamation drew the attention of everyone in the room—the girl and her mother's green eyes now fixed on me, along with Mr. Ollivander's silver gaze.

"Oh yes! How could I forget?" Mr. Ollivander said with a delighted chuckle. "You have remarkable magical sensitivity, Mr. Ashborn. Would you care to share your thoughts on this wand?"

"May I touch it?" I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.

With his characteristic enthusiasm, Mr. Ollivander handed me the wand, much to the girl's apparent displeasure. As my fingers closed around it, I felt the wand's energy—a faint rejection mingled with a certain compatibility. It wasn't my wand, not by a long shot, but its power was undeniable.

Carefully choosing my words, I began, "This is an exceptional wand. Simple, elegant, and stunning in its design. I can sense incredible power emanating from it—power that feels somewhat similar to my own wand. It's a phoenix feather core, isn't it?"

(Wand's Picture)

"Yes," Mr. Ollivander said, his excitement evident.

I continued, "This wand has a unique energy—intelligent, confident, and with a distinct charm that sets it apart. If I were to draw conclusions based on my own experience, I'd say this wand will only respond to an incredibly fortunate individual—someone who perfectly matches its character and traits."

I finished my conclusions, and silence filled the atmosphere. The girl stared at me with wide eyes, the woman's expression shifted to surprise, and Mr. Ollivander looked undeniably proud. The stillness was finally broken when Mr. Ollivander spoke, taking the wand from my hand:

"Precisely said, Mr. Ashborn. This wand is cherrywood, with a phoenix feather core, twelve inches, nice and supple. Try it, Miss Potter. Many fools believe cherry wands to be merely ornamental, but nothing could be further from the truth. Cherrywood wands possess a mysterious and unparalleled power. My wandmaker's instinct tells me this will be your wand."

And those four words—"Try it, Miss Potter"—hit me harder than a truck moving at the speed of light. They confirmed my suspicion: I had been reincarnated into the world of Harry Potter. But there was no Miss Potter in the original story. This revelation could only mean one thing—I was in an alternate universe. The implications of this realization were staggering; it could change everything.

Lost in my spiraling thoughts, I was abruptly brought back to the present as a brilliant orange light illuminated the room. The girl had taken the wand, and it had chosen her as its wielder. There was no longer any doubt.

A small but genuine smile spread across the girl's face as the wand responded to her touch. Her mother, noticing the rare expression of joy on her daughter's face, couldn't help but beam as well. She spoke, her voice warm and full of pride:

"You finally got your own wand, dear. How does it feel?" the woman asked, her voice filled with warmth.

"It feels incredible, Mum. The moment I touched it, I felt... complete and right, as if a missing part of me had been found. It was like being showered with an amazing warmth. I felt powerful and safe," the girl answered, her tone sweeter than honey.

"Doesn't it? I remember feeling the same when I touched my wand for the first time," the woman replied, her expression softening as she reminisced.

The girl then turned her eyes toward me, her gaze shy yet expectant.

"Did you really mean the things you said?" she asked in a muffled voice, her question barely audible but laden with hope.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, unsure if I had heard her correctly.

"My daughter is asking about the words you spoke regarding her wand," the woman clarified. "Is it really true that you can understand what a wand thinks?"

"Ah, I see. Sorry, ma'am," I replied, choosing my words carefully. "I wouldn't say I can tell what a wand thinks exactly. It's more that I can feel its nature, its essence. Mr. Ollivander explained that it's likely due to my unusually high magical sensitivity. He also mentioned that a wand won't choose a wizard or witch unless their characteristics align."

Mr. Ollivander nodded in agreement, confirming my words. The woman, however, continued to study me, her eyes narrowing slightly as though she were assessing something about me. After a moment, she retrieved her dark brown wand and held it out to me.

"What do you think about this one?" she asked.

"Your wand?" I responded, meeting her gaze.

"Yes," she confirmed, handing me her wand.

"Well, for starters, it has much more resistance to me than usual. Definitely not a phoenix feather core," I began, holding the wand delicately. "It feels loyal—almost too loyal—so my guess would be a unicorn hair core. It's also very reserved and protective."

I held the wand closer to my ear, attuning myself to its subtle energy before gripping it firmly and casting,

"Lumos!"

A soft, subdued light emitted from the tip, not as bright as I'd anticipated. I examined the sensation it gave off and continued,

"I sense purity, kindness, and... adaptability. My final conclusion is that its wielder must not only possess the qualities I mentioned but must also be emotionally intelligent. The wand's performance fluctuated slightly when my focus wavered while casting, which means it requires someone with clarity of mind and emotional balance to wield it effectively."

I handed the wand back to her, my analysis complete.

An awkward silence followed as Mrs. Potter studied me with an inscrutable expression. It was Mr. Ollivander who broke the tension, his tone enthusiastic:

"Excellent! Mr. Ashborn, do visit me if you ever develop an interest in wand-making. You analyzed Mrs. Potter's wand perfectly. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow with a unicorn hair core—ideal for charms. I still remember the day you came in with Minerva to purchase it," he added with a nostalgic smile.

My mind raced as his words sunk in. Mrs. Potter. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy willow wand. Red hair. Green eyes.

Yup. I was well and truly screwed. I had transmigrated into an alternate universe.

But I pushed those thoughts aside for now—I would have plenty of time to reflect on them later. Instead, I humbly responded to Mr. Ollivander's praise:

"You're too kind, Mr. Ollivander. By the way, I'm here to purchase a good wand holster. Do you have any recommendations for properly caring for a wand?"

"Ah, yes! I do have some fine options," he said enthusiastically. "I'll fetch you a quality wand holster and a basic wand care kit. Give me two minutes." With that, he disappeared into the depths of his shop, moving quickly and purposefully.

The silence that followed his departure was soon broken by the red-headed woman, who spoke with a gleam of appreciation in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

"That was fascinating—and quite flattering."

"Oh, absolutely not," I replied with a small wave of my hand. "I simply described how the wand felt in my hand. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I think he was mostly right about your wand, Mum," the girl chimed in with a grin.

"Hush, Jas! You're going to make me blush," the woman retorted playfully. Then, with a teasing smile and tone, she added, "But I think he was even more accurate about you. Intelligent, confident, with a unique charm... What else did he say?"

I grinned, catching on to her playful mood. "Simple, elegant, and beautiful," I said, pausing just long enough for effect before adding, "But beauty should never be mistaken for harmlessness. There's a mysterious power within her, one that can be utterly lethal if the wielder wills it to be."

The woman's smile widened, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement as she realized I was happily joining her in the game.

The girl's face turned so red that it almost matched the color of her hair. "Stop it, Mum!" she nearly shouted, her voice high-pitched with embarrassment, much to the delight of the elder red-haired woman, who seemed thoroughly entertained.

Clearly desperate to change the subject, the girl turned to me and asked, "Are you also going to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," I replied with a small smile, understanding her attempt. "I'll be joining Hogwarts this year. I recently received my letter, and Professor McGonagall introduced me to the magical world. I'm very excited and looking forward to it."

"That's wonderful!" the woman chimed in, her tone warm and welcoming. "You and Jasmine will be in the same year." She paused for a moment before asking, "Since the Professor introduced you, does that mean you're Muggle-born?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm a Muggle-raised orphan."

A flicker of regret crossed the woman's face. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"It's okay," I reassured her. "You didn't know."

Just then, Mr. Ollivander emerged from the depths of his store, carrying a small stack of boxes. He looked slightly flustered but quickly regained his composure as he addressed me:

"Apologies for the delay, Mr. Ashborn. It took a bit longer than expected. Here's a wand holster—Auror and Hit-Wizard quality—and a basic wand care kit, complete with an instruction manual. That'll be 10 galleons for the holster and 25 for the care kit, making a total of 35 galleons."

I nodded and began counting out the galleons to pay for my purchase. As I placed the coins on the counter, a voice behind us chimed in:

"We'll be taking a set of those as well, Mr. Ollivander," the woman said with a warm smile.

I glanced back briefly before finishing my transaction. With my shopping complete, I turned to leave the store. But before I could step outside, the girl's voice stopped me.

"Wait! You didn't tell us your name," she called out, her tone curious and almost insistent.

Her words made me pause and turn around. I noticed the mother's expression—a mix of surprise and amusement, with a knowing smile playing on her lips as she looked at her daughter.

"I didn't? My apologies for the late introduction," I said, offering a polite smile. "I'm Maximus Ashborn. And you are?"

"Jasmine Potter."