I looked up over my head when the bell on Ollivander's door rang loudly as Declan and I stepped through the door. It was dusty and old, brass, on a curly arm that shivered and shook the bell. The wand shop smelled exactly like I had always imagined it would - like the wood aisle at the Home Depot with a bit of dust and a sweet, heady smell that I associated with the depth of the spine of a freshly cracked-open book. They should bottle that smell. An electric sort of crackling noise filled the air and made my skin tingle.

"Finally!" called a voice from the depths of the shelves.

There was a sound of boxes being put down hastily and a creaking, and then a man with wild white hair and thick white eyebrows came around the corner, clutching one of those ladders like in libraries - like in Beauty and the Beast - which rolled on a rail and wheels. He jumped off the ladder at the end and came over to the counter that stood a few feet before Declan and I, removing a large magnified monocle from his eye. He trotted right up to the counter, reached below and withdrew a long narrow box, which trembled slightly, a lavender smoke emitting from the bottom cracks of the box. 

"This thing has been going positively mad for hours," the man - who I realized had to be Gerrick Ollivander - said, then he looked at Declan and I and concern flittered over his brow. "But where's the child in need of the wand?" he asked.

Declan grinned evilly, placed a hand against my back, and pushed me forward.

I stumbled into the counter.

Ollivander's mouth split into a grin. "Ah yes... I see... Of course." He ran a hand over his chin thoughtfully a moment, then nodded and reached for the box. "Well, this wand somehow knew that today was the day you'd be coming - I haven't any idea how, but it has clearly waited a good deal of time for you." He patted the top of the box. "Here is your wand."

"Wait. Just like that?" I asked, feeling a bit disappointed. "Don't I have to try out, like, a bunch of different ones?"

Ollivander smiled and shook his head, "Usually, yes, that's how the process works, but this wand is a very special one indeed... vine, ten inches, a bit pliable but not too... phoenix feather core... Vines always know their owners, and phoenix feathers are very particular as well. Combined together and this wand... this wand... has been waiting for you since the moment I finished making it. And just today, just a few hours ago, she began to sing."

"Sing?" I asked.

Ollivander nodded. "Sing." He lifted the box up and started to shake the box top off.

I looked over my shoulder at Declan, who was leaning against the wall of the shop, looking out the window, rather than paying attention to me and the wand process, staring off down the street with a funny look on his face. 

I turned back to Ollivander just as the box parted and he lay the box before me.

Inside the bottom tray there was a purple velvet cushion and on the cushion lay the wand. It was two toned, with knots that made up the handle that were reminiscent of the replica of McGonagall's wand, which I'd purchased that summer at the theme park in Orlando. The tip and the handle were of a lighter tone, while the length of the wand was darker. Overall, the wand sort of reminded me of a quill. That lavender smoke emitted from the tip, swirling and letting out a soft fragrant scent that filled me with an instant comforting feeling. Indeed, just as Ollivander had said, a soft melodic sound seemed to thrum the air like a lullaby played far away. I closed my eyes and listened, breathing in the scent, and I felt... centered. Peaceful.

"You can hear it, can't you?" Ollivander whispered.

I nodded.

"And the smell?"

"It reminds me of these flowers that grew in my backyard when I was little," I said, suddenly able to see the flowers in my mind. "Lupines. They grew by the hundreds in our back yard." My eyes were still closed. I could feel tears behind my lashes, though. "Lupines and dandelions. My mum loved them... And there's just the slightest smell of fresh mown grass, too," I added, breathing deeply. I could almost picture fireflies on a summer night, flying between the tall flowers... could almost feel the porch swing's wood digging into my thighs... could almost hear my mum's voice singing Cat Stevens and reading Shel Silverstein books as we rocked...

"Yes, yes, that's right," Ollivander's voice was breathless and excited. "Hold out your hand."

I did it. My left hand.

A chuckle rose from Ollivander and he said, "Yes that's right. This wand does love a funny quirk like that. You're right handed yet you'd wield the wand with your left." There was a pause and then I felt it - the weight of the wand in my hand. It was surprisingly lighter than the replica wands I'd held before.

My fingers closed around the handle, instinctively falling between the knots.

I could feel it. I could feel the magic in the wand. It was the strangest feeling - not entirely unlike those cracks of static electricity that charges out of freshly laundered blankets, but much more pleasant. It was like... like I'd been missing part of my self all my life and someone had just reattached it to me.

"Well come now, give it a wave," Ollivander said. The smile was in his voice. Like he was in awe every time a wand was paired.

I opened my eyes and, still half in disbelief, I waved my arm.

Several lamps around the room flickered to light and the room was suddenly illuminated, glowing, the dust on the surfaces glimmering. I gasped in surprise.

"Look at you, lighting up a room." I looked over at Declan and he was now watching me, a smirk playing on his face.

"That was so cool!" I gasped, "Did you see it? Did you see what I did?" 

Declan laughed and loped over to the counter, leaning against it, "I did."

I waved my arm again and the lights went back out and I laughed, giddy, my face flushing.

Ollivander chuckled, "Well. That was nice and easy." 

Declan reached into my pocket and withdrew the bag of coins he'd given me - I was too distracted lighting and unlighting the lamps to care - and he handed it over to Ollivander. "So. Gerrick," he mused as Ollivander tipped the coins out and shifted through them, counting them, "Have you been over to Fortescue's lately?"

"Not in some time."

"Seen him around at all?"

"Comes out every morning to put those ridiculous umbrellas up," Ollivander nodded.

"Have you seen any of the boys around?"

Ollivander looked up from the coins, his bushy eyebrows raised. "Alectric - I would expect that you've seen Oliver Kent more recently than Fortescue has, if that's what you're sniffing out."

I lowered my wand. "Who is Oliver Kent?"

"Who is Oliver Kent?" Ollivander repeated in disbelief. "Come now. Everyone knows who Oliver Kent is. Especially anyone running with this one here -" he thumbed at Declan.

I was holding the wand tight in my hand. Declan motioned me to put it back in the box, but I didn't really want to let go of it. He pushed the box toward me persistently as Ollivander put the coins in his till. Reluctantly, I lay the wand down and Declan put the lid back on it as Ollivander got out a long skinny bag - purple with stars and gold foil writing. 

"Thanks Gerrick," Declan said and he quickly used me out the door.

I still couldn't believe Diagon Alley. It was dizzying. It looked nothing like the film and yet everything that I imagined all at once. Bustling overcrowded street, narrow, with old fashioned buildings that appeared very slightly crooked. Stacks of cast iron cauldrons and cages with owls hooting, stared at by cats laying on awnings beneath climbing flora and swinging wood sings... dusty window panes with magical wares peeking out at us, pointed hats and cloaks in bright patterns and odd mixtures of clothes... smiles and laughter, chatter and shouts... Declan grabbed onto my shoulders and steered me through the stream of people and turned abruptly into a small gated-off seating area outside of a bright pink shop. Little tables clustered about in front of the store and he directed me up to one.

"Here, sit here a minute, I'll be right back," he said.

"Alright," I answered, too engaged with people watching to argue.

He ducked in the shop and I stared in awe at all the witches and wizards going about their day-to-day, not even noticing me sitting there, hugging the paper bag from Ollivander's.

Now I was overloaded in a good way, my brain spinning through all the stuff Declan had said, and wondering when I was going to wake up.

Going to the theme park had given me this same feeling and I remembered this moment when I'd been sitting on a bench on the Hogsmeade side of the park, staring up at the castle, just listening to the giggling kids running around, in disbelief that something so cool as that place existed.

But this - this was real.

I couldn't wrap my head around it.

I opened my notepad and sketched a bit, even though I'm terrible at drawing, despite being a graphic artist. I do layout design, not real art. I draw in stick figures and wonky lines. If Diagon Alley wasn't crooked enough already, it was much more so on my notepad.

Declan came back apologizing for taking so long. He had two small cups of brownish ice cream, which he put one of in front of me and sat in the chair opposite me, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. He followed my gaze a moment, then turned back to me. "The first time I went to New York I felt how you're feeling right now."

I blinked and looked at him, confused.

"New York?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'd head so many stories about New York all my life, it had become a sort of fantasy to me... My uncle - well unofficial uncle - he grew up in New York for the most part. I mean he traveled a good deal, his father's job sort of required him to travel you know, but he considered a brownstone in Brooklyn his home... and he had a great deal of stories about New York. Yellow cabs and the Empire State Building. Broadway lights and polar bears in Central Park. The fountain at Bethesda." He paused. "You ever been to New York?"

"A couple times," I answered, nodding.

Declan said, "Anyway, I felt overwhelmed when I finally got there. First time I saw my father was on a train platform in New York." He stopped here, taking a bite of his ice cream and looked away.

I stared at him.

He took a long time, then turned back to me, and he said, "Beautiful things fall into disrepair when people don't take care of them properly." My mind cataloged this phrase. It was a lovely one. Declan continued, "People are the same as any thing that way. When they're mistreated, overlooked, uncared for, unseen. Everything seems alright until they crack and crumble and fall apart at the slightest touch." He paused again and took another bite of ice cream. "That's why this is all so important, what you and I are doing. Have done." He nodded at the cup of ice cream in front of me, "Go on and eat that before it melts."

I took a spoonful of it. "Butterbeer?" I said.

He nodded, "Fortescue's butterbeer ice cream is the best there is."

It really was good.

But I was honestly too intrigued by Declan's words to focus on the ice cream. I lay my wand box on the table and took another bite of the soft serve before asking him, "How old were you?"

"When?" he asked.

"When you lost your father."

"It's complicated," he replied.

"Alright. Well. How old were you when you saw him in New York?"

"Seventeen."

"You were seventeen before you met your dad?"

"I didn't say I met him. I said I saw him."

"You didn't meet him?"

"I didn't dare to."

"No?"

"No." Declan shook his head. "I waited half the day on the Platform, knowing he'd come through there at some point. It had been a - a meticulous amount of research for me, figuring out what date I needed to be there, figuring out what platform... Finally, he came through and I spotted him and I couldn't breathe for a second because before that - before that moment he'd been just somebody I'd seen in photographs, and old crappy Polaroids that were half faded off at that. And then there he was, alive and breathing and full of motion and so fucking real. I was terrified. I could barely breathe. And I followed him onto the train and I watched him, watched how his body swayed with the stop and start of the train, watched him reading. It meant the world to me, just seeing him read. Hearing his voice for the first time as he talked. I even heard him laugh." Declan's face was full of emotion. He ate more of the ice cream.

"But you didn't approach him?"

Declan shook his head. "I couldn't. I wasn't so used to how the time turner worked."

"Wait - you were using the time turner when you were seventeen?"

"It was the first time."

I poked at the ice cream in my cup, thinking. "So... how did you end up at my apartment last month anyway?"

Declan raised an eyebrow, "Was that only last month for you?"

"When was it for you?"

"Years ago."

"Oh."

"Didn't you notice I've gotten older?" 

I shrugged. I actually had now that he mentioned it. He'd been clean shaven - a baby face - when he'd been outside my apartment door. And now that I thought about it, his jaw was a lot more defined, a five o'clock shadow on his chin, his eyes full of more wisdom and age than he'd been when he'd stood outside my doorway and declared that he must have the wrong place. I studied him a moment. "So your father is why you started turning time?"

Declan nodded. "Well, that and -- things were going pretty awful in my life 'round then anyway."

"What was so awful about whenever you're from that you had to run away into the past?"

Declan studied me a long moment, his eyes searching my face, then he smirked and leaned back, grinning like his usual self. "I kissed a girl."

"And you liked it?" I joked, quoting Katy Perry.

"Nice one. But no, I didn't and that's exactly the problem." Declan finished off his ice cream and put the pink spoon and cup down on the table. "See... I should've liked it. I had every reason why I should have liked it. Oh she was lovely and we were best mates all my life and I waited for years for it to happen, and despite knowing I was going to catch shit for it, I still finally plucked up the courage and did it. I gave her a kiss. And my whole family was laughing at me and making a big fucking deal about it... But it wasn't just that my cousins were being utter arseholes about it, it was also that it just wasn't -- right." He sighed dramatically and said, "There was such an emotional responsibility to it, though, now that I'd gone and done it, kissing her, and it just kept getting more and more pressing over the years, everyone just expecting us to end up together, saying it was destiny and blah-blah-blah and it was like I didn't really want to be with her anymore, but I didn't know how not to be either. So... when I got the opportunity... I just..." He waved his hand to indicate vanishing. "And I haven't been back."

"Seriously?" I asked.

He nodded.

"I mean, that's - I'm sorry."

Declan sighed, "And honestly, it's also just -- if I was going to like any girl, it would've been Tori but I don't think --" he shook his head.

"So you ran away so you wouldn't have to tell your family you're gay?" I asked. "Are they... not understanding?"

Declan laughed, "No, no, my family would understand. I mean, they'd be disappointed. My line ends with me, there's no one else to carry it on if I don't, but they certainly wouldn't be worried about the gay. Wizards aren't nearly as uppity about that as muggle politics are... Even in the 1970s when the muggles still had laws and what have you the wizarding world was fairly alright. I mean, just look at Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, they blazed a trail --"

"Wait, excuse me?" I interrupted him. "Remus and Sirius? What are you talking about?"

Declan smiled slyly. "I forgot how much that Skeeter woman left out of her version of things. Wretched woman."

"Wait. Wait. You're saying -- Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were --"

Declan's eyes sparkled.

I stared at him.

He smirked at my shock.

"But - but Remus and Tonks. They had a son.... Teddy."

"They did, didn't they?" Declan said.

"But --?? If Remus was --??"

"Ever heard of bisexual?" Declan demanded.

"I mean --"

Declan laughed. "And trust me - once you meet 1970s Sirius Black --"

"Meet--?" I stammered, but Declan didn't pause.

"-- you'll have nooo further questions whatsoever about his sexuality. He's as camp as a row of tents - and that's his own words, not mine."

"Camp as a --"

"Gay. Gay. GAY. GAY. GAY!" Declan said. "Once he let loose - that was that. And he and Remus Lupin were madly in love. Madly."

"So how did Tonks and Teddy happen?"

"That," Declan replied, "Is one of the great mysteries to solve about the past, isn't it?" He chuckled and shook his head.

I sighed and finished off the ice cream, digesting this new information. The more I thought about the scenes Remus and Sirius had been part of in the Harry Potter books, the more sense what Declan said made in my mind and I sat sucking on the spoon for a moment, lost in thought, picturing the way the actors had stared at one another in the films, even, and wondering if I was dumb and had just somehow missed something in the books that had said they were gay.

Declan finally said, "I honestly expect Teddy Lupin wouldn't have been born if things had gone properly in the 80s."

I looked up, pulling my spoon from my mouth. "What?"

"Remus's son. If things in 1981 hadn't gone the way they did, or if things had gone differently in 1995, even, I don't think Remus and Tonks would have ended up together, and therefore their son never would've been born." He shrugged. "Sirius and Remus would probably be perfectly happy. Off sipping drinks out of coconuts somewhere like people with money, time, and love do." Declan grinned. "They deserved all that."

I still couldn't wrap my mind around Sirius and Remus.

"And what about Teddy?" I asked.

Declan shrugged, "He's a bit of a tosser anyway," he answered. "The world could do without him."

"That's a terrible thing to say," I snapped.

Declan laughed. "You'd say otherwise if you knew him. Trust me." He glanced at his watch and before I could argue further he announced, "Anyway. Time to get you back to work."

"What?"

"Work? Remember?"

"You expect me to just -- go back to work now?"

"I do."

"But -- that's -- how am I supposed to just go back to work and not think about this constantly?"

"Thinking about it constantly is exactly what I'm hoping you'll do."

"You are?"

"Yes...  I expect you to start writing."

"Start writing?"

"Yes, the story."

"What story?"

"THE STORY. Their story. Like you were outlining in that thing." He waved at my notebook.

"The Marauders?"

"Yep."

"But I don't know even where to start. I mean, there's no information, it's not like I can just walk into a library or pull up Google and research this stuff, Declan."

He nodded, "No I know." He reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a fist full of vials of silvery liquid. He handed them to me. "Here. You'll need these."

"What's this?" I asked, looking them over.

Declan grinned. "Their memories."