After Flitwick finished up with the cleaning, making sure to suck the moisture from Flynn and Jones's clothes as well, Flynn and Jones both touched the man's shoulders.

"Please, a tighter grip, if you will. No need to be shy, gentlemen. Now I will warn you, Mr. Fredericton, that the experience of apparating is quite disorienting, especially for first timers such as yourself," Flitwick said. "Are you prepared?"

Flynn grunted as he put his whole hand on the small man's shoulders. "As ready as I'll ever be," he said. "Let's just get it over with."

"If you insist," Flitwick said.

And suddenly, there was a loud cracking sound as Flitwick's shoulder twisted and morphed like it was made of rubber, pulling Flynn's body along with him as he shot forwards. Darkness took over his vision, and the grip of panic overtook him as he found he couldn't breathe. Pressure assaulted him from all sides and his eyes and ears threatened to pop in protest, as his entire body stretched and squeezed like he was being forcibly pulled through a pipe.

And then the feeling stopped and he was suddenly standing in a dingy pub. Nobody in the pub seemed to care that three people randomly seemed to appear out of nowhere, though he did see a few of them looking in his direction and chuckling.

Flynn was about to ask what the fuck they thought they were looking at, until he realized he was on his hands and knees. He quickly got up, ignoring the way that he swayed for a second before he could find his footing.

Flitwick looked unbothered, though a little apologetic, while Jones simply had a frown on his face, though that didn't say much, given that it was his default expression. Not wanting to give off the impression that he was the only one that was affected by the teleportation magic, Flynn said nothing.

"Now then," Flitwick said. "I assume you know how to get to Diagon Alley from here?"

"I do," Jones replied, walking off to a corner of the bar where nobody was sitting.

"I'll be here when you finish," Flitwick shouted after Jones's retreating back. He glanced at Flynn. "You should follow him."

Flynn considered telling Flitwick not to tell him what to do, but if this was going to be one of the teachers at his new school, he didn't see the point in painting a target on his back this early. That would come naturally over the year, he supposed.

"Yeah, I'll do that," he said, with a grunt and a nod, before walking towards Jones.

Flynn heard Flitwick sigh and mutter a comment about how badly he needed a drink, but he decided to ignore it.

By the time Flynn caught up with Jones, he found him standing next to a hole in the brick wall that led into a bright and busy street.

"Keep up, will you, brat?" Jones said, before walking into the street.

"Fuck off, old coot," Flynn responded, hating how fast he had to walk to keep up with the older man's longer stride.

"We're going in, then out," Jones said. "Robes or wand, first?"

Flynn looked up at him like he was stupid.

"You're asking me whether I want to go look at clothes or a fucking stick that can let me do magic?" Flynn asked.

"I ain't gonna assume what you want, brat," Jones replied. "You take control of your own destiny, you hear?"

Flynn blinked a few times before rolling his eyes. "Well, that's nice of you and all, but use your fucking head for once, old man," he said. "Magic stick."

"Wand," Jones replied. He started to walk down the street.

"Sure. Wand. Whatever," Flynn said, as he followed after him.

Flynn didn't know what to make of Diagon Alley. Though a small part of him wanted to marvel at the number of wondrous things happening behind the glass displays behind every store, he kept his eyes lower to the ground as he stuck to the side of the road.

Though crowds like this usually made him nervous, Flynn couldn't help but feel confident. Everyone he passed seemed naive to the point where he felt like he could just reach into their pockets and steal their things without them noticing, even if he hadn't practised his pickpocketing skills in years. Despite this being an obviously well off neighbourhood, It seemed like wizard's fashion revolved around looking like a well-off homeless person, wearing robes and accessories that looked like they were made of whatever knick knacks they could pilfer from a rich girl's trashcan.

Flynn found that he actually fit in quite nicely. Though he could never claim that he looked well off, his baggy black clothes almost made it look like he was wearing a robe if nobody looked at him for too long, and Flynn was very good at not being seen when he didn't want to be.

He kept his eye on the crowds and his back all through the walk to the wand shop, but it felt like a waste of time. Though he wouldn't let his guard down, he felt almost disappointed in the lack of awareness that everyone there seemed to have.

"We're here," Jones grunted.

"I can see that," Flynn said, glancing up at the sign that read, 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.'. A nervous energy ran through him for a moment, before Flynn pushed the door open and walked inside.

Ollivanders was dark. It was much lighter than what Flynn was used to living in, but he still had trouble adjusting to the sudden change from the lighting of the midday sun to that of the interior of the shop. That being said, it was impossible to not notice the old man sitting in the middle of the shop, silently staring into his eyes in a way that creeped Flynn out, even if he wasn't sure why.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Flynn asked, unable to stop the automatic challenge from exiting his mouth. He regretted it almost immediately, not out of any notion of respect, but because the old man felt dangerous.

"I'm looking at you, young man," the man said with a smile that reminded Flynn of a doll's.

Flynn shivered. If any other old man said that to him, Flynn would've assumed they were a pedophile, but somehow, this felt worse. A small part of him told him to run away as fast as he could, but the larger part of him told him to stay put. Running would be pointless, after all.

"Here for a wand, are you?" the old man asked, before chuckling and shaking his head. "Of course you are. My apologies. Just a little joke I like to have with myself."

"I am," Flynn said slowly, like every word he said had the risk of ruining the old man's mood.

Flynn wasn't sure if the old man hadn't noticed Flynn's cautiousness around him, or if he simply didn't care, but in either case, he turned around and disappeared into the back of the shop. Flynn heard the sound of shuffling boxes, followed by silence.

He struggled not to jump when the old man seemed to reappear in the blink of an eye, with an armful of leatherbound boxes.

"I had to search in the back for these," he said, taking a deep breath and blowing over the boxes. The dust that came off them seemed to sparkle and shine in vibrant colours before disappearing, causing the old man to giggle like a child before setting the boxes on a counter and beckoning Flynn to approach.

Against all of his survival instincts, he did.

"So many centuries that these wands had gone to waste, though I suppose they haven't minded," the old man said, chuckling to himself. "Lazy little things, or perhaps I should say spiteful? I don't think any of them have quite forgiven me, or my predecessors rather, for creating them."

Flynn had no idea what he was on about, so he simply stayed silent until the old man opened a box and took a wand out of it.

"Here," he said. "Try this one. Alder. Dragon heartstring. Twelve inches."

Flynn slowly reached out to grab it, but the old man quickly pulled it out of his reach before he could take it and put it back in its box.

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "I should've known. I apologize to both of you. How about this one?"

Opening another box, the old man drew out another wand.

"Willow, unicorn hair, ten and a half inches," he said, holding it out once more.

This time Flynn didn't hesitate nearly as much in grabbing it from the old man's hands, though he still remained cautious. Flynn's eyes widened as the wand seemed to vibrate in his hands, but before anything substantial could happen, the old man leaned forward and snatched it from his grasp.

"Hey!" Flynn shouted, unable to stop his anger at having his wand stolen.

The old man shook his head. "It could've worked, but you would be forcing the wand into submission, rather than working with it. You can do better."

Unbothered by the angry growl that rumbled in Flynn's throat, the old man put the wand away and pulled out another.

"Maple. Kneazle whisker. Ten inches."

"Pine. Dittany stalk. Exactly twelve inches."

"Prickly Ash. Dragon Heartstring. Nearly fourteen inches."

The old man went through a number of wands, yanking nearly half of the wands away before Flynn could even touch them. Any excitement that Flynn had about getting a wand had faded away by this point, and the fear he had of the old man had slowly simmered into anger.

When the old man took out a wand and sighed, stowing it away without even listing out its qualities like he had with the others, Flynn finally snapped.

"Stop fucking with me, old man!" he shouted.

Though it had been nearly silent already, the blanket of silence that suddenly fell over the wand shop was stifling, a void, rather than a simple absence of sound.

The old man glanced up at Flynn, his eyes staring into Flynn's, sharp and dangerous.

At that moment, Flynn knew that he would die.

Then the old man smiled and the moment passed.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I knew you reminded me of someone," he said, before disappearing.

Before Flynn could seriously consider running away, the old man reappeared, holding another leatherbound box, identical to the ones that littered his desk already. He set it down in front of him and opened the box. Gingerly, as if the wand was burning hot, he picked it up with two fingers and held it aloft in the air for Flynn to take.

Flynn gingerly took the wand from the old man's hands.

Nothing happened at first. With the first wand that he managed to grab, he had felt a glimpse of power in it, though he hadn't actually managed to make contact with it before the old man took it away. The old man seemed content to let him hold it for longer than a few seconds at least, but other than the pulse of his own heart, he felt nothing in the moment.

And then he realized. It wasn't his own pulse that he was feeling.

"Is this thing alive?" Flynn couldn't help but ask.

"In my opinion, all wands are alive," the old man said. "But I suppose if any wands were alive in the sense that humans tend to define it, this one would be the closest to fitting the description."

Flynn wasn't sure if he should drop the damn thing or not.

"What do you mean by that?" Flynn asked.

"Acacia. Thirteen inches. Rather inflexible, but not completely stiff," the old man said. "All qualities that you wouldn't find in a typical wand, but the thing that sets this wand apart from the others is its core. The heartstring of a rather odd forest troll."

"I don't know what that means," Flynn said.

"The trolls of old were renowned by their regenerative abilities, to the point where they could regrow heads and organs if you did not set them on fire or destroy their heart directly," the old man said. "Even though the one that gave me his heart for the wand that you hold in your hands right now is long dead, it's possible that some life remains within it. He sure was stubborn enough that it's possible."

Flynn waited for any further information, but the old man simply smiled at him. Giving up on trying to pry anything from the old man that actually made sense, Flynn gripped the wand tight.

"So," he said. "Does that mean this one is mine?"

The old man chuckled. "Perhaps," he said. "Tell me boy. Why do you wish to become a wizard?"

The familiar question, even if it wasn't worded in the same way, had an obvious answer.

"Power," he said.

"What type of power?" the old man asked.

The power to get whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The power to live life however he wished. To become so powerful that nobody would ever try to fuck with him.

"All of it."

As if in response to his answer, the wand in his hand pulsed slowly and steadily. Though nothing visually happened, Flynn held back a gasp as he felt a sudden rush of power coursing through his body, from within and without.

The old man smiled and bowed his head.

"Thank you for shopping at Ollivanders," he said. "I'm glad you finally found your partner."

The old man bent down to scoop up some of the discarded wand boxes from his desk and started to walk away, humming a jaunty tune.

Though he wanted to ask a few more questions, Flynn jumped when he felt something clamp against his shoulder. Whirling around, he was startled to realize that he had completely forgotten that Jones had also been in the shop with him.

"Let's go," Jones said. "We have no more business being here."

Though Flynn wanted to argue, he felt the sudden and pervasive feeling that what Jones said was correct, like he didn't belong in the shop anymore. Struggling to keep himself from looking around, not sure he would like what he saw, he nodded.

"Yeah, sure," he said, trying to be as casual as possible. "Let's go."

As soon as Flynn opened the door, he almost staggered at the sudden burst of sunlight and the sounds of lively streets hit him, almost violent in its contrast to the dark and oppressively silent store that he'd just exited. He stopped in front of the door, and only moved when Jones nudged him aside.

Jones paused for a moment, and Flynn wondered whether he was also mentally recovering from their brief stay at Ollivanders. He considered asking Jones about what the hell the old man was, before deciding against it.

"Robes?" he asked instead.

Jones grunted and wandered off down the street.

Flynn followed behind him, though he had trouble keeping his attention away from the wand he was holding in his hand.

Flynn wasn't used to owning things. Aside from the few scraps he had scavenged whenever the matron brought an unsorted bag of donated clothing to the orphanage, and even those he never expected to keep for long, given how he left his things unattended whenever he went out to go to school or the gym. Even if he ended up keeping them for long periods of time, it wasn't permanent, and he knew that.

Holding something that was 'his' and his alone wasn't something he was used to. Did he need to worry about dropping it or having it get stolen? But what if he gripped it too tight? It was made of wood, right? He had snapped dozens of pencils before by holding them too hard, what if that happened here?

The magic in the wand pulsed slowly. Though it was nothing as intense as what had happened in the store, the feeling brought him a sense of stability. A reassurance that it was powerful. It wouldn't snap under his fingers, in fact, it seemed to be almost daring him to try.

Flynn kept a solid grip on it as he followed Jones, until they made their way to a storefront that had a sign that said, 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions'. Unlike Olivanders, the store had large glass panes at the front of it, displaying a few sets of robes that looked practically identical to Flynn's untrained eye.

Jones pushed the door open and Flynn followed him into the most posh looking establishment that he'd ever been in.

Though the place held none of the oppressive heaviness that had weighed down on him at Ollivanders, he immediately decided that he didn't belong here, and would've walked out the door if he didn't remember that this was the only place that the school was paying for. With a frown on his face, he walked further inside.

Immediately, Flynn saw more than a few eyes turn towards him, with both him and Jones immediately sticking out in the posh establishment that they found themselves in, though Jones at least had clothes that fit him.

More than a couple of customers looked at them with disdain in their eyes, while some of the employees had their eyes darting nervously between Flynn and a fat lady dressed completely in mauve. Madame Malkin, if Flynn had to guess. To her credit, she gave them a fairly convincing smile as she approached them on behalf of her staff that seemed to be too scared to.

"Hello," she said, her cheery voice giving away no real emotion. "Are you here for a Hogwarts uniform?"

"Yeah," Flynn said, even if the lady was looking at Jones. "Flitwick told me I could get my clothes for free here."

The lady's smile twitched slightly, though she didn't break character beyond that. "Do you perhaps mean you have a voucher from Hogwarts?" she asked loudly, as if announcing it to the entire store.

"Yeah," Flynn answered, taking the envelope from his pocket. He struggled not to react when he realised it was somehow already opened, though after a brief inspection, he saw that the only thing that was missing was the voucher for the wand.

Cursing the creepy ass old man internally, he took out the two vouchers for the robes and held it out to the lady. She took out her wand and levitated the pieces of paper out of his hand, her polite smile giving off no indication that she used her magic simply because she didn't want to touch him.

With how convenient magic seemed, Flynn couldn't be sure if that was actually the case or not, but he quickly decided he didn't care.

"Where do I get my clothes?" he asked, resisting the urge to grab the nearest set off the nearest rack.

"You'll need to be fitted for a Hogwarts uniform, my dear," the lady said, as if she could tell what he was thinking. She gestured to the back of the store. "We've got another student being fitted as well, in fact. Why don't you go on ahead and join him? In the meantime, is there anything I can get for you while you wait, sir? Some water? Tea?" she asked, turning to Jones.

"No thank you," he replied. "I'll be outside, brat. Don't keep me waiting."

Without waiting for a response, Jones turned back and walked out of the store, causing more than a few of the customers to loosen their shoulders in visible relief.

The lady watched him go, before she turned back to Flynn. "Well, let's not keep your grandfather waiting, then," she said.

"He ain't my gramps," Flynn said, before turning around and letting himself be led through the store, making sure both his hands were visible so she couldn't accuse him of stealing something if anything went missing.

The lady let out a noncommittal hum, before she dropped the subject, apparently not finding it worth the effort.

In the back rooms, a black kid with short hair was standing on a footstool while another employee pinned up his long black robes. Flynn followed Malkin to a spot on the floor, kicking away a footstool that he apparently didn't need, given his unusual height.

The kid glanced at him and gave him a nod that Flynn refused to return, keeping his eyes facing forward as Malkin slipped a long robe over his head. Though the feeling of someone handling him like this made it difficult to stay still, it helped that Malkin seemed determined to touch him as little as she could.

"So," the kid said, apparently undeterred by Flynn's efforts to ignore him. "What's Hogwarts like?"

The question confused him. "How the fuck would I know?" he asked.

The sudden profanity seemed to surprise everyone in the room, though Malkin and her employee were quick to pretend like nothing had happened.

"Are you not a Hogwarts student?" the kid asked, speaking a little more cautiously this time.

Though Flynn might've hidden the answer to that question in most cases, he doubted that there was much point here, given the fact that he was getting fitted for a Hogwarts uniform.

"Apparently," he said.

Flynn watched the gears in the boy's head turn for a few seconds before the boy's eyes widened.

"Bloody hell," he said. "You're eleven?"

Flynn shrugged, ignoring the annoyed grumble that Malkin let out as he shifted his robes. "Maybe," he said. "Around that age, at least."

"You're acting like you don't actually know," the boy said.

Flynn grunted, and pointedly stared directly in front of him, refusing to lock eyes with the boy any longer.

Though the boy looked like he wanted to talk more, he gave up pretty quickly, falling into silence and directing his gaze forward as well.

The boy finished getting his robes fitted first, and gave Flynn a half-hearted wave before he left, though it didn't seem like he actually expected to get one in return. Flynn obliged by staying stoic and unmoving until Malkin finished up his fitting soon after.

She used her magic to lift the robe off of Flynn's head and folded it gently before waving her wand and summoning a nearly identical looking set of robes from a cupboard. With another swish of her wand, a variety of scissors and sewing materials flew at the robes until they were modified to the same size as the first set.

"I have your vouchers," she said. "You don't have to pay anything. Thank you for stopping by my store."

And get out. Flynn heard the unspoken demand loud and clear. He grabbed the floating robes from the air and marched out, without bothering to say thanks.

On the way out, Flynn passed by the boy from the fitting room, who glanced at Flynn but made no further indication to acknowledge his existence.

Not caring in the slightest, he walked out of the store and scanned the outdoors until he saw Jones, skulking by the corner of the store.

"Hey, old man," Flynn shouted. "I'm done."

"Took you long enough," Jones said, before jerking his head behind him. "Let's go."

Flynn made it about ten steps before he was interrupted.

"Marcus Zabini," a voice said, in almost a whispered tone despite how easily it cut through the loud sounds of the streets. "Is that you?"

Flynn turned around towards the source of the voice and saw a tall dark-skinned woman with a lithe body and a tight dress that shamelessly showed off every curve it had. Though Flynn hadn't hit the point where he'd started thinking with his dick yet, and he hoped to never reach it, seeing all the stupid shit he'd seen people do to get their dicks wet, even he couldn't help but stare for a second before he could harden his emotions.

When he noticed she didn't seem to even notice him, her gaze focused on Jones instead, Flynn backed up to stand beside Jones, glaring at the woman who approached him. Flynn glanced up and noticed the old man glaring at the woman, but with no recognition in his eyes.

"Who's asking?" he said.

The woman smiled, a sultry smile that Flynn had seen hundreds of hookers attempting unsuccessfully. She extended her hand, tilting it in a way that made Flynn unsure of whether she expected Jones to shake it or kiss it. When Jones's hard stare made it clear that he didn't intend to do either, the woman lowered her hand, though she didn't seem too offended.

"Currently Daedra Primrose," she said. "But I was called Daedra Zabini, once upon a time. It's a pleasure to meet my once brother-in-law."

"I'm surprised you've heard of me," Jones replied, his voice hard. "I can't imagine my brothers ever speaking about me, no matter which of them you decided to marry."

"It was Desmond," the woman said, seeming to take no offence to Jones's less than friendly attitude. "And he wasn't the one to mention you. I did my own research on your family. I had believed you were dead, if I'm truly being honest."

"You were right," Jones said. "Marcus Zabini is dead."

The woman smiled. "Of course he is," she said. She turned to Flynn and smiled, before turning back to Jones.

"You have a grandson?" she asked.

"No," Jones said, before Flynn could reply. "He's nobody."

"I see," the woman said, looking down at Flynn and smiling again. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you both. I'm afraid I have to cut our pleasantries short. My son is waiting for me at Madam Malkin's."

Jones offered nothing other than a grunt in response, but the woman didn't seem to be offended whatsoever. She simply smiled and gave him a short bow before turning around and walking towards the shop that Flynn had just left from.

Once the door closed behind her, Jones turned around and walked in the opposite direction. Flynn followed him wordlessly, not speaking even when they got back to the pub that they'd left Flitwick at.

The short man seemed a little tipsy, but more than sober enough to get them back home.

The second time teleporting proved to be just as disorienting as the first time, but at the very least, Flynn managed not to fall to his knees, stumbling a little, but catching himself before he fell. With Flitwick being eager to leave, he bade his goodbyes before teleporting away almost immediately after taking them back to the gym.

Silently, Jones wandered off to the side and picked up a pair of boxing gloves and tossed them to Flynn. Flynn caught them, but nearly dropped them when he saw Jones pick up a pair of gloves of his own, rather than the boxing pads he usually wore.

"Seriously?" Flynn asked.

Jones shrugged, putting on his gloves before stepping into the ring. "Can't have a serious talk without some flying fists."

Flynn never put on his gloves faster before in his life.