the_debt_of_time

Harry's wand. Mia recognised it immediately and hesitated to touch it. She knew this
wand and knew its brother, and she swallowed hard as she slowly put her hand out, panic
rising to the surface. She refused to swish it, to flick it, or to move it at all.
Mr Ollivander focused on her and frowned at her reaction to the wand and removed
it from her palm, watching as she let out a deep sigh of relief. "Interesting," he muttered
and replaced the wand with another.
A warmth ran across her fingers like soft bath water after being out in the cold for
too long. "This feels... familiar."
"Ah, good." Mr Ollivander smiled. "Ten and one-quarter inch, vinewood with the
core of a dragon heartstring."
Mia stared at the man. It was not her original wand—the measurements were
slightly off—but it felt familiar in her hand. "Dragon heartstring?"
"Yes, Miss Potter, very powerful. The dragon that donated the heartstring was an
old Ukrainian Ironbelly. He donated two others that year. A wand made of willow that I
sold to a young Muggle-born girl just this week, and another vinewood in the back, just a
bit longer than this."
Somehow she had ended up with the sister wand of her original; it made Mia feel
like she had not left it behind in 1998 after all.
"Perfection, as usual, Mr Ollivander." Dorea smiled and placed fourteen Galleons
in the wandmaker's hand. He bowed in thanks and escorted the Potter family through the
shop door.
Maybe this won't be that bad, Mia thought.
1971 was slowly beginning to feel like home.