Diagon Alley bustled with wizards and witches hurrying between shops, the warm hum of chatter and the bright colors of robes creating an almost festive atmosphere. I walked beside my brother, Cedric, who’d been assigned as my “chaperone” for the day. My parents thought it would be a “good bonding experience.” I rolled my eyes at the thought. If they only knew the ages I had seen, the lives I’d lived…

  “So, where to first, Ben?” Cedric’s face lit up as he looked down at me, his gray eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Let’s start at the wand store,” I replied, letting a small smile play on my lips. He’d never guess my real thoughts. Cedric’s gray eyes were a gift—had I joined any other family, my own silver-tinted eyes might have seemed unnatural. My parents often commented on how “otherworldly” they looked, though they couldn’t know how right they were. Eyes are windows to the soul, after all, and my soul had been polished smooth by ages of existence. I was neither good nor evil, merely... neutral. Balanced, like the forces I embodied.

  “Excited for your first wand?” Cedric teased, a broad smile spreading across his face.

  “More than you know,” I replied, my voice taking on an innocence I’d perfected through practice.

  “Then let’s go! Ollivander’s the best wandmaker in the world!” Cedric proclaimed, leading the way with a proud grin.

  Yes, for humans, perhaps, I thought. I knew, however, that no wand crafted by his hands could ever serve my purpose. But appearances had to be maintained.

  As we walked, Cedric pointed out each shop along the way with enthusiasm, practically narrating every sign and display, oblivious to the fact that I could read for myself. The Flourish and Blotts bookstore, Madam Malkin’s Robes, Eeylops Owl Emporium—each shop called to memory lives I’d spent in ages past, remnants of magic I’d seen in forms no living wizard could imagine.

  “There it is, Ben! Look!” Cedric’s eyes sparkled as he pointed to Ollivander’s shop, its windows fogged with age and mystery.

  “Ooh, ahh,” I said in a tone so mocking it nearly betrayed me. Cedric, however, was too caught up in the excitement to notice. He practically dragged me inside, the shop door clanging with the sound of bells as we entered, the echoes unusually loud in the empty store.

  “Hello, young Cedric Diggory,” a voice called out from behind a stack of shelves. “And this must be your younger brother, Ben. Why, it seems like just yesterday you were here for your own wand.” Ollivander’s eyes gleamed as he emerged, his silver hair and weathered face catching the dim light.

  “Yes, sir!” Cedric replied, pride swelling in his voice. “I know he’s young, but he’s going to Hogwarts, and he needs a wand!”

  “Oh, I see…” Ollivander murmured, his voice as soft as parchment. “Then let’s see what we have that might suit him.” He reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a box, dust settling in the air between us.

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  “Willow, fourteen inches, with a unicorn hair core,” Ollivander announced, handing me the wand with a gentle flourish. The feel of the wood in my hand was smooth and lifeless. A momentary silence hung in the air as I raised my finger just above the wand, casting a small spell wordlessly to mimic the effect of the wand “accepting” me. The faintest shimmer of magic bloomed at the wand’s tip.

  “Ah, looks like a fit,” Ollivander said, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as he observed me. I sensed his unease and smiled innocently, perfectly composed.

  “Do you have any scrap pieces of magical wood I could purchase?” I asked, adopting a childish excitement. “They don’t have to be very big.”

  Ollivander tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Why, certainly, young lad. I keep plenty of scraps for projects and repairs. Any specific wood you’re after?”

  “Yew would be perfect,” I replied.

  A brief shadow flickered across his face before he resumed his friendly demeanor. “Ah, yew. Not the most desired material, but it has its uses. If you don’t mind my asking, what might you need yew for?”

  “It’s a secret!” I replied with feigned innocence, my expression so wide-eyed and childlike that I saw his guard lower immediately. He chuckled, agreeing to my request, and returned a moment later with the scraps of yew I needed. Cedric paid him with a small tip for the “gift,” his good-natured grin masking any suspicion.

  With the wand safely tucked away, Cedric and I made our way to Flourish and Blotts. The shop’s rich aroma of parchment and ink filled the air as shelves stretched floor to ceiling, each crammed with books on every magical subject imaginable. As we browsed, my eyes fell on a small stack tucked in a forgotten corner: The Invisible Book of Invisibility. How amusing. Nothing truly vanished from my sight—I’d never needed to study invisibility before, being naturally beyond mortal perception myself. Still, becoming human had introduced annoying limitations, and having this book might help circumvent Hogwarts’ more trivial restrictions.

  The shopkeeper nearly jumped for joy when he saw me pick it up, exclaiming that they’d lost track of the books months ago. He even knocked off several Galleons in gratitude, which Cedric accepted with a smile. Our next stop was the pet store, where I planned to buy a new cat. This was something I genuinely looked forward to—a rare treat.

  Back at Ollivander’s shop, however, the old wizard paced, his mind troubled, lips pressed in a thin line as he chewed his nails in frustration—a habit he thought he’d broken years ago.

  “What does it mean?” he muttered to himself, brow furrowed as he replayed the events in his mind. “An eight-year-old casting magic wordlessly… and without the wand’s help. His magic didn’t pass through the wand, but formed from his finger.”

  Ollivander stopped, his eyes clouded with unease. “And then… he asked for yew,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “The wood that symbolizes death…”

  “Yew,” he repeated, his voice tense. “It’s rarely a good sign when a wizard chooses yew.”

  His fingers shook slightly as he took up his quill, intending to write a letter to Dumbledore, but he hesitated. What would he say? That a child had asked for scrap wood? That he’d shown a remarkable skill for wordless magic? Ollivander’s message would seem alarmist at best. He clenched his quill, realizing how unfounded his worries might seem, and yet…

  A cold doubt crept over him, an ancient instinct warning him that there was something unnatural about young Benjamin Diggory. Could he be some form of Voldemort reborn? The old wizard shuddered at the thought. But no… Voldemort had never shown such skill. Even in his most powerful days, Voldemort’s magic relied on calculated ruthlessness, not effortless ease.

  “This is like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named all over again,” he muttered, the frustration of it all making him pull at his gray hair. He knew Dumbledore would take his warning seriously, but for now, all he could do was keep an eye on the boy.

  As he sealed his unfinished letter and placed it to the side, a shiver ran through Ollivander, a flicker of fear he hadn’t felt in years.

  Must be nice being an older sibling...

  THIS IS LIKE HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED ALL OVER AGAIN!"