August 20, 1988
The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window of our modest cottage in Cornwall, casting golden rays across the worn oak table where Mother and I sat for breakfast. I watched her hands - slender, graceful, yet precise from years of wand work - as she poured tea. Even in our reduced circumstances, even after everything we'd lost, Mother maintained the dignity befitting House Wrynn.
I was spreading jam on toast when Higgy, our house elf, apparated into the kitchen with a distinctive *pop. Her large eyes were bright with excitement.
Master Wrynn, sir! An owl is coming! A Hogwarts owl!" Higgy bounced on her toes, her pillowcase tunic swaying.
Mother's teacup paused halfway to her lips. our eyes met across the table, and I saw something flicker in her expression, pride mixed with an old grief that never quite faded. I was eleven now, the age Father had been when he first received his letter. The age every young witch and wizard waited for.
The tawny owl swooped through the open window with practiced ease, dropping a thick parchment envelope directly in front of me before helping itself to a piece of bacon. The envelope was heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and addressed in emerald ink: *Mr A. Wrynn, The Kitchen Table, Cliff Cottage, Cornwall*
My fingers trembled slightly as I broke the wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest. I'd known this day would come, had prepared for it most of my life, yet holding the actual letter made it suddenly feel real.
"Read it aloud, darling." Mother said softly.
I cleared my throat. "Dear Mr. Wrynn. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..."
As I read through the list of required books and equipment, I felt the expectations of my family Legacy settle onto my shoulders. This was the weight I'd been training for. Every morning I'd spent practicing wand movements. Every evening listening to Mother's stories of Father's dueling prowess. Every night studying the family grimoire by candlelight, absorbing techniques that wizards three times my age hadn't mastered.
The Wrynns had been warriors since our founding in the twelfth century. We didn't simply attend Hogwarts; we excelled there. We became the sword, or wand, that normal wizards and witches needed when dark times threatened them.
Voldemort had learned that lesson when he came for us.
Mother reached across the table and squeezed my hand. " Your father would be so proud, Allistor."
I squeezed back, meeting her bright green eyes, the same shade as my own. "I'll make him proud Mother. I promise."
"You already do." She smiled, thought I saw the familiar shadow cross her face at the mention of Father. "Now then, we should plan our trip to Diagon Alley. You'll need everything on that list, and I suspect we might find a few additional items that could prove... useful."
I knew what she meant. The standard curriculum was all well and good, but my family has never been content with merely adequate. If I was to restore our family's honor, If i was to ensure that Father's sacrifice meant something, I needed to be exceptional.
Father had stood against Voldemort and 6 of his Death Eaters one night in 1978. Before that, my Father, Alaric Wrynn, had stood against Voldemort again and again, thwarting attack after attack. Voldemort and my Father had even dueled multiple times before they found where we lived and ambushed us. If not for my father's sacrifice we all would have died, including our guests from the ministry that night.
"When can we go?" I asked, unable to keep the eagerness from my voice.
Mother consulted the letter again. "The term starts September first. I'd say we should go within the week. Give us time to acquire everything properly, perhaps speak with some old friends."
The next few days crawled by with agonizing slowness. I spent my time reviewing the spellwork Mother had been teaching me, basic charms and transfiguration that most students wouldn't learn until their first term. She insisted I shouldn't practice with a wand yet, not until I had my own, but the wand movements had to become second nature. In dueling, she told me, a fraction of a second meant the difference between victory and defeat. Between life and death.
Father had known that. had proven it with his last stand.
Finally, the appointed day arrived. Mother dressed in elegant deep blue robes and I wore the new black robes she'd had tailored for the occasion. Even Higgy looked smart, having cleaned and pressed her pillowcase until it was nearly white.
"Higgy is coming too?" I asked
"Of course, dear." Mother said, checking her wand in her holster. "She is part of our family. Besides, we'll need help carrying everything."
We traveled by Floo from our cottage hearth. I'd done it before, but my stomach still lurched as the green flames whooshed me through the network, spinning past dozens of fireplaces before stumbling out into the Leaky cauldron.
The pub was dimly lit and shabby, filled with the usual assortment of wizards and witches conducting business over butterbeer and firewhisky. Tom the barkeeper nodded to Mother with clear recognition and perhaps a hint of respect.
"Mrs. Wrynn." he said carefully. "Good to see you. The boy's first year?"
"Indeed, Tom." Mother's voice carried the aristocratic tone she used when reminding people of our family's standing. Reduced circumstances or not, we were still Wrynns.
we passed through the pub and out to the small courtyard. Mother tapped the brick wall in the familiar pattern, and I watched with renewed wonder as the archway formed, revealing the bustling length of Diagon Alley beyond.
The street was magnificent. Witches and wizards of all ages crowded the cobblestone, flowing in and out of shops with windows displaying everything from cauldrons to telescopes. Owls hooted from the Eeylops Owl Emporium. The scent of fresh parchment drifted from Flourish and Blotts. And everywhere, everywhere, there was magic.
"First stop," Mother said. "Gringotts."
The white marble bank towered over the other buildings, and I felt appropriately small as we climbed the bronze steps and passed between the goblin guards. Inside, the vast hall stretched before us, goblins working at high desks, weighing coins and examining precious stones.
Mother approached the nearest free goblin with confidence. "I need to make a withdrawal from the Wrynn vault."
The goblins' eyes sharpened with interest. "The Wrynn vault. Haven't had a withdrawal from that one in some years. Key?"
Mother produced an ornate silver key from her robes. The goblin examined it, then nodded curtly. "Griphook will take you down."
The cart ride deep into the earth was exhilarating, rushing through the torch lit passages at breakneck speed. When we finally reached the Wrynn vault, I stared at the door at the door with its complex locking mechanisms, emblazoned with our family crest, a raised wand crossed with a sword, wreathed in flames.
"Our family motto." Mother said quietly as Griphook worked the locks. "Do you remember it?"
"*Virtus in Arduis*," I recited. "Courage in Adversity."
"Never forget it Allistor. It's what your father embodied. It's what you must embody."
The vault door swung open, and my breath caught. I'd expected our resources to be depleted after years in hiding, but the vault still held substantial piles of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. More than that, I saw weapons. Ancient wands, enchanted daggers, dueling armor and robes.
"The Wrynns have always been warriors," Mother said following my gaze. "But first, you must be a student. Come, let's take what we need for your schooling."
She filled a bag with coins while I couldn't tear my eyes from a particularly elegant shelf that hold many wands of all sizes and colors.
"That is where we place the wands of the deceased members of House Wrynn. We Honor them by keeping their wands here for younger generations to see." Mother said as she stared a particular wand. "That one is your fathers. We keep their memory alive by becoming better versions of ourselves by improving upon what they created. Never forget that. Now let's go get your school supplies."
After Gringotts, we made our way to Ollivanders. The shop was narrow and shabby, with peeling gold letters over teh door reading *Ollivanders: makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.*
A tinkling bell announced our entrance, and I peered into the dusty interior, thousands of narrow boxes piled to the ceiling.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, and I jumped. An old man stood before us, his wide, pale eyes luminous in the gloom.
"Mr. Ollivander," Mother said with a slight incline of her head.
"Ah, yes. Mrs. Wrynn." His eyes shifted to me, and i felt as though he could see straight through to my bones. "And young Mr. Wrynn. I've been wondering when i'd see you. yes, yes. Your father, a terrible loss. Terrible. He had a magnificent wand. Thirteen inches, oak, phenix feather core. Excellent for combat magic. I remember every wand i've ever sold, you see."
He began pulling boxes from the shelves with surprising agility for someone his age. "Now then, let's see what choose you. Try this, maple and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, rigid."
I took the wand, but before I could even give it a wave, Ollivander snatched it back.
"No, no, not that one. Perhaps... ah, yes." He handed me another. "Ash and unicorn hair, ten inches, supple."
I waved it, and a box across the shop exploded in a shower of dust. Ollivander's eyes gleamed. "power, certainly, but not the right match. Not to worry, the perfect wand is here somewhere..."
We went through a dozen more before Ollivander climbed his ladder and retrieved a box from a high shelf. he opened it reverently.
"Hazel and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, pleasantly springy." He said while handing it to me.
My hand trembled as I reached for it. The moment my fingers closed around the handle, I felt it. Warmth spreading up my arm, a sense of rightness, of coming home. I gave the wand a genlt flick, and a stream of silver and gold sparks shot from the tip, dancing through the air like fireworks.
"Oh bravo!' Ollivander cried. "Yes, indeed. Curious, very curious."
"What's curious?" I asked.
His pale eyes fixed on me. "The wand chooses the wizard, young Wrynn. The phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave one other feather. One for your father's wand and one for yours. I suspect great things form you. Mr. Wrynn. After all, the Wrynns have always been master duelists. And these are dark times that may well need warriors once more."
Mother paid the seven Galleons, and we stepped back into the sunlight of Diagon Alley. I couldn't stop staring at my wand, feeling its weight, its balance.
"How does it feel?" Mother asked softly.
I met her eyes, and I knew she saw the determination in my face. The same determination Father must have shown.
"Like I've just found my best friend." I said with a smile.