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The first time I had ever held a wand, was shortly after my brother had got his.
Our mother rarely used magic in our household, we lived quite close to a muggle settlement so she strictly followed the Statue of Secrecy. When she did use her wand though, it was always a sight to behold. She weaved spells like a tapestry of gold, the glowing sparks gently alighting the air in a cascade of colors. Her wand was a beautiful brown, the design elegant and practical, bare of decoration but still acutely unique.
My brother and I used to beg my mother for it, we just wanted to be able to hold it. To feel the textured wood within our fingers and to feel the weight of it as we waved the wand through the air. Our mother, of course, forbade this, even after we promised to be careful and our father followed our mother’s degree and never let us hold his wand either.
We were forced to wait like any other child, but I couldn’t wait.
My brother was never the type to hoard. He didn’t selfishly cling to items or experiences. And when he got his wand, like anything else, he shared it with me, he brought me along with him and shared everything with me, always.
A few nights before he went to Hogwarts, he came to me. He sat beside me on my bed and told me stories, promising me that he would have so many more when he returned for Christmas. Then he pulled out his wand from his pocket and delicately holding it his hand, he used magic.
The spells were simple enough, nothing as nearly complicated or spectacular as the magic I had witnessed my mother use, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
The maple wand spun a tapestry of magic that shone brighter than I had ever seen. Jacob wielded his wand with a naivety, an innocent curiosity. Most of the spells he attempted failed unspectacularly, but I was amazed that he was already teaching himself magic before even stepping foot in Hogwarts. He had always been ambitious, seeking power and seeking adventure.
For most of my life, I had always imagined my future as being one lived by my brother’s side. He had shone so brightly that it was impossible to ever imagine him obscured by darkness and mystery, but—
—the shattered pieces of the maple wand in my hand prove that I didn’t really know my brother.
I only knew a part of him, but there was another and I know that somewhere locked within the walls and passages of Hogwarts was the answers that I wanted. My brother, who he was and what happened to him, the truth is here.
I just have to find it.
And I will—by whatever means necessary.