ChapterOne

Two men were in a pub. It was an ordinary Muggle pub, and the two wizards were dressed quite normally. They also placed notice-me-not charms on themselves, so that everyone except the cute blonde waitress did not really see or hear them. This was good, because they were catered by the cute blonde every time instead of the disapproving-looking college student with the glasses and acne, and the blonde bothered to grace them with a smile each time.

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron hiccuped. "What are we doing with our lives? What are you doing with your life?"

The answer was 'shit all', but this wasn't really their fault. Harry Potter's marriage with Ginny had never gone too well, because Ginny considered Harry to be Prince Charming, a storybook character (no doubt perpetuated by those ridiculous Harry Potter adventure books), instead of an actual, three-dimensional human being with feelings. So, of course, their relationship soured quickly after marriage.

One thing both Harry and Ron could agree on, was that Molly Weasley was a complete bitch when her daughter was involved. Harry had been cowed the entire divorce proceedings by her because, much like the Horntail guarding her nest during the Triwizard Tournament, she'd proceeded to spit and howl at him. Ginny seemed rather unemotional, back then. Regardless, Ginny Weasley managed to steal 75% of his liquid assets from both the Black and Potter vaults, making the Weasleys richer than ever before, and Ginny had gone on a dating spree that included suspicious deaths much like the late Madam Zabini. Harry shuddered. He got off better than the rest, considering.

"I wish we could start over again," Ron said, ordering another beer. "Our lives have gone further to the shitter than we could've imagined. I want to go back to third year, mate."

"Why not first year?" Harry asked curiously.

"Because the girls don't have tits and our voice hasn't dropped!" Ron said, scandalized that Harry would even dare ask such a question.

"Fair enough," Harry shrugged. "You reckon the Veil of Death is a time-machine thing, mate?"

"It just might be," Ron mused. "Maybe we might find Sirius on the other side. That, I'd like to see."

Harry shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately not, mate. Sirius was hit by the blood-boiling curse when he got tossed over. Unless he got teleported straight into St. Mungos, I don't see how he would still be alive."

"Ah," Ron said sadly. Silence reigned as they continued to drink.

"You know what's sad?" Harry sighed. "This is the fifty-third time we've spoken about going back to the past."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. I scratch my hand next to Umbridge's scar to keep track. I think we can add an extra five or six or so, before I started marking myself."

"I don't remember all these conversations."

"I wouldn't either if it weren't for the scratches," Harry smirked, and raised his bottle. "To alcoholism!"

"Alcoholism!"

They both drained their bottles and waived the waitress over for another one. As she had done for the last twelve bottles, she asked if they were certain they weren't drunk. The response she received was a silly grin from both and Ron burping unintentionally. The waitress only shook her head; thankfully, while both men were in their late forties, the fact that they aged slower as wizards and got strenuous exercise as Field Operatives, meant they looked to be in their early thirties. The expression of tired amusement on the waitress' face would be one of disgust if she were dealing with two pot-bellied middle-aged men, they were sure.

"Do we have anything to lose?" Harry asked.

"Dobby?" Ron slurred.

"Dobby's dead," Harry snapped, before calming himself back down. "That damn little bugger. I'll always remember the glee on his face when he was wiping his arse with Lucius Malfoy's bedsheets when we raided their manor."

Ron laughed so hard he tipped off his chair. Usually, this would mean the bar staff would drag him out, but thanks to the notice-me-not, all they gathered was a confused look from the waitress. With Harry's help, he clambered back up and sat, wiping a tear from his eye.

"You know what? Third year sounds good," Harry muttered. "I'd have Dobby at my side, at that point in time. And Sirius would be visiting, too. Even if he's not our version…"

"Yeah," Ron said, instantly sobering. The thoughts of old friends always dragged them back to the cold, harsh reality of their world which sorrows could not even be drowned with the strongest alcohol.

So many had been lost. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore. Harry even occasionally found himself missing Snape, the greasy dungeon bat, and his certainly creative (though nonetheless hurtful) quips. He missed Hedwig and Dobby and Sirius. He missed so many people - many from the Battle of Hogwarts, but also some from after that.

Ginny and Hermione were also both gone, in a way. Ginny, obviously, had dumped Harry and taken all his money, and when Ron tried to defend his in-all-but-blood brother, he'd been exiled from the family. Not that the once vibrant family was very bright, anymore. George was subdued ever since he lost his twin, losing a piece of his soul that had always been connected to Fred. Percy tried to make up for his abandoning the family, but it was never that easy. Charlie busied himself with work and unintentionally became the next Percy. Bill, of course, had his own family to grow.

"We have nothing to lose," Harry finally answered his own question. "Hey, Ron?"

"Huh?"

"Why don't we go to the Mystery of Departments right now," Harry said slowly, not realizing the mistakes in his vocabulary. "We'll fuck off down to the ninth level and we'll do frontflips through the Veil, holding hands of course, so we don't go to different destinations."

"Fair enough, brother," Ron stood himself up immediately to faceplant onto the floor. Harry roared with such laughter that he himself fell to the floor immediately after. Concerned, the blonde came to help them.

"Sorry, love," Harry gasped. "I handle drink better than he does."

"It's okay," she smiled. "As long as you don't throw up on the floor."

"We've decided that we have nothing to lose," Ron declared to her. "We're gonna jump through the Veil of Death together."

At that, the girl's eyes widened and she tried to convince them not to jump (she was probably thinking from a bridge). At that, Harry and Ron launched into a drunken explanation of the Veil, its history and purpose. Eventually, Harry cast a notice-me-not on the waitress herself and invited her over for a drink at their table.

By the time they stayed up until two in the morning, with a four-hour recounting of the many stories they had throughout school and after, the girl was just as drunk as either of them. After finishing their epic marathon with a surprisingly sober obituary of every single person they'd lost in their lives, the girl burst into tears alongside Ron. They offered to take her home, and they did; Harry briefly looked through her drunken mind with Legilimency and searched out her address, where they walked her home.

After putting her to bed, the two of them took a long walk around London. They passed the major sights, such as the Eye and the Tower. As dawn fell - quite early, since it was summer - they apparated to the Ministry of Magic.

Since the defeat of Voldemort, the Ministry had not changed at all. Not at all heeding the lessons of the past or the wisdom of their ancestors, the Ministry had gone right back to oppressing minorities and continuing to screw up everything. Hermione worked hard to change the Ministry, she really did. But the matter of the fact was that she was simply outnumbered, outnumbered by a large group of pureblood families who didn't want to lose any of their privileges and couldn't care less about people starving in hunger strikes.

So, as they walked past the fountain (the shit-ugly one with centaurs, goblins and Muggles looking adoringly up at a witch and a wizard) Harry used a bit of his wandless transfiguration to change the wands to a pair of thick, veiny dildos. Ron almost gave the game away by failing to contain his giggles, so Harry had to silence him. They loaded themselves onto the elevator and started traveling down, down, down.

"I wonder how long it'll take them to notice," Ron said, and Harry grunted.

They landed on the ninth level, which the pleasant automated female voice announced. They stumbled out of the elevator - thank goodness nobody was around right now - and began shuffling in whichever direction. As Field Operative Unspeakables, Harry and Ron didn't spend much time in the Department of Mysteries like their research counterparts. They had their own building for their headquarters, complete with a training theater. They had not, in fact, stepped foot in this place since the battle with Death Eaters so long ago, in fifth year.

"I won't go near those tentacled brains this time," Ron muttered.

"Good idea, Ron," Harry said, patting his back. "That must be the second this month."

"Shut your mouth, four-eyes."

It took them a few tries, but they finally reached the infamous 'Death Chamber'. They found the veil and Harry wondered once more why it was once considered a method of humane execution. As far as they knew, they might be teleported to a desert and being death row inmates, they'd have no water and take about five agonizing days before they could die of dehydration.

"So how do we do this?" Ron asked.

"We'll link our arms and skip," Harry said. "To see the wonderful wizard of Oz."

"I fucking hate Aussies," Ron muttered under his breath.

"We'll hold both hands," Harry declared, demonstrating. "Wherever we go, or even if we get shredded into confetti in there, I don't want to be separated from you. Understood?"

"Yeah, I understand." Ron was suddenly serious.

"If this does work, maybe it's like apparition," Harry said. "We need to have a clear destination in mind, or we get torn into ribbons due to inter-dimensional splinching. What will our destination be?"

"How about…" Ron said thoughtfully. "August first, of 1993. I think that's our third year, yeah. We'll imagine landing, safely, in the field next to the Burrow in August 1st, 1993. How's that?"

"What happens if we land there and we end up with two Ronald Weasleys?" Harry asked.

"Then I'll beat the snot out of the child for being a jealous prat," Ron replied, and Harry cackled. "Anyway. Shall we?"

Harry glanced at the Veil, with voices sounding somehow like Sirius, and Tonks, and Remus beckoning him. "Might as well, hey?" Harry tried to grin. "Alright. I'll make sure to imagine everything you said. Let's go."

They gripped each others' hands as hard as they could, before doing a little side-step into the Veil. They only barely heard the Unspeakables' rightful panic as they jumped through.

Ron felt the telltale tugging of apparition as they jumped through, and felt Harry's theory come to life. However, like Harry implied, the tugging was extremely strong; Ron's body, if it even existed in that particular moment in time - if there even was such a thing as time - curled up into a defensive ball. He was probably screaming, but he couldn't hear it - all of his senses seemed to have shut down. He couldn't feel anything, except two things - overwhelming fear, and Harry's death grip.

He tried to imagine the Burrow as best as he could. It was like trying to cast a Patronus in front of a Dementor, but a million times worse. Merlin damn, he was an Unspeakable field agent! He was the elite of the elite! Bone-breaking curses and blood-freezing curses didn't scare him anymore, why should any of this? He'd disappointed his best mate many times during their school year, lost him so many times that it was a wonder that Harry ever came back for him. Not again. Not again!

As he thought that, he landed. Immediately, Harry and Ron let go of each other, turned away, and threw up.

Ron, who'd had a bit more to drink, took a bit longer to empty himself. As his eyes adjusted to the light, and his nose adjusted to the smell of vomit and stale beer, he heard Harry collapse onto the grass. As soon as he felt oriented enough in this new world, he turned around and checked on Harry.

"You've shrunk!" Ron cried.

"So have you!" Harry replied irritably, as Ron collapsed next to him, staring at the wide, blue sky. "Bloody hell," Harry muttered angrily. "I'm thirteen again."

"Hey, like I said, didn't I say it would be better than first year?" Ron laughed a little hysterically. They were alive. "Not only would you have shrunk as much as you did, you'd also be squeaky."

"Bloody hell," Harry sat up and massaged his temples. "You're right, Ron. It could've been much worse."

Ron sat up and was greeted by a very familiar sight, a sight he'd not seen for almost twenty years after his exile. The crooked, mismatched tower-like building, the lack of architecture compensated for by the wonders of magic. It was the Burrow, in the English countryside, green and sunny. Without him knowing, tears began to flow over his cheeks, and Harry rubbed his back.

"I'm home," Ron whispered reverently.

"You are, Ron," Harry whispered. "Welcome back."

Ron tackled Harry into a powerful hug and sobbed into his shirt. Harry patted his back. Ron had his crying fits, more recently than before. After all, both their lives were broken, ofttimes miserable, and the two of them were hated by almost everyone including the Prophet.

"Do you think mum might be in there?" Ron asked hopefully, then his face fell. "What… what if there is another Ron Weasley? What would I do?"

"Ron, isn't this the summer where your whole family went to Egypt?" Harry asked, and Ron's face lit up.

"You're right!" Ron stood up quickly and began walking towards his home. Harry quickly followed him, and Ron paused. "We're not wealthy," he admitted, "but we do have some security wards around our home. Likely more than usual since we were on holiday. Grab hold of my arm, and I'll get you past the wards."

"Right," Harry said, and gripped Ron's arm. The two of them continued to walk - and Ron felt a slight sensation of his skin as he bypassed the wards. A little like walking through a ghost, though nowhere near as obvious and likely not even noticed by anyone who wasn't as 'in touch' with magic as the two of them were.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, as he touched the polished doorknob at the entrance to their house. "It really is home."

"Your dad's shed is still there," Harry grinned. "With all his little gizmos."

"You know, as an adult, I have to admit my dad was a complete idiot," Ron said, and Harry laughed. "Seriously! The Ministry's resident expert on Muggles, and can't even speak to one without embarrassing himself in a single sentence."

"Your dad was a bit of a nutjob," Harry agreed.

They stepped through the door to reveal a rather messy sitting room. It wasn't a surprise, considering how much of a rush they'd been in when they packed and left. Harry reached toward a box of biscuits but Ron slapped his hand away. "Twins," Ron explained, and Harry recoiled from it instantly.

They found a buildup of newspapers by the window that post owls usually came through. The 'Daily Oracle' ("that's just weird," Harry said nervously. "I want to go home.") listed a few events, nothing of note. Eventually, Ron nudged Harry and their eyes settled on one particularly interesting piece. The front page - likely a slow news day - printed a large picture of a large family, standing before the Great Pyramids.

'Weasley Family Wins Annual One-Thousand-Galleon Draw!'

"Oh, Merlin," Ron whispered.

"What?" Harry glared at the picture until his face cleared and became somber. "Oh."

The picture only contained eight people - well, nine, if you considered Peter Pettigrew. Who was sitting on Ginny's shoulder. There was no sign of Ron in the picture. They began skimming through the article, copying the information down on imaginary parchments inside the library in their heads.

'The Weasley family, known for having a large family of eight with six kids, won the annual Oracle thousand-galleon draw, and they commented that thye are greatly enjoying their holiday in Egypt to visit their eldest son, William, who is a curse-breaker for Gringotts…'

"So I don't exist in this world," Ron said, a little miserably.

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.

"No. No, it's alright. It's probably a better outcome than if there were two Ron Weasleys," Ron wiped his tears away with a sleeve, without even knowing he was crying. "One of us wouldn't have to kill the other, that way."

"That's good," Harry smirked.

"Instead, Scabbers belongs to Ginny… who is my age," Ron scowled. "So basically, in this world, I was born a girl instead of a boy. I've realized it's a bit hurtful to know that as a boy, I was unwanted, since they wanted a girl."

"I wonder if there's another Harry Potter," Harry said, ignoring Ron.

"We'll find out, won't we?"

Ron picked up the next day's paper which, as predicted, had a massive picture of Sirius Black on the front. 'Mass-Murderer Escapes Azkaban!' the title read. They continued to read the article, and paused.

'Sirius Black is infamously known for betraying the Potter family when they went into fighting during their tenacious fight against You-Know-Who. The Potter family was hidden under the Fidelius Charm (details on p.8) but their secret-keeper was Sirius Black. James Potter and Sirius Black were known to be the best of friends during their school years, and it was extremely unexpected for Black to become traitorous. The Dark Lord himself came to the hidden Potter house on the night of October 31st, where the late Peter Pettigrew perished in a duel against Black…'

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"Keep reading," Ron urged.

'...perished in a duel against Black, where he was viciously blown up leaving nothing more than his finger. The Dark Lord temporarily disabled James and Lily Potter, and went to kill the eldest Potter child, James Jr., but somehow was destroyed.'

"Jesus Christ," Harry murmured. "So supposedly Pettigrew faked his death against Black on the scene of the crime, and this changed the timeline so that my parents lived instead of died? And apparently I have siblings?"

"Welcome to the world of siblings," Ron grinned. "Have fun."

"Fuck off," Harry muttered, before going upstairs. There was the sound of things falling from shelves, several curses, and after that, Harry came back down, clutching a bottle of firewhiskey. He grinned at Ron.

"Where'd you find that?" Ron asked.

"Your dad's study, obviously," Harry replied, before unscrewing the top and taking a chug straight from the bottle.

He suddenly gasped and retched, stumbling over to the sink. Ron rushed to his side and pounded on his back. "Hey, mate," Ron said. "What's wrong? Poison?"

"Nah," Harry said after calming down. "It's just that… I'm thirteen again," Harry grimaced. "Booze tastes like shit."

Ron's face paled. "You're telling me we can't drink anymore?"

"Looks like it."

"That's it," Ron said, snatching the bottle from Harry and heading back to his dad's study. "We're going home. Pack your bags." Harry's laughter followed him.

"But where is home?" Harry asked from downstairs.

This made Ron pause briefly before stashing the firewhiskey back in the hiding spot under his desk that his father utilized. He thought about this question as he came back downstairs. "I don't know," he admitted. "The fact that I was able to get through these wards prove that I am still Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewitt's child. I assume the same would be for you and your bloodline. But I'm guessing neither family would want to take us in."

"Yeah," Harry said softly. "Where do we go?"

"Grimmauld Place?" Ron suggested.

"Can't," Harry replied, and at Ron's confused look, "the only reason I was able to get into Grimmauld Place over in our world was because Sirius named me his heir. I assume in this world Sirius has a kid of his own and even if he doesn't, he's likely to have named James junior or whomever."

"But aren't you already Lord Black after Sirius fell through the Veil?" Ron asked.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it, like a fish, and Ron smirked. Harry stared intently at his hand where, to both their surprise, the Black Lordship ring appeared on his left index finger. "Bloody hell," Ron whispered, then grinned. "You have access to both Black and Potter properties, don't you? Because you're still the lord of both of them!"

"How… how does that work?" Harry spluttered.

"It's because the magic relevant to your Houses are innately tied to your life-force," Ron explained. "There would be no changing of Lordship until you die. When you do, the magic will transfer to whomever you've named your Heir."

"Then… what's happened to Sirius in this world?" Harry asked. "If I have the Lordship, what happens to his Lordship?"

Ron shrugged.

"I reckon we should look for Sirius, first," Harry said.

"Hogwarts?"

"I guess. I have no clue where he is right now," Harry sighed. "This is going to be a bit difficult, isn't it? We don't have a guardian to take care of our school matters. Do we know anyone who we'd trust to keep our secret, even if they don't know us?"

"Not Dumbledore," Ron grumbled. "Dumbledore will just try to use us as an extra pair of pawns for his grand game against Voldemort."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, and flopped onto a couch. Ron flopped onto an armchair. "Do you want to get adopted by the Malfoys?"

"No!" Ron blurted, and Harry snickered. "They'll never take us in, either. Unless they want your Black Lordship."

"I don't think it would be a good idea to join our actual families, either," Harry sighed yet again. "We'll mess up whatever timeline. I don't think Neville's gran would ever want us. We could ask the Diggories, I suppose, but I'm not sure…"

"We could cast an aging charm on one of us," Ron suggested. "Pretend we're our own parents."

"That could work," Harry rubbed his chin. "We'll pretend we're Muggleborns from America or something… no, wait."

"What?"

"If we had parents, we'd have to pay for Hogwarts tuition," Harry said. "We only have twenty galleons in the bank. That would only last us, what, a week?"

"You're right," Ron growled. "Bloody hell, this is impossible. We have to pretend to be orphans so we can go to school."

After several hours, the two of them were placed into an orphanage, tricking Muggle authorities with several well-placed confundus charms. After another week of paperwork, they had entire identities forged (were they forged if they were legal?) and wrote a sob-story to Dumbledore. The old man with dementia was predictably moven by their tale (Harry and his in-all-but-blood brother, Ronald, whose adoptive father had died trying to save the two boys from a fire) and the two of them were soon enrolled in the school, with the necessary funds for schooling and equipment.

"Brilliant!" Ron said happily. "Pub?"

"We're thirteen, Ronald."

"Morgana's saggy tits!"

An owl had flown into their room on the orphanage through the window. They kept to themselves, mostly, and during their week here they'd gained their reputation as wallflowers, so nobody cared or noticed. They took the letter from the owl, thanked and petted it, and then began to read. It was jointly addressed to the two of them and basically said that a professor from the school would take them shopping in Diagon Alley.

"They better not put us in first-year classes," Ron grumbled.

"Oh, God," Harry paled. "That would be terrible, but no, I don't think so. Maybe for a while, but we'll pretend to be magical prodigies and we'll have us moved back up to third year."

"Sounds good," Ron grinned. "We'll say that we spent all our time studying and practicing, and then we'll say sorry for practicing magic outside of school, we didn't know."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Hey, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I get into Slytherin?"

"Well," Ron said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't disown you. In fact, I'd make you wipe the floor with Malfoy and then I'll have you introduce me to Daphne Greengrass."

"I'm not sure she's into gingers," Harry smirked.

"I hate my hair sometimes."

"Speaking of which, we should probably change that," Harry said. "Otherwise you'll look exactly like the other Weasleys, and they might get suspicious. In fact, I should probably change my hair color, as well."

"Agreed," Ron said.

Albus Dumbledore was generally quite stoic, having witnessed thousands of schoolboy pranks during his long tenure as a transfiguration master and later as Headmaster. However, the two orphans were certainly not what he expected.

"I'm looking for Harry and Ronald Stark," Albus told the matron of the orphanage.

"Oh, of course," the woman said, and led him to the room. "Poor boys, they got here a fortnight or so ago. They were offered places in a prestigious school in Scotland, see, but their father couldn't afford it."

Albus felt a pang of guilt as the matron knocked on the door and a voice called to them, saying the door was open. The lady nodded at Albus, who politely opened the door and came face-to-face with two boys. They both had similar-colored hair, but their facial features were wildly different, which provided more evidence that the two of them were adopted, before the father was killed in an accident.

"Hello, you two," Albus smiled. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. I received the letter you sent me."

"Hello," the boys said in unison.

Albus pulled a chair from the desk and sat. "My sincerest condolences about your family, boys. I have witnessed many people I love fade away during my life… and I know that the pain never goes away. I only hope that you might find some happiness at our school."

"I'm sure we will, sir," one of the boys said, holding out his hand politely. "I'm Harry."

"I'm Ron," the other said. Albus shook both their hands and looked at each of them in turn.

"I read that your father passed on as much knowledge of magic to the pair of you as he could," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "Perhaps you could give me a demonstration on what you've learnt, later?"

"Of course, sir," Harry said.

"Wonderful," Albus smiled. "Shall we leave for Diagon Alley?"

"Yes, sir," both said enthusiastically.

As this particular orphanage was not quite far from the Leaky Cauldron, the three of them walked. Dumbledore was delighted to learn that these two boys, despite not having a formal education, were quite well-informed, especially in the field of charms; they demonstrated sound knowledge of the silencing charm, despite that being fifth-year material.

"You two are certainly advanced, aren't you?" Albus mused. "Any secret powers we must know about?"

To his surprise, Harry hesitated at that. "I can talk to snakes," he whispered. "Can other wizards do that?"

The boys watched in muted concern as Albus' face became a chalky white. He forced his expression into a grandfatherly smile before he answered. "It's a rare ability, child," he said. "Uncommon, but not unheard of."

Harry smiled a slight smile, then, and Albus was reminded of one other child who'd asked that question before. "I knew I was special," Harry said softly. "I knew it. Even with Ron, and my father, and the people in Diagon Alley… I knew I was special somehow."

Albus was rather determined not to look at the boy for the time being. He passed through the relatively empty Leaky Cauldron, out into the back alley, where he tapped select bricks in a wall, creating an arch into Diagon Alley.

"So," Albus smiled at the two of them, although a little more nervously than before. "We'll have to get your textbooks, and of course your equipment. Are there a few things that we can skip, or will we have to go through everything?"

The boys' eyes glanced down at their feet. "Everything we owned burned away, sir," Ron said softly. "Everything. All our books, potions ingredients, clothes, even our wands."

"I'm sorry." Albus clapped his hands down on the boys' shoulders. "Let's get started then, shall we?"

Meanwhile, the two men-stuck-in-boys-bodies were trying their hardest not to laugh. Ron had seen memories of a young Tom Riddle secondhand from Harry, and the way the Headmaster's face turned into the color of spoiled milk forced him to bite his tongue painfully so that he wouldn't laugh. Meanwhile, both of them had wands, Harry had two in fact - one of them being the Elder Wand. Neither were worried about what might happen if identical wands came in close contact, because the two Elder Wands - one on Harry, the other on the Headmaster - had not reacted explosively yet.

When they reached Ollivander's, to their surprise, the old man was taken aback. Usually, it was the other way around.

"Hmm," Ollivander said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry whispered to Dumbledore.

"Patience, Harry," Dumbledore smiled, while Ron snickered.

"It means, Albus, that these boys might take an extremely long time to find the wand that will accept them," Ollivander said softly, surprising the old Headmaster. "Albus, why don't you go ahead and buy the boys' books, if you haven't already? I fear this will take some time."

"Of course, Garrick," Dumbledore nodded. "I shall meet you back here, then, boys."

As Dumbledore exited the building, the two boys looked at each other than at the ancient wandmaker. This had not happened to either of them before, although Harry had taken quite some time to find a wand. They narrowed their eyes at Ollivander.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ron asked.

"I would recognize my creations anywhere," Ollivander said softly. "However, I know for a fact that both your wands have never been purchased, by anyone, and that must mean that your wands are still sitting in a box somewhere inside this store. How can this be?"

"Interdimensional travel," Harry shrugged. "Come on, old man. Can we have our wands?"

"I don't know what will happen to either of your wands if identical wands come near it," Ollivander whispered. "It may explode, it may stop working. Are you willing to risk hurting your wands for this?"

Harry shrugged, and pulled out his Elder Wand. The poor old man's eyes almost jumped out of his head. "Well, I'm certain Dumbledore was carrying his own Elder Wand, so I don't think anything's going to happen."

Ollivander hesitated, before nodding. "Very well," he sighed. "May I have the specifications of your wands?"

"Holly, phoenix feather, eleven inches," Harry recited.

"Willow, unicorn hair, fourteen inches," Ron recited.

"Very well," Ollivander said in a tone that suggested he did not enjoy doing this. A minute later, he returned with two boxes in hand, one red and one blue. He handed the red one to Harry, and the blue one to Ron.

Harry took out the wand from the red box and smiled. The feeling of the magic at his fingertips was exactly the same as the first time. He whipped out his own holly wand, and compared the two alongside each other. One was brand new, the other was a little worn, but both produced warmth from his palms to his heart.

Ron was also grinning at his side, comparing the two wands. Suddenly, as if the wands were two poles of a magnet, the twin wands - both pairs - started to dive for each other. Harry and Ron's eyes widened, both after glancing at each other, allowed the two to merge. A bright flash of light from both wands; they blinked, trying to see, and once their vision was restored, they held two super-wands, smoking.

"Oh, wow," Ron grinned, holding up a wand pale and almost metallic in appearance. "Nothing's changed, except it looks cooler."

Harry grinned back as he held up his own wand, slightly longer but more importantly, now blood-red. "Agreed."

"Oh, my," Ollivander breathed. "Give it a little swish."

Ron swished his wand through the air, and bright white sparks - incredibly bright, like burning magnesium - coursed through the air. Ron willed his magic to stop flowing into the instrument, and it did; Ollivander and Harry were blinking spots out of their eyes.

"Well, that seems to suggest that your wand completely agrees with you," Ollivander said, gripping the counter tightly. "Perhaps you might wand to go outside for a demonstration," he added to Harry, who smirked.

"I suppose we won't have to pay, considering we're not buying a wand you made?" Harry said, and the old man spluttered. "We're kidding. Here, fourteen galleons from our personal vault. Now we only have six left."

"Oh, uh, well," Ollivander said.

"Harry, let Dumbledore pay for it," Ron said in a low voice. "We're poor enough as it is."

"True," Harry agreed. "We can always brew some Felix Felicis and go looking for money pouches on the ground later."

The boys chuckled as Ollivander sent a rabbit-shaped Patronus to Dumbledore, asking him to return to the store as soon as he was done shopping. Dumbledore returned to find an exasperated Ollivander and two grinning boys, holding up somewhat unusual-looking wands. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"I trust the boys haven't been giving you too much trouble?" Dumbledore asked Ollivander.

"Their wands have," Ollivander grumbled, and the boys chuckled.

"Thank you for taking care of them," Dumbledore said, as he paid for two wands. "Shall we go, boys?"

Dumbledore had purchased them both standard school-trunks and had filled it with their textbooks, including two Monster Book of Monsters which were tightly bound with leather belts. Going for easy Os, the two of them had elected to take Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures. It wasn't as if they were going to be learning anything at school, anyway.

They went to the apothecary to collect the necessary ingredients, before they went to purchase secondhand schoolrobes ("but Professor!" Harry whined. "We want robes like yours!" Dumbledore smiled and stroked his beard, admiring his metallic-azure robe decorated with sparkling pineapples in the mirror) and Dumbledore then purchased the two of them ice cream from Fortescue's, his treat.

"Thanks, Professor," Harry grinned as they tucked in.

"I haven't had ice cream in a while," Ron said. "The last time I had it, I remember we had rum-flavored… I mean, nothing."

Dumbledore chuckled as he licked his own butterbeer-flavored ice cream. The two of them spent some time talking, discussing theoretical transfiguration even (much to the surprise of the Headmaster), discussing Quidditch teams, and discussing what the classes were like. Both of them already knew what classes were like (transfiguration-charms-defense good, potions- divination-astronomy-history bad) but asked anyway to make themselves more normal-looking in the Headmaster's eyes.

"Thank you so much for all this, Headmaster," Ron grinned. "I'll see you in another two weeks."

"You most certainly shall," Dumbledore smiled, before escorting them back to the orphanage and apparating back to the castle.

"Alright," Harry said. "Do you remember who won in this upcoming game of Quidditch? We're gonna bet all the money we own."