Harry followed Filmore back into the same room where his interrogation had taken place the night before.
Croaker and an older man were already waiting for them.
“I hope you slept well, Mr. Potter,” Croaker greeted him with a smile.
“This is Mr. Tobin. He will be crafting your new wand. Don’t worry—he is very discreet.”
Harry nodded.
“Take a seat, boy,” Tobin said gruffly.
Harry sat down and studied the wandmaker properly for the first time.
He was elderly, though his sharp, near-black eyes held a youthful intensity.
His dark grey hair and penetrating gaze gave him an air of quiet intelligence.
“May I ask what’s wrong with your current wand?” Tobin inquired.
“I think I may have outgrown it,” Harry sighed.
“It gets extremely hot when I cast spells, and the magic doesn’t flow as easily as it used to.”
“Hmm. May I see it?”
Harry handed over the holly wand.
Tobin examined every inch of it closely, even holding it to his ear as if listening for something.
He then cast several diagnostic spells of his own, smiling triumphantly when he finished.
“Tell me, boy—have you been disarmed or had your wand taken from you by force recently?”
“No,” Harry answered confidently.
“Interesting.” Tobin stroked his chin.
“You have indeed outgrown it—that much is clear. However, a wand should not grow hot during normal casting. That only happens when it recognizes another wizard as its true master.”
“But this wand chose me,” Harry said, a note of sadness in his voice.
“I’ve had it since I was eleven.”
“Very curious indeed,” Tobin murmured.
“If it wasn’t taken by force, then it must have a brother wand somewhere. The master of that wand would also be the master of this one.”
“Voldemort,” he whispered.
“Excuse me?” Croaker asked, frowning.
Harry rubbed his eyes wearily.
“Voldemort has the brother wand to mine. They share the same phoenix feather core.”
Croaker and Filmore exchanged startled glances.
Tobin narrowed his eyes at Harry.
“The chances of brother wands crossing paths are extremely low,” Tobin said slowly.
“Given your history with the Dark Lord, I suspect there’s more to this. Has anything unusual ever happened between the two of you?”
Harry nodded reluctantly.
“We used to share a connection. After he possessed me, my scar faded and the visions stopped.”
“What kind of connection?” Croaker pressed.
“I don’t know exactly,” Harry admitted.
“I used to see him when he was angry—torturing people, killing them. Snape tried to teach me Occlumency to block it, but it never worked.”
The three older men exchanged meaningful looks.
“Go fetch Sandy,” Croaker instructed Filmore, who left immediately.
“Mr. Potter, connections like that simply do not exist,” Croaker said seriously.
“If Occlumency couldn’t block it, the problem wasn’t external—it came from within you. Sandy is our foremost expert in obscure magic. She’ll get to the bottom of this.” He turned to Tobin.
“We can resume the wand work tomorrow if you have other matters to attend to. I apologize for the interruption.”
“Not at all,” Tobin replied, clearly intrigued.
“An anomaly like this is rare. I’d like to see it through.”
“Of course. You’re welcome to stay,” Croaker said.
“You’re a brilliant mind in your own right.”
A few minutes later, Filmore returned with a short, bespectacled woman.
“This had better be good, Clarence. I’m very busy,” she growled.
“We need your expertise.”
Sandy looked Harry up and down with a raised eyebrow.
“What do you need?”
Croaker explained everything Harry had told them.
Sandy listened intently, her expression growing more focused.
“So you see, we’re rather stumped,” Croaker finished.
Sandy remained silent for a moment, deep in thought.
“Mr. Potter,” she said finally, “do you possess any abilities you can’t explain?”
“I’m a Parselmouth,” Harry shrugged.
“Dumbledore believes Tom passed the gift to me.”
“Tom?” Sandy asked, confused.
“Voldemort’s real name—Tom Riddle.”
“How do you know that?” Croaker asked.
“He told me himself. Dumbledore used to teach him.”
“Irrelevant for now,” Sandy cut in.
“Can you still speak it?”
“Yes. Dumbledore already checked.”
“I see.”
Without warning, Sandy drew her wand and bound Harry tightly to the chair.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” she said urgently, “but if this is what I suspect, you could be extremely dangerous to us.”
“What is it?” Croaker asked, alarmed.
Sandy sighed.
“There are only two explanations I know of for what you’ve described. One is possession. But you said you fought him off, so that leaves only one other possibility.”