IN A MOMENT OF NEED

CHAPTER ONE: Awakening

AUTHOR: Inis'sPromise

DISCLAIMER:

Harry Potter is a good series

That much is true

However, I do not own it

And neither do you

(unless you are JKR, and if you are, then OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH!)

This disclaimer applies to the entire story.

A/N: Hellooo, world of FFN! This was an idea floating around in my head, so I plotted out a story and, well, here we are.

This story is canon-compliant right up until Harry is battling the Hungarian Horntail—then it's my version of things. There aren't really any pairings in the fourth book, so that will stay basically the same here. However, hopefully we can skip the whole Harry/Cho fiasco all together.

Remember, reviews are always welcome—criticisms, praise, predictions, you name it. You don't have to review (I myself rarely do) but they are appreciated, nonetheless.

Without any further ado, let's go fight some dragons!

Harry stepped out into the enclosure, his heart trying to escape from his body. He gripped his wand tightly in his hand, sharp jabs of fear spiking down his chest. Distantly, Harry heard Bagman shouting something to the crowd, but Harry wasn't focused on him.

He was focused on the huge, spiky, and ebony dragon in front of him guarding her eggs, one of which Harry had to steal. He locked his knees to keep them from collapsing and raised his wand, ready to Summon his Firebolt. Before he could utter the incantation, though, the dragon's yellow eyes met his green ones and Harry gave a sharp intake of breath. It only lasted a moment, but the contact jarred him, left him feeling raw and exposed.

The Horntail stepped back—stepped back? From what? Harry thought. He risked a look behind him; there was nothing there but jagged rocks. But he soon forgot about the dragon's one-second look of fear, for the Horntail was now racing straight towards Harry with its wings tucked tightly against its body and a murderous, fierce look in its eyes.

All thoughts and plans of Summoning his Firebolt flew from Harry's mind at the sight of the charging dragon. He dived behind a rock, barely feeling the stab of pain that shot down his arm when he landed awkwardly. Harry scrambled to a crouch in the cover of the boulder, panting with fear and exertion.

The dragon crashed into the spot Harry had just been in, jaws snapping. Realizing Harry wasn't there anymore, the Horntail gave an eardrum-shattering roar and fire shot from its nostrils.

Harry struggled to his feet and backed up as slowly and as quietly as possible, crouching low to the ground. He must not have been very sneaky, for the Horntail whipped its massive head towards Harry. Flames bellowed from its throat, racing towards Harry at a panic-inducing rate. With a yelp, Harry dashed away and threw himself behind another rock.

Why must this be my life? Harry thought despairingly. Taking his chance behind the somewhat safe boulder, Harry lifted his wand and shouted, "ACCIO—"

A scaly tail came from out of nowhere and slammed into Harry's torso, sending him flying about two meters. He landed with a thud and felt something sharp and splintery drive into his palm. Looking down, Harry saw what remained of his wand broken into three angular pieces.

Harry swore under his breath. His ears filled with ringing, but he saw the dragon coming towards him with perfect clarity. He looked desperately around him for something—anything—to defend himself. The Horntail was right on top of him…He could feel its hot breath on his face, promising death by burning inferno or sharp, merciless teeth…Harry closed his eyes, bracing himself…

Pressure closed in all around Harry, squeezing him through what felt like a tube impossibly narrow—excruciatingly narrow. He tried to breathe; is this what dying felt like? Why did it hurt so much?

With a loud CRACK! Harry was flung towards some people in the stands, only to be stopped by the wards around the dragon enclosure. He bounced off them and fell towards the rocky ground. He braced himself for a hard impact…only for it to never come.

Harry was floating above the rocks, his head in his hands. Somewhere, Bagman exclaimed, "MERLIN'S PANTS! HE JUST APPARATED!" His heart drummed in his chest.

Harry dropped to the ground below with a heavy thud and a grunt. His mind was trying to process what had happened and just came up blank. Harry had been about to die…then he had been on the opposite side of the enclosure…then he had fallen…and then he hadn't? Had Harry done that? Or maybe Dumbledore had somehow gotten through the wards and transported him? His pondering came to an abrupt halt as the Horntail spotted Harry and charged at him once again.

Harry got to his feet shakily and tried to run. If he could only get out…but that was no use. Somewhere in the process of being thrown around like a ragdoll, Harry had hurt his ankle. He really started to panic as the Horntail got close enough for Harry to feel its heavy footsteps as vibrations through the ground.

Harry gulped in air and tried to repeat what he had done when he...Apparated? You don't have time to wonder how it happened, just do it again! Harry told himself, panicking. He reached for something inside him and found a surprisingly large, brilliant ball of white light. Harry tugged on it, not really knowing what to do. It seemed to work, though, for Harry was compressed and stretched and CRACK! Harry fell to his knees on top a hard, shiny thing.

"OWWW!" Harry groaned, clutching his stomach. He retched, but nothing came up. He was starting to feel very light-headed, his vision flickering dangerously.

With a start, Harry recognized a golden egg at his feet. A small smile lit up his soot-smudged face. After stowing the prize safely in his robes, Harry whipped his head around to search for the dragon. With a jolt of fear, he saw that the dragon was very close to him. Harry stumbled back…right onto a real egg.

Harry fell backwards onto his bottom and the dragon egg cracked beneath him, dumping Harry into a gooey, sticky substance.

Harry retched again inside the egg. Feeling a little sorry for the baby dragon he had just killed, Harry pushed the back of the egg and fell out the other end, covered in yolk and eggshells. As if it wasn't mad before, thought Harry grimly. The Horntail proved that sentiment by giving Harry the loudest roar yet. It was a roar filled with immeasurable rage, and it made Harry's throat constrict in terror.

"Well, everybody, it seems young Harry has retrieved the golden egg. I still have no idea how he Apparated, but…" Harry heard Bagman saying. He didn't hear the rest, though, as he was more concerned about the furious dragon charging at him again.

Heart beating rapidly, Harry jumped to his feet and hobbled away, all the while trying to Disapparate. Come on, come on. Bloody work already! He thought. Nothing happened. He felt no squeezing, which made Harry's heart squeeze. And the dragon was right on top of Harry. It opened its jaws and Harry got a good look down its throat before flames danced before his eyes. Harry threw his hands over his head instinctually, knowing it wouldn't really do him any good. If there is a God…have mercy, please, Harry thought desperately. His life was flashing before his eyes; Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, Sirius, Mrs. Weasley…Harry was going to miss them…

Harry waited for the heat and the pain, not wanting it but just not being able to do anything about it. But it never came. Harry cracked his eyes open with a little difficulty; dragon yolk had gotten in them. When he finally pried them open, Harry gave a stunned gasp.

Flames were covering him like a tent. A dome of sorts cocooned Harry, protecting him from the dragon fire. The sight awed Harry; it was really quite beautiful, and he stared mesmerizingly into the flames. There were different hues—red, orange, yellow, and a little blue. They twirled before his wide eyes, reminding Harry of a kaleidoscope. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered he was going into shock, that he couldn't just sit there in a daze forever. The voice was largely ignored by Harry.

Abruptly, the flames disappeared. In their absence, he could make out his shield more clearly; it had a sort of mirage-ish shimmer to it. Looking around, he saw a team of dragon tamers leading the Horntail away with tools that they shook in their hands. Coming from another direction was a panic-stricken Dumbledore, followed by an entourage of other Headmasters, teachers, reporters, and Triwizard judges.

Harry's eyelids drooped and his vision blackened around the edges. The ringing in his ears had reached a crescendo, drowning out every other sound. With a visible POP! Harry's bubble shield evaporated and he noticed an immediate lapse in energy. His head lurched to the side and he got a sideways image of Dumbledore crouching beside him, mouthing words Harry couldn't hear, before darkness enveloped him and Harry sank off into unconsciousness.

"WORMTAIL! You never told me of Potter's powers!" a small, pale figure shrieked in fury. Bowed before the figure was a slightly fat and very rat-like man, who whimpered in fear.

"I-I-I didn't k-k-know, M-Master. The b-boy n-never displayed such—such magic b-before. I-I apologize, my L-Lord," whispered the man called Wormtail. He was shaking heavily in the presence of his master.

"You will pay for such insolence, dirt!" the small figure threatened. "Things have changed now, thanks to your lack of accurate information…the current plan may not work…you would have to keep the boy from escaping the graveyard, something I fear you cannot do. CRUCIO!"

Harry gave a gasp as he awoke. He lurched into a seated position and scanned the black room of…where was he? Harry could barely see in the darkness, but he thought he was in the Hospital Wing. Like turning on a faucet, everything that happened to him in the dragon enclosure flooded back to him. How did I…what was the…my wand…Harry's thoughts were going a mile a minute.

A squeaky voice penetrated the silence. "Harry Potter, sir! You is being awake!"

Harry whipped his head around, making out a lump of blackness on the other side of the room. When he squinted, he could just make out the features of Dobby.

"Dobby! The trial and the dragon! What happened? I blacked out, so I didn't see but I had no idea what was going on before that—" Harry was interrupted by a light weight landing on him. He winced slightly, as his ribs felt sore, but tried not to give any more signs of pain.

"O-oh, s-sir! Dobby was t-thinking he was l-losing the g-great Harry Potter! D-dobby is s-so happy t-that he i-is being o-okay," Dobby sobbed into Harry's shoulder. Harry patted his back awkwardly, not really knowing what to do to comfort the elf.

Dobby lightened his hold. "Dobby is going to go get Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry Potter, sir," said the elf, wiping his large eyes.

"Wait, Dobby, Dumbledore is probably sleeping, I don't want to—"

Pop! Dobby Disapparated.

Oh well, thought Harry. He felt around blindly for his glasses and, once he found them, he put them on. It didn't help much, as it was dark in the room, but he felt better with them on.

The doors to the Hospital Wing opened and in came Dumbledore. His long silver beard was tucked into violet robes and his face held relief.

"Harry, my boy, I'm so glad you're awake," said Dumbledore. He walked over to Harry's bedside and conjured a chair to sit on. With a flick of his wand, the lamp turned on next to Harry's bed. Harry blinked a couple times to adjust his eyes.

"Professor…what happened? I mean, my wand broke. I've never Apparated in my life, but, somehow, I did it wandlessly? Or maybe someone else did it for me?" questioned Harry.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, my boy, it was definitely you. As for how you did it…that's where it gets complicated. My best guess is that you survived by accidental magic, but accidental magic of that magnitude…I've certainly never heard of such a thing."

Harry's eyes widened. What? Just…what? I did something Dumbledore hasn't heard of? "How—how is that possible?" Harry asked.

"I believe that when your wand broke—sorry about that, by the way—your magic had no way to be channeled. Instead of concentrated power, it came out in bursts, which would explain how you were not able to Apparate a third time as the 'burst', so to speak, didn't come. The bubble you created was a substitute protection," Dumbledore explained. Harry nodded his head, even though he didn't completely understand it.

"Harry, I want you to try something for me—that is, if you're not too tired?" Dumbledore said suddenly.

"Uh, no, I'm not tired. How long was I out, anyway?" asked Harry.

"Not too long, the trial was this morning. It is currently eleven o'clock at night," replied Dumbledore. He took out a matchstick from his robes. "Harry, I want you to light this match with magic."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise; he wasn't expecting that. He half reached for his wand before he remembered that it was broken. Harry sighed; that was going to take some getting used to. "Sir, how do I do that?" he asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Just try reaching inwards and concentrating on the flame. You can mutter the incantation Incendio, too."

Harry nodded. He tried doing what he had done in the enclosure; he closed his eyes and searched for something deep inside him. Finding it, Harry gave a small smile and pushed as he concentrated on lighting a fire. He whispered, "Incendio!" and opened his eyes.

It lit up! Harry thought excitedly. "I did it!" he exclaimed. The flame was small and flickered for a second, then went out. But I did it wandlessy.

Dumbledore smiled again. "It seems I was right…Harry, the absence of your wand, I believe, has broadened the amount of magic you can perform at a time. While this happens at the age of seventeen—when you come of age—for most wizards, it seems you have unlocked your powers early. Or, at least, some of them."

Harry gave a start. "Some of them? You're telling me that wasn't all of them? I bl—I Apparated!" Harry exclaimed, almost using profanity in the process.

Dumbledore chuckled at Harry's almost slip. But then he grew serious, looking at Harry straight in the eye. "Harry, you are aware of accidental magic, yes?" he asked.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry replied, slightly confused at the Headmaster's question.

"Well, your magic might be more… difficult to control, now, like accidental magic. You must control your emotions, lest you accidentally let your magic run away from you," said Dumbledore seriously.

Harry felt fear grip him; what if he lost control? What if he hurt someone? He grew very worried because he wasn't exactly the most self-controlled person.

Something else occurred to Harry. "Sir, what about my wand? Can it be fixed?" He asked hopefully.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my dear boy. But Mr. Ollivander can come over tomorrow afternoon to make you a custom one—one I intend to pay for." When Harry opened his mouth in protest, Dumbledore just shook his head. "My boy, please let me do this. You should have never been in this tournament, and now you don't have a wand. I insist."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell him no, so he gave a nod in affirmation.

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent!" said the Headmaster cheerfully.

"What about the Tournament? What was my score? Do I still have to compete?" Harry asked, somewhat hopefully but not really believing he was out of the competition.

Dumbledore nodded his head sadly. "I'm afraid so, dear boy. The magical contract still forces you to compete, even in…curious circumstances. As for the score, you were given a standard score of twenty-five points—that's five points from each of us. Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch are looking into the rules to determine the exact score you should receive—not many have lost their wand during a task, so we were unsure of the point deduction," he explained, giving Harry a pat on the shoulder. "Now! I believe you are in need of rest, Harry, so I bid you a good night and hope you sleep well."

"Goodnight, Professor," Harry replied, frowning slightly at the news that he was still in the Tournament. Dumbledore walked out of the Hospital Wing, flicking his wrist while doing so. The chair next to Harry vanished and the light turned back off.

All alone, Harry sighed. What now? What did this—this power mean? What if I can't control it? Harry worried. He closed his eyes and slipped into an uneasy sleep filled with images of Harry losing control and hurting the people he loved. It was a long night.

Harry cracked his eyes open groggily. Sunlight streamed in through the windows of the Hospital Wing and onto Harry's halfway-opened eyelids. He blindly reached a hand over to his bedside table for his glasses only to have them pressed into his hand by someone.

Harry's eyes flew open the rest of the way to find a worried looking Hermione sitting by his bed. Right behind her was Ron, looking equally as worried.

"'Morning," Harry said as he put on his glasses. Suddenly, Hermione threw her arms around Harry tightly.

After a few seconds of her hugging Harry, Ron said, "Merlin, Hermione, guy's just survived a bloody dragon only to be suffocated by one of his best friends."

Hermione sent a sharp look to Ron, but let Harry go, nevertheless. "I'm sorry, Harry, it's just, I was so worried. I mean, when I saw you consumed in that dragon fire, I…" Hermione trailed off, her voice breaking.

"S'okay, 'Mione. Trust me, I was worried, too," Harry said lightly, but despite his tone he felt terrified at the thought of the flames the dragon had breathed onto him—or tried to.

Ron looked awkward. For a second, Harry wondered what was wrong with him. Then he remembered; he was supposed to be mad at Ron. Looking at Ron now, he found that he was not mad at him anymore. Harry supposed almost dying and thinking you were never going to see your best mate again could do that.

"Harry, I—" Ron started.

"Ron, I'm not mad at you," Harry interrupted before Ron could apologize.

Ron stood agape for a second before asking, "You aren't?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I—er, I was afraid of never…The dragon just put things in perspective," Harry said awkwardly.

Ron looked very happy. "Well, I am still sorry. I should have believed you when you said you didn't put your name in the Goblet." Ron grinned at Harry. "I believe you now, by the way," he added.

Hermione scoffed. "As you very well should," she said huffily. Harry smiled; this was the Ron and Hermione he knew and loved.

"Harry," Hermione said seriously. Here it comes, Harry thought. "How did you do that? You Apparated, and you've never Apparated before. And you did it wandlessly to boot…that was incredible. Terrifying, heartbreaking, but…incredible."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, you never told us you could do wandless magic," he said without a trace of accusation—just simple curiosity.

Harry sighed. "I can't…I couldn't…I don't know what happened. But I have to tell you guys something," Harry said, then he proceeded to tell them about his late-night meeting with Dumbledore.

When he finished, Hermione and Ron looked dumbstruck. Harry was just relieved that they weren't looking at him with the horror that he felt for himself.

"Harry, mate, that is amazing! Best bloody fourteen-year-old ever!" Ron exclaimed, clapping Harry on the back.

Hermione, however, gave Harry a look of sympathy. "Harry, I promise you that I'll—that we'll help you learn to control this…this power," she swore. Harry smiled at her; she understood his fear.

A female voice interrupted the Gryffindors' talk. "Out, out! Mr. Potter needs his rest after all that magic! Out!" Madam Pomfrey shooed Ron and Hermione away from Harry's bed.

"Actually, I feel fine, really," Harry said hurriedly; he did not want to spend another day in the Hospital Wing. He really did feel better. "May I leave?"

Madam Pomfrey gave him a hard look, probably trying to decide whether she should let Harry out or not. After a few seconds, she begrudgingly said, "Fine, you may go. But you must come back if anything feels wrong."

Harry nodded his head in acceptance of her terms and shooed Ron and Hermione outside his curtains so he could dress. Thankfully, Ron had brought him some robes to change into.

After dressing, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the Hospital Wing and starting walking towards the Gryffindor tower. Harry wondered why the hallways were so empty and silent before he remembered that it was Wednesday. "Hey, why aren't you guys in class?" he suddenly asked his friends.

"Oh, Dumbledore excused us for the morning so we could be there when you woke up," said Ron.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione; she never missed class.

"I wanted to be there for you, Harry," she said quietly. Harry felt touched by his friends' concern.

"Thanks, guys," Harry said, smiling.

Ron and Hermione nodded. Hermione straightened all of a sudden. "Harry, what about your wand? You need a new one!" she said.

"Oh, Dumbledore said Mr. Ollivander was coming by later to make me a new one," Harry replied.

"Oh."

The three friends reached the tower. "Balderdash," said Ron, and the Fat Lady's Portrait swung open. Inside the common room, a few older Gryffindors sat in the armchairs, studying. At the trio's arrival, they all looked up. Angelina Johnson, one of Harry's teammates, snapped her book shut and ran over to Harry.

"Harry...I don't know what to say. I'm glad you're okay," she said. Many other students echoed her, and Harry gave them all a small smile.

"Thanks, guys. I—I don't know what happened, in case you were going to ask," Harry said, blushing.

Angelina just shook her head. "Of course, you would do the impossible and then claim ignorance," she said with an exasperated eye roll.

Harry shrugged and walked up to his dormitory with Ron. He wanted to shower and brush his teeth. Hermione went to her dormitory to grab her books; no way was she going to miss any more class time.

"Harry, they're not wrong. All that wandless magic…it's mad," Ron murmured when they arrived in their dorm.

"Wouldn't expect anything less from myself," Harry deadpanned.

Ron chuckled before saying quietly, "Harry…I am so glad you're ali—okay. I really thought you were going to die. I felt so sad and guilty and horrible when I saw—when I saw…" Ron trailed off, choking on his words.

Harry gave his friend a sad look. "Thanks for that, Ron. It means a lot. I was—I was scared, too. Really scared."

"No wonder; must be terrifying being consumed by flames," Ron said with a laugh.

"Yeah, just a little bit," Harry smiled. Then, he remembered the conversation he had had with Sirius's head in the fire…Ron didn't know, it had happened during their row. Harry recalled what Sirius had said about Karkaroff being a Death Eater, and he said seriously, "Ron, there's something I need to tell you…"

Harry explained the fire-call Sirius had made to him, and his godfather's suspicions regarding the ex-Death Eater. Ron seemed shocked initially, but was now saying how obvious it was and how could they have not seen it?

"It all fits!" he said. "Malfoy was talking about how his dad was friends with Karkaroff, remember, on the train? Bet they were running around in masks like old friends at the World Cup…"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, taking a quill and some parchment out from his backpack lying discarded on the floor. He wanted to write to Sirius, to tell him that he was okay, and could Sirius talk to Harry via fireplace again? His letter was short, but it would have to do—Harry didn't feel like explaining everything that happened in a letter. It made him uncomfortable and self-conscious, and he didn't want the letter to fall into the wrong hands (a certain nosy reporter named Rita Skeeter came to mind).

When Harry finished writing the letter, he and Ron set off for the owlery. Hermione had already gone back to class, but Ron was taking full advantage of Dumbledore's kindness and walked with Harry.

As they made their way to the Owlery, they talked quietly, and in light, easy tones. It was like the last few weeks hadn't happened, and Harry was grateful he had his friend back.

Harry walked with his head down and his fist clenched as he made his way to Dumbledore's office to get a new wand. He felt the stares of countless people bore into his neck, his back, his entire being. Students from all three schools, and quite a bit of the teachers, stared at him and him alone. Including his Sorting, Harry has never felt so much like a…like a freak.

Harry wished Ron or Hermione were here, walking next to him. But no, after lunch, they had gone back to class, albeit much complaining on Ron's part (and some on Hermione's, too, but on a lesser scale). At the thought of lunch, Harry gave a mental shudder. It had been horrible, a mixture of random people Harry didn't know sobbing while saying how glad they were he was alive, people openly gawking, and people saying rude things. One particular student stood out in Harry's mind: a tiny first-year Hufflepuff yelling, "You just had to outdo Cedric, didn't you?!" His older Housemates had shushed him but hadn't done anything to refute him.

At least in the Great Hall, Harry had his two best friends. Every slander that was thrown towards Harry would be rendered rubbish by Ron. Every sobbing, heartbroken "friend" would be gently pried away by Hermione. Now, though, Harry was alone. If he could find gentle enough words, he would tell the onlookers to go away. But he couldn't. Harry didn't know what to say, he could only walk with his head down and his face burning.

Finally, blissfully, Harry reached the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. He glanced around; there weren't so many students near, as they had all gone to class. With a start, Harry realized he didn't even know the password to the Headmaster's office.

"Uh…Sherbet Lemon?" Harry tried to no avail. "Cockroach Cluster? Er, Toffee Éclair? Sugar Quills?" One of those must have been right for the gargoyle sprang aside and allowed him passage.

Harry climbed the steps to Dumbledore's office with a quiet, resigned look about him. Harry felt…not sad about his broken wand, just…regretful. That wand had gotten him through many perilous times. It was a channel for Harry, a way to express something beyond words, beyond comprehension. Not that you can't channel magic without it now, Harry thought wryly and with a twinge of fear—fear for the new, the unpredictable. Of course, that was all on accident.

Harry knocked on the door to Dumbledore's office. Immediately came the voice of the Headmaster. "Come in!"

Harry opened the door and walked into the office. As always, it was filled with odd, twittering silver instruments. A flash of gold caught Harry's eye. Fawkes the phoenix was staring at him with a piercing gaze. He resisted the urge to squirm.

Sitting in front of Dumbledore's desk was Mr. Ollivander, bright eyes shining and wild hair quivering slightly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. It seems you have changed quite a lot since I last saw you," said the wandmaker.

"Good afternoon, sir," Harry replied. "I guess I have," he added quietly. Behind the desk was Professor Dumbledore in purple robes. "Good afternoon, Professor," said Harry politely to the Headmaster.

"It is, isn't it? Do have a seat, my boy," said Dumbledore.

Harry obediently took his seat, right next to Mr. Ollivander. From this view, Harry noticed a moderately sized briefcase at Mr. Ollivander's feet. With a sudden cry, Fawkes leapt from his perch and flew to Harry, landing on his shoulder, hard.

"Well, good afternoon to you, too, Fawkes," Harry greeted, chuckling. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly but said nothing. He gave Fawkes a gentle stroke, pleased when the magnificent creature seemed to like it rather than take offense.

Dumbledore nodded to Mr. Ollivander. The old wandmaker turned to Harry and said, "Mr. Potter, rather than bringing wands from my shop here and spend countless hours testing them, I have decided to make you a custom one." At the mention of creating a wand from scratch, Mr. Ollivander's eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Wonderful, sir. Er, what do I need to do?" Harry asked.

Mr. Ollivander withdrew a role of measuring tape from his briefcase. "Well, now—measurements ought to be a good first step," he murmured, standing up from his chair. "Albus, could we—Mr. Potter and I, that is—move to a space where we will be uninterrupted?"

"Yes, of course, please do," Dumbledore replied with a smile. He arose from his chair and lead Mr. Ollivander to a small room off his office.

Harry got up and followed Dumbledore and Mr. Ollivander. Fawkes stayed on his shoulder, his weight heavy but oddly comforting. He wondered what he was going to have to do and what kind of wand would be made for him.

"Right there, yes. Please lift your wand arm—that is your right one, as I recall?" Mr. Ollivander asked, startling him from his wonderings. Dumbledore had left them, probably in an effort to give Harry a semblance of privacy.

"Er, yes, sir," Harry replied, marveling at the old wandmaker's memory. When he lifted his arm, Fawkes jumped from his shoulder in a flurry of gold and red feathers. He settled on a chair in the corner, content, it seemed, to observe.

The tape measure came to life before Harry's eyes, like it had when he bought his first wand. It measured the space between his eyebrows, how long his ear was, his fingernail length, and other seemingly random parts of his body. While the tape measure was zooming around Harry, Mr. Ollivander paid close attention, jotting down notes every once in a while on a wooden chair.

After what seemed like hours, Mr. Ollivander put his quill down. Immediately, the tape role stopped measuring Harry's nostrils and flitted back to Mr. Ollivander's briefcase.

"Well, by these measurements, you are suited for a lengthy list of wand woods—holly, surprisingly, not included in that list. But, of course, you have changed much since you were eleven years old," murmured the wandmaker, a curious gleam in his eyes.

Harry nodded politely, not exactly sure how to respond to that. Mr. Ollivander continued, "Pear seems…an acceptable match—but, of course, you don't want a purely acceptable wand. Fir…yes, that definitely fits you."

Harry gave the wandmaker a blank look. "Fir wands are often found in the hands of survivors, of people who go through extremely dangerous circumstances and come out more or less unscathed," explained Mr. Ollivander.

Definitely sounds like me, Harry thought to himself darkly. Mr. Ollivander continued, "Rowan wood…Red oak…Willow…hmmm." Suddenly, he straightened. "Oh, Mr. Potter, it seems you are suited for an Elder wood wand, as well."

"Oh…er, what does that mean, sir?"

"Elder wands are among the rarest. They +are…tricky to master, and never work for anyone less than extremely gifted."

Oh…add that to the list of things that make me stand out, Harry thought glumly. "This is quite a number of wand woods. If you would allow it, I would like to perform a test?" Mr. Ollivander asked with eager eyes.

"A test, sir?"

"Yes, well, since you are suited for so many woods, this test would save long hours of labor deducing exactly which wood you need," the wandmaker rationalized.

"Sure, then," Harry consented, a little nervous about what this 'test' entailed.

"Right, then. Albus, if I may conjure a table?" he called to the Headmaster, who was outside the room, writing at his desk.

"Please, feel free to do whatever you need to do," Dumbledore called back, not looking up from his parchment. Harry could tell he did that for a reason; Dumbledore didn't want Harry to feel more uncomfortable by paying him more attention.

Mr. Ollivander nodded and took his wand from his robes. With a light flick, a wooden table appeared next to Harry. The old wandmaker then walked past Harry to his briefcase, retrieved it, and began laying various twisted knobs of wood on the table. There were seven total, differing in colors and thickness.

"Mr. Potter, if you could stand before these woods," Mr. Ollivander when he finished laying out the bits of wood. Harry moved to stand behind the table, facing the wand woods.

"Now, hold your wand arm over the woods and move it in circles. When one reacts, that is how we know which one is best suited for you," directed the wandmaker.

Harry complied, feeling ridiculous with his hand hovering over random bobs of wood. After a couple seconds, a knot of brown wood jerked to the side sharply. It skidded off the table and fell before Harry grabbed it quickly on reflex.

Only he hadn't touched the wood. It just hovered there, in the air. Harry's eyes widened and looked at Mr. Ollivander and Dumbledore; neither of them had their wands out. The Headmaster was looking at Harry bemusedly, and gave Harry a wink when he caught him looking. Harry glanced down at his hand. It was outstretched toward the knot of wood and felt tingly and warm.

As soon as Harry realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand back abruptly and the wand wood fell to the floor with a soft thunk! He quickly reached down and picked it back up, feeling awkward.

"Er, sorry about that," he said apologetically. He could feel the phoenix's gaze at the back of his neck.

"For what, Mr. Potter?" Mr. Ollivander asked kindly. "Truly, there is nothing to apologize for—and that was an incredible display of wandless magic for one so young." Harry knew Mr. Ollivander was trying to make him feel better but it just made him feel more like a freak.

"Right, then. Mr. Potter, if I may have that wood?" queried Mr. Ollivander.

Harry handed the wood back to him wordlessly, still thinking about the wandless—and silent—Levitation Charm. And unintentional, Harry added. He didn't know whether to be scared or gladdened by his new power.

"Ah! It is Elder wood!" Mr. Ollivander exclaimed excitedly. "It is one of my favorites woods to work with—very tricky to carve." The old wandmaker gathered up all the other bits of wood and carefully laid them back inside his briefcase, arranging them neatly in velvet lining. He closed his briefcase, tapped it with his wand, and opened it again, revealing a completely different interior than before.

Harry's first thought was, Where can I get one? His thoughts then turned to befuddlement as Mr. Ollivander plucked a single, blank piece of parchment from his magical briefcase and closed it once more.

"Right, then. It is time to find to length of your wand—and maybe the flexibility as well, if you answer in a certain way," said the wandmaker, sitting down in his chair. "Now, there will be two options displayed on this card. Choose the first one that pops into your head and tell me. There is no wrong answer."

"Okay…sir," Harry replied, deciding not to question the wandmaker's tactics.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Ollivander said. He gave the thick parchment a light tap and, slowly, it started filling up with two images: a bird and a cage.

"Cage," said Harry.

A crown and a wooden goblet. "Goblet."

"Dove."

"Lightning bolt."

"Sword."

"Water."

"Castle."

"Stag."

Mr. Ollivander kept tapping the card, and Harry kept saying whichever one he thought of first. He felt as if Mr. Ollivander was giving him a psychoanalysis—it was too quiet in Dumbldore's office, interrupted only by the tapping of Mr. Ollivander's wand and Harry's voice. This only served to emphasize the quietness.

Finally, Mr. Ollivander put his piece of parchment down and cleared his throat. "I am finished with this part of the wandmaking process, Mr. Potter. I'll need to make some calculations, of course, but those will only take a moment or two," he announced, standing cheerfully from his chair and walking over to the table.

Harry sat awkwardly while Mr. Ollivander scribbled on spare parchment. After a minute or two of consulting his card and making quick computations, he gave a triumphant grin. "It seems this aspect of your personality has not changed, Mr. Potter," he said without any explanation.

"Er, what do you mean by that?" Harry asked, confused.

"Your wand flexibility and length! When you walked into my shop at eleven years old, a wand with a length of eleven inches and a nice, supple flexibility chose you. According to my calculations, these measurements remain the same. It seems curious to me that while your wand wood affinity has changed, your wand length and suppleness remain the same," Mr. Ollivander mused, an interested gleam in his eye.

Harry nodded, though he didn't share Mr. Ollivander's enthusiasm. In truth, Harry merely wished for his old wand back, not just the length and flexibility.

"Now for the final part: the core. There are three main cores used by wandmakers; dragon heartstrings, unicorn hairs, and phoenix tail feathers. The process by which your core is selected is similar to the one I used to find your wand wood; I shall place samples of the three cords in front of you, you will hold your hand out, and one of the cores will respond to your magic," Mr. Ollivander explained as he lifted three materials—Harry assumed they were the wand cores—from his briefcase with his wand.

The first core was a fiery red feather, almost a foot in length, and very beautiful. It held a certain, dignified grace—something meant for wondrous works of magic. From out of the wandmaker's briefcase came the second core, a long, silver thread taken, it seemed, from pure, majestic moonlight. The final core was dark and bloodred, a thick band of fleshy material. Out of the three, it was this one that seemed the most sinister, but still magnificent.

Mr. Ollivander placed the cores very gently—almost tenderly—on the table. "Please stand right here, Mr. Potter," he ordered, gesturing to a spot in front of the table.

Harry obeyed, feeling a pull in his gut coming from the direction of the wand cores. All three seemed to call to him, a feeling Harry acknowledged with unease.

"Now reach out with your magic. Let the cores hear it, feel it. Let them choose," Mr. Ollivander guided quietly. Harry closed his eyes and did just that, raising his hands and his hair ruffling with a hot breeze.

He heard Mr. Ollivander give a sharp gasp, and Harry flashed his eyes open. To his immense shock, all three cores hovered in front of him, floating in circles above his palms.

"Oh, my," murmured Mr. Ollivander, sounding almost as stunned as Harry felt. "Well, this is certainly something."

"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asked, concerned. He didn't move, afraid to disturb the phenomenon happening above his hands, which felt warm and tingly.

"Wrong? Heavens no, dear boy! This is a miracle, a mark of what a powerful wizard you are! Three cores! All three cores! Oh, thank you, Mr. Potter! A wandmaker rarely gets such an opportunity to work with more than one core!" Mr. Ollivander exclaimed excitedly.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably at the wandmaker's words. He didn't want to be powerful, he didn't want to be a miracle. He wanted to be Harry, just Harry. Not the Boy-Who-Lived. Not the Boy-Who-Summoned-All-Three-Cores. Just Harry.

With a loud squawk, Fawkes soared to the table where the cores had been displayed. He perched atop the table and simply looked at Harry and the floating cores, eyes alight with an emotion too complex for Harry's mind to comprehend.

"Mr. Potter, in order to use all three cores, you must use magic to combine them. Oh, Albus, you might want to see this!" Mr. Ollivander was saying.

"Er, is there a way to just use one core? I…" Harry trailed off, wondering what words to use. "I—er—don't think…it's just, I don't need any more att—"

"Just use one core?" Mr. Ollivander repeated, a perplexed expression on his face. He shook his head. "No, no, if all three cores have chosen you, any wand without them would burn out, sometimes quite literally," he said distractedly, looking over as Dumbledore walked to the tiny room.

Harry's heart sank. He didn't know why, but he felt saddened by the news that he would need all three cores. It was just another weight added to his shoulders, another stroke of paint in a picture that everyone else saw as him, but who Harry saw as a complete stranger.

Dumbledore looked at Harry with an unreadable expression on his, similar to his phoenix. He looked at Harry with a familiar twinkle in his eyes and a tight set to his lips, not angry, just…intrigued. Worried.

"Now, Mr. Potter, if you could listen to my directions." Harry turned to the wandmaker, focused fully on what he had to say. Mr. Ollivander looked directly into Harry's eyes, bright silver meeting brilliant green. "I need you to do what feels natural—don't think about it. I can't combine the cores for you—all three chose you, therefore only you can exert the control to combine them."

Harry gave a small, curt nod. He gazed at the three floating magical substances that were still twirling around each other. His palms still felt warm and tingly. Harry concentrated on the cores, and his hands moved on their own accord.

They pulled apart, stretching an invisible—but not exactly intangible—substance between them. The cores spun around each other more rapidly, moved closer to each other. Harry crossed his hands, wrapping the unseen substance around the three cores. He held the now-intertwined materials in his palms and just gazed at the knot of cores.

Only the grandest of words could convey the cores' magnificence. They held an innate elegance, shined with a soft, inner light, gave off a feeling beyond words, beyond any possible explanation. The splendor of it filled Harry, wrapped his heart in a warmth that he instinctively knew to be his magic.

The cores were still rotating, quickly increasing the rate at which they spun. Gold and silver sparks flew from Harry's fingertips, and they, too, started to twist around the cores, stray ones floating around his head. At the same rate the cores spun, Harry's heart beat. The sound filled his eardrums, providing a melody to the whole event.

Then, abruptly, it stopped. Everything stilled, went dead quiet. Like some great beast holding its breath, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

The cores started to glow, at first dimly, but soon brightly. Too brightly. Much too brightly. Blindingly. The white light grew, and Harry could only watch, a tender look on his face. Out of his peripheral, he saw Mr. Ollivander and Dumbledore cringe away. Fawkes stood stoically and stared at the light, but still it grew. It grew until all Harry saw was white, brilliant, dazzling white.

And then, like blowing out a candle, all Harry saw was darkness and a fast-shrinking red bird bursting into flames. Distantly, he felt a hard thump in the back of his head, and the pain that ensued pushed him further down into the world of unconsciousness.