Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. He is owned by J. K. Rowling.

AN: Don't worry, I will still be updated Battle of Hogwarts regularly, but this plot struck my fancy and I had to start writing it! If you like it, please review! I will likely update within a week. Enjoy!

Harry Potter: Wand-maker

Chapter 1: Tristan Artemis

Dear Mr Potter,

I would like to congratulate you on your sixteenth birthday! Several centuries ago, it was the sixteenth, not the seventeenth, birthday that marked a wizard's coming-of-age. However, that is not my primary reason for writing. There is both good and bad news which I must share with you. The good news is that I have managed to convice Minister Fudge that Voldemort has indeed returned. Sadly, the Minister has decided it is too dangerous for you to return to Hogwarts this year. He is, no doubt, afraid of the political power which you could (and probably would) wield against him. He has managed to convince a majority of the Security Council (the governing body that takes over from the Wizengamot in times of war) that this would be best. Your friends and the public will be informed that you are being trained privately. I am working around the clock to correct this, as I know that the few months you do spend at Privet Drive is far more than you wish to spend there. Unfortunately, the minister remains unconvinced. I beg your pardon for this, it should never have happened. I only hope I will be writing to you with better news. Until then, happy birthday! Enjoy your present.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry looked up from the letter lying on his bed to the red-and-gold bird that had delivered it. "What does the Minister think he's doing, Fawkes?" he asked the bird. Fawkes didn't answer him, but instead disappeared briefly and reappeared with a package. Trilling softly, he held it out to Harry.

"This must be the present Dumbledore mentioned, eh?" Harry asked, Fawkes singing back an affirmative. "Let's see what it is then." He reached out and unwrapped the paper surrounding the box. He looked at it for a moment, before glancing back at Fawkes. "Why is Dumbledore sending me a miniature trunk?" he asked the bird. A pulsing light answered from the trunk, and Harry saw words writing themselves across it. Sayexpand and tap the trunk twice with your wand. Don't worry, the ministry will not be alerted.

Harry reached over to his bedside table and picked up his wand. "Expand," he whispered, tapping the trunk twice. He soon learned that it would have been wiser to take it off his lap, as he now found himself trapped under a large school trunk. Struggling slightly, he slipped out from under it, and opened the top. He was confronted with a set of stairs leading far down into the trunk. It's like Mad-Eye's, he though. Wicked. "Come on, Fawkes, want to see?" he said, holding out an arm. The phoenix trilled and landed on it. Harry climbed up and into the trunk, closing the top as he got far enough down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom, he found himself in a circular room, with a couch, a table and a firplace. A sheet of parchment lay on the table. Picking it up, Harry read:

Dear Harry,

I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this has happened. While I have made you return to the Dursley's every summer, even I understand that there is a delicate balance between protecting someone and imprisoning him. The Minister, I fear, fails to understand this. As such, while it is no doubt more dangerous for you to leave Privet Drive, I give you this offer. This trunk has a fireplace in it that is capable of floo travel. It can only be used once – because once it is alarms will go off at the Ministry and all floo-access will be shut off here while they investigate, and when they find you missing it will spark a great search. If you choose to leave, I warn you to choose where you go well. The Burrow has been abandoned, as it is not secure enough for a prime-target family such as the Weasleys. They are at Grimmauld Place, but I would caution you not to floo there either, for I believe the Minister has infiltrated the Order. Sadly, this means you will be unable to write your friends, as owls may be traced. So, as you see, I cannot offer you complete freedom, but I can offer you some. If you choose to take it, you may be interested to know that the Floo address Potter Vault will take you directly to your family vault, open to you now that you are sixteen. The goblins are completely discreet, and have no love of the ministry. They will not turn you in. They also your father a few. . . favors. More on that later. You may also be interested to note that I have modified the Floo powder in this room such that you will be permanently disguised until next we meet. This should keep you from being recognized and caught. And, Harry, please be careful. The weight of the world rests on your shoulders – far too heavy a burden for one so young as you. But I think you can carry it, as you have shown remarkable intelligence, bravery, and maturity for one of your age. Far more than many adult wizards. Enjoy your new life, should you choose to take this offer.

With love,

Albus.

Harry read the note through several times before noticing the second sheet of parchment.

Harry –

Should you wish to, you may write me a note back on this parchment. Fawkes will carry it back to me.

Albus.

Harry picked up the pen he saw lying next to the parchment and quickly wrote a note.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Thank you so much for giving me this chance. I'm going to take it now, because if I don't I'll probably chicken out. If there is anyway to let you know where I am, and how everything goes, I will take it. Otherwise, I look forward to the next time we meet!

Sincerely, Harry Potter

An hour later, a fireplace in an underground chamber sparked for the first time in seventeen years, expelling a boy from it. He stood up, and looked around. The place was brightly lit, Ever-Flaming Torches mounted all over the wall. A tall mirror stood across the room, covered in gold ornaments. He walked in front of it, and examined his reflection. He was tall – looking about twenty or twenty-one, with almost waist-length black hair. Brilliant green eyes gazed from beneath dark eyebrows. Where are my glasses? he thought. Odd. I never thought to ask if magic could fix my eyesight.

At a small noise, Harry spun around, drawing his wand. "You may drop your wand, Mr. Potter," said a voice around his waist. Looking down, Harry saw a goblin holding a ledger. "It is good to see you. Mr. Dumbledore told us you'd be arriving today." I guess he got the letter I sent with Fawkes. "He wished me to give you these things." First the goblin held out a card. "This is a Gringotts Card. You may use this instead of galleons. Shopkeepers will be able to get the galleons transferred directly from your account. This," the goblin presented him with a small check-book, "keeps track of all transfers. You are advised to keep up-to-date and approve each transfer promptly, or your account might be closed. This," he handed him another book, "is a listing of all the items in your vaults. Mr. Dumbledore particularly advised you to take a look at the Potter Grimoire. You would find it on the bookshelf over there," the goblin pointed to a wall covered in books. "It should be in the lowermost left corner. Mr. Dumbledore instructed us to give you this note, and to request that in return for our aid and silence you will consider our debt to one James Potter concerning the affair of the Aisling Diamond resolved."

"Um. . .certainly," Harry said.

"Excellent. If you require any more assistance, simply use the bell-pull by the fireplace. Otherwise, use the fireplace to floo to either Gringotts Lobby or The Leaky Cauldron to leave. Enjoy yourself, Mr. Potter." With that, the goblin disappeared with a crack.

Harry unfolded the note.

Dear Harry,

As sad as it may seem, this is the last note you will receive from me. I wish you luck in all your endeavours, and please do not get yourself too badly injured. You have a fortune – some 300 million galleons (this includes the fortune of the Black family, transferred to you in accordance with Sirius' will), so buy whatever you wish. Live a little, and enjoy your life. Train if you like, that should buy as many books as you might need. Also, take a look at the Potter Grimoire, it will include spells invented by the Potter Family and kept secret throughout time. Oh, and I advise that you select a new name. But I assume you've already thought of that. With that said, I wish you the best of luck.

With love,

Albus.

P.S. – if you are interested in a job, Mr. Ollivander is advertising for a shop assistant. I don't know about you, but I always found wandmaking a fascination subject. Alas, I fear I have too many interests for the time alloted me. I cannot wait to hear how you use this time, however it is choose to. Now, I really must finish, or I'll keep thinking of advice to give you! Until we next meet – Albus.

Harry folded the note up, grimacing slightly in chagrin. He hadn't thought about a new name, which, now that Dumbledore mentioned it, was fairly obvious.Perhaps one of my ancestor's names? He though, walking over the bookshelf. He found the Potter Grimoire right where the goblin had said it would be. Opening it, he saw in the beginning a table of contents.

To use this Grimoire, tap your wand upon the volume name you wish to read, and the book will fill itself with that volume. The family tree with cause the book to transform into a tapestry, a double wand tap will return it to normal. WARNING: If you are not a Potter, be prepared for a most powerful curse to fall upon you for perusing a Grimoire you do not deserve.

Family Tree

Volume 1 – Tristan Artemis Potter

Volume 2 – Adrian Holly Potter

The list continued for many pages. Harry immediately decided to name himself after the first Potter to use the Grimoire. "Hello world," he said, "I am Tristan Artemis." Closing the Grimoire, he looked around the vault, and saw several rucksacks lying beside the entrance to another room. Crossing over, he glanced into the room, and saw veritable mountains of gold and silver. I guess this is the money, he thought. Picking up one of the sacks, he saw that they were much larger on the inside than outside. He tucked the Grimoire into one, and slung it onto his back. Walking to the fireplace, he threw some powder in and proclaimed, "The Leaky Cauldron."

Staggering a little, Harry fell out of the fireplace. "Hello, sir. I apologize for the entrance to the fireplace – we had to place the low grate there to keep the ashes from getting out into the room," Harry heard a voice say, as hands caught him as he fell.

"Thank you, sir" he breathed.

"Now, the name's Tom."

"I'm Tristan," Harry said quickly, wanting to introduce himself to someone to get into the habit, before he made a slip.

"Nice to meet you. Now, what can I do for you today?"

Harry was about to politely decline anything, but then remembered Dumbledore's words and the room full of gold. "A cold butterbeer wouldn't be amiss," he said.

"Excellent, taste, sir," Tom said, going behind the bar. "Here you are, and that will be 9 sickles."

Harry handed over the card, and Tom tapped it with his wand. "Off to Diagon Alley, sir?" the barkeeper inquired.

"Yes," Harry said, then remembering about Ollivander's, asked, "I heard that Ollivander was advertising for an assistant?"

"That he is, sir, that he is – and without much luck, either. You might want to hurry over there."

"Will do, thanks Tom," he replied, walking towards the back of the bar. He tapped on the appropriate bricks with his wand. The archway to Diagon Alley formed, and he stepped through. Harry sighed in happiness. He hadn't been here without guards since his third year, and somehow the place seemed much brighter and friendlier. Walking quickly, he past the Magical Menagerie, where he had bought Hedwig (who was currently summering, and perhaps wintering as well, with the Weasleys – Harry sent her there before going to Gringotts), and Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop. Seeing the sign for Ollivander's, Harry broke into a run, slowing to a dignified walk just before entering the store.

"Ah, Mr Potter!" a voice said as he entered. "I hadn't expected to see you today. Wand functioning correctly, I trust?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry said, his heart beating fast. "My name is Tristan Artemis."

"Fool others, perhaps, Mr. Potter – but I know that only Harry Potter would have a bond as strong as you do with that wand," a gnarled hand pointed at his prized holly and phoenix-feather wand. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Now, what are you here for?"

Harry shuffled his feet nervously. "I heard you were looking for a shop assistant, and I –"

"Hired, Mr. Artemis. When can you start?"

"Mr. Ollivander? Are you sure you want to hire me so quickly?"

"I'm a good judge of character, Artemis. I could tell what you'd turn into when you were a mere first-year buying his first wand. Did I not say that we can expect great things from you? Even then, it was apparent you would turn into a powerful wizard. Now, when can you start?"

"Today," Harry replied. "Now, if you like."

"Very well. Though it appears you heard wrong. I'm not looking for a shop assistant, Mr. Artemis. I'm looking for an apprentice. If you accept, you will begin studying under me tomorrow, learning how to see magic and craft wands with it. Do you accept?"

Harry hesitated a moment, but then asked, "Won't the ministry know when I do magic, though?"

Ollivander chuckled. "They can only tell where magic is being done, not who does it, except in the case of those unfortunate souls who happen to be the only witch or wizard nearby. Here, in Diagon Alley, they won't even register the spell. Now, do you have an answer?"

Why not, Harry thought. It can't hurt to learn, and what else will I do with the next year? Besides, Ollivander has a reputation as a wizard and wand-maker without par. How often can I get this chance? "Yes, sir. I'll study with you."

"Excellent. But I think, perhaps, you should have a better cover story, Mr. Artemis," he stressed the last name. "I think. . .hmm. . .yes. . .perhaps that will work. . ."

"Sorry?"

"Oh, my apologies. Sometimes I get lost in thought. You will be my long-lost nephew, returned from America. Mr. Tristan Artemis Vander. I have a cousin whose name was changed to that by those idiots at Ellis Island. Welcome, Nephew Vander, to the noble and most ancient art of wand-crafting. Come to the back room, and we will discuss your hours."

Harry followed after the old man. This will be a year to remember, he thought.