Illusory § Order of the Phoenix

I. YOUR MOTHER'S SON

Ollivander rested his hands on the wooden edge of the desk, peering down at Antares. "Mr. Kelly, I've been wondering when your mother would bring you to me," he greeted the ivory-skinned boy.

Antares looked up to meet the older man's eyes. It seemed odd that he was being expected. Unless Ollivander possessed the gift of foresight, he couldn't have known. Alas, his mother always told him it was dreadfully rude to keep others waiting.

"I guess that would be today, then," Antares quipped.

Ollivander gave a hum in agreement. "Oh yes, although I cannot say I helped her find her first wand. She seemed rather excited when she came to me for her second," the man assured the boy. "But now, it seems that we must find a wand for you, Mr. Kelly."

His eyes crinkled into a squint as if he was trying to solve a puzzle before he raced off to one of the shelves and plucked out a box. As he returned, he opened the long container, revealing a rather rustic-looking wand. "Black walnut, unicorn hair, 13 1/2 inches, reasonably supple."

Antares' gripped the wand in his right hand, where he held it there for a moment, assessing the feeling of it in his hand before flicking it upwards. To his surprise, one of the lights hanging above them shattered, raining almost microscopic glass shards to the ground. He quickly dropped the wand back onto the desk, a quick apology flying from his lips.

"None needed, Mr. Kelly. We'll simply have to try again."

Without another word, he was off to another part of the store. It took more than a few tries before Ollivander finally returned with a different coloured box. A heavy layer of dust coated the lid, signifying its long disuse. "I should have realized it before, but if you are anything like your mother, then I would believe that we have found a match," he surmised. "Silver lime wood, dragon heartstring, 12 3/4 inches with unbending flexibility."

At first, there wasn't anything that indicated that this was the perfect wand for Antares. There was no immediate rush of warmth, nor was there any show of magic that claimed it so. Still, he gave the wand a quick swish. That was when he felt it: the rush. A silvery light exuded from the end of the pale wand, swirling up to the ceiling and slowly fading away into nothing. It felt powerful. It felt right. It was enough to bring a smile to Antares' face.

"Just as I thought!" Ollivander began with his hearty smile. "No doubt you carry more than just the Kelly name, dear boy."

Antares blinked up at him once more.

Antares blinked again. It had been a long time ago when he bought this wand, and it has yet to fail him. He didn't see a reason that it should. Could you imagine? If trouble were to arise in the next few seconds and his wand decided to throw a temper tantrum?

Making his way under a flickering street lamp, Antares paused. During his walk, he counted the house numbers so he wouldn't miss his destination. It seems he did regardless. Confusion filled him. He didn't believe he was stupid enough to miscount, but he glanced at the golden numbers on the stone walls for a second time. Eleven sat next to thirteen.

His note read twelve.

Antares realized that this must be why the letter had to be destroyed. Following the instructions he had been given, the young Kelly pulled out the note from his pocket. Reading the address almost silently, he let it fall to the ground, destroying it with a quick flick of his wrist.

A sound made Antares' head snap up. Before his very eyes, the walls between houses eleven and thirteen separated and gave way to what was almost an identical-looking house. The blatant difference was that this new house didn't look nearly as pristine, making it look like a haunted house. This must be what his mother used to talk about.

This was 12 Grimmauld Place.

It was unsettling for Antares. This place had an aura to it- one that he couldn't quite explain. It seemed to call to him. It may have been because he knew this house held a secret so desperately hidden from the death eaters and the Dark Lord. Or it may have been the fact that it was, by name, the home of a supposed mass killer.

It was necessary, he told himself. He wouldn't have come otherwise. Then again, one doesn't simply ignore a personal invitation from Albus Dumbledore.

There were days when, despite the hysteria of being a Kelly, Antares failed to see why he was needed in the first place. He was perfectly content to reside at his estate, attending to the restoration of the once magnificent manor that now belongs to him. He supposed Grimmauld Place was the same as the Kelly Manor: abandoned and left to rot with memories that were at one point unsullied. He'd take the lush forests and sheer cliffs that encompassed his manor over this sad excuse of a pure-blood residence. Antares wondered if anyone dared to step inside and face the remnants of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black before this summer. He doubted it. Even in death, reputations stand.

Pushing his concern aside, the Antares strode up to the door, not bothering to knock, and stepped inside what was now headquarters and, dare he say, temporary home. An inkling wedged itself into the back of Antares' mind, setting waves of dread coursing through his body. Ollivander had been right, he was his mother's son, but he failed to see how that was of use now.

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