Chapter 1: The Crash Start
/*AN
I have been reading fanfiction for a few years now, with a good chunk of it being Harry Potter fics, and honestly, I got tired of how stale it gets after reading so many of them. So I decided to write one of my own for a change.
Here are a few tags, in case it's not what you're looking for:
Slightly AU
NO bashing.
NO harem.
NO cheats/system.
I hope you enjoy the story!
AN*/
A life of crime may not sound good to most people, but Alan wasn't like most people. As an only child of an upper-class family, he didn't lack many things growing up. He grew up loved, went to a good school, and even managed to get a Computer Science degree. If anything, by most standards, he would be considered reasonably accomplished for his age.
But he would disagree. He had few people that he could say were truly close to him other than his parents. His achievements always felt hollow, and, year by year, he felt he wasn't doing what he truly wanted in life. Almost as if something was missing. The only things supporting him were his family and the fact that life, although bland, was bearable.
That was until their death.
He was at work when it happened. Surrounded by seemingly endless cubicles inside an office so dull and lifeless that it looked as if it was made for machines instead of people. Just as he was finishing implementing a new feature for the app his team was tasked with, he received a call from the hospital informing him his parents had died. The news immediately broke him from his work-induced stupor with its suddenness. It was a car accident - he was told. His mother died immediately, while his father died in the ambulance on his way to the hospital.
After the call, Alan left his work in a daze. The whole drive back home felt like a fever dream, with the cars, places, and sounds blending into a mess of lights and colors. When he finally arrived in front of his home, he left his car with heavy steps, feeling like the world was trying to swallow him. After getting home, he mechanically went to his bedroom and dropped over his bed like a sack of bricks, the usual silence of his home now deafening to his ears. He wasn't able to fall asleep that night.
That day was forever imprinted in his mind.
The first year after the accident, he lived like a hermit. He quit his job, sold his family possessions, and often contemplated giving up. Books were his only solace, helping him escape the harshness of reality while he dived between their pages. And so, he kept reading them, spending his time reading every book or story he could get his hands on. Eventually, through his reading, he found his passion for fantasy and adventure. A passion that ended up giving him the push he needed to change his life.
After some thought, he decided that he would have his own real-life adventure. In his case, the closest thing he could find was becoming a criminal, not the regular kind, but the good kind, if it even existed. It surely would make for a thrilling life. He knew it was a naïve idea, but he didn't care. Without his parents, he would rather die than return to his previous life. For him, it was preferable to risk death or arrest while seeking his dreams, than living a safe but unfulfilling life.
For a year, he prepared. He placed his money into offshore accounts, studied, ordered forged identities, and bought specialized equipment. Then he began. First, he started by smuggling expensive drugs. He still remembered how nervous he was as he used one of his new identities to get hired by a pharmaceutical company as a packager. After joining the company, he started smuggling small amounts of drugs to sell them for cheaper. The drugs were mostly the ones that people needed but were overpriced, like Insulin. He didn't make much money and it didn't take long for the company to notice it, forcing him to bail, but the gratitude of the people in need of their medicine made it all worth it.
After his stint in smuggling, he tried his hand at raiding ATMs, the latter being both more rewarding and thrilling than the previous. If he got caught, he risked a lengthy stay in jail or possibly even confrontations with the police. With time, he really began to feel like he was getting the hang of it. Soon he would do his first big heist on a lottery, he just needed a little more money for the necessary equipment. With this goal in mind, he decided to do one last ATM raid, but it was then that things began to go wrong.
It was supposed to be just another job for Alan, with him having done the routine a dozen times already. It all boiled down to finding a convenience store with a recently filled ATM; Going in unnoticed while the store was closed or empty; Prying open the ATM without compromising the money or activating security measures; And finally, leaving just the way he came, unnoticed.
After some scouting, Alan had already secured a location. A small convenience store close to an unpopulated avenue. When it got dark, he drove his motorcycle through empty streets before parking a few blocks away from the store and waiting for it to close. The store was remarkably unremarkable, the kind you would be able to find anywhere.
Alan checked his phone, the time was one in the morning, with the store having closed one hour before. Feeling it was finally time, he moved stealthily to the back of the store and lock-picked the backdoor with practiced ease. The door opened with a click and he carefully made his way inside towards the ATM, the only sound being the soft taps of his boots as they hit the tiled floor. He dropped the duffel bag with his equipment to the side with an uncomfortably loud noise, picked up the drill, and began to mount it in the ATM. But suddenly, just as he was in the middle of mounting his drill, he began to hear footsteps.
"Who's there? This space is private property," he heard.
His heart went still for a moment before beating with renewed vigor in his chest as he heard the footsteps getting closer. Turning around, he barely spotted the form of a person appearing through the open door before the glare of a flashlight blinded him for a moment. After this brief moment of blindness, he roughly managed to make out the form of a security guard through the spots in his vision.
"Stop where you are!"
"Shit," Alan cursed.
He quickly abandoned his drill and began to rush toward the guard since he was blocking the only exit in the room. After shoving the guard away with his shoulder, he bolted out of the store and moved towards his bike. He was out of breath as he finally mounted his bike, running those few blocks had made his lungs begin to burn. Soon, he accelerated out of sight. While speeding through blurry streets, with his heartbeat still high, Alan couldn't help but curse his luck.
"Who even hires a guard for a convenience store of this size?" He muttered.
When he checked the store in preparation for the raid, there were no security guards. The surrounding businesses probably hired him to watch over the area, and he just stumbled into him during his patrol. At least he wasn't armed, he thought.
But, while distracted by his own thoughts. He failed to notice the car coming from his left while crossing an intersection. He barely spotted a light in the corner of his eyes and turned his head just in time to see what it was. But it was already too late to react. The last thing he remembered was a loud crash, overwhelming pain, and in the end. He could only see darkness...
Alan jumped awake, only to wince and place a hand on his forehead after realizing he had a horrible migraine. But as he slowly started to take account of his surroundings, he began to feel that something was very wrong. The room he was in looked very old, although well-maintained, as long as you ignored the piles of rectangular boxes and weird contraptions that looked like children's toys. He was lying on a big bed covered by blue blankets with the design of a golden bird resembling an eagle with two extra pairs of wings. This was clearly a bedroom, the problem, however, is that this was not his bedroom.
With that chilling realization, he jumped out of bed and went to see the mirror he had spotted above his bedside table. Only to be shocked by the reflection of a child with fair skin, chestnut hair, and hazel eyes. Along with the shock, he also felt the migraine come back with a vengeance. Immediately, he started to remember memories that were not his own. They came as flashes, smells, and sounds like an endless stream of experiences and information. After an undetermined amount of time that felt like years but was probably minutes, he finally came back to his senses.
He still had the same first name, but he was no longer the same person. Now he was Alan Wolfe, the eleven-year-old son of Hokta Wolfe and Elizabeth Wolfe. The new memories helped him form a rough outline of his new family.
Hokta inherited his profession from his father, Shikoba Wolfe. Shikoba was a renowned American wandmaker of Choctaw descent who became famous for his use of thunderbird feathers as wand cores. While trying to expand his father's business to the United Kingdom Hokta met a half-blood magizoologist named Elizabeth, who later became Alan's mother. The Wolfe family came from a line of wizards that went back to the native-american tribes before colonization. Many pureblood families had inherited magical traits and Wolfe's family trait was a deeper connection to nature.
After he finished processing his new memories, he realized this was the world of Harry Potter. One of the fictional books he used to read. He was thrilled. Yes, he died, but he didn't have any family or friends left behind to miss him. Now he found himself in a world where magic exists, it was his chance to finally live his dreams. Unfortunately, his excitement was short-lived. Soon he remembered he was in 1971, somewhere around when Voldemort's first rise to power began.
Also, was this the same world that he remembered? Harry Potter had been a children's books series and both the magic shown and the story told had quite a few inconsistencies. For example, how did Fred and George Weasley miss that Peter Pettigrew was with Ron while using the Marauder's map? Why didn't Lily and James make each other their secret keeper for the Fidelius charm? Why did Dumbledore let Harry stay with the Dursleys while being mistreated? How did the magic work? What about Sirius's imprisonment?
Those were only the inconsistencies that came at the top of his head. If the books became real, the story was bound to have some changes. But before Alan could truly get lost in his thoughts, he heard a knock followed by an excited voice coming from his bedroom door.
"Alan, your Hogwarts letter has finally arrived! Come down fast or I'm going to open your letter myself," teased a beautiful pale woman. She had dark cascading hair and sharp features, looking like she was in her late twenties.
"Wait mum, I'm coming!" he replied instinctively before rushing after his giggling mother as she went down antique-looking stairs.
As he arrived, his mother took a letter from a rustic wooden table and handed it to him with a mischievous smile on her face. After he had a moment to think, he froze as he reflected on his actions. When did he even gain a British accent? It seemed receiving eleven years of memories had a little of a bleed-through effect on his original personality. He took another look at this woman. He couldn't help but love Elizabeth Wolfe as much as he had loved his original mother, although even thinking of her still made his heart ache.
Eleven years of memories of being someone else wasn't something easy to ignore. Was he even the same person anymore? Probably not. But surprisingly, that thought didn't concern him too much. He felt like himself, and for him, that was enough.
"Al, are you okay?" she asked with concern as she looked at her son who had suddenly stood frozen before her.
"Sorry mum, I'm just anxious about opening the letter. I've been waiting for it for so long that now that it's here I'm hesitating a bit." Alan improvised weakly. Now was not the time for introspection. He took the letter from his mother's hands and broke the wax seal with the coat of arms containing the four houses.
"Oh, there's nothing to be worried about, you will have a lot of fun and make plenty of friends at Hogwarts. Also, don't forget that you'll finally get your wand! This whole week you couldn't stop pestering me and your father about it. Come on, why don't you read the letter for me?" Elizabeth spoke softly, as she gave an encouraging sideway hug to her son.
Glad that he managed not to arouse suspicion about his sudden change, and also for the motherly hug that he hadn't received in years, he began to read the letter. The letter itself was written with green ink on parchment and was just like the one Harry received in the books. The Headmaster was Albus Dumbledore with his many titles, and McGonal was already Deputy Headmistress, with the terms themselves also starting on the first of September. Reading the letter had even left Alan a bit moved. After all, receiving this letter was the dream of every child who read the Harry Potter series, and his dream had finally come true.
"Do you want to go with me to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies? Your dad is still working right now. But we could see him when we go get your wand," his mother asked him encouragingly after he finished reading the letter.
"Yes mum!" he quickly replied. He received his Hogwarts letter and now he was going to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies. The excitement of living his childhood dream came back in full. All his worries about reincarnation and Voldemort taking the backseat.
"Then hold my hand, we will apparate there," she spoke.
As soon as he held his mother's hand he was beset by a sucking sensation. Apparition it seems, is indeed uncomfortable. The feeling of being squeezed into a tube was not pleasant and left Alan a bit nauseated. At least it wasn't so bad, since it wasn't his first time apparating, in this body at least. Sidelong apparition, however, still took its toll on whoever was taken along for the ride.
After only a look at Diagon Alley, he was left speechless. He may have gone here before in his new memories. But more than twenty years of his previous life made him baffled by the sheer amount of magic being used so casually in everything. From the unfeasible buildings with abnormal structures that defied physics, to the casual displays of magic from the passerby. He could see a man burping bubbles while walking around with a mug that also had bubbles coming out of it. He even spotted a woman reaching up to her elbow inside a petite money pouch to retrieve money to pay for a bracelet, the bracelet itself seemed to actually be a living snake that was stuck eating its own tail. The sheer oddness of the place was striking.
And so, together with his mother, he began shopping. Flourish and Blotts from the outside looked like an old bookstore, with a few collections of books floating on display, accompanied by other books flying like birds in the back. But from the inside, it looked like a huge maze and was filled with the smell of parchment. Instead of walls, there were piles of books strewn around with no rhyme or reason. To get the books that he needed his mom had to ask for the assistance of a young clerk. By her looks, she was probably doing this as a summer job before the next term at Hogwarts began. He really wanted to buy more books besides the ones in the Hogwarts first-year curriculum, but the library was so disorganized that he quickly gave up. After all, he still had his family library at home. It was small and didn't cover that many topics. But it shouldn't lack anything that a first-year student might need.
After that, they went to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The front of the store had a big glass display set up like a podium. Inside the display, a few mannequins were striking different poses with their clothes transforming into new sets from time to time. The inside of the store was relatively disappointing in comparison, looking like an antique clothing store. The only signs of magic came from the seemingly sentient measuring tape the tailor used and the pieces of clothing made of clearly magical materials.
Leaving Madam Malkin's, they then went to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary to buy potion ingredients. There he saw a variety of magical ingredients, some of them uncomfortably alive. Then they got his cauldron in another shop.
After a while of shopping around, they went to the Eyelops Owl Emporium to get Alan an Owl so he could write to his parents from Hogwarts. When he entered the shop he was immediately hit by a bit of a stench, which was reasonable when you considered the hundreds of owls around the store, many of their cages filled with droppings. The visit to the shop was rather short. Since he liked Barn Owls, he asked the clerk and was quickly led to a section full of them. A few minutes later, he left the shop with the largest Barn Owl he could find.
"We got everything on the list except for the wand now, it's time to go see your father," commented Elizabeth, with the only reply being a nod from Alan.
A short walk later, they arrived in front of an elegant store adorned in white, gold, and blue colors. The colors swirled and meshed around the walls as if they were living and breathing things. There were intricately carved wands on display, together with thunderbird and lightning-themed decorations. The inside of the shop was equally impressive. The walls were full of neatly ordered wand boxes separated by podiums, each holding a single wand on display. But most impressive of all, was the huge animated thunderbird skeleton simulating flight near the ceiling. The bones were white as Ivory, and the skeleton looked surreal with its three pairs of beating wings.
From his new memories, Alan recalled that his family dominated the market for thunderbird feather core wands. They were one of the few that managed to create wands with such core, and of the ones who could they were by far the best at it. Thus, his family relied heavily upon the whole thunderbird theme. His father, with the approval of his grandfather, spent most of the family fortune building the shop. He really wanted to break Olivander's monopoly on wandmaking in Great Britain and expand the family business.
The idea ended up working, mostly. The Olivanders still sold most of the wands in the UK, but Wolfe's Fine Wands dominated the high-end pureblood market. The high-end image that his father, Hokta Wolfe, tried to sell worked perfectly. While Olivander sold by far the most wands, each wand that Wolfe sold generated much more profit. However, his father ended up splurging a bit too much into the shop. Now he would need to work for a few years more than planned before his profit covered the expenses of establishing the shop.
Finished with his ruminations, Alan found himself already halfway into the shop. Soon, he heard heavy footsteps coming from behind the door where his father's workshop was. When the door opened, out came Alan's father, Hokta Wolfe. The man had an imposing presence. He had a thick mustache and bushy eyebrows that made him look like he was always frowning. All accentuated by his wide frame and above-average height. But, his presence was rapidly broken by the big smile that blossomed on his face as he spotted his wife and son.
"Today must be my lucky day, for my family to visit me during work. To what do I owe the visit?" his father asked mirthfully.
"Alan received his Hogwarts letter today, and we have already bought all his school supplies, only his wand is left," his mother replied with a smile of her own.
His smile faded as he gave a long thoughtful hum before replying "We should go to America. Even though I'm good, my father still should be a league above me, and I want Alan to match with one of the best wands we can provide."
"But is it possible? MACUSA is a bit harsh when it comes to security. It would be hard to schedule a portkey to America for the next week, let alone one for today," she inquired with a frown.
"That is true for most people. But being one of the best wandmakers in the Americas, my father has a few contacts. He should have permission to create one or two sanctioned portkeys for us," he answered as his smile returned.
"Hey there Al," his father turned to him. "We will get you a wand today, but you have to wait just a bit while I'm arranging the portkey. We are going to visit your grandfather so you can match with one of his wands."
"Okay dad!" he promptly replied.
Alan was a bit conflicted. On one hand, he would love to experience things never explored in the books, like getting one of his grandfather's wands. But, on the other, he did want to buy his wand at Olivanders like Harry Potter did. Fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't have a choice in this case. He was part of a family of proud wandmakers, and they would never let him get a wand that wasn't made by them. At least, although he suspects that his father wasn't as good a wandmaker as Olivander, he knew his grandfather certainly should be. So it's not like he was losing out on anything.
With the conversation over, his father disappeared behind another door, probably off to prepare the portkey. Meanwhile, he and his mother made small talk, mostly speculating about how his wand would be. He had a surprising amount of knowledge about wandlore and wandmaking, which wasn't so surprising if you considered he came from a family of wandmakers. At least, they didn't seem like they would force him to follow their profession. He liked to know the lore and how the materials worked, but it was more out of curiosity, he didn't actually want to work with it. His mother, in particular, hoped he'd follow in her footsteps and become a magizoologist and come work at her family's Sanctuary. In fact, that's how his parents met. Her family provided some wand materials for his grandfather and, while on a trip to fetch the materials, his father ended up meeting his mother. Things slowly progressed from there.
A while later, his father came back and asked them to follow him. A few sets of doors later, they found themselves in a mostly empty room, with only a wide-brimmed wizard's hat resting over a nondescript table.
"Alan, we will travel using a portkey. Just like when we went to that quidditch game last summer. Do you remember what you have to do?" asked his father with a stern voice.
"Yes, father," he replied.
"Then tell me. What should one do when using a portkey?" His father commanded.
"We have to grab the portkey at the same time and hold it tight until the trip is over. We also should move our legs like we are walking in the air during the landing," he quickly answered.
"Alright then," his father said satisfied with the answers. "I will count to three, on three we will all grab the hat ok?"
"Come on Honey, it's just a portkey. We have used them dozens of times before, and it's not Al's first time either" his mother chided.
His father was about to rebuke her when his mother just took Alan's hand and grabbed the portkey with the other while giving her husband a taunting look. His father's expression quickly shifted from displeasure to shock. He immediately followed Elizabeth's example and grabbed the portkey just as it started to spin. Alan immediately felt himself being spun away in a way that felt not unlike a rollercoaster, with the wind blowing angrily against his hair and clothes. The trip ended abruptly with an impact to the ground where he had to hold in the urge to throw away the contents of his stomach. They arrived right in front of a building. Alan and his mother managed to land cleanly, while his father ended up tumbling to the ground. His father's expression was furious while his mother had a self-satisfied smirk.
"You keep pulling things like this all the time! We are not in our twenties anymore. One of these days someone will get actually injured!" his father raised his tone as he got up and angrily dusted himself.
Seeing how affected he was, his mother replied placatingly. "Sorry honey, I acted impulsively. I just thought that you are too strict sometimes, and I wanted to show how you were being a bit dramatic. I didn't mean to upset you."
His father gave her a serious look and, sensing she was being sincere, softened his expression and let out a weary sigh.
"I'm sorry for raising my voice too, work has been stressing me out lately with the number of commissions I've been getting." he turned to Alan, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked with a somewhat forced grin "Sorry for that Al. Now, are you ready to finally get your new wand?"
"Let's just go get my wand already, I've been waiting all day!" he exclaimed in a try to lighten the mood. Both his parents smiled as he practically ran inside the building and followed after him before he managed to get himself lost.
While reflecting on his parent's interactions, he couldn't help but notice that his father said they weren't in their twenties anymore, but both of them didn't look a day past thirty. In fact, he knew that they were in their mid-forties. The Harry Potter books didn't expand much on it, but they did show that some wizards had a significantly longer lifespan than muggles. He couldn't help but wonder about how magic interacted with the human body to create such effects. Alas, this was a question for another time, for when he had more knowledge about magic. For now, he was just glad that he had a longer lifespan and that he was finally going to get his wand. He did plan to research wandless magic and try to learn it eventually. But if this world was anything like the books, it would be extremely hard to learn it to any useful degree, and it would never match the power of a wand.
Soon they arrived at his grandfather's shop, and Alan was surprised at how different it was from his father's shop. From the outside, it was just a commercial office on the twelfth floor of the building. But from inside, it looked like a huge Choctaw tent that gave off an air of mystery. There were some dreamcatchers of strange designs hanging from the ceiling of the tent. The center of the room was illuminated by a big pyre with blue flames, the pyre's light seeming as if it was being swallowed by darkness the closer it got to the tent's walls. Spread around it were clusters of rustic stands filled with intricate wands that seemed to be arranged in a strange pattern.
Alan was so deep in his thoughts, that he didn't notice that his parents had already gone to fetch his grandfather. Let alone notice when his grandfather stood right next to him. So it was to be expected that his heart almost jumped out of his chest when he heard a deep scratchy voice right beside him.
"So it's finally time for you to get your wand," Shikoba thought aloud as he examined his grandson with an inscrutable face.
Alan's back straightened almost instantly as he received the equivalent of a jumpscare. After taking a moment to breathe, he immediately looked at his grandfather. The man looked to be in his eighties, so he was probably at the very least past 120. He was mostly bald, having only a whispy white curtain of hair covering the sides of his head. His light brown skin was fairly wrinkled, with a few age stains here and there. His slightly hunched back and his thin frame made him look weak, but the firmness in which he held his gnarled cane told otherwise. Most impressive of all were his gold-tinted amber eyes, which exuded a liveness that seemed otherwise washed away on his aged body.
"You," he pointed at me with his cane. "Follow me. The rest of you, stay here."
"Come on father, we are not your clients. We are your family, no need to act so mysterious" Hokta demanded. His only response was Shikoba stopping his walk with Alan and spitting on the ground before promptly continuing his walk. A few steps later he and Alan disappeared behind one of the many curtains around the main room.
"Your father really is something else," Elizabeth chimed amused.
"He is unbearable sometimes," he grumbled.
Meanwhile, Alan's grandfather brought him to a room full of wand boxes piled everywhere. As they arrived, both of them stopped, his grandfather turned to him and began just staring at him intensely. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he couldn't stand it anymore as asked. "Aren't we gonna try and match me with a wand?"
"Are you daft?"
"What?"
"I asked if you are stupid, boy. Has my son not taught you anything?"
After seeing the lost look on Alan's face he began to grumble to himself as he paced angrily around the room. "That fool! To not even teach the family rituals. My blood is wasted in that ungrateful wretch."
At this point, Alan was beyond uncomfortable, and honestly a bit scared.
"Give me your hand," Shikoba ordered, and Alan hesitantly obeyed. Only to be shocked when his grandfather slashed his hand with a weird-looking knife that he pulled seemingly out of nowhere.
"Fuck! Why did you cut me!" he screamed as he grabbed his hand. If before he was a bit scared, now he was fearing for his life. Was his grandfather a madman? Was he going to die again?
"Mind your words, boy! We are doing a ritual. Place your hand over this bowl, we need to fill it with your blood," his grandfather explained with an unimpressed expression.
Alan was hesitating. The old man's steely gaze made him want to obey, but the burning cut in his hand was screaming at him to run away.
Seeing his grandson's apprehension, Shikoba decided to throw him a bone.
"You know how our family has some connection with nature right?" he asked. He waited until he saw the boy's slow nod of approval before he continued.
"Normally, one can't know what wand materials will react positively to someone. Instead one has to narrow the possibilities based on the physical aspects, magic, and personality of the person. Then, they still have to try a variety of possible combinations until one matches. Even then, wands of the same composition can react differently to the same individual. After all, at the end of the day, it's the wand that chooses the wizard," he explained.
He handed the bowl to Alan, who hesitatingly picked it up and began to fill it, before continuing.
"But with our family it's different. Our ancestors designed a ritual that could find the magical focus with the highest affinity to a particular person. This ritual requires our family's blood as it relies on our closer connection to nature," he finished.
Seeing that the bowl was filled enough, Alan gave the bowl to his grandfather. Who in turn gave him a small vial that he pulled seemingly out of nowhere filled with greenish liquid. He took the vial. But after everything that happened, he was hesitating in drinking its contents.
"It's just the essence of dittany. It will heal your hand," his grandfather said exasperatedly.
After that, Alan drank the vial's contents. The potion, if it could be called that, wasn't that bad. It had the texture of yogurt while being a bit minty with a slightly bitter aftertaste. What impressed him the most though, was how the wound on the palm of his hand closed in mere seconds. It was kind of disturbing seeing your flesh knit itself back together. But in the end, his hand was looking as good as new. Only slight itchiness and pink skin remained where his wound once was, but it too, soon began fading away.
His grandfather carefully placed the bowl in the middle of a complex and suspiciously red ritual circle that covered the whole ground and began to chant. Alan couldn't understand a single word that he was saying. His voice was getting louder and starting to resonate across the room, making it seem as if everything was vibrating. The blood started to fly off the bowl and began forming complex patterns in the air. When the chant finally ended, the blood in the air formed a trail straight across the room leading to one of the wands on display. His grandfather followed the trail, took the wand together with its box, and handed it to Alan. It was a straight, ivory-colored wand that ended in a slightly rounded point. It sported a grip of the same color as the wand, with a strip of silver metal at both of its ends. Overall it looked slick and elegant.
"The wand is 12 inches. Slightly flexible. It's made of aspen and has a thunderbird feather for a core. It is not as elaborate as most of my works in its design, but in this case, I tried to show how sometimes less is more. But the materials themselves make for an interesting combination..." his grandfather mused.
As soon as Alan touched the wand his hair raised as it sent an electric pulse through the whole room before a miniature storm began inside the tent. He felt as if thousands of volts were jolting inside his body, but they didn't hurt. No, they gave him a sensation of power, he just had to reach for it, but before he could, the storm rapidly faded along that feeling.
"Oh. Ho. Ho, that's quite a strong reaction. It seems you were able to find a good match," his grandfather mused.
With only a few taps of his gnarled cane, the things that had fallen to the ground floated back in place and any scorch marks left by the mini thunderbolts disappeared.
"Now, let's see how well my son taught you. Tell me what you know about this wand," he ordered.
Alan took a few moments to gather his thoughts about what he knew of wandlore before tentatively replying.
"The length of 12 may mean many things. But generally, together with a flexible wand, it means that the wielder has a reasonable personality or is adaptable. It is also believ-"
"Enough! There is more to it than that but, for now, it's acceptable. What about the wood and the core?" his grandfather gruffly interrupted.
"Hmmm... I know that aspen is suited for combat spells and charmwork. While generally matching with skilled duelists and revolutionaries. As for the thunderbird feather, it makes for powerful wands that are good at Transfiguration but are hard to master. As for their combination... Well, I have no idea." he explained.
"It seems that your father at least taught you the basics. What you said is correct. However, what makes this combination so interesting is that the core and the wood's natures conflict with each other. The aspen seeks change, while the thunderbird feather demands control and stability. But, since both natures also complement each other, it is still possible, although tricky, to make wands of this combination. The resulting wand is suited for Charms and Transfiguration while being especially devastating in combat magic. The caveat of such a combination is that the wand is extremely hard to master, even more so than usual for wands with thunderbird feather cores," his grandfather rambled.
After the impromptu wandlore lesson, holding his new wand together with an expensive-looking wand holster, Alan returned to his parents. He stole the wand holster from a nearby table that was holding a few of them on display while his grandfather was rambling about wands. If he asked, his grandfather would probably just give it to him. It was just a holster after all, but the man had been so unnecessarily unpleasant and rude, that he decided to steal it just to spite him. His parents asked about the wand, and he talked about it with them for a bit. After talking, they bid his grandfather farewell and took another portkey back to England before apparating back home.
He went to his room and fiddled a bit with the holster, which was too big for his eleven-year-old arms. Soon he discovered that it could shrink to his wrist size. Whatever enchantments it had, they were quite useful. He barely felt it in his skin, it was significantly smaller than the wand yet the wand somehow fit inside it perfectly. With only a move of his wrist, the wand was placed immediately into his hand, and with another, into the holster.
Now that he had his wand and more time to think about his situation, it was finally time for him to start planning for the future.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
iTzMMV
iTzMMV /*AN
I'm open to constructive criticism, suggestions, and even your opinion on what you like or dislike about the story and why. In fact, I enjoy discussing and explaining things. Just don't be an ass, please.
I'm sorry if this chapter had too much exposition and info-dumping, but I was trying to establish a bit about Alan's past, and his new family. The next chapter will focus on his planning and preparations for the future. After all, he only has a few months before Hogwarts begins and Voldemort has already begun making his moves in the background.
This chapter has 6.369 words without the author's notes. The average chapter length should be somewhere around 5k words.
I don't have a schedule, but I will try to update it once a month. What I plan to do, however, is eventually finish this no matter how long it takes.
AN*/
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