TW - Mentions of self-harm.
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Diagon Ally was surprisingly empty. Though Grey had never been to the magical street during term time, he had expected it to still be the hub of chaos that it was during the holidays.
To be honest, he was thankful for the lack of patrons. It was easier to appreciate the bright shop signs and laden windows with the nagging fear to check over his shoulder, diminished ever so slightly.
Grey had already tried to stall the trips. The summer term had begun five years ago and though he was content with his off-timetable study routine, the looming prospect of practical O.W.Ls exams demanded that he got another wand. But the idea of returning to mainstream school life grew more unnerving by the day. Grey's mind was plagued with anxieties: what if everyone asked about his time away? What if there were more of Grindelwald's spies in the castle? And so on.
Once he'd been released from the hospital wing, Grey spent his time studying or catching up on assignments in Albus' office. With Twyla curled up by his feet, he drowned himself in work to keep his mind from other things. During free periods and between classes, Professor Dumbledore kept him company.
Grey was surprised that he found the man's presence comforting. They talked a lot more than he expected, about Grey's childhood and Albus' life. He had agreed to call his father by his first name for now, until he felt comfortable enough in their relationship. In their conversations, he had little energy to be deceptive because nothing could hurt more than what he was trying to distract himself from.
Nights were the worst. Grey's sleep was filled with nightmares of the last month, so potent that he'd frequently wake, suffocating in the aching despair. He itched to alleviate his pent-up emotions, but nothing grounded him as well as the results of a burning wand tip.
Thus, as the weekend came, the topic of Diagon Ally was raised. Grey tried to argue that his workload was too great to temporarily abandon. But Albus insisted, rightly so, that he could not complete his wizarding tuition without a wand.
So, accompanied by Albus and his uncle, Grey found himself in the quiet alleyway, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that Grindelwald was lurking in every shadow. He stayed close to his escorts as they crossed the street to Ollivander's shop. His steps were uneven as he frequently paused to glance behind them. Aberfoth must have noticed because he watched the Ravenclaw with an expression of concern.
"I'll stay outside the door," He stated as they reached the shop front.
Grey sent him a grateful look, understanding the unspoken intention behind the action. Albus patted his brother's arm in thanks. It was amusing to see the distaste on the younger Dumbledore's face at the gesture.
The tinkle of the bell conducted Grey's nerves into a frenzy as they entered. Ceiling high shelves on all sides, crammed with wands, gave Ollivanders a very cramped feel. Grey was sure the shop had been bigger the last time he came. But now, he felt that if he breathed too loud, the contents of the laden shelves would come tumbling down upon him like a jagged avalanche. He lingered too long by the door. The familiar sensation of Albus' guiding hand on his shoulder urged him forward.
From the back of the shop, a voice sounded.
"One moment!" It called.
Grey recognised the croaking tones of Gervaise Ollivander, the elderly shop owner.
"Garrick, bring the ledger." The voice sounded again.
Not a moment later, the old wandmaker bustled to the front desk with a warm grin on his face. In his maroon robes, golden spectacles that magnified his eyes and grey beard draped over a shoulder, Mr Ollivander was hardly a threatening sight. Grey relaxed.
Trailing behind the man was another familiar figure. Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker's son, was only three years older than Grey and had also been in Ravenclaw. He looked surprisingly different now, no longer in blue robes and staggering under the weight of a huge book. His hair was longer but he didn't have dark circles beneath his eyes from hours of studying. Grey had never disliked Garrick, though they certainly hadn't been friends.
"Is that Miss Willow?" Gervaise exclaimed, finally observing his customers.
"Mr," Garrick whispered to his father.
But the man only smiled, "My apologies - Mr Willow. What was it, ah yes, silver lime, phoenix feather, twelve and a quarter inches, sturdy flexibility! A particularly rare wand, one of my best, if I recall." He rambled.
Grey hardly considered the undertones of his response.
"It broke."
Albus coughed suddenly and Grey could have sworn it was to stifle a laugh.
"It was snapped," The professor added.
"Ah, Mr Dumbledore, good to see you again. Not snapped from expulsion I hope?"
"No, just some rather unfortunate circumstances," Explained Ablus.
That was one way to put it.
"Well, you'll be needing another then, Mr Willow, now let's see."
But the senior Ollivander froze in his scan of the shelves as his eyes passed his son.
"Hm, perhaps this would be an opportunity for you to practise Garrick if you don't mind, Mr Willow?" Gervaise smiled at him.
Grey nodded, eyeing Garrick. The young man looked confident as he moved from behind the desk.
"He's been practising," The old wandmaker pointed out with a proud grin.
Garrick seemed to be in a trance-like state as his fingers brushed the shelves.
"Remember son, you don't have to get it right first try!"
His encouraging words were ignored. After a few minutes, Garrick stopped and fished a box from the shelf.
"Fir wood, Thestral tail hair, Thirteen inches, slightly springy," Recited Garrick smoothly as he opened the box and presented the wand to Grey.
The design was simple but endearing. Its handle was made of small ridges of overlapping wood that resembled a thin fir cone. As Grey took it, a calming warmth filled him to his bones and an involuntary smile rose to his lips.
"A good match," Observed Gervaise proudly.
However, Garrick's attention was still fixed intently on Grey.
"That is the wand of a survivor, Mr Willow," He exclaimed deeply, "You have experienced great suffering, this wand should help you avoid more."
The silence in the shop once he'd uttered those words was unnerving.
"Uh, thank you, Garrick," Gervaise muttered tensely.
Grey didn't register the passive-aggressive comment - he was gripping the wand like a lifeline. There had been an undeniable sense of honesty in Garrick's tone and this wand felt so much more right than his last ever had.
"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Willow," Garrick added darkly.
Grey dared to meet his eyes. It unsettled him to see the sheen of dissociation in them, so he shuffled closer to his father. Noticing this, Albus wrapped an arm around his shoulder and quickly paid.
As they exited the shop, every shadow leered at Grey with such undeniable malice. He couldn't discern between the crooked lamposts and the idea of a hunched attacker, or the spike of fencing and a drawn wand.
His knuckles whitened around his won wand as his breaths began to catch in his throat.
"Grey?"
He flinched when his father touched his arm.
"Are you sure it's safe here?" Grey gasped, eyeing the entrance to Knockturn Ally.
"Positive."
Aberforth wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulders as he answered and turned him away from the street.
"That's a smart-looking wand." He added briskly, "What's it made of?"
"Fir and Thestral tail hair."
"Like your patronus? That's interesting." His uncle mused.
Grey was thankful for the distracting conversation.
"What's your patronus?" He asked quietly.
"A goat."
There was an awkward silence.
"Mine's a phoenix," Albus added.
Aberforth groaned, "I think the whole wizarding world is aware of that, brother."
Grey stifled a smile at the sibling tension.
Chuckling to himself, Albus held open the door to the leaky cauldron.
"Well, at least mine's not a goat."
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Back at the castle, Grey was waiting anxiously for his family to leave. Aberfoth had stayed for tea and as amusing as the conversation had been, he was itching to be alone. Finally, the deep orange rays from the sunset poured through the office windows and Aberforth excused himself.
"Will you be alright if I walk him to the bridge?" Albus asked Grey.
Before he had a chance to answer, Aberforth rolled his eyes.
"I don't need a bloody escort."
The professor shot his brother a loaded look.
"Fine," Aberfoth sighed, "You can accompany me so I don't get lost."
His words were laced with sarcasm.
"I'll be alright," Grey added as calmly as he could muster.
"If you're sure?"
Grey nodded hastily.
His heart leapt as they left the room. For good measure, he waited till their footsteps and voices had faded then he pushed up his sleeves with the desperation of a starved man. Most of his wounds were healed now, in their place, taught pink scars. They didn't hurt. That needed to change.
Grey's hands trembled with anticipation as he drew his wand. He'd waited so long for relief. Pressing the tip to his damaged skin, he closed his eyes and blissfully whispered the incantation. And waited.
And waited.
Perhaps he was out of practice?
With more panic, he tried again. Still, nothing happened.
He tried incendio, it was an extreme alternative but it would do the trick. But no flames singed his flesh.
Grey recited every damaging spell he could remember, wand pressing harder and harder into his arm. Absolutely nothing worked.
In unparalleled frustration, he turned his useless wand on the teacup he'd used earlier and almost shouted the Reductor curse. The delicate chine fractured perfectly into porcelain dust, that caught the rays of the setting sun.
So why wouldn't it hurt him?
In a haze of despair, Grey flung the wand at the wall and dissolved to his knees, burying his face in his hands.
He didn't want to be a survivor.
He wanted to feel every ounce of pain he deserved. This life that he was trapped in should have belonged to Richard. He had done nothing to deserve a second chance. But Richard was everything.
Grey's sobs were no longer silent as he raked his nails through his hair. So overwhelmed in his grief, he didn't hear the returning footsteps or the door opening.
"Well, the brotherly spirit only lasted two corridors, a record I think - "
But Albus paused abruptly as he took in the sight.
Wordlessly, he crossed the room and knelt beside Grey, not hesitating to wrap him in a tight embrace.
"It'll get easier," He murmured.
"Don't lie to me." Grey's voice cracked.
Albus stayed silent. For once, he didn't know what to say.
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That night, Grey sat up in bed, a writing pad and quill on his lap. He'd been thinking about what to write for hours and his bedroom floor was littered with failed attempts. For a while, it had been almost fun to watch Twyla play with the discarded paper. But now, she was curled up asleep on his feet and his task hung above his head like a noose.
So he sighed, dipping his quill in the near-empty ink pot on the bedside table. Maybe this time he'd get it right.
Dear Newt,
I hope you don't mind me writing to you and I hope you are recovering well. It has taken me so many attempts to compose this letter, but I've known since we returned that I wished to write it.
So many people have told me that I am lucky, that I am a survivor. But it doesn't feel that way. You are a survivor. Richard should have been one too.
I want you to know that I don't blame you at all, for anything that happened. I am eternally grateful for what you've done for me. You are the reason I am alive and that's a debt I may never repay, though I hope to.
My father thinks that I wish to die and for a while, I thought I did too. But then I realised that I shouldn't waste the chance you've given me. Richard wouldn't if he were here. So in his memory, I must live as fully as I can. And, I hope you will stay in my life as a friend. You are an exceptional wizard and I understand now how much I look up to you.
So, from one survivor to another, thank you.
Yours sincerely, Grey.
PS: Richard loved your book.
End of Book One
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AN: I hope you have enjoyed the first book in Grey's story. This defiantly isn't the end and I'm already working on the next books which will include 'White Eyes', The sequel to this book. And 'Black Feathers', which is a prequel book featuring a bunch of short stories about various events in Grey's past like getting sorted and meeting Richard. If you have any requests for these short stories, memories you want to see in full etc, do let me know. These will be uploaded and started within the next couple of weeks so keep your eyes peeled. I'm also on AO3 under the same username if people prefer that platform. Until then, thank you for reading.