Illusory § Order of the Phoenix

I. YOUR MOTHER'S SON

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      A young man slowly walked down a dimly lit street.

It was late. Much too late for any muggle to be out wandering about at this time of night. But still, Antares has to be cautious. 

Glancing down at his watch-covered wrist, he sighed in exhaustion, the gold dial slowly ticking by with every passing second. He was silent as he walked, clad in black like a shadow. His hair helped to conceal parts of his face, but not enough to make him look unkempt or dangerous. The last thing he needed was to be thought of as some vagabond. Antares kept his left hand folded inside the pocket of his long cashmere trench coat, crumpling and flattening a small note with an address written on it in ink. The original letter the note was once a part of had long since been burnt. Secrecy was of the utmost importance; he knew that. Nonetheless, the risk remained.

His right hand, never idle, had found its way comfortably around his wand, a sleek-looking thing he had acquired the day before he walked through Hogwarts for the first time. It was a joyous occasion for the Kelly heir, he remembered. He'd waited so long; to finally have a wand of his own, to be like his mother. When he stepped into Ollivander's Wand Shop, it was more than a dream come true.

The Kelly family strode through the tightly packed street filled with puttering wizards and witches. The shops that lined the Alley were a sight to see. Signs moved without machines or wires. Children pressed their faces against shop windows, in awe of products just out of reach. The overall hustle and bustle of the people made Antares feel welcome. It was, for lack of a better term, unusual. He never did well with large crowds.

Marissa Anne, the Kelly matriarch, led her bright-eyed son down through the hordes of passersby and to a building on their left. The faded gold lettering of the shop's name engraved itself into the young Kelly's memories.

OLLIVANDER'S. Makers of Fine Wands. Since 382 B.C

The heir-Kelly was exhausted. Antares remembered hearing about this place on the way over from Darwin. Though he couldn't recall the small details, he knew this was a hallmark for every English witch and wizard.

As he pushed open the door to the shop, a bell chimed his entrance. Antares scanned the high walls of the wand shop, lined with thin rectangular boxes- he could only assume they were wands. It was slightly darker than he expected. He could not see the back of the shop, just the fuzzy blur of low light. He strode up to the front desk, eyes flittering at the cluster that took space in and around the shop. In the corner of his vision, he noticed something shift in the dark backdrop.

"Is anyone ther-"

"Ah!"

Antares recoiled at the sudden sound. Flicking his head up toward the desk, he noticed an elderly man standing before him. Where he had popped up from, Antares hadn't a clue. However, this man had an ecstatic look, almost deranged even. Antares could see it in his eyes and smile. This had to be Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker his mother had told him about.