The brick wall spiraled open to reveal the bustling chaos of Diagon Alley, and McGonagall's revelation had sparked an immediate family conference among the Blacks.
"Right," Orion said with decisive authority, his dark eyes bright with strategic planning and the sort of understated command that made people automatically defer to his judgment, "we'll divide our forces for maximum efficiency. Cygnus and I will take the children to Ollivander's to witness this fascinating wand selection process—"
"And to finally meet our mysterious American cousin!" Bellatrix interrupted with explosive enthusiasm, practically vibrating with excitement as her dark eyes sparkled with anticipation. Her curly hair seemed to bounce with her energy, creating a halo of movement around her animated face.
"—while you ladies," Orion continued with diplomatic smoothness, his tone holding the sort of gentle authority that suggested years of managing complex family dynamics, "handle the considerably more practical matter of school shopping for our soon-to-be Hogwarts students."
"School shopping," Walburga repeated with the sort of crystalline precision that suggested she found the entire concept personally offensive and beneath her aristocratic sensibilities, "in these... establishments filled with common wizards and their questionable standards."
"Walburga," Druella said with gentle firmness, linking arms with her sister-in-law in a way that brooked no argument while simultaneously offering support, "it will be perfectly manageable. Besides, someone needs to ensure the children have properly fitted robes that meet both Hogwarts standards and family expectations, and we both know the men will be too distracted by magical theory to pay attention to practical details like measurements and fabric quality."
"The ladies have an excellent point," Cygnus said with obvious relief, his handsome features lighting up with boyish enthusiasm as he clearly recognized his escape from the complexities of uniform fittings, "We'll meet back here in two hours?"
"Make it three," Druella replied with maternal wisdom, her brown eyes twinkling with the sort of practical intelligence that came from years of managing family expeditions, "if this boy's magical signature is as remarkable as Professor McGonagall suggests, you'll want time to observe the entire process. Besides, proper shopping cannot be rushed."
"Three hours it is," Orion agreed with paternal authority, then turned to his sons with the sort of pointed look that conveyed volumes about expected behavior, "Boys, you're to stay close and behave yourselves with absolute propriety. This is a significant family introduction, not an opportunity for experimental magic or creative mischief."
"Father," Sirius said with wounded dignity, drawing himself up to his full eleven-year-old height with an expression of aristocratic offense that would have been more impressive if his dark hair hadn't chosen that moment to fall into his storm-grey eyes, "I would never embarrass the family during such an important moment. I am a Black, after all."
"Of course not," Regulus added with fond exasperation and the sort of gentle authority that somehow seemed mature beyond his nine years, his ethereal features arranged in an expression of resigned amusement, "you'll wait until after the formal introductions to cause your particular brand of educational chaos."
"I deeply resent that characterization," Sirius replied with theatrical outrage, though his storm-grey eyes danced with the sort of unrepentant mischief that suggested his brother's assessment was entirely accurate, "My ideas are innovative contributions to magical understanding!"
"Your ideas," Narcissa observed with the sort of superior precision that suggested she considered herself far more mature than her eleven years, "generally involve explosions, unusual odors, and lengthy explanations to various authority figures about why conventional safety measures are insufficient for true genius."
"Details," Sirius said airily, waving his hand with aristocratic dismissal.
As the groups separated, Cygnus led his daughters and nephews through the crowded alley toward the narrow, peeling facade of Ollivander's. His stride carried the sort of confident energy that suggested he approached even routine family errands with strategic enthusiasm, while his handsome features radiated the kind of boyish excitement that made his children automatically mirror his anticipation.
"Now remember," Cygnus said as they approached the door, his voice carrying paternal authority mixed with genuine excitement, "your grandfather values proper introductions and intelligent conversation. First impressions in our family are considered matters of considerable importance, so I expect you all to demonstrate the social graces you've been taught."
"We know, Father," Narcissa said with dignified superiority, smoothing her platinum hair with practiced elegance while simultaneously checking her reflection in Ollivander's dusty window, "we've been preparing for this momentous meeting for weeks. I've even researched appropriate conversation topics for American wizards."
"Speak for yourself," Bellatrix said with uncontained excitement, her entire body practically thrumming with energy as her dark eyes sparkled with barely restrained curiosity, "I've been preparing my entire life for this! Do you think he'll want to discuss American magical creatures immediately? Or should I start with questions about their educational system? Oh! Or perhaps he knows about American magical sports! Do they play Quidditch differently there?"
"Bella," Andromeda said with gentle exasperation, her warm brown eyes dancing with amusement as she watched her sister's explosive enthusiasm, "perhaps we should let him speak first and see what subjects actually interest him, rather than overwhelming the poor boy with an interrogation the moment we're introduced."
"Brilliant strategy," Sirius agreed with approval, his storm-grey eyes lighting up with tactical appreciation, "reconnaissance before engagement. Always wise to assess your target before deploying conversational artillery."
"I am not deploying artillery!" Bellatrix protested with wounded dignity, "I'm demonstrating intellectual curiosity and cultural exchange!"
"Same thing, different vocabulary," Regulus observed with dry amusement that seemed remarkably sophisticated for a nine-year-old.
The bell above Ollivander's door chimed with crystalline clarity as they entered, and the shop seemed even more cramped than usual with so many people already inside. Thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling, creating an almost maze-like environment of magical potential that seemed to hum with barely contained power.
"Father!" Orion called out with genuine warmth as he spotted Arcturus near the back of the shop, and the distinguished patriarch turned with surprise and delight that transformed his aristocratic features into an expression of pure paternal joy.
Arcturus Black carried himself with the sort of natural authority that came from generations of leadership, his handsome features marked by intelligence and the kind of worldly experience that made people automatically seek his approval. There was something compelling about his presence—a combination of strength and wisdom that suggested he had seen much of the world and found it endlessly fascinating.
"Orion! Cygnus!" Arcturus exclaimed, his rich voice carrying notes of genuine surprise and pleasure, "Whatever are you doing here? I thought you were both handling estate matters and correspondence today."
"We came to surprise you," Cygnus explained with boyish enthusiasm that made him look remarkably like his daughters when they were excited about something, "and to finally meet the famous Hadrian we've heard so much about in your letters. You've made him sound absolutely fascinating."
"And for school shopping," Narcissa added with practical precision, stepping forward with the sort of composed dignity that suggested she had been practicing proper deportment, "since four of us will be attending Hogwarts this year and require appropriate supplies."
"Of course!" Arcturus said with the sort of delighted recognition that suggested he had temporarily forgotten his grandchildren's academic timeline in his excitement about other family matters, "Sirius, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda will all be first years together. How wonderfully chaotic that promises to be for the professors."
"Grandfather," Sirius said with wounded dignity, his storm-grey eyes flashing with aristocratic offense, "we're not chaotic. We're... creatively energetic and intellectually ambitious."
"Ah yes," Arcturus replied with fond amusement, his eyes twinkling with the sort of paternal indulgence that suggested he found his grandchildren's creative energy thoroughly entertaining, "my mistake. I'm absolutely certain that Hogwarts is fully prepared for 'intellectual ambition' on this unprecedented scale."
"They will be by the time we're finished with them," Bellatrix declared with passionate conviction, her dark eyes sparkling with the sort of determined enthusiasm that suggested she viewed her education as a grand adventure waiting to unfold.
Near the front of the shop, they could see Charlus Potter—Arcturus's brother-in-law and a man whose presence commanded immediate respect and attention. His bearing suggested military precision combined with natural leadership, and there was something undeniably heroic about his posture that made him seem larger than life even in the cramped confines of the wand shop.
Standing beside him was Fleamont Potter, whose elegant features and natural charisma suggested the sort of refined intelligence that came from years of successful business management and social leadership. His manner radiated warmth and genuine interest in everyone around him, creating an atmosphere of welcome that made people automatically want to earn his approval.
And there was James Potter himself—eleven years old and already showing signs of the natural leadership and easy confidence that would define his character. His dark hair was characteristically messy despite obvious attempts at styling, and his hazel eyes held the sort of mischievous intelligence that promised both brilliance and trouble in equal measure. There was something magnetic about his presence that drew attention without demanding it.
"Magnificent wand, James," Fleamont was saying with paternal pride, his elegant features lighting up with genuine satisfaction as he watched his son examine his new magical focus, "eleven inches, mahogany, dragon heartstring core. Mr. Ollivander says it's particularly well-suited for Transfiguration work."
"It feels absolutely perfect," James replied with genuine wonder, his young voice carrying notes of awe as he turned the wand over in his hands with reverent care, "like it was specifically crafted for me rather than just randomly selected."
"In a very real way, it was," came Ollivander's voice from the back of the shop, though he sounded distinctly frazzled and overwhelmed, "the wand chooses the wizard, after all. The connection between wizard and wand is far more complex than most people realize."
But all attention was focused on the extraordinary scene playing out near Ollivander's workbench, where the wandmaker himself looked thoroughly disheveled. His wispy hair was even more chaotic than usual, and his pale eyes held the sort of frustrated fascination that suggested he was dealing with something completely unprecedented in his considerable experience.
"Grandfather," Sirius whispered with immediate fascination, his strategic mind already analyzing the situation with the sort of tactical interest that suggested he was cataloging every detail for future reference, "what exactly is happening over there? Mr. Ollivander looks like he's been through a magical storm."
"Young Hadrian," Arcturus replied in an undertone, his voice holding a complex mixture of pride, concern, and scholarly fascination, "has tried every single wand in this shop—and Mr. Ollivander has an inventory of thousands. Not one has been compatible with his magical signature. His power appears to overload conventional wands before they can establish a proper connection."
"Every wand in the entire shop?" Regulus asked with wonder, his dark eyes wide with intellectual curiosity and the sort of analytical interest that suggested he was already working through the theoretical implications, "That's unprecedented, isn't it?"
"Completely unprecedented," Charlus confirmed grimly, having overheard their conversation with the sort of keen attention that suggested he had been monitoring multiple discussions simultaneously, "Mr. Ollivander has been crafting wands for over fifty years, and he's never encountered anything quite like this. The boy's magical signature is simply too powerful and complex for standard wand construction."
At the workbench, they could see Hadrian Potter himself, and even at eleven years old, there was something remarkably compelling about his presence. He possessed the sort of natural magnetism that made people want to listen when he spoke, combined with an unusual maturity that seemed to suggest depths of experience far beyond his years. His dark hair fell in unruly waves that no amount of styling could completely tame, and his grey eyes held an intelligence that seemed almost ancient in its depth and complexity.
There was something about his bearing that suggested natural authority—not the demanding kind that insisted on attention, but the quiet confidence that made people automatically defer to his judgment. Even standing still, he seemed to radiate a subtle energy that made the magical atmosphere of the shop feel more intense.
"So Mr. Ollivander has to create a completely custom wand," Arcturus explained with fascination, his scholarly instincts clearly engaged by the unprecedented nature of the situation, "something that's virtually unheard of in modern wandlore. Most wandmakers go their entire careers without needing to craft a single custom piece."
They watched as Ollivander displayed several blank wooden wands, each carved from different magical woods with varying properties and characteristics. Hadrian examined them with methodical care, his expression thoughtful and analytical as he considered each option with the sort of systematic approach that suggested he understood the significance of his choice.
"The wood must resonate with the wizard's core magical nature," Ollivander was explaining to his audience, his voice carrying the sort of reverent excitement that suggested he was witnessing something remarkable and potentially historic, "each type of magical wood has different properties, different affinities, different ways of channeling and focusing magical energy."
Hadrian's hand hovered over the selection with deliberate consideration before settling on a wand blank of polished black wood that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The moment his fingers made contact, everyone in the shop could feel the subtle shift in magical energy—not overwhelming or uncomfortable, but unmistakably powerful and somehow familiar.
"Black mahogany," Ollivander breathed with deep satisfaction, his pale eyes lighting up with professional appreciation, "twelve and a quarter inches, with a naturally wavy shaft that speaks to flexibility and adaptability. An interesting and significant choice—black mahogany bonds only with wizards of exceptional power and absolutely unwavering determination."
"It feels right," Hadrian said simply, his voice carrying the sort of quiet confidence that suggested he understood exactly what he was choosing and why, "like it was waiting for me."
Meanwhile, Sirius had somehow managed to migrate toward James Potter with the sort of natural social gravitational pull that suggested they were destined to become friends. The two boys were already engaged in animated conversation about Quidditch positions, broom specifications, and the relative merits of different flying techniques.
"So you play Seeker?" James was asking with obvious interest, his hazel eyes bright with competitive enthusiasm.
"When I can get access to a decent broom," Sirius replied with the sort of casual confidence that suggested natural athletic ability, "though I think Chaser might be more strategically interesting. More opportunities for creative plays and tactical innovations."
"Exactly!" James exclaimed with delighted recognition, "Most people think Seeking is more glamorous, but Chasers actually control the flow of the entire game!"
Their immediate friendship was obvious to anyone watching—they shared the same easy charisma, natural leadership qualities, and competitive spirit that made them gravitational centers for social groups.
But Bellatrix seemed entirely transfixed by Hadrian himself, standing near the back of their family group with her dark eyes fixed on him with the sort of awed fascination that suggested she was witnessing something extraordinary and possibly magical beyond the obvious wand selection process. Her usual explosive enthusiasm had been replaced by an almost reverent stillness, as if she was in the presence of something sacred or otherworldly.
"Bella," Narcissa whispered with sisterly concern, moving closer to her sister with protective instincts, "are you quite all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Can't you feel it?" Bellatrix whispered back, her voice filled with wonder and something approaching religious awe, "the magic radiating from him in waves? It's like standing near a powerful magical storm—beautiful and terrifying and absolutely magnificent at the same time."
Andromeda, whose sensitivity to magical auras had always been considerable and somewhat unusual for her age, nodded slowly with understanding, "There's definitely something extraordinary about his magical signature. It's unlike anything I've ever encountered—more complex and layered than normal magical energy."
"It feels ancient," Bellatrix added softly, her young voice carrying notes of recognition that seemed beyond her years, "like he's touched by something older and more powerful than ordinary wizarding magic."
"Now for the core," Ollivander announced with obvious nervousness, his voice holding the sort of anxious excitement that suggested he was venturing into completely uncharted territory, "and this is where things become truly challenging and unprecedented."
They watched with fascination as he brought out various magical cores from his extensive collection—phoenix feather, unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, veela hair, thestral tail hair, and several more exotic options that most people had never heard of. Each time Hadrian tested one by simply holding it near the wand blank, the result was immediately and obviously incompatible—magical energies that clashed rather than harmonized.
"Absolutely fascinating," Arcturus murmured with scholarly interest, his analytical mind clearly engaged by the theoretical implications, "his magical signature simply overwhelms conventional cores. The power differential is too great for standard materials to handle."
After what seemed like dozens of attempts with increasingly rare and expensive cores, Ollivander paused with the sort of distant expression that suggested inspiration was striking like lightning.
"Wait," he said softly, his pale eyes taking on a faraway look, "there might be one possibility... but no, it's completely unprecedented... although the theoretical framework suggests..."
Without another word of explanation, he disappeared into the back of his shop with obvious urgency, returning several minutes later with a vial that appeared completely empty to most observers. But Arcturus straightened with sudden recognition and sharp intake of breath, while both Charlus and Fleamont exchanged meaningful glances that suggested they understood the significance.
"Is that what I think it is?" Charlus asked with wonder, his heroic features marked by genuine awe.
"Thestral hair," Ollivander confirmed with reverent excitement, his voice carrying the sort of hushed respect usually reserved for sacred objects, "one of the rarest and most powerful magical substances known to wandlore. Only one wand in all of recorded magical history has ever contained such a core."
"The Elder Wand," Arcturus breathed with recognition and obvious fascination.
"Indeed," Ollivander nodded with scholarly precision, "though I recently created one other custom piece—blackthorn, ten and five-eighths inches, also with thestral hair core. A very special commission for a remarkably talented young witch with... unusual requirements."
Hadrian's reaction to the vial was immediate and unmistakable. Though the thestral hair remained invisible to most people present, his grey eyes lit up with recognition and something that looked remarkably like relief, while the air around him seemed to shimmer with magical resonance and barely contained power.
*Natalia,* he thought with absolute certainty, *it has to be her. Mother Magic brought us both to this reality, and now we're connected even through our wands.*
"The cores came from the same thestral," Ollivander explained with scholarly fascination, clearly delighted to share his expertise with such an attentive audience, "making them brother wands—a magical connection that creates unique properties and relationships between the wands and their wielders."
Hadrian understood exactly what that meant from his previous life's experience. He had shared such a connection with Voldemort's wand, though the implications and applications here would be entirely different and hopefully far more positive.
"Brother wands," James said with curiosity, having paused his animated conversation with Sirius to listen to the technical discussion, "what does that mean exactly? What kind of unique properties?"
"Wands that share cores from the same magical creature develop a profound relationship," Ollivander explained with professional enthusiasm, clearly in his element when discussing the theoretical aspects of wandlore, "they can sense each other across great distances, share certain magical resonances, and when they meet in direct magical conflict, they produce extraordinary and unpredictable effects."
"That sounds absolutely fascinating!" Bellatrix exclaimed with explosive enthusiasm, her earlier awe temporarily overwhelmed by intellectual curiosity, "Does that mean the wands can communicate with each other? Can they share spells or magical knowledge?"
"The exact mechanisms are not fully understood," Ollivander admitted with scholarly honesty, "brother wands are extraordinarily rare, and most of our knowledge comes from theoretical frameworks rather than practical observation."
As they watched with rapt attention, Ollivander carefully disassembled the black mahogany blank with precise, practiced movements, inserted the invisible thestral hair with reverent care, and began the delicate process of magical sealing that would bind core to wood in permanent partnership. But then he did something completely unprecedented—he began carving intricate runes along the wand's length with meticulous precision.
"Mr. Ollivander," Fleamont asked with genuine curiosity, his refined features showing intelligent interest, "I've been collecting wands for years, and I've never seen runes carved directly into a wand's structure before. Is this a new technique?"
"Normally such modifications are completely unnecessary," Ollivander replied with focused concentration, not looking up from his delicate work, "but a core this powerful and unusual requires additional stabilization measures. Without these specific runes for power regulation and magical channeling, the wand might overload from the sheer magnitude of magic it will be required to handle."
The runic inscription seemed to glow briefly with silver light as each symbol was completed with mathematical precision, and everyone in the shop could feel the building magical tension as the wand neared completion. The very air seemed to thicken with anticipation and barely contained power.
Meanwhile, Bellatrix continued to stare at Hadrian with the sort of breathless fascination that reminded him uncomfortably of how Ginny Weasley had behaved during his second year at Hogwarts in his previous life—though this Bellatrix was clearly the same age as him and radiated innocent curiosity rather than romantic infatuation or hero worship.
*She's eleven years old,* he reminded himself firmly, *and this isn't the same Bellatrix who caused so much pain and destruction in my previous life. This is a child meeting someone she finds genuinely fascinating for reasons she probably doesn't fully understand herself.*
But there was something in her expression—a recognition that seemed to go beyond simple curiosity or even magical sensitivity—that made him wonder if she was somehow sensing something about his true nature that others were missing.
"There," Ollivander announced with deep satisfaction and obvious pride, holding up the completed wand like a masterwork of art, "twelve and a quarter inches, black mahogany with natural wave pattern, thestral hair core, stabilized with runic channeling inscriptions. This should be able to handle even the most extraordinary magical signature without risk of overload or incompatibility."
He extended the wand toward Hadrian with ceremonial gravity, and the moment their hands connected around the polished handle, the entire shop filled with a warm, powerful light that seemed to emanate from the wand itself while somehow not being blinding or uncomfortable. Unlike the violent explosions and magical rejections that had accompanied his previous attempts, this felt like a homecoming—like finding a missing piece of himself.
"Perfect," Hadrian said with quiet satisfaction and obvious relief, giving the wand a gentle experimental wave that produced a cascade of silver and gold sparks that danced through the air like living things, forming complex patterns that suggested intelligence and purpose.
The entire shop erupted in spontaneous applause, and Bellatrix's eyes were shining with something that looked remarkably like hero worship mixed with genuine awe.
"Right then," Cygnus said with paternal authority and obvious satisfaction at witnessing such a remarkable moment, "I believe it's time for our own wand selections. Sirius, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Andromeda—Mr. Ollivander, if you please?"
"Of course!" Ollivander replied with renewed energy, clearly energized by his successful custom creation, "though I rather suspect your selections will be considerably more straightforward than young Mr. Potter's unique requirements."
As the Black children stepped forward for their own wand fittings, Hadrian found himself genuinely curious to observe the process from the outside, particularly given his growing understanding of how different this reality might be from his previous experiences.
—
As the Black children stepped forward for their own wand fittings, the atmosphere in Ollivander's shop shifted from the reverent tension of Hadrian's unprecedented selection to something more familiar and routine—though no less magical for its predictability.
"Now then," Ollivander said with renewed energy, his wispy hair still somewhat disheveled but his pale eyes bright with professional enthusiasm, "let's see what we can find for the next generation of Blacks. Who shall be first?"
"Me!" Bellatrix declared with explosive enthusiasm, practically bouncing on her toes as her dark eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement, "I've been waiting for this moment my entire life!"
"Bella," Narcissa said with the sort of superior tone that suggested she found her sister's enthusiasm slightly embarrassing, "perhaps we should follow proper age precedence. Sirius is technically the eldest."
"By three months!" Bellatrix protested with wounded dignity, "And besides, age has nothing to do with magical readiness or intellectual preparation!"
"Actually," Andromeda interjected with gentle diplomacy, her warm brown eyes dancing with amusement, "I believe the traditional approach is alphabetical by given name, which would make Andromeda first, then Bellatrix, then Narcissa, then Sirius."
"Absolutely not," Sirius said with theatrical horror, his storm-grey eyes widening with mock panic, "I refuse to be subjected to the torture of watching three wand selections before my own. My nerves couldn't handle the suspense."
"Your nerves," Regulus observed dryly from his position near their grandfather, "have survived experimental explosions that left the east wing of our house uninhabitable. I think you can manage watching a few wand selections."
"That's completely different," Sirius replied with wounded dignity, "those were controlled experiments in magical innovation. This is passive observation of other people's magical moments, which is far more psychologically challenging."
"How exactly is watching other people get wands more challenging than nearly burning down the family manor?" Cygnus asked with fond exasperation, though his handsome features showed obvious amusement at his nephew's logic.
"Because," Sirius explained with the sort of serious conviction that only eleven-year-olds could manage, "when I'm conducting experiments, I'm in control of the variables. When I'm watching other people have magical experiences, I'm completely powerless to influence the outcome, which creates anxiety."
"That," Arcturus said with delighted recognition, "is actually a remarkably sophisticated understanding of psychological stress responses. Perhaps we should consider advanced studies in magical psychology alongside your other subjects."
"Grandfather," Sirius said with brightening features, "are you suggesting that my anxiety about wand-watching could be academically relevant?"
"I'm suggesting," Arcturus replied with fond amusement, "that your ability to analyze your own emotional responses demonstrates intellectual maturity that should be cultivated."
Meanwhile, James Potter had been listening to this family discussion with obvious fascination, and Hadrian could see the exact moment when the young Potter decided to insert himself into the conversation with characteristic confidence.
"I think," James said with natural authority, stepping closer to the group with his new wand still held carefully in his hand, "the solution is obvious. We go by house sorting predictions—Gryffindors first, since we're naturally brave enough to face uncertainty."
"And how," Narcissa asked with crystalline precision, "do you propose to determine house sorting predictions when none of us have been to Hogwarts yet?"
"Easy," James replied with the sort of confident grin that suggested he had given this considerable thought, "we assess personality traits and family histories. Sirius is obviously Gryffindor material—brave, rebellious, willing to challenge authority for the greater good."
"I like this boy already," Sirius declared with delight, his entire posture straightening with pride at being categorized as brave and rebellious.
"Bellatrix is passionate and determined, which could go Gryffindor or Slytherin depending on how her ambitions develop," James continued with analytical precision that suggested he had been observing them all carefully, "Narcissa has the strategic thinking and family pride that traditionally sorts Slytherin, and Andromeda has the intellectual curiosity and wisdom that suggests Ravenclaw."
"That's... actually quite perceptive," Andromeda admitted with obvious surprise, "though I'm curious about your methodology. Are you basing this purely on observation, or do you have some theoretical framework for prediction?"
"Observation plus family research," James replied with obvious pride in his analytical approach, "my father's been telling me about the different houses and their characteristics for years, and I've been practicing assessment techniques."
Hadrian found himself genuinely impressed by James's insight, while simultaneously feeling a complex mix of emotions about watching his father demonstrate the natural leadership and analytical intelligence that would later make him Head Boy. The inner Harry Potter in him felt a deep satisfaction at witnessing the formation of what he knew would become a legendary friendship, while also struggling with the surreal experience of seeing Sirius—who had been the closest thing to a father figure he'd ever known—as an enthusiastic eleven-year-old boy.
*This is Sirius before Azkaban,* he reminded himself, *before the war, before everything that broke him. This is who he was meant to be.*
"Right then," Ollivander interrupted with professional authority, clearly deciding that the philosophical discussion had gone on long enough, "Mr. Black—Sirius—shall we begin?"
Sirius stepped forward with obvious excitement, his storm-grey eyes bright with anticipation as he approached Ollivander's measuring tape with the sort of eager energy that suggested he had been looking forward to this moment for years.
"Wand arm?" Ollivander asked with practiced efficiency.
"Right," Sirius replied, extending his arm with ceremonial gravity.
As the measuring tape began its work, fluttering around Sirius with magical precision, Ollivander disappeared among his towering shelves with the sort of purposeful movement that suggested years of experience in matching wizards to their perfect magical focus.
"Let's try this," he announced, returning with a polished box, "Reed wood, fifteen inches, dragon heartstring core. Reed is associated with natural leadership and protective instincts."
Sirius took the wand with reverent care, and the moment his fingers closed around the distinctive rectangular handle, warm golden light filled his immediate vicinity. He gave it an experimental wave, producing a shower of silver sparks that formed the shape of a soaring eagle before dissolving into glittering particles.
"Magnificent!" Ollivander exclaimed with obvious satisfaction, "Reed wood chooses wizards with the potential for great leadership and unwavering loyalty. The rectangular handle design suggests a personality that values structure within creativity—someone who can be rebellious while maintaining underlying principles."
"That sounds exactly like Sirius," Regulus observed with fond accuracy, "rebellious enough to drive Mother to distraction, but principled enough that his rebellion always serves a greater purpose."
"Exactly!" Sirius said with delight, admiring his new wand with obvious pride, "Reed wood for leadership, dragon heartstring for power, and a practical handle design for someone who values both innovation and effectiveness."
"My turn!" Bellatrix declared with explosive enthusiasm, practically vibrating with excitement as she stepped forward with the sort of passionate intensity that made everyone around her automatically pay attention.
Ollivander studied her for a moment with professional interest before disappearing back into his collection, returning with another carefully selected box.
"Walnut wood, twelve and three-quarter inches, dragon heartstring core," he announced, "Walnut is highly prized for its versatility and intelligence, often choosing wizards with exceptional magical insight."
Bellatrix grasped the curved wand with obvious reverence, and the magical response was immediate and dramatic. Brilliant white light surrounded her, and when she waved the wand experimentally, it produced a cascade of multi-colored sparks that seemed to dance with conscious intelligence before forming complex geometric patterns in the air.
"Beautiful!" she breathed with wonder, her dark eyes shining with pure joy, "It feels like it's alive!"
"Walnut wands are indeed known for their responsiveness," Ollivander confirmed with scholarly satisfaction, "The curved design indicates a wizard whose magical approach will be fluid and adaptable. The combination suggests someone with both the intelligence to understand complex magic and the intuition to apply it creatively."
"That's our Bella," Andromeda said with sisterly pride, "always able to see connections that others miss."
Narcissa stepped forward next with the sort of composed dignity that suggested she had been mentally preparing for this moment, her platinum hair catching the magical light as she moved with practiced elegance.
"Hawthorn wood, thirteen and three-quarter inches, dragon heartstring core," Ollivander announced after his characteristic pause for assessment, presenting a wand whose handle was decorated with tiny white studs that sparkled like stars, "Hawthorn is particularly suited to wizards with complex natures—those capable of both great compassion and fierce protection of what they hold dear."
When Narcissa took the wand, the magical response was more subtle but no less powerful—a soft golden glow that seemed to emanate from within her rather than from the wand itself. Her experimental wave produced elegant silver spirals that moved with the precision of practiced calligraphy.
"Perfect," she said with quiet satisfaction, examining the decorative studs with obvious appreciation, "it feels... sophisticated."
"Hawthorn often chooses wizards who will face significant moral complexity in their lives," Ollivander explained with gentle seriousness, "The decorative elements suggest someone who values beauty and refinement but possesses the inner strength to make difficult decisions when necessary."
Finally, Andromeda stepped forward with natural grace, her warm brown eyes bright with curiosity and anticipation.
"Almond wood, fourteen and nine-tenths inches, Ashwinder ash core," Ollivander announced, producing what was clearly a very special wand from his collection, "An unusual combination—almond wood for wisdom and diplomatic skill, Ashwinder ash for passion and the ability to overcome great obstacles."
The moment Andromeda touched the wand, the entire shop seemed to shimmer with subtle magical energy. Her test wave produced not sparks or light, but a gentle warmth that seemed to make everyone present feel more optimistic and connected.
"Remarkable," Ollivander breathed with obvious awe, "Ashwinder ash cores are extraordinarily rare—I've only ever created three wands with such cores. They choose wizards destined for lives of great significance and meaningful choice."
"What does that mean exactly?" Andromeda asked with intelligent curiosity.
"It means," Arcturus said with deep pride and something that might have been prescience, "that you are destined for a life where your choices will matter not just to yourself, but to the broader magical world."
As the wand selection concluded, Hadrian found his attention drawn back to James and Sirius, who had resumed their animated discussion about Quidditch strategy with the sort of immediate camaraderie that suggested a friendship destined to last a lifetime.
"—completely agree about the tactical advantages of advanced formation flying," Sirius was saying with passionate conviction, "but have you considered the psychological impact of unconventional plays on opposing teams?"
"That's exactly what I've been thinking!" James replied with delighted recognition, "Most teams prepare for standard strategies, but if you introduce unexpected variables—"
"—you can completely disrupt their defensive coordination," Sirius finished with satisfaction, "It's psychological warfare applied to athletic competition."
Hadrian found himself drawn toward their conversation with natural curiosity, hoping he might be able to join what was clearly becoming a significant friendship. The inner Harry Potter in him felt a deep emotional resonance at witnessing the formation of the legendary bond between James Potter and Sirius Black, while simultaneously struggling with the complex emotions of seeing Sirius—who had been his godfather, protector, and the closest thing to a father he'd ever known—as an enthusiastic eleven-year-old boy discovering friendship for the first time.
*This is who Sirius was before everything went wrong,* he thought with a mixture of joy and sadness, *this is the person he was meant to be—brilliant, passionate, loyal, full of life and hope and endless possibilities.*
"Excuse me," Hadrian said with careful politeness, approaching the two boys with the sort of respectful confidence that suggested he understood the significance of their developing friendship, "I couldn't help overhearing your discussion about Quidditch psychology. Are you familiar with the strategic applications of adaptive formation theory?"
Both James and Sirius turned toward him with immediate interest, their eyes lighting up with the sort of recognition that suggested they had found someone who could contribute meaningfully to their theoretical discussions.
"Adaptive formation theory?" James repeated with fascination, "I've heard the term, but I've never met anyone who actually understood the practical applications."
"It's based on the principle that optimal team performance requires the ability to modify strategies in real-time based on opponent responses," Hadrian explained with quiet authority, drawing on his years of Quidditch experience from his previous life, "rather than relying on predetermined plays that become predictable."
"That's brilliant!" Sirius exclaimed with explosive enthusiasm, "It's like military strategy applied to sport—constant adaptation based on battlefield conditions!"
"Exactly," Hadrian agreed with genuine pleasure at their immediate understanding, "the key is developing the communication systems and trust levels that allow for seamless transitions between different tactical approaches."
As the three boys began an increasingly animated discussion about the theoretical intersection of psychology, strategy, and magical athletics, the adults in the shop exchanged glances of recognition and approval. The formation of this particular friendship was clearly something that transcended mere childhood compatibility—it was the beginning of something significant that would influence all their futures in ways they couldn't yet imagine.
This was definitely going to be an interesting year at Hogwarts.
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