CHAPTER ONE

Kathleen, known to most as Kit, could spend hours describing what it was like to have a twin. It was a unique bond, a connection she often struggled to put into words. For starters, being a twin had its perks, many of which came to her mind effortlessly. After all, how many people could say they had someone who practically shared their soul? Someone who could finish their sentences, understand their unspoken thoughts, and always be there, no matter what?

But Kit knew it wasn't all sunshine and roses. While the connection she shared with her twin brother, Cato, was profound, some moments tested even their unbreakable bond. Yet, those moments were so insignificant to her compared to the closeness they shared that she hardly paid them any mind. Cato wasn't just her twin; he was her other half, her partner in all things, especially when it came to their shared legacy.

The Ollivander twins were famous in their own right. Anyone who had ever stepped foot in their grandfather's wand shop knew them. They weren't just siblings; they were the future of the Ollivander name. While their parents lacked the talent for wand-making, Kit and Cato had inherited the craft with an almost supernatural aptitude. From a young age, they displayed a symbiotic talent that left even their grandfather, the legendary wandmaker Garrick Ollivander, in awe.

Kit, with her nurturing touch, seemed to breathe life into the woods, selecting and shaping them with care. Cato, on the other hand, had a natural affinity for cores, understanding the intricacies of their power and how they could harmonize with the wood. Together, they were unstoppable—a perfect team. Their grandfather often claimed they would surpass him and every other wandmaker who had ever lived. Though some dismissed his words as familial bias, Garrick knew the truth: the twins were destined to unite wands with their true owners in ways even he had never imagined.

For Kit and Cato, wand-making wasn't just a career; it was their passion. They loved the process, the magic, the art of it. But as they grew older, they began to encounter challenges, especially when it came to the more philosophical aspects of their craft. Garrick often spoke of wands as threads of fate, intricately connected to their owners and to one another. Kit and Cato, however, were sceptical. To them, it sounded like a romanticized notion their grandfather used to keep the business alive. The idea that wands held strings of destiny felt far-fetched, and they didn't dwell on it.

Still, others latched onto this belief. While at Hogwarts, the twins were often approached by curious students, eager to know if their wands were their "fated pair" or if the twins could find the perfect match for them. Kit and Cato dreaded these questions, brushing them off with polite excuses or witty retorts. To them, the magic of wand-making was rooted in skill and intuition, not some mystical bond.

But their carefree days didn't last forever. On one fateful day, during an excursion to gather rare materials for a new batch of wands, tragedy struck. The details of the accident were a blur—shattered wood, raw magic, and the kind of chaos that leaves scars too deep to heal. When Kit regained consciousness, Cato was gone.

The loss wasn't just devastating; it was life-altering. In an instant, Kit's world crumbled. The person who had always been by her side, the one who understood her in ways no one else ever could, was gone. The bond they had shared was severed, leaving Kit adrift in a sea of grief. It wasn't just the loss of her brother; it was the loss of herself, of who she was when they were together.

From that day forward, Kit felt like she was drowning, sinking deeper into an endless void. Every breath was a struggle, every moment a reminder of what she had lost. She wished, with every fibre of her being, that their estrangement had been the result of an argument, a misunderstanding—something fixable. But the truth was crueller than that. Cato was gone, and with him, a piece of her soul.

The once-famous Ollivander twins were no longer a pair, and Kit found herself stranded in a world that felt foreign and cruel without her brother by her side. Every corner of their shared life reminded her of what she had lost—Cato's laughter that used to fill the workshop, the way he meticulously aligned wand cores on their workbench, and the small, unspoken moments of understanding they had shared. Now, those moments felt like echoes in an empty chamber, haunting her with their absence.

For Kit, the shop was no longer a place of joy and creation. The scent of polished wood and powdered unicorn hair, once comforting, now felt suffocating. The tools they had once used together sat untouched, gathering dust, as if waiting for a pair of hands that would never return. Every wand she crafted felt incomplete, as though missing the spark that Cato's touch had always provided.

She tried to push forward, to pick up the pieces of her shattered world, but it was like trying to repair a broken wand—some things, once lost, could never truly be mended. Customers still came, offering kind words and condolences, but their sympathy only deepened the ache in her chest. She couldn't be the wandmaker they expected her to be, not without Cato. Together, they had been a force of nature; alone, she felt like a fragment of what she once was.

The whispers didn't help either. Some customers murmured about how Kit was "brilliant, but not quite like the twins used to be." Others speculated about how long she'd be able to carry the Ollivander legacy on her own. Kit tried to ignore them, but the doubts they planted took root. How could she continue their work when she had lost half of herself?

Each night, Kit lay awake, consumed by memories and regrets. She replayed the accident in her mind, searching for something she could have done differently, something that could have saved Cato. The guilt was a constant companion, a shadow that followed her every step. She told herself she had to keep going, that she owed it to Cato and their grandfather to uphold the family legacy. But deep down, she wasn't sure she had the strength.

The world that had once been full of colour and magic now seemed dull and empty. The once-famous Ollivander twins were no longer a pair, and Kit was left to navigate a life that felt as though it had lost its meaning entirely.

Kit was drowning—not in water, but in the suffocating weight of her grief. Every breath felt like a struggle as if the air around her was too thick to inhale. The loss of Cato wasn't just the death of her twin; it was the death of half of herself. Without him, everything felt wrong, incomplete, as if the world itself had shifted into a version she didn't recognize.

She drowned in the silence of the workshop, where the hum of their shared laughter and the lively debates about wood grains and core choices had once filled the air. Now, the quiet was deafening, pressing against her chest like an unbearable weight. The tools they had used together sat untouched, mocking her with their stillness. Every piece of wood she held felt foreign in her hands like it no longer belonged to her. It had always been their craft, their art. Without Cato, it felt hollow.

She drowned in the expectations of others, the pitying looks and kind words that only deepened the ache in her chest. Customers still came, hesitant yet hopeful, asking if she could create the same masterpieces the Ollivander twins had once been known for. Kit forced herself to nod, to try, but every wand she crafted felt like a failure. The harmony they had shared in their work—her care for the wood, his expertise with the cores—was gone, and the absence left an emptiness she couldn't fill.

She drowned in her memories, vivid and relentless. The way Cato used to grin at her after solving a tricky core alignment, the way they would tease each other endlessly during late-night crafting sessions, the way his presence had always been a constant, grounding force in her life. Those memories, once comforting, now felt like shards of glass, cutting deeper with each recollection.

And she drowned in the guilt—the endless, crushing guilt. The accident replayed in her mind over and over, a loop of what-ifs and should-haves. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had failed him, that there was something she could have done to prevent the tragedy. It consumed her, dragging her further into the depths of despair.

Kit was drowning, and she wasn't sure she wanted to fight it anymore. The world without Cato was unrecognizable, cold, and empty. The bond they had shared was irreplaceable, and now that it was gone, Kit felt like a shadow of herself, lost in a sea of grief with no shore in sight.