Harry Potter and The Heir of the Shadow Throne

The sun hung low over London as Marigold and I slipped through the winding streets, my hood drawn over my face like some discount spy. Today was the day I'd step into the wizarding world properDiagon Alley. I had only ever imagined this place in my past life, and now I was here, ready to embrace the magic… or trip over it. Let's be real, probably trip over it.

"Keep close, Zephyr," Marigold murmured, scanning the crowd warily. "We can't risk drawing attention."

Oh yes, because a sketchy woman and a hooded kid skulking through London isn't suspicious at all. Totally normal. Just your average Tuesday.

We stopped in front of a shabby-looking pub nestled between a bookshop and a record storethe Leaky Cauldron. The moment we stepped inside, I was hit with the scent of butterbeer and something distinctly like old socks. A bald man at the counter eyed us like he knew we weren't here for the pub's happy hour special.

Marigold leaned close, whispering, "We need access to Diagon Alley."

The bartender nodded knowingly. Oh good, at least we weren't the first sketchy duo to roll in looking for a hidden magical world.

He led us to the back, tapped a few bricks with his wand, and BAM bricks twisted and flipped until they revealed the bustling, chaotic wonderland that was Diagon Alley. My jaw nearly hit the cobblestones. This place was incredible! It had everything like robes, cauldrons, potion shops, and at least three different wizard grandpas yelling about "back in my day."

Marigold tugged at my arm. "First stop, Gringotts."

The goblin-run bank loomed ahead, looking like it belonged in a "Don't Try This At Home" episode about financial security. We stepped inside, and the moment I saw the goblins, I made a silent vow never to mess with one. These guys looked like they could financially ruin you before breakfast.

Marigold slid a small, ornate key across the counter. The goblin snatched it up like we were trying to steal his lunch. "Vault 615," he grumbled.

A rickety cart ride later where I definitely did not scream like a dying banshee we stopped at the vault. Inside were neat stacks of gold, silver, and bronze not mountains, but enough to get by. I could tell Marigold had been careful, smuggling and stashing what she could over the years. We weren't poor, but we weren't swimming in Galleons either. Basically, we were financially stable but still operating on a "don't splurge unless you want to eat stale bread for a month" budget.

Robe shopping at Madam Malkin's was next. I stood stiff as a board while measuring tapes zipped around me. Meanwhile, another boy came in glasses, messy hair, looking lost.

"That's Harry Potter," I realized, my system pinging in my head like a microwave.

Marigold nudged me. "Don't stare."

Too late. My brain had already gone full meme mode. 'Bro, this kid's gonna fight Voldemort and I'm over here struggling to keep my robes from strangling me.'

As I stood there getting measured, Harry glanced at me, looking just as overwhelmed by all the floating fabric as I was.

"Erm, are you going to Hogwarts too?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and slight nervousness.

I blinked. Oh wow, the Boy Who Lived was actually talking to me. I could say something cool, something mysterious—

"Yeah," I blurted. "I hear they have a giant squid."

Harry looked mildly confused, then nodded. "Yeah, Hagrid mentioned something about the lake."

Before I could add anything to my highly intellectual contribution to the conversation, Madam Malkin spun me around, pinning a final stitch in place. "There we go, dear, all set!"

Harry gave me a small smile before turning back to his own fitting, and I realized I had just spoken to the protagonist of the entire wizarding world… and wasted it on aquatic trivia. Amazing.

Next, we hit up Flourish and Blotts for books, where I had to physically restrain myself from spending all my gold on spell tomes I probably couldn't even use yet. Then it was off to the apothecary, which smelled like a combination of old gym socks and questionable life choices. Bottles of weird stuff lined the walls dragon scales, shriveled roots, a jar labeled "Definitely Not Cursed" (which seemed like a lie). I wanted to buy it all, but Marigold gave me that look, the one that said, "I will physically remove you from this store."

Our final stop was Ollivanders. The shop was eerily silent, packed floor to ceiling with dusty wand boxes. The air smelled of old parchment and something vaguely electric, like the whole place was waiting for something dramatic to happen. Spoiler: it did. Ollivander himself appeared from the shadows like an NPC about to give me my starter weapon.

"Ah, young wizard," he murmured, his eyes twinkling like he knew all my secrets. "Let us find your wand."

That started the longest, most frustrating game of 'Let's Find Zephyr a Wand' in the history of wizardry. One after another, I waved wands, and one after another, they rejected me like I was an unqualified job applicant. Sparks, explosions, a minor fire—at one point, a wand actually shivered in my hand like it was physically disgusted by me.

Ollivander's excitement turned to curiosity, then mild concern, then outright fascination. "My, my… this is quite unusual," he said, rubbing his chin as he eyed me like I was some ancient artifact he had yet to classify.

Marigold looked tense, her arms crossed. "Are you saying no wand here fits him?" she asked, her voice sharp with something like fear.

Ollivander sighed, rubbing his temples. "You know, we've tried many, but let's try... one more." He turned, moving toward the very back of the shop, pulling out a long, dust-covered box from the highest shelf. He hesitated for a moment before opening it, revealing a wand that looked darker than the others, its surface sleek but marked with faint, swirling runes.

"This wand... well, I didn't craft it," Ollivander admitted, brushing dust off the box. "It has been in my family for generations, but its origins are... unclear." He opened the box, revealing a sleek, dark wand marked with faint, swirling runes. "Ebony, thirteen inches... though as for the core, well," Ollivander hesitated, his fingers trailing over the dark wood. "That is a mystery, even to me. It was passed down in my family, but its origins have been lost to time. Some say it holds the essence of a Shadow Wraith, but no records confirm it." "A most unusual combination... powerful, but not easily mastered."

The moment my fingers closed around the wand, something clicked. Shadows rippled faintly at my feet, and the wand hummed in my hand, sending a cold, thrilling sensation through my arm. Ollivander's eyes widened, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

Marigold inhaled sharply. "Well… that's never a good sign."

The first wand fizzled like a dying lightbulb. The second one nearly exploded. The third one made a weird hissing sound before catching fire. I was about to suggest we just duct tape a stick to my hand and call it a day when Ollivander handed me an ebony wand.

The moment I gripped it, shadows rippled faintly at my feet, and the wand hummed in my hand. Ollivander's eyes widened. "Fascinating. Ebony, thirteen inches… and whatever lies within, it is rare and powerful indeed. Some believe it responds to those who walk the line between darkness and destiny." This wand does not just choose—it watches, waiting for its wielder to prove worthy."

I grinned. "Perfect." Or in other words, 'Yes, give me the ominous doom stick, please.'

Ollivander studied me for a long moment. "This wand does not simply accept its wielder. It observes. It waits. You may find it as much a challenge as a companion, young man. Treat it well, or it may decide you are unworthy." "Treat it well, young man. Wands choose their wielders, and this one... well, it is particularly choosy."

Great. I got the wand equivalent of a high-maintenance pet.

As we left, I spotted Harry with Hagrid in the crowd. It hit me then—this was it. We were both headed to Hogwarts. One of us would be the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Hero of the Wizarding World.

And the other one…

Well, let's just say if Harry was the beacon of light, I was probably the unexpected glitch in the Hogwarts system. One chosen by prophecy, the other chosen by absolute cosmic trolling.

Marigold pulled me close. "We've got what we need. Let's get out of here before anyone asks too many questions."

I took one last look at Diagon Alley, smirking. Hogwarts had no idea what was coming.

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