A/N: Because quite a few people were asking me questions, I've taken to responding to reviews in order to answer them instead of constantly posting it up on here. That means if you have any questions, feel free to ask me. Let's see…what else to say? Er…Reviews are always appreciated...I don't own Harry Potter or the Dresden Files..oh, and if any of you have read the new Dresden Files: White Night, post spoilers on pain of death!

One week later

The body of nine-year old Harry Potter lay on a damp, grimy bed, his green eyes glazed over as they stared off into space. Perspiration covered his body, his shirt soaked in his own sweat as a small, pained moan escaped his lips, his chest rising and falling in short, rapid movements. Suddenly he shot up, his eyes blinking rapidly as he gasped in exhaustion, before he groaned in pain and clutched his stomach. He looked down, a grimace of pain on his face as he slowly removed his hand, and traced his fingers around his injury. There was a new set of raw and still very painful scar tissue around his stomach just left of his navel, a testament to the power Deirdre wielded in that not even Meciel had been able to completely regenerate it instantaneously.

For the past week, Harry had only ventured away from the motel room once to pay for an extra few days, preferring to spend most of his time in the warded room as he recovered from the black magic that Deirdre had poured into her blow. If the motel manager had known that the runes and wards that Meciel, using Harry's body, had set up had blown out every single electrical item in the room then he would have demanded much more money from them. But the manager was unaware that Harry was magical and that all magic in general, even wand-magic in large enough quantities, completely disrupted and short-circuited electronic items. Hell, the manager probably didn't even believe in magic.

Still, it meant that Harry had been couped up in a small room for seven days with no television to watch and with orders from Meciel to keep the magic-casting to a minimum, in case Deirdre and whoever else was working for her was able to sense it despite the wards. Still, it hadn't been all bad. Meciel had been teaching him sword fighting over the course of the days, carefully implanting instincts, methods and skills, of some of her previous hosts into his mind. The worse part of it was that he could feel the emotions behind the various instincts and skill. Generally it was a blur of feelings, usually of excitement, enjoyment but fear and pain played a prominent role as well, and these feelings were enough to make Harry feel as if he had been fighting and training himself. After four days, his muscles were aching and his mind was quickly developing a splitting pain.

'Are you paying attention, beloved?'

“Yes, Meciel,” Harry said as he rolled his eyes, grimacing and laying back down on the bed. “The stuff you just put into my mind hurt.”

'Yes, I imagine that it would have. That was one of my previous hosts losing both the duel and his head,' Meciel responded, her voice tinged with amusement.

“Ah, because it's so important that I learn how to get my head cut off,” Harry muttered darkly, rubbing his forehead with his arm and wiping the sweat away with his arm. “Hey, Meciel, can all of the Fallen do this with their hosts?”

'To a degree, yes,' Meciel answered from within his mind. 'However, only the skills of the previous hosts may be assimilated in such a fashion. You have to remember that some of the Denarians are quite old and some of the Fallen have been using the same host for almost 2000 years at a time. Still, this is why the Fallen are so formidable for no matter how many of our hosts are killed, so long as our coin is picked up, the next host can become just as dangerous.'

Harry nodded thoughtfully as he idly traced his fingers around his scar again. Suddenly a frown came over his face as something occurred to him and he scratched his head in puzzlement.

“What about wand-magic?” He asked slowly. “Have you ever had a wand-wizard as a host before?”

'No, beloved, I have not.'

“Then how are you going to teach me wand-magic?” Harry asked in puzzlement, frowning as he awaited Meciel's answer.

'Remember, beloved, that while our movements in the void where He banished us are limited, they are not totally restricted. Occasionally we Fallen are able to communicate with each other. Not long ago, I was able to acquire a great deal of information off one of my brethren who has taken two or three wand-wizards on as hosts. Sadly, in his imprisonment, he has gone quite insane and was unable to demand any payment.'

“Go Meciel,” Harry murmured as he felt the smugness Meciel was radiating within his mind. “So, we can get a wand now?”

'Yes, beloved. The knowledge I gained, presuming that nothing has changed within the last sixty years, includes the location of the largest wand-wizard shopping alley in this nation, and the entrance can be found here in London.'

”So, we could go today, if I really wanted to,” Harry said slowly as a small rush of anticipation struck him, and he sat up in his bed, using Meciel's influence on his body to ignore the pain in his stomach.

“Yes, beloved,' Meciel said wryly. 'Of course, we must be cautious, especially with that distinctive scar of yours. You know of your past and of your status in the wand-wizard world. I have no doubt that your disappearance from the Dursley's and their well-deserved fate did not go unnoticed. There will be people searching for you.'

Harry nodded, having learnt of his past quite some time ago. Such information had been easily bartered for from the first lesser demons he had summoned under Meciel's tutelage. He knew that if the wand-wizards captured him, they would eventually discover Meciel and take her away from him. Besides, Meciel's descriptions of the a large, formidable magical prison guarded by powerful lesser demons known as Dementors had spooked him more than he'd like to admit He knew that he had traded his soul for power, for strength, for protection, but that didn't mean he wanted something to try to suck it out of him. He was shaken out of his thoughts as Meciel continued speaking, as if she were oblivious to what he was thinking, but Harry knew better.

'Your greatest strength lies in wand-magic and although it is weaker than evocation and thaumaturgy, in the hands of a skilled user, it is an extremely powerful weapon. It is much quicker than thaumaturgy, ritual magic and even evocation. Unlike evocation, the incantations are not necessarily required to be verbal and with practise, mental incantations can produce the same results as a verbal incantation. Wand-magic can also be used for a wide array of uses that a skilled True Wizard would not be able to perform.'

“I still don't get the difference between a True Wizard and a Wand-Wizard,” Harry said, wincing as he got out of his sweaty and dirty bed. He walked across the room and entered the small adjoining bathroom, sticking a hand in the shower and turning on the cold water - there had been no hot water ever since Harry had entered the apartment and the water-heater had mysteriously stopped working. As he did this, Meciel continued to explain in a very patient tone, as if she had been over this numerous times before.

'A True Wizard is a wizard who draws his magic from this world, this planet. He draws it from the ocean, the grass, the trees, the animals and even human beings. Essentially, he is tapping into the energy of creation and using it for his own purposes. Evocation is the quick drawing and release of this magic and tends to very volatile and explosive. Thaumaturgy is the complete opposite of evocation and requires patience and a methodical approach to the spell or ritual. This is when a True Wizard slowly gathers the energy over a period of time and releases it all at once. Generally, spells cast using thaumaturgy are much more powerful than spells cast using evocation.'

'However, a wand-wizard doesn't draw his energy from this world. Rather, wand-wizards use their wands to draw in energy from an outside source, a plane of existence entirely made up of their magic. They channel this energy from this plane, using their wands, and shape it in their minds before releasing it. It is a weaker source of magic, yes, but far less volatile and raw than True Magic. Wand Magic is your scalpel to their broadsword. A broadsword can hack a man in half with little effort, but a quick scalpel can slice the throat of a man before he knows what happened, and either way, the man ends up dead.'

“Wasn't that a nice example,” Harry muttered as he looked at the shower, shivering as he took his shirt off and felt a few drops of cold water on his bare skin.

'With my help, your wand-magic will become very powerful, and beloved? I think that you are going to need powerful weapons if you want to survive.'

Harry nodded sombrely, agreeing with Meciel. For a moment, it looked like he had something else to say but instead, he looked into the shower again and frowned at the cold water spraying from the nozzle, hesitant to enter.

“Would you make it warm for me?” He asked.

'Of course'

“And no peeking!”

Later that day, Harry Potter limped down the busy streets of London, looking nothing like the famous wand-wizard he really was. As far as disguises went, the one Harry was using was fairly simple. He wore a plain t-shirt, something any kid his age would wear, and a pair of non-remarkable jeans. He had brought one of those cheap spray-on hair colours from a nearby party store that he had passed and now his dark hair was now a very noticeable fake-blonde. He had covered up his scar with a piece of ratty, dark cloth, which had been part of the once-bloodied, now burnt shirt he had been wearing in his encounter with Deirdre. His green eyes had been the easiest thing to change because he had simply asked Meciel to do it for him. He didn't know how she had done it and all he knew was that his new brown eyes were supposed to last for about two hours before they changed back.

This was the boy that stopped in front of a dingy inn centred between a small bookshop and an old and abandoned record shop. People kept walking past him and Harry frowned as he saw that their eyes focussed first on the bookstore and slid right past the inn, coming to rest on the abandoned record store. It was as if they couldn't see the inn in the first place.

'A wand-wizard's greatest concern is to keep the existence of magic secret from their non-magical, their muggle counterparts.' Meciel whispered into his mind. 'They have created a wide variety of spells and wards to keep muggles from ever noticing, let alone remembering, something that may appear magical.'

Harry's expression cleared up and he observed the inn in front of him with a bit more respect. Obviously some powerful magic had been wrought on the old building. So this was the Leaky Cauldron. He stepped forward, past the walking pedestrians and placed his hand on the doorknob to the inn, taking Meciel's advice and schooling his features until his face was blank, before he opened the door and entered.

The room inside the Leaky Cauldron was cool, dark and full of chatting men and woman sitting at small, round tables. Burning torches had been hung on the walls and their light, accompanied by a blazing fireplace, was enough to cast a warm, comfortable glow around the room. On the other side of the room, Harry could see a well-rounded man with red cheeks and a balding head hand a man a bottle. Next to the bar, on the right, there was a staircase, which most likely led to the rooms, and on the left there was a small door, and the entire room was filled with the buzz of happy chatter and clinks of glass. Eventually, Harry's gaze turned back to the populace of the room. A few of them looked his way in mild interest but glanced away when they realised that he was only a child. Harry took a few steps in, a look of bemusement on his face as he ran his eyes over one of the nearby man's clothes. Although the man was a tall, broad man, with a thick, dirty beard and fierce eyes, he seemed to be wearing a black…dress of some sort.

'That's a robe, beloved. It is the standard dress of the wand-wizard.'

“I hope I don't have to wear one of those,” Harry muttered softly to himself as he let his eyes wander away from the man, and saw that almost everybody in the Inn was wearing clothes of a similar nature, robes of all colours and more.

Suddenly movement caught his eye and he turned his head as a group of four cloaked and hooded figures quickly stood from their tables, leaving their dinners and drinks behind as they moved towards the staircase. The bartender called something out to them but they all ignored him as they quickly clambered up the stairs, and as they went, Harry could have sworn that they were throwing him nervous stares from behind their hood.

'They have every right to be afraid, beloved,' said Meciel, amusement in her melodious voice. 'They can sense a 'great darkness' about you,'

“If you keep this up, I'll never make any friends,” Harry said softly, smiling in mirth as he walked through the room, his eyes flicking over tables and wand-wizards with curiosity, until he came to stand at the bar, gaining the attention of the bartender. The cheerful looking man handed a bottle of liquid to a robed man and looked down at him with a smile.

“Can I help you?” he asked with joviality in his voice.

Harry, listening closely to Meciel, repeated what she said to him.

“I need somebody to open the portal to Diagon Alley for me,”

The man frowned, looking past Harry and scanning the room for something.

“Parents usually do that for their children,” he said, a slight frown on his face when he couldn't see anybody new in the room that might have been Harry's parents.

“I don't have any,” Harry replied evenly.

The man blinked, suddenly looking flustered and nodded, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. He motioned for Harry to follow him as he reached into his dirty, grey robes and pulled out a slim stick of wood. Harry blinked as the man waved it at the sink behind him, muttering something under his breath, and watched in surprise as a wet cloth floated up from the sink and started furiously rubbing into a floating large, grimy crock-pot.

'A True Wizard could not cast a spell that would do something as simple that,' Meciel said.

Harry blinked and shook his head, following the man as he walked around the bar and entered the small door, leading Harry out into a small, walled courtyard. Harry frowned, examining the area and seeing nothing more than scuffed grass and large weeds. He watched as the bartender walked up the one of the brick walls and tapped several different bricks with his wand. For a moment, nothing happened, before Harry let out an unwilling gasp as the bricks groaned, grinding against each other as they fell apart, and a small hole appeared. The hole grew larger and larger until an archway stood where the wall had, leading into Diagon Alley.

“Now, you come back here if you have any trouble and I'll….” The bartender started, before he trailed off as Harry walked past him without a second glance. “Be glad to help.” He finished, scratching his balding head. “Hmm, what a nice boy, a little shy, sure, but real nice.”

Harry slowly walked down Diagon Alley, his eyes wide despite his attempts to appear nonchalant. The alley was nothing like he had ever seen before. He had done magic before, channelling Hellfire into his spells and summoning demons up in ritual circles, but he had never seen a place that had so much magic happening at once. Robed wand-wizards and wand-witches strolled up and down the alley, chattering with each other happily as they walked in and out of strange shops. These shops seemed to be catering to the magic stereotype. One of them was selling cauldrons, some as tiny as his hand and others as big as he was. One of the other shops had a gleaming, well-polished broom in is window and Harry saw several young children, his age and even older, staring at it with envy and need in their eyes. He saw a small girl wearing a witches hat come out of a pet store of some kind, holding a small toad to her cheek lovingly while her mother dragged her away.

'Be careful, beloved, you're gaping.' Meciel said dryly.

Harry closed his mouth with a snap and turned his gaze down the alley. Right at the end was a large, gleaming marble building. Large pillars jutted out from the ground and a steady flow of wizards and witches walked to and from the small staircases and into the large granite archways entering into the building. In his mind, Meciel stirred as she viewed the building from Harry's eyes.

'That is Gringotts. From what I know, it is the main wand-wizard's bank. Remember what I said, the bank is run by a species of creatures called goblins. They will be able to detect that you have aligned yourself with the darker powers and will be very cautious of you. Be…'

“Firm,but do not appear threatening…” Harry interrupted out loud, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “You've only told me a hundred times already.”

Meciel gave a quiet grumble of disapproval in his mind as a nearby wand-wizard eyed him strangely. Harry stared back at him, scowling furiously as he folded his arms.

“What?” He demanded childishly “You have a problem?”

The wand-wizard eyed him for a few more seconds, before he shrugged his shoulders and walked past Harry, not paying the odd boy any more attention. Harry continued scowling as he made his way down the alley and approached the large marble building, making his way up the steps and stepping into the large foyer.

The first thing Harry noticed were the large queues of robed wand-wizards standing behind several large tables. The second thing he noticed was the goblins. Meciel had been right when she had called them ugly creatures. They had long, sharp crooked noses, beady and glaring little eyes and wrinkled, leathery skin. The third thing he noticed was that every goblin in the room, including a pair of spear-wielding guards at the back, had looked up and was staring at him. Although Harry wasn't an expert of the facial expressions of a goblin, he thought that they were watching him with a mixture of nervousness and alertness, as if they were waiting for the right time to attack.

“Firm, but not threatening,” Harry muttered to himself softly before he squared his small shoulders and walked briskly past the queues, ignoring the small cries of protest as he approached the nearest counter, where a goblin was currently serving a middle-aged man who, to Harry, appeared a little bit on the drunk side. The goblin stared at him impassively but seemed to grimace when Harry placed a hand into his pocket. The spear-wielding guards halted in their advancement as Harry paused, allowing a small and cold smile to appear on his face, before he pulled his hand out of his pocket and threw a wad of twenty-pound bills onto the counter.

“I want this exchanged into wand-wizard money,” Harry said firmly, but non-threateningly as he eyed the goblin. “Can you do this?”

“Hey, I was here first, kid,” The man at the counter protested.

The goblin ignored the man as he assessed Harry carefully, his beady eyes scanning Harry warily as he slowly reached over and picked up the wad of money. He brought it up to his nose and sniffed it, breathing in deep gulps of ear as if he were trying to inhale the money. Harry waited in silence, mindful that the rest of the bank, goblins and wizards alike, were staring at him, the goblins in apprehension and the wand-wizards in confusion. Soft mutters went up and down the line as the goblin stopped sniffing the money, but the spear-wielding goblins inched closer and closer, their gaze deadly. It was then that the man at the counter spoke up again, his voice sharp and irritable.

“Hey, what did I just say you stupid little spoiled brat! Get to the back of the line!” He snapped and gave Harry a small shove on the shoulder. Harry stumbled backwards a few steps and suddenly his face became cold and dangerous. He cocked his head and eyed the man eyed the man, his fake-brown eyes staring at the wand-wizard without blinking. The man gazed back at him blearily, while the rest of the queue had suddenly quieted at the sudden use of physical force.

“Look kid,” The man started angrily, reaching forward as if he were going to push Harry again, frustration and annoyance on his face as he brandished towards the child. “You had better…”

But Harry had moved as soon as the man had, his left hand coming up as he summoned his power. Dark power rushed into him, searing into his veins with and intoxicating and pleasurable tingle as he grasped Hellfire, readying it to strike. His mind, which had been tensed, loosed as a dark smile curved his lips, his eyes glinting as the jewel on his crude ring flickered with dark power.

To the wand-wizards, it was as if he had merely put his hand up in a vain attempt to defend himself against the larger man. To the goblins, however, they could see an ancient darkness rise up around him, a dark scarlet and ebony glow that surrounded and seared into his very being as a dark, black light spilled into his hands. They all tensed and the guards, abandoning all pretence of sneaking, started the twenty metre distance at a run. It was at that moment that the goblin teller slammed his hand down on the counter with a loud thump, startling both Harry and the man with the wand, who both turned to eyes to the small creature. The guards slowed and stopped as the goblin started talking, their eyes hard as they gazed at Harry unblinkingly.

“Please be patient, sir,” the goblin started in a quiet voice. “While I conclude my business with this young….man.”

The man growled in annoyance, disbelief showing on his face as he looked around for support, but he took a step backwards as Harry continued to stare at him intently, the dark power still searing into his veins, setting his very blood alight with rage and anger. A small snarl curled his lips as he took a step forward, a blind rage trying to cloud his mind, but with some effort, he straightened himself and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and allowing the power within him to dissipate. He opened his eyes again and gave the man in front of him a mock-cheerful grin, waving a hand as he turned back to the goblins desk. The goblin was already counting out the wad of bills as fast as he could, flicking small coins of gold, silver and occasionally bronze into a small sack as he did so. Finally, he finished his counting and placed the bag on the counter in front of Harry. Harry eyed it and without another word, snatched it up. Tension seemed to leave the room as he whirled around and left without another word. The guards stalked back to their positions with disgruntled looks on their faces and the tellers went back to work, a low hum of conversation starting up again as the witches and wizards in the queues wondered what they had just seen.

Outside Gringotts, Harry dropped his emotionless face as he walked down the steps, his bag of money jingling in his hand as he furrowed his brow, scanning the span of Diagon Alley. Within his mind, Meciel spoke with approval in her voice.

'Well played, beloved, although you almost came close to killing that man in there. A degree of restraint is needed if you wish to remain undetected.'

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said irritably, a frown of on his young face. “So, are we just getting a wand or should we go and get some books as well?”

'You will learn more from me in a week than you will learn from a wand-wizard in a year.' Meciel answered with a note of scorn and derision in her voice. 'I know ways of magic that these wand-wizards can only dream of.'

“Yes, because you're so modest about it,” Harry muttered to himself softly and smiled in amusement as he felt Meciel annoyance.

'Do you know, beloved, I have noticed you have developed a very bad attitude as of late?'

“Really,” Harry murmured, a mischievous smile curving his lips. “I wonder who I could have learnt that from.”

Meciel let out a little huff as Harry finally found the store he was looking for, a narrow and shabby shop. Peeling gold letters over the read door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC and in the small display window, a grubby wand lay on a small purple cushion.

The moment Harry entered; a tinkling bell rang out through the large shop as Harry stared around. The entire shop smelled dusty and old and while light flittered in from the store window, darkness shrouded most of the shop. A small counter lay ahead of him; behind it stacks and stacks of shelves holding small wooden boxes, and a gritty and old wooden chair had been placed to the side.

Suddenly a man appeared out from the shelves, dressed in faded grey robes, moving as he if were almost gliding. White hair covered his head as his misty silver eyes peered at Harry carefully. The man started as he did, his eyes widening as he came to a stop at the counter.

“A Denarian host,” he murmured in soft surprise. “What could one of you possibly want with me?”

Harry blinked in surprise and he felt Meciel give a similar mental start as he stared back at the man, a look of irritation washing over his face.

“Can everybody in your world find out what I am just by looking at me, or I am just having a bad day?” He asked flatly.

“Those who have proper eyes can easily see your true nature, angel of darkness,” Ollivander responded, smiling mysteriously as his white teeth glinted in the darkness.

“You have Third eye, the Sight,” Harry said with dawning comprehension.

Ollivander inclined his head and his smile disappeared, a mask of professional curtesy washing over his face.

“What is it that you want?”

“Obviously, I want a wand,” Harry said, gesturing around the store as he continued. “This is why I came to a wand shop.”

“I didn't realise that your kind chose wand-wizards for hosts,” Ollivander asked, faint surprise in his voice.

“Could you stop talking like I wasn't here?” Harry snapped in irritation, glaring at the man with his brown eyes. “Because I can hear you.”

“You are still in control of your body?” Ollivander asked, true astonishment on his face. “That is quite amazing.”

“You know, you're not the first person to ask me that question,” Harry stated, cocking his head as he remembered Deirdre saying something very similar. “Look, I just want to buy a wand.”

“Very well, young one,” Ollivander said after a few moments of silent thinking and he turned around, disappearing amongst the shelves of the store. There was a sound of somebody rummaging around for something and a short while later, the wand-maker returned, his arms loaded with slim boxes. He placed them all on the counter of his shop and opened up the first box, taking out a slim, piece of polished wood and handing it to Harry.

Harry frowned as he accepted the wand and although he couldn't feel anything wrong with it, Ollivander shook his head, muttering to himself as Meciel did much the same in his head. Harry looked at the wand-maker inquisitively, only to have the wand snatched from his hand and another one shoved into it. He raised it to give it a wave.

'No, it is not this wand.' Meciel murmured into his mind.

Apparently Ollivander thought much the same as he quickly snatched it away. Harry frowned in annoyance and gave the wand-maker a nasty look as another wand was shoved into his hand, but Ollivander either missed it or ignored it as he watched Harry's hand and the wand carefully. He mustn't have liked what he had seen because he went to snatch it away, but Harry quickly moved it out of his grasp and the man stared at him in confusion.

“That's very annoying,” Harry said darkly.

For a moment, Harry thought that the wand-maker looked quite uncomfortable, but the old man's face smoothed over quickly as he bowed his head in apology.

“My apologies, try this one instead.”

Harry took the wand, but the moment his fingers clasped around the wooden stick, Meciel made a noise of dissatisfaction and Harry sighed, handing the wand back to the wand-maker as he shook his head.

'This could proceed much quicker if you were to use your Third Eye to scan the wands,' Meciel said quietly. 'I will be able to find it for you far quicker than this wand-wizard can.'

“Alright,” Harry said out loud, ignoring Ollivanders look of puzzlement as he batted away the old man's hand and made his way around the counter. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to open himself up to the true nature of the wands, to see beyond the physical surface and into the deeper surfaces of magical phenomena.

When he opened his eyes, he almost flinched as hundreds of bright lights struck his eyes. It was as if every single box on every shelf had suddenly caught alight, bright auras of glowing and pulsing magic nestled around them. This magic, while warm, seemed to be wrong somehow, as if it didn't truly belong in this world.

Ghostly figures arose from the boxes, trees of all different kinds sprouting out across the shelves. Although they mixed and overlapped each other, Harry had no problems seeing the individual trees of every box. There were also ghostly figures of beasts arising from the boxes, variations of three different types. One was a ghostly bird that had seemingly been wreathed in ghostly flames; the other was a horse-like creature with a horn that Harry knew from descriptions to be a unicorn, and the last was a flying, scaled and fire-breathing animal that could only be a dragon.

Harry ran his eyes up and down the shelves until, at last, Meciel ordered him to stop. He looked back, his eyes skimming over ghostly images of trees and beasts, until a particular one caught his eye and he immediately knew that it was his. It was a slender, black box that had been tucked away on the bottom row of the shelf. A large, ghostly tree sprouted from the box, looming over the others, and a ghostly bird that was seemingly made up of fire flew around it.

“This is it,” Harry said calmly as he closed his eyes, switching off the Sight. When he opened them up again, the multitudes of bright glows had disappeared and he mentally sighed in relief, rubbing his head with a frown as if he could feel the onset of a headache.

“This box?” Ollivander asked, his eyes widening as he stared at Harry with something akin to astonishment. “The small, dark box on the bottom shelf?”

Harry nodded and watched as the slender man bent down and retrieved it, holding it gently as if there were something valuable in it. Ollivander walked back to the counter, Harry trailing after him, and set the box down carefully. With bated breath, the old man slowly opened the lid and allowed Harry to peer inside. Sitting in the box was a gleaming wand, over ten inches at least. Harry eyed it and with a smile, reached out with his hand and grasped it.

Immediately, Harry could feel a current of power flow into his body. This magic was far different from the power granted to him by Meciel; it was less intense and cooler, flowing through his body like a cold glass of water on a hot day. He stared at the wand with a pleased expression on his face as Ollivander spoke up, his voice quiet and sombre in the small shop.

“Eleven inches, Holly and Phoenix Feather, nice and supple,” He said quietly, his silver eyes regarding Harry carefully. “There is great potential in that wand, for good…and for evil.”

“We're going to take this one,” Harry said and reached into his robes, pulling out his bag of gold and throwing it onto the counter. “You can keep the change.”

Ollivander was staring at him with a peculiar expression on his face as Harry turned to leave. His hand was just about to grasp the doorknob when Meciel spoke up.

'You had best make sure that this wand-maker does not reveal this purchase to anybody, beloved.'

“Before I go,” Harry said slowly as he turned around, eyeing Ollivander carefully. “I want you to swear to me that you will not tell anybody that I was here and that I bought the wand.”

Ollivander hesitated, but a hard glare from Harry made him slowly nod in agreement.

“I swear,” He said quietly.

“Do you know of the Old Rules and the code of conduct between immortal beings?” Harry asked.

Ollivander nodded again and Harry continued his face hardening into something that made his childish face look far darker than his age.

“If you break your oath, it will be very bad for you, do you understand?”

Harry didn't wait for the old wand-maker's response as he turned back to the door, opening it and stepping out to the bright, sunny sky. He took in a deep breath as he exhaled the last of the dust-ridden air within the wand store and observed milling wand-wizards as they traversed the alley, chatting and laughing with each other.

'He was an odd man, even for a wand-wizard.'

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “So, is that all?”

'Yes, we have what we need. Beloved, I believe we are ready to leave England.'