22 Apr 2018, 20:09
Chestnut and Heartstrings
The little silver bell hanging in front of the doorway jingled softly, its tintinnabulation children's laughter pealing in joy. The sound was a stark contrast to Cel's apprehension as she carefully stepped into the tiny shop cramped with shelves of boxes upon boxes...
"Are those wands?" she whispered, turning around to see her... these days she wasn't sure what to call him. Not her father, obviously. Maybe a guardian, but that sounded too formal. Oh well, there was no other term for him than guardian. Her guardian followed through the door, allowing it to swing shut and gently tickle the bell's mellifluous noise again.
"They are," Parker confirmed. "One of them will be yours."
Celynne stared around at the chaotic stacks of long, thin cases, presumably for wands, doubtfully. How could anyone find anything in the mass? Well, no matter, really. A small chair in the corner looked comfortable enough but also looked as if it were about to fall apart, and a single olive-colored wand lay on a cushion as a display. Cel wished she knew what it might be made of. She'd learned, of course, about the wand cores and wand woods and whatnot, but was curious as to what she would receive.
"I wonder," she sighed, running through a mental list of wand cores. Truthfully, she knew nothing much about herself, anyway, and likely wasn't the best judge. The girl didn't bother to finish the sentence, as Parker only smiled at her before his eyes shot up at the sound of footsteps gently vacating a ladder.
"Doesn't everyone?" An old, cordial voice responded as the aged Wandmaker came into view behind one of the many shelves, a stack of cases in hand. He had bright, pale eyes, she noticed, and his age certainly showed in his pure white hair. "That's all we do these days. Wonder, that is." As he bent to tuck the wands into an empty spot in the shelf, his eyes wandered over to his new customer. Cel only blinked a couple of times, but Parker smiled, sliding his wand from his sleeve for the evaluation that he knew would follow. "Hello, Kavalan," Ollivander smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he took the wand.
"It's good to see you again, Mr. Ollivander," the professor replied as Ollivander tested the wand, three fingers on each tip, to test its composition.
"26 and 3/4 centimeters, acacia wood and Thunderbird tail feather, quite whippy," he announced with a twinkle in his eye. "This is your second wand, is it not? This one was shipped all the way from an associate in America. Thunderbirds are so difficult to find in England."
"It is," Parker agreed. "My first was 18 centimeters, rowan wood and Kelpie hair, springy. Broke it, unfortunately, if you remember."
"One of my oldest, as I don't produce wands with kelpie hair anymore," Ollivander supplied, handing the acacia wand back. "You were always a meticulous one. That wand is certainly in good condition. Well, my dear Joshua Kavalan Parker, I'd hope you aren't here for a third wand, of all things, and for this young lady here?" he inquired, turning his gaze on Cel.
"Precisely," Parker replied with a nod, nudging the young girl forward. The Wandmaker gave her a warm, affable smile.
"What's your name?" he asked as he waved his wand, causing a small silver tape measure to float out from behind another shelf, extending itself to assess Cel. She lifted an arm to allow it to measure from her shoulder to elbow, then her elbow to her wrist, wondering at the magic instilled in the coil of marked tape as it flitted about, twisting like a silver dragon in the sky. Meanwhile, Ollivander had turned away, she noticed, and was muttering to herself as he examined the myriad stacks of wand cases.
As the tape measure at last stopped moving, it simply dropped from the air. Cel caught it instinctively in both hands, coiling it back into its original state, if only for something to do with her hands, then holding it out to Ollivander neatly folded.
The Wandmaker accepted the tape measure, trading a long velvet-lined case in its place. "15 and a half centimeters, ebony and phoenix feather, inflexible," he declared. "Give it a wave."
Cel carefully removed the wand from its box, examining its features. The wood was an imposing jet black, very straight, with indented ridges at the front and back of its handle. She took a breath, raised it, and gently waved it through the air, only to flinch backward as a shelf shuddered, causing the pile of boxes Ollivander had just tucked into the vacancy to topple out. The girl quickly returned the wand to the box and offered it back.
"Sorry," she apologized earnestly.
"Not to worry," Ollivander responded, a merry tone to his voice. "It happens quite often! Try this, now. You may like this, a poplar wand, just shy of nine and one-half centimeters long. The core consists of phoenix tail feather, a pliable wand."
So again Cel swished the wood through the air, only to have it snatched back by a speed that didn't match the man's appearance before any harm could come to the little store.
The wands continued, of course, and each wand caused cases to topple off shelves, chairs to fall over, or trinkets to explode unless Ollivander removed them from her possession first. While she increasingly felt like a failure, fearing that no wand would match her at all, Ollivander and Parker each seemed absolutely undisturbed. The observation calmed her somewhat as she progressed through more. Oak wand, 12 and a half centimeters long, dragon heartstring, brittle. Cherrywood wand, ten centimeters long, unicorn tail hair, quite bendy. Maple, 23 and 3/4 centimeters long, also unicorn tail hair, supple. The constant failure fatigued her.
Then finally: "Perhaps... this. 29.9 centimeters, chestnut wood, dragon heartstring, bendy. Very effective for unspoken spells, perfect for defensive spells as well. Go on, give it a wave."
And so she did. The wand felt more right in her hand, like it just fit. When she moved it through the air, a trail of white sparks burst out of its end, and she grinned in joy.
"Bravo, Miss Flores," Ollivander smiled, clapping. "You've found your wand!" Cel smiled as well, tiredly but triumphantly. She had a wand now.
As she stared at the golden wood, however, her thoughts drifted-- and she found herself elsewhere.
Little Celynne stood in the rain, her black hair dripping wet, as she stared at her father kneeling in the muddy grass, unable to distinguish the tears on his face from droplets pelting from the sky as he clung his son's fading heartbeat. Before them both was her brother's unmoving body, but she didn't think what thoughts most of her age would: why didn't her brother wake? Why wasn't he sitting up and smiling to comfort their father? No, she understood what his stillness meant; she knew death. But no tears fell from her own eyes, for she let the sky cry for her.
The scene shifted: Her brother lived. Relief washed over her as he breathed once more, and her father pulled out a long... stick?... of the same golden color. He raised it, mouthing two words: Forgive me. Then his mouth moved, and a flash of light shot towards her, too fast to dodge...
Celynne stumbled back, almost tipping over before Parker caught her, worry in his eyes as well as Ollivander's.
"What's wrong? Are you all right?" the professor asked, allowing her to sit down on the spindly chair.
"It's fine," she muttered. At least I think it is. "Another... you know." She waved her hand, utterly confusing the Wandmaker, she knew, but Parker understood.
Her father had had the same wand wood. That much she knew... she had a brother? The memory clearly told her to recognize him... who...? Not now. Now wasn't the time, she would think of the flashback later.
"Thank you for the wand, Mr. Ollivander," she recognized sincerely with a small smile, then positively fled the store. Her own heartstrings may as well have been taken for a wand, for all they felt now.
"Are those wands?" she whispered, turning around to see her... these days she wasn't sure what to call him. Not her father, obviously. Maybe a guardian, but that sounded too formal. Oh well, there was no other term for him than guardian. Her guardian followed through the door, allowing it to swing shut and gently tickle the bell's mellifluous noise again.
"They are," Parker confirmed. "One of them will be yours."
Celynne stared around at the chaotic stacks of long, thin cases, presumably for wands, doubtfully. How could anyone find anything in the mass? Well, no matter, really. A small chair in the corner looked comfortable enough but also looked as if it were about to fall apart, and a single olive-colored wand lay on a cushion as a display. Cel wished she knew what it might be made of. She'd learned, of course, about the wand cores and wand woods and whatnot, but was curious as to what she would receive.
"I wonder," she sighed, running through a mental list of wand cores. Truthfully, she knew nothing much about herself, anyway, and likely wasn't the best judge. The girl didn't bother to finish the sentence, as Parker only smiled at her before his eyes shot up at the sound of footsteps gently vacating a ladder.
"Doesn't everyone?" An old, cordial voice responded as the aged Wandmaker came into view behind one of the many shelves, a stack of cases in hand. He had bright, pale eyes, she noticed, and his age certainly showed in his pure white hair. "That's all we do these days. Wonder, that is." As he bent to tuck the wands into an empty spot in the shelf, his eyes wandered over to his new customer. Cel only blinked a couple of times, but Parker smiled, sliding his wand from his sleeve for the evaluation that he knew would follow. "Hello, Kavalan," Ollivander smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he took the wand.
"It's good to see you again, Mr. Ollivander," the professor replied as Ollivander tested the wand, three fingers on each tip, to test its composition.
"26 and 3/4 centimeters, acacia wood and Thunderbird tail feather, quite whippy," he announced with a twinkle in his eye. "This is your second wand, is it not? This one was shipped all the way from an associate in America. Thunderbirds are so difficult to find in England."
"It is," Parker agreed. "My first was 18 centimeters, rowan wood and Kelpie hair, springy. Broke it, unfortunately, if you remember."
"One of my oldest, as I don't produce wands with kelpie hair anymore," Ollivander supplied, handing the acacia wand back. "You were always a meticulous one. That wand is certainly in good condition. Well, my dear Joshua Kavalan Parker, I'd hope you aren't here for a third wand, of all things, and for this young lady here?" he inquired, turning his gaze on Cel.
"Precisely," Parker replied with a nod, nudging the young girl forward. The Wandmaker gave her a warm, affable smile.
"What's your name?" he asked as he waved his wand, causing a small silver tape measure to float out from behind another shelf, extending itself to assess Cel. She lifted an arm to allow it to measure from her shoulder to elbow, then her elbow to her wrist, wondering at the magic instilled in the coil of marked tape as it flitted about, twisting like a silver dragon in the sky. Meanwhile, Ollivander had turned away, she noticed, and was muttering to herself as he examined the myriad stacks of wand cases.
As the tape measure at last stopped moving, it simply dropped from the air. Cel caught it instinctively in both hands, coiling it back into its original state, if only for something to do with her hands, then holding it out to Ollivander neatly folded.
The Wandmaker accepted the tape measure, trading a long velvet-lined case in its place. "15 and a half centimeters, ebony and phoenix feather, inflexible," he declared. "Give it a wave."
Cel carefully removed the wand from its box, examining its features. The wood was an imposing jet black, very straight, with indented ridges at the front and back of its handle. She took a breath, raised it, and gently waved it through the air, only to flinch backward as a shelf shuddered, causing the pile of boxes Ollivander had just tucked into the vacancy to topple out. The girl quickly returned the wand to the box and offered it back.
"Sorry," she apologized earnestly.
"Not to worry," Ollivander responded, a merry tone to his voice. "It happens quite often! Try this, now. You may like this, a poplar wand, just shy of nine and one-half centimeters long. The core consists of phoenix tail feather, a pliable wand."
So again Cel swished the wood through the air, only to have it snatched back by a speed that didn't match the man's appearance before any harm could come to the little store.
The wands continued, of course, and each wand caused cases to topple off shelves, chairs to fall over, or trinkets to explode unless Ollivander removed them from her possession first. While she increasingly felt like a failure, fearing that no wand would match her at all, Ollivander and Parker each seemed absolutely undisturbed. The observation calmed her somewhat as she progressed through more. Oak wand, 12 and a half centimeters long, dragon heartstring, brittle. Cherrywood wand, ten centimeters long, unicorn tail hair, quite bendy. Maple, 23 and 3/4 centimeters long, also unicorn tail hair, supple. The constant failure fatigued her.
Then finally: "Perhaps... this. 29.9 centimeters, chestnut wood, dragon heartstring, bendy. Very effective for unspoken spells, perfect for defensive spells as well. Go on, give it a wave."
And so she did. The wand felt more right in her hand, like it just fit. When she moved it through the air, a trail of white sparks burst out of its end, and she grinned in joy.
"Bravo, Miss Flores," Ollivander smiled, clapping. "You've found your wand!" Cel smiled as well, tiredly but triumphantly. She had a wand now.
As she stared at the golden wood, however, her thoughts drifted-- and she found herself elsewhere.
Little Celynne stood in the rain, her black hair dripping wet, as she stared at her father kneeling in the muddy grass, unable to distinguish the tears on his face from droplets pelting from the sky as he clung his son's fading heartbeat. Before them both was her brother's unmoving body, but she didn't think what thoughts most of her age would: why didn't her brother wake? Why wasn't he sitting up and smiling to comfort their father? No, she understood what his stillness meant; she knew death. But no tears fell from her own eyes, for she let the sky cry for her.
The scene shifted: Her brother lived. Relief washed over her as he breathed once more, and her father pulled out a long... stick?... of the same golden color. He raised it, mouthing two words: Forgive me. Then his mouth moved, and a flash of light shot towards her, too fast to dodge...
Celynne stumbled back, almost tipping over before Parker caught her, worry in his eyes as well as Ollivander's.
"What's wrong? Are you all right?" the professor asked, allowing her to sit down on the spindly chair.
"It's fine," she muttered. At least I think it is. "Another... you know." She waved her hand, utterly confusing the Wandmaker, she knew, but Parker understood.
Her father had had the same wand wood. That much she knew... she had a brother? The memory clearly told her to recognize him... who...? Not now. Now wasn't the time, she would think of the flashback later.
"Thank you for the wand, Mr. Ollivander," she recognized sincerely with a small smile, then positively fled the store. Her own heartstrings may as well have been taken for a wand, for all they felt now.