The warm morning sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow over the living room. Lucas sat in a plush armchair, his back straight and his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Despite his small stature, he exuded an air of confidence and maturity that belied his ten years, his emerald eyes sharp and focused as he awaited Dumbledore's arrival.

A sharp crack echoed through the room, and the aged wizard appeared before him, his long robes swirling around his ankles. "Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore greeted, offering a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Lucas rose to his feet, inclining his head in a polite nod. "Professor Dumbledore," he replied, his voice calm but laced with a hint of excitement. He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly at the subtle display of eagerness, and he gestured towards the sofa with a sweep of his arm. "Please, have a seat, my dear boy."

Lucas sank back into the armchair, his movements fluid and graceful. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded Dumbledore with a steady gaze. "I trust all is well, Professor?"

Dumbledore chuckled, settling into the sofa with a slight groan. "As well as can be expected," he said, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "And yourself?"

"Quite well, thank you," Lucas responded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Dumbledore nodded, clasping his hands together as his expression grew more serious. "Before we venture into the wizarding world, Harry, I thought it best to give you a brief overview of your history."

Lucas inclined his head, his expression one of polite interest. "Of course, Professor. I'm all ears."

Dumbledore launched into the tale of Lucas's supposed past, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence as he spoke of James and Lily Potter, their brave defiance against Lord Voldemort, and their ultimate sacrifice to save their infant son.

"Your parents were two of the bravest and most talented witches and wizards I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," Dumbledore said, his eyes growing distant with memories. "They fought against Voldemort's tyranny with every fiber of their being, and in the end, they gave their lives to protect you."

Lucas nodded solemnly, his brow furrowing slightly as he listened intently. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest as Dumbledore recounted the fateful night when Voldemort's killing curse rebounded, leaving Lucas with his lightning-bolt scar.

"So you see, Harry," Dumbledore concluded, his voice heavy with emotion, "you are a living symbol of your parents' love and sacrifice. And Voldemort, though stripped of his powers and his physical form, was ultimately defeated on that night."

Lucas's eyes widened fractionally, and he sat up straighter in his chair. "He's gone, then?" he asked, his voice tinged with relief. "Truly gone?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "As far as we can tell, yes. The rebounding of his own killing curse seemed to have destroyed him, at least for the time being."

Lucas's brow furrowed as he considered this information. "But what if he finds a way to return?" he asked, his voice low and grave. "Is there a chance he could come back, seek revenge?"

Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head slowly. "I cannot say for certain, Harry," he admitted. "Voldemort was a master of the Dark Arts, and his knowledge of magic was vast and terrible. It is possible that he found a way to cling to life, to bide his time and regain his strength."

Lucas nodded slowly, his expression one of solemn determination. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes alight with resolve.

"Then I must be prepared," he said, his voice ringing with conviction. "I want to learn everything I can about magic, Professor.”

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he rose to his feet, extending his arm towards Lucas. "Then let us go to Diagon Alley, my dear boy. The wizarding world awaits."

He grasped Dumbledore's proffered arm, and the world seemed to twist and contort around them, colors and shapes blurring together in a dizzying whirlwind. Lucas felt a familiar tug behind his navel, the sensation of Apparition no longer jarring or disorienting to him.

They found themselves standing in the dimly lit interior of the Leaky Cauldron, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and smoke. Lucas wrinkled his nose slightly, scanning the surroundings with curious eyes.

"It's him!" a wizened old witch exclaimed, her voice hushed with awe as she caught sight of Lucas. "Harry Potter!"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a wave, and suddenly, Lucas found himself the center of attention, dozens of eyes fixed upon him. The patrons surged forward, forming a tight circle around the young boy, their faces alight excitement

"Bless my soul, it really is you!" an elderly wizard cried, pushing his way through the throng. He grasped Lucas's hand, pumping it vigorously. "Harry Potter, in the flesh! What an honor, what an honor!"

Lucas offered a polite smile, his gaze sweeping over the gathered witches and wizards with a calm air. "Good day," he said, his voice clear and confident. "It's a pleasure to be here and meet you all."

A chorus of greetings and well-wishes echoed through the pub, and Lucas found himself surrounded by a sea of outstretched hands, all of them desperate to shake the hand of the Boy Who Lived.

"Harry, Harry, over here!" a plump witch cried, waving frantically. "Let me get a look at you, dear!"

Lucas turned towards her, his smile never faltering as she grasped his face between her hands, peering at him intently. "My, you've grown into such a handsome young lad," she cooed, pinching his cheek affectionately.

A burly wizard elbowed his way through the crowd, his face flushed with excitement. "Tell us, Mr. Potter," he boomed, his voice carrying over the din. "How did you do it? How did you survive the Killing Curse when you were just a babe?"

The questions came rapid-fire, a barrage of voices clamoring for Lucas's attention.

"Where have you been all these years?"

"Did you really slay a dragon when you were six years old?"

"What was it like, growing up with Muggles?"

Lucas endured the onslaught with practiced grace, his smile unwavering as he turned from one eager face to the next, offering polite nods and vague, noncommittal answers. Despite the overwhelming attention, he remained composed, his emerald eyes betraying not a hint of discomfort or irritation.

"My apologies, everyone," he said, his voice cutting through the clamor with a gentle firmness. "I'm afraid I don't have all the answers you seek. My memories of that night are... fragmented, at best." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "But I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted in the days and years to come."

The patrons seemed to deflate slightly at his words, but their excitement remained palpable.

"Of course, of course," the burly wizard said, nodding vigorously. "We're just thrilled to have you back in the wizarding world, Mr. Potter. Thrilled, I tell you!"

A young witch, her cheeks flushed with giddiness, reached out and tugged on the sleeve of Lucas's robe. "Could I... could I perhaps get an autograph, Harry?" she asked, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement.

Lucas's lips curved into a warm, indulgent smile, and he nodded. "Certainly," he replied, accepting the quill and parchment she thrust into his hands.

As he scrawled his signature with a flourish, more requests for autographs began to pour in, and Lucas found himself surrounded by a flurry of parchment and quills, his hand moving deftly from one piece to the next.

At last, Dumbledore ushered him towards the back of the pub, his hand resting lightly on Lucas's shoulder. "This way, Harry," he murmured, his voice low and tinged with a hint of amusement.

Lucas inclined his head, offering the crowd a final, gracious smile. "Thank you, everyone," he said, his voice carrying over the din. "It's been a pleasure meeting you all."

They stepped out into a small, walled courtyard, and Dumbledore tapped a series of bricks with his wand. The wall began to shift and rearrange itself, forming an archway that led onto a bustling street lined with shops and vendors.

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"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Dumbledore proclaimed, his eyes twinkling as he took in Lucas's expression.

Lucas allowed appreciation to cross his features, his gaze sweeping over the colorful storefronts and the throngs of witches and wizards going about their business. In truth, he had already committed every inch of Diagon Alley to memory, having explored it extensively during his previous visits under the cover of concealment spells. But he maintained an air of polite curiosity, nodding along as Dumbledore pointed out various landmarks and establishments.

At last, they reached the towering marble edifice of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. "Your parents left you a considerable inheritance, Harry," Dumbledore explained, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Which is kept in a vault deep within these walls."

Lucas inclined his head, his expression one of mild interest. In truth, he had already amassed a fortune far greater than anything the Potters could have left him, but he saw no reason to disabuse Dumbledore of his assumptions.

They ascended the steps and passed through the bronze doors, entering a vast marble hall lined with long counters. Goblins sat perched on high stools, their long fingers sorting through stacks of coins and parchments.

Dumbledore led Lucas to one of the counters, where a particularly surly-looking goblin eyed them with disdain. "We've come to visit Mr. Potter's vault," Dumbledore said, his tone respectful but firm.

The goblin's beady eyes flicked towards Lucas and sneered at him.

"Key?" the goblin grunted, holding out a gnarled hand.

Dumbledore produced a small, golden key and handed it over. The goblin inspected it closely before nodding and summoning another goblin with a sharp whistle.

"Take them to vault six-eight-seven," he barked, handing over the key.

The second goblin gestured for them to follow, and they made their way through a series of winding tunnels, their path illuminated by flickering torchlight. Lucas kept his senses alert, mapping out their route and taking note of any potential exits or hiding spots, his mind ever-vigilant for threats or opportunities.

They climbed into a rickety mine cart, and Lucas gripped the sides as it lurched forward, hurtling them deeper into the cavernous depths of Gringotts. They passed through a waterfall, the icy spray stinging Lucas's face, and he caught a glimpse of a massive, slumbering beast guarding one of the vaults.

A dragon, he realized, his eyes widening fractionally. Surprisingly, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a dragon in this life. Impressive security measures indeed, but nothing I couldn't overcome if the need arose.

At last, the cart ground to a halt before a heavy, iron-bound door. The goblin stepped forward, inserting the key and turning it with a series of loud clicks and clanks.

The door swung open, revealing a modest-sized vault piled high with mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins. Lucas stepped inside, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor as he surveyed the riches before him.

A modest sum, he thought, plucking a handful of galleons and depositing them in the small pouch he carried. But a mere drop in the ocean compared to my true wealth.

They returned to the surface, and Dumbledore led Lucas towards a narrow shop with a faded sign proclaiming it as "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."

"This is where you'll acquire your wand, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "A deeply personal experience, one that I shall leave you to navigate on your own."

Lucas inclined his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, Professor," he replied, his tone one of polite acquiescence.

Lucas stepped inside the dusty shop, the bell above the door tinkling to announce his arrival. An old man with pale, wide eyes emerged from the back, his gaze immediately fixing on the young boy.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said, his voice soft and whispery. "I've been expecting you."

Lucas met the wandmaker's gaze evenly, a flicker of interest in his emerald eyes. "Ollivander, I presume?" he said, his tone polite but laced with a hint of youthful curiosity.

The old man nodded, already pulling boxes from the shelves that lined the walls. "Indeed, indeed. Let's find you the perfect match, shall we?" He turned back to Lucas, a slight smile tugging at his thin lips. "I must admit, I've been looking forward to this moment. It's not every day that I have the privilege of matching the wand to Harry Potter himself."

A ghost of a smile played across Lucas's features. "I'm sure the experience will be a memorable one," he replied, his voice carrying a faint lilt of amusement.

For the next hour, Lucas tried wand after wand, each one feeling slightly off, slightly wrong in his grasp. He could feel that he could use them just fine, but they indeed weren’t a perfect match. That assassin’s wand or the wand he stole from that guy in Ukraine were much the same, though the assassin’s wand was more compatible than the rest.

Ollivander would present each wand with a flourish, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Maple and unicorn hair, ten inches, rigid," he would murmur, handing the wand to Lucas.

Lucas would give it a deliberate wave, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as he felt the wand resisting his command. He shook his head, handing the wand back to Ollivander. "No, not quite right."

Ollivander would nod, seemingly undeterred, and move on to the next option. "Perhaps this one – cherry and dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches, swishy."

Again, Lucas would wave the wand only to purse his lips. "Still not a match, I'm afraid."

The process continued, with Ollivander growing increasingly intrigued by the challenge before him. "You're a tricky customer, Mr. Potter," he mused, his pale eyes gleaming with a hint of excitement. "But I relish a good puzzle."

At one point, Ollivander presented Lucas with a familiar wand – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. "The brother wand to the one that gave you that scar," the wandmaker murmured, his voice hushed with reverence.

Lucas took the wand, his fingers curling around the grip. But as he gave it a wave, he felt nothing unusual – just a normal wand. It was the same as any other wand in his hand. He quirked an eyebrow, handing the wand back to Ollivander with a slight shrug. "Not this one either, it seems."

Ollivander seemed taken aback, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Curious, very curious," he murmured, his gaze thoughtful.

Lucas tilted his head, regarding the wandmaker with a hint of interest. "What makes a wand choose a wizard, Mr. Ollivander?" he asked, his tone genuinely inquisitive.

The wandmaker chuckled, a wheezy sound that seemed to rattle in his chest. "Ah, a most profound mystery, Mr. Potter," he replied, his voice taking on a hushed, conspiratorial tone. "It is not the wizard who chooses the wand, but the wand that chooses the wizard."

Lucas nodded, leaning forward slightly, his emerald eyes sharp and attentive. "And what determines that choice?" he pressed. "Is it a matter of compatibility, of aligning with the wizard's inherent self?"

Ollivander's eyes sparkled with a keen interest, and he nodded, an air of solemnity enveloping his words. "Indeed, you've got it right. The wand chooses the wizard based on a deep harmony between the magic it holds and the wizard's inherent nature. It's a union that goes beyond the physical elements of wood and core—it's the magic within that forms the true bond."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Lucas's mouth, and he nodded in understanding. "A fascinating concept," he pondered, his gaze drifting momentarily as his mind processed this new information.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he gestured towards the boxes that still littered the countertops. "Shall we continue our search, then?"

Ollivander's eyes regained their earlier spark, and he nodded eagerly. "Of course, of course," he said, scurrying towards the shelves once more.

Box after box was opened, wand after wand was presented, but still, none seemed to forge that elusive connection with Lucas.

At last, Ollivander paused, his brow furrowed in thought. "Perhaps..." he murmured, his voice trailing off as he reached for a dusty box tucked away in the corner.

He opened it tenderly, and withdrew a wand crafted from pine wood, its surface smooth and polished. "Dragon heartstring core, eleven and a half inches, reasonably supple," he said, his voice hushed with anticipation.

The moment Lucas's fingers curled around the grip, he felt a surge of warmth and energy coursing through him, as if the wand had been an extension of his own body all along. Sparks erupted from the tip, showering the room in a cascade of brilliant, golden light.

Lucas's lips curved into a small, satisfied smile as he gave the wand an experimental flick, observing the way it seemed to respond to his every intention. "It appears we have a winner, Mr. Ollivander," he said.

Though I don’t plan on making much use of it outside of the classroom…

The wandmaker nodded, a thoughtful expression on his weathered face. "Pine and dragon heartstring," he murmured. "A formidable combination, to be sure."

Lucas arched an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Oh? How so?"

Ollivander's eyes seemed to light up, and he launched into an enthusiastic explanation. "Pine is a wood associated with independence, longevity, and a complex nature. It is also a hardy, enduring material that speaks to the strength of the wizard it has chosen."

He paused, his gaze growing distant and obsessive. "And the dragon heartstring core... ah, that is a core of power and intensity. It imbues the wand with a fierce, unwavering spirit, a capacity for raw, unbridled magic."

Lucas nodded, his expression one of polite interest as he absorbed this information. "I see," he murmured, giving the wand another speculative glance.

Ollivander chuckled, a wheezy sound that seemed to rattle in his chest. "Indeed, Mr. Potter, indeed. I sense great things in your future, and this wand shall be your faithful companion on that journey."

Lucas inclined his head, a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure it will be," he said. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Ollivander."

He purchased the wand, along with a sturdy leather holster that he strapped to his forearm. As he emerged from the shop, Dumbledore greeted him with a warm smile.

"Well?" he prompted. "What sort of wand did you acquire?"

"Pine, with a dragon heartstring core," Lucas replied, his tone casual. "Eleven and a half inches, reasonably supple."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, and he nodded slowly. "A fine wand, to be sure," he mused. "Suitable for a wizard of your potential."

Lucas met the older wizard's gaze evenly, a glimmer of something indecipherable in his emerald eyes. "So I've been told," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of dry amusement.

They spent the rest of the day exploring the various shops and vendors that lined Diagon Alley, with Dumbledore pointing out places of interest and regaling Lucas with tales of the wizarding world. Lucas listened with polite attentiveness despite already knowing it all.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson, Dumbledore turned to Lucas with a warm smile.

"I believe that concludes our tour for today," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Are you ready to return home, Harry?"

Lucas nodded, offering his arm to the older wizard. "Whenever you are, Professor," he replied.

"One last thing,” Dumbledore said, his voice lowered. "I must remind you that the use of magic by underage witches and wizards is strictly forbidden outside of Hogwarts."

He paused, his gaze lingering meaningfully on Lucas. "Of course, this refers primarily to the use of wanded magic, which can be detected by the Ministry's sensors. However, any indiscriminate displays of magic, regardless of the method, could potentially draw unwanted attention."

Lucas met Dumbledore's eyes evenly, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I understand, Professor," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of quiet amusement. "You need not worry about me. I have no intention of causing a spectacle or drawing unnecessary scrutiny."