"Mum, there it is!" Lorcan grabbed his brother's hand and raced down to peer into the windows of the shop. His breath fogged up the glass. Lysander rubbed it away with his sleeve, matching his brother's position at the shop windows.

"Boys!" their father shouted, sprinting the last few meters to catch up to the twins. Luna Scamander followed her husband, Rolf, though with a more sedate pace. For old times' sake, her wand was perched behind her ear, highlighted by two earrings made from niffler treasure. "What has your mother told you about Mr. Ollivander's shop?"

"The wand chooses the wizard!" they chorused, Luna giving them a gentle smile.

"So be gentle, boys, and listen to the wands. They sing to you when they're ready."

Rolf held the door open as Luna followed Lorcan and Lysander in. The shop was just as cluttered as she remembered, though it was not unpleasant. It felt more like a warm blanket surrounding one after a cold night in the snow, the kind of gentle weight that settled over one and delivered a sense of peace. Her boys, normally rowdy, settled down under the magic in the air. Lorcan's eyes were wide, drinking in the whole of the shop. Luna took a moment to try and remember the shop as though she was eleven again, to see how her children were experiencing their defining moment as wizards.

The boxes seemed to loom over the twins as they walked in. Thin and narrow, they were haphazardly stacked upon almost any available surface. A small display case had a few accessories, but the bulk of the shop was focused on one thing - wands. Lysander walked up the counter slowly, a fear of sending the boxes tumbling to the floor and damaging the goods inside keeping him from his normal rambunctious behavior.

"Ah, the Scamanders!" a shaky voice called from behind the boxes. Lorcan jumped, startled from the box he was inspecting. A moment of panic nearly sent the pile to the aged wooden floors, but a whoosh of magic canceled the disturbance he caused. The boys looked up to the counter to see an old man, stooped through work, peering at them curiously through small spectacles.

He looked ancient, face weathered and wrinkled. His hair, once wild and free, hung by his face in limp strands, as though it too was fighting against time. He was dressed in an old coat and necktie, though the fabric held a sheen that said it was once a fine garment.

"Mr. Ollivander," Rolf greeted, Luna echoing his words. "Our sons are finally ready."

"Hmm, yes…" Ollivander replied, his eyes staring off into space. "Mrs. Scamander, originally rowan, dragon heartstring, eleven and one half inches, unyielding. But I daresay your springy new wand of beech, unicorn hair, thirteen and one quarter inch suits you much better now." Luna smiled and pulled the white wand from her hair, the color blending almost perfectly.

"She has served me well since that night, Garrick," she said, swishing her wand through the air. It sent a shimmer of fairy lights through the shop, dancing over some unknown breeze before fading into dust. As she tucked her wand behind her ear, she couldn't help but notice Lorcan and Lysander watching with identical slack-jawed expressions.

"And you, Mr. Scamander!" Ollivander exclaimed suddenly, turning to Rolf. "Maple, unicorn hair, fourteen and three quarters inches, quite bendy. It too has served you well in your travels."

"As always," Rolf replied, patting his sons on the shoulder. "But I think it's time for Lorcan and Lysander to get their own."

Luna laid a hand on her husband's elbow, stilling him for a moment. "Patience, my dear. The wand chooses the wizard. They have to see our boys before they will be ready to sing."

Ollivander chuckled lightly. "You would have made a fine apprentice, I think, Mrs. Scamander," he said, turning to shuffle back into the depths of wand boxes. "Let me see who's taken a liking to your fine two young sons." They heard a quiet humming come from the back of the shop as boxes whizzed about their head, stacking and restacking into two piles on the countertop. Lorcan shouted when a tape measure zoomed into view and began to stretch over his body, measuring the bridge of his nose and the diameter of a mole on his left arm.

Despite the almost comical tape, it was a beautiful sight. Boxes of bright colors mixed with more muted tones to create a pile of four, five, seven wands that took a liking to each of the Scamander twins. Eventually, the frantic flight settled with a single black box on each pile. Ollivander emerged, hair askew and glasses hanging off of his pocket. He settled them back on the tip of his nose and motioned to Lysander.

"Go ahead, child," he said, waving at the pile of boxes in front of the younger twin's feet. Lysander picked up a bright pink box, slightly off-put by the color. As he removed its cover, Ollivander whispered, "Reed, dragon heartstring, eleven inches, stiff," with a pause after each word. Lysander gave it an experimental flick, but the wand shot off an angry puff of steam and jumped out of his hand. "Too much, then, I think," Ollivander said cheerfully, a wave of his hand sending the wand into its box and back to some stack beyond the counter. "Next!"

Lorcan opened up a turquoise and silver box containing "spruce, unicorn hair, ten and one quarter inch, supple", though it gave much a similar reaction to his brother's. Rolf and Luna looked on in amusement, her head resting peacefully against his shoulder.

"Do you remember?" she asked him quietly, watching black strands leak from an unbending vine wand that Lysander had swished through the air moments ago.

"Yellow stars fell through the shop's air like a meteor shower," Rolf replied, eyes glistening with memory. "What was your first wand like?"

Luna paused to think. Her first wand served her well. It was of rowan, for protection and defense. It was especially useful during the days of Dumbledore's Army - her protego remained one of her strongest charms, even with the beech. "It did what it had to do," she finally said, her mind back in the damp cellar of Malfoy Manor. "It served me until it was time. Garrick found a wand that willing to take me after the Rowan had finished its service." She twirled the beech through her fingers thoughtfully. "I feel blessed to have wielded two wands."

Lysander and Lorcan swished purple snowflakes through the air to brother vinewood wands, though Ollivander's look of disgust said that purple snowflakes were not a desired outcome. He bundled the wands back into their boxes and sent them to their nooks and crannies, swishing desperately through the dwindling piles in front of the boys.

For Lorcan, he pulled out a pale white and gold box, ornately carved with runes and filigrees. The beautiful orange of a pear wood wand stared back at him, and he picked it up hesitantly. To the tune of Ollivander's reverent "pear, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches, reasonably supple," he gave it a gentle flick. The resulting shower of golden sparks sent a thrill of magic through the shop, and Luna felt the wand singing in her bones.

She clapped excitedly as Lorcan swished again, the golden sparks changing to a beautiful fine shimmer that clung to him like pixie dust. Ollivander grinned widely, showing teeth that had seen better days, but an unbridled joy shone through his elderly exterior. "Bravo!" he exclaimed, a sudden vitality back into his voice. I will box this one up for you right away." To Lysander, he added, "Keep going, boy! Your wand is not far behind; I can feel it."

Rolf nodded at his youngest son, making faces until the gloom left his face. "Just listen," he encouraged, motioning at him to select another box. Lysander closed his eyes and took a deep breath, drinking in the feel of the wood and cores around him.

He couldn't distinguish them, of course, being an untrained young wizard, but his magic was attuned enough to the more delicate natures his parents sought out that he could tell there was something out there. His hands were drawn to a dark stained box. He slid open its cover to find a brittle sycamore wand, thirteen inches, with unicorn hair at its core. The moment he touched the wood, though, a hot flame jolted through his finger and he yelped, dropping the box with a clatter.

Ollivander paused in his polishing and looked up. "Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry about that, young Mr. Scamander." Luna moved over to Lysander's side and checked his fingers, using her wand to quickly fix the small burn. She crouched down to meet his eyes and shared a small, meaningful glance with her son.

"I'll keep listening, Mum," Lysander whispered, squeezing his fingers together. He bent down to pick up the offending wand and place it back in its box. "Be nice to the next person who touches you," he told it. He paused and felt again, this time reaching for a violet box with silver fastenings so faded, they were nearly grey. This one held promise.

The younger Scamander twin eased this box off, careful of the worn edges, to pick up a red oak wand inside. "Unicorn hair, eleven inches, slightly yielding," Ollivander told Luna, watching peacefully as Lysander gave it a swish. The result was subtle, a slight shimmer through the air, though it settled around Lysander's feet like a heavy fog on the ground.

"Splendid! Simply splendid!" Ollivander exclaimed, clapping his hands. "I'll have my assistant get the rest of these settled and I will send your family on their way!" The boys watched with glee as the remaining boxes zoomed around the old shop, worming their way back into the nooks and crannies they called home. Rolf passed over the fourteen galleons and the Scamander family prepared to finish the rest of their school shopping.

"Go on to Flourish and Blotts!" Luna called, waving them on. "I'll be just a moment." Rolf gave her a questioning look, though her small smile in response was enough to send him on. He had long ago accepted his wife's eccentricities, just like she had his, but the bond between herself and the wandmaker was one forged through hardship. Though the husband and wife had weathered their fair share of storms, Luna held onto some shadows from her past that Rolf would never understand.

"Garrick," Luna called, waiting for the wiry hair to appear from amongst the shelves. Instead, a familiar messy mop of black hair emerged, round glasses slipping down on a crooked nose. Green eyes met Luna's hesitantly, a sheepish look conveyed with few words.

"Hello, Luna," Harry Potter said, giving his classmate a smile. "He had to step to the back for a moment. Something I can help you with?"

Luna blinked once, surprised, but also not so. Harry had a way with magic, with sensing the things in the air. It was much like her own sense for Crumpled Horn Snorkacks or Rolf's way with nifflers. "Is this a better fit for you?" she chose to ask, instead of the other millions of questions in her head. Harry raked fingers through his hair, dislodging the somewhat careful mess the locks had arranged for themselves. He was left with a long mop, fringe covering one eye, the rest falling haphazardly around his shirt collar.

"I create things," he said after some time, looking at some point in the shop over her shoulder. "My wand, both wands, were part of what the prophecy had decreed for me. I wanted to take control, just for a little bit." He pulled a wand from behind his ear. It was jet black, long and skinny, but engulfed by intricate vines that wove their way around the handle. "Neither wand was mine to use, really. I needed to make my own."

Luna nodded. It made sense. She had traveled with Rolf in search of her own answers, some that her father was never able to provide. Harry needed someone who would help him find his answers, even if they didn't have any answers themselves. "It was good seeing you, Harry," she finally said. "The wrackspurts seem to have left you alone. I hope they stay away."

Luna Scamander gathered her cloak about her and pushed open the door to Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. The bell above tinkled gently behind her as the door closed. She had her own path to make.

Garrick Ollivander had lived a very long life. Long even by magical standards. His father, and his father, and his father before that, on and on since the establishment of their livelihood, had all lived long and successful lives. It was part of the wandmaker's process, to gain time to learn the craft properly. Of course, his father had only one son, and Garrick himself had no children.

Then, Harry Potter stumbled into his shop.

"Mr. Potter," he rasped, rising from the stool behind the counter. "Surely your wand has not failed you yet?"

Harry did not answer, instead gazing around the shop with a matured curiosity. The spark was different from his eleven-year-old self. He was not much older now, but far more matured, aged by the great battle in a way that ran through his soul. Garrick still, some days, woke up feeling enclosed in that dungeon cell with none but a fellow Ravenclaw for company.

"Mr. Potter," he started again. But the look that his guest gave him made him stop. Great pain and sorrow lay inside the man before him today. There was something else, though, some inner fortitude that made him stop and really look. "You are not here for a wand," he said instead.

"No." Harry stopped at the counter and picked up a wand box next to his hands. "I want to do this. Something - useful. With meaning."

"Can you not find that inside the Aurors, Mr. Potter? Or inside the Wizengamot? Hogwarts' walls themselves?" Garrick had to ask. He had to make sure that he wasn't misreading the glow that came from the young man.

The look that Harry gave him was one of such scorn that Garrick knew right away. "No. I don't want any of - that. Too many people floating around me." Harry made a fluttery gesture with his hand. "There's too many expectations that go along with that."

"And what do you think I can offer you that all those places cannot?"

"Something better." The young man paused, obviously searching for the right words. "I want to help, but not with all that. You help new witches and wizards, give them the tool they need to survive in this world. I think that's a better help."

"I suppose it is time for me to take an apprentice. Can you handle me floating around, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

And with that, Garrick Ollivander had secured the next generation of wandmakers. It was a schism from their entire line of work. It had always been an Ollivander crafting these wands, but Garrick had sensed it when he made Harry Potter's phoenix feather wand. That wand would come back to him, at some point, but he hadn't known how.

But now, it was time for Harry Potter to learn the secrets of wandmaking. And Ollivander taught him. He watched his apprentice keep up a vast array of owl correspondence, but he was less and less likely to make ventures out into Diagon Alley and the wizarding world proper. His magic recognized the truth of the wand shop even if the wizard didn't.

It wasn't until Luna Scamander's sons entered the shop that Harry realized the truth.

"You didn't tell me," he accused, eyes blazing.

"You had to discover on your own, Harry," Garrick explained. He ran a hand through the thinning strands of hair. Time had been far too long for him, working day in and out after his father had passed on. Garrick had spent long, long years alone. To receive Harry into his shop, that was a blessing.

"I don't understand."

"Wandmaking is a long and subtle art," he explained. "It takes time to learn, to train, to become good at deciphering the trees and the crafting and the runes. But you know this already." Harry nodded. "When you craft, you enter a flow state - a period of such focus and persistence that all else fades away. Including time."

Harry looked around at the boxes in the shop, countless stacked haphazardly and curiously, waiting for their bearer to enter. "Otherwise it would take months to carve a single wand."

"Yes. I am old, Harry. Extraordinarily so. Now that you know, it is time for you to take your place at the head of this shop."

"Garrick-" But Garrick Ollivander did not let his apprentice interrupt him. With a swish of his own well-loved wand, carved by his grandfather centuries before, the shopfront's window changed accordingly.

"I did not make time in my life for a family, Harry. For someone to take over. But you? You have been a boon to me, to this shop, to the legacy that my family has created. It has been an honor to train you, but it will be an even greater honor to serve as your assistant until my time comes."

Harry shuddered as a heavy weight settled onto his shoulders. He looked at the store window, made pristine with Garrick's motion. "Ollivander & Potter: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC," it read.

"Thank you." But those words were not enough, so Harry poured his life into the shop to show Garrick Ollivander just how grateful he was for a new beginning.

"Leila, dear, hurry along!" Lorcan Scamander called after his daughter as they neared the street corner.

"Coming, Dad!" Leila tugged on the hand she was holding. "Come on, Granny!"

"I'm going as fast as I can, dear heart." One hand grasped her granddaughter carefully. The other held on to a cane, magically reinforced with various balance and strengthening charms. Luna Scamander had not aged well, compared to her peers, but she was not upset. Nearing her ninetieth year was no simple feat, after all. Hermione Granger-Weasley had just retired from public office a few years prior, and her husband Ron was still on the Auror force as a consultant. Luna felt rather good about her own status, all things considered.

"There it is!" Leila squealed, breaking off into a sprint at the sight of the looping O. Luna gave herself a private smile. She was looking forward to seeing Harry again.

"Mum, you doing alright?"

"Lorcan, stop." Luna shook her cane in her son's direction. "This day is for Leila, not me. I will be fine." By the look she was given, Lorcan clearly didn't believe her, but he did take a step back so she could enter the shop on her own three feet. Luna paused outside, looking over the exterior of the shop. It was cleaner than it had been. It seemed less dirty yet more aged than years prior. Like a well-loved book or toy, something that had grown with its owner. The sign in the window had her laughing privately; she was sure Lorcan hadn't noticed.

The bell tinkled, sending a soft melody around the interior. It hadn't changed much in the near forty years since she had entered. Wand boxes were still scattered around without any sense or direction. Some lay in giant towers like the Muggle game Jenga that Hugo had introduced to her. Others were carefully packed into the shelves that lined the walls, though still not in an orderly fashion. It seemed the boxes' colors had not changed either - still a garish mix of brights and neutrals. She noticed a few open boxes on the counter nearest them.

Best of all was watching Leila's reaction, wide-eyed and open-mouthed just like her father before her. She was always a quiet child, but the magic of the shop had suppressed even more of her personality than normal. There was always something reverent about Ollivander's shop, Luna supposed, where nearly every Hogwarts child, Muggleborn or not, began their journey.

"Oh, hello!" A bright voice, unfiltered by time, greeted them. She looked up with great surprise, noting the deep color of the hair and the missing wrinkles on the face. "Welcome to Ollivander & Potter: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Are we here to find Leila Scamander her wand?"

Little Leila squeaked in shock, backing into her father's familiar embrace. "It's okay, dear," he encouraged her.

"Pear, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches," Harry said, turning to Lorcan with a grin. He stuck his hand out. "Very good to see you again, Mr. Scamander." Lorcan accepted the hand with a firm shake, though his brows furrowed. "No, I am not the one who sold you your wand," Harry explained. "Though I am the one who carved it. But, we are not here for you, and neither for you, I think," he said, turning to Luna. "You've had too many wands from this shop, young lady."

Leila giggled despite herself, easing out carefully from Lorcan's arms. "No, I think we are here today for this one." Harry paused before her and crouched down. "You are Leila, yes?" She nodded. "Very good. I am Mr. Potter, half of this fine establishment, and we will get you a wand today."

He wiggled a finger in front of her face and a tape measure darted out, dancing through the air around Leila's head. She went a bit crosseyed as it measured her nose, but otherwise held very still as it made various notes of her arms, knuckles, and kneecap size.

With another wiggle, some wand boxes flew through the air to sit on the counter, where Harry then picked the first up. "Fir, fairly whippy, I think," he said, taking it out of the purple box. "Nearly a foot long and a phoenix tail feather. Go on, give it a swish." Leila took the wand carefully by the hilt and hefted it into the air.

It was strange, holding a wand for the first time. While toy wands mimicked the action of holding, there was a weight inside her soul that the wand pressed on. She waved it carefully through the air, away from her granny and dad, but the resulting black sparks that emerged from the tip felt so wrong that she cried out.

"Not to worry, not to worry!" Mr. Potter exclaimed, whisking the wand away from her with such speed she barely noticed it left her hand. Leila looked to her grandmother for support, who gave her a warm smile. As Mr. Potter approached her with another box, she reverently took it from his hands.

"Walnut, unicorn hair. Quite bendy, my dear, though the length is a bit short." When Leila picked this one up, it too felt wrong. A quick swish produced golden starlight, though she and Mr. Potter both felt it was wrong. He packaged this one up, too, and it vanished without warning to the deeper recesses of the shop.

"Will we find a wand for me?" Leila asked. Lorcan smoothed a hand over her fine blonde hair.

"Of course you will. Mr. Potter has made lots of wands, see?" Leila looked around, glancing over box after box. She nodded slowly. "Which means there is one in this shop that is just as unique and beautiful as you." She blushed and giggled, turning back to Mr. Potter who was waiting with three boxes.

"Now, Miss Leila, I think you are a very particular type of customer. So I want you to focus on these boxes. You can stare at them, make silly faces, close your eyes, whatever you need to do. But you need to pick the one that speaks to you." Mr. Potter guided her up to the boxes as he spoke.

Leila looked them over, eyes squinting in concentration. The first was made from tawny waxed wood. It was decorated with a delicate golden pattern and ingrained with several runes. The second looked old and ancient, the corners worn smooth from being pulled down from the shelves and returned so many times. It was painted red with darker red details, but she could clearly make out marks on the side from where hands had grabbed the box. Chipped and worn, it seemed to be longing for someone to take it home. The third was the newest, a birch box painted with aubergine paisley. It was a very Muggle pattern for a wand box, but the sheer absurdness of it made her want to pick it up.

Having looked carefully at each box, she closed her eyes and thought. Leila supposed she shouldn't think at all and instead just go on her instincts, but that had never been her strong suit. Her cousin Leo had inherited the more reckless Scamander genes. No, her dad always said she was more like Granny - thoughtful, purposeful, nose always in a good book.

In the end, it was the aubergine paisley that she reached for, channeling thoughts of the silly stories that Granny told her and Leo of the adventures she and Grandad went on. She opened her eyes when the soft touch of velvet came under her fingers, and grinned as she picked up the dark wand inside the box. A gentle flick through the air sent the other two boxes levitating, cushioned by tiny silver clouds.

"Bravo!" Mr. Potter cried, applauding happily. He flicked his own wand swiftly and the unused boxes flew through the shop back into the cranny they came from. "Brittle black walnut, twelve and three quarter inches! And, made with a unicorn hair from Hogwarts' grounds." He placed the lid back on the wand box and handed it to Leila.

"Simply wonderful! I've never seen a levitation before. I think you will have great luck in Charms, Miss Leila." Mr. Potter turned to Lorcan. "Just seven Galleons, Mr. Scamander." Leila carefully tucked the box under her arm as her father paid, running to where Luna had tucked herself onto a stool.

"Thank you," Lorcan said over the sound of Leila's excited explanation. "She was very nervous…"

"We all are, I think," Mr. Potter replied, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. "That was actually the very first wand I crafted. I was nervous in its creation, so perhaps it was meant for a young girl who needed some reassurance herself."

"Come along, Leila, we have to get cauldrons next!" Lorcan announced, turning back to his family.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter!" She squealed, throwing a wave over her shoulder before bolting out the front door. Lorcan followed in a rush, though Luna was slower to follow.

"You look good," she said to her friend, leaning heavily on her cane. Though Harry opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off. "We don't begrudge you this, you know. You had to find your own path. Create good things in this world, Harry Potter. We need more of them."

With a slow swirl of her skirt, Luna tucked her shawl in closer and exited the shop. Had anyone looked at her reflection, they would have seen a young girl in pink glasses stuck in the window, smiling widely.