There was a knock on Marcus’ bedroom door, and a soft and warm voice sprang from behind the door – ‘Up my ciccino(baby), today is your big day. Come down for breakfast. Everybody is waiting for you.’ A broad smile formed on Marcus’s face. The day was finally here, The Rite of Wood and Core.
It was the perfect start to the day; the morning sun was streaming in through a big bow window, and the room was slowly heating up. Marcus jumped out of his four-poster bed and, without thinking, headed towards the door. His mother’s voice sprang to life in his head – ‘Amore(honey), what are you wearing? There is a time and place for pyjamas. Remember bella figura amore(beautiful figure honny), remember.’
Marcus looked over his shoulder, and on an armchair beside his dresser, clothes were neatly laid on the seat. He took a deep breath and started to change clothes. Standing before the mirror, he would finish up by tucking his shirt and bottom up his shirt before pulling on his dark grey jumper. With a last glance, he adjusted his curly black-brown hair and smiled proudly back at himself, and he ran out of his room.
A quick running sound down the staircase, and the kitchen door swung open, and Marcus stood proud in the doorway. Everybody stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Marcus, as the focal point of a big, old, and very heavy pinewood kitchen table, where most of the family is gathered.
As usual, Enzo was the quickest, - ‘Ahhh Half-Pint, there he is. Are you ready for the big R, are you ready for the rite?’ Marcus smirked ‘Of course, Meatball, I was born for this day.’ Enzo burst out in laughter, ‘That’s my brother, through and through.’ Aurora was unfortunately seated beside Enzo and was taken aback by the loud outburst from him. She gave him a serious side-eye, one that could kill. She was reading one of her France gossip magazines. With one hand, she was turning the pages and with she was sipping her cappuccino.
The laughter and small-talk were interrupted by a lovely smell spreading throughout the kitchen; it was freshly home-baked pastries, all secret Italian-family-recipes. The same smooth and kind voice from behind Marcus’ door penetrated the silence -‘ahhh, well done, Tutter dear, very well done, almost as good as if I´ve done them.’ The voice came from Nonna(Grandmother) Angelica, a very old and very traditional Italian woman, her skin was very tanned and wrinkled, but the one thing that caught your eye was her friendly smile and the kindness in her.
A raspy clearing of her throat from Aurora, - ‘Tutter, un altro croissant, per favore(
another croissant, please).’ Tutter looked approvingly at Nonna, and she nodded, giving the signal that the pastries were ready to be served. With a quick whip of Nonna’s wand, the pasties flew gently and elegantly on a neatly polished pure silver tray. Tutter jumped off the kitchen counter, took the tray, walked regally and proudly with the pasty-tray above his head over to Aurora and said with a loving and proud voice to her; - ‘Freshly home-baked croissant for the lovely lady Aurora.’ She took the biggest one, smiled wholeheartedly to Tutter, stroked his cheek softly, - ‘Thank you very much, Tutter, they look so delicious.’
Marcus’ mother Margareta stood up and said, - ‘Well, amore(honey), it is time. Are you ready? This is your big day.’ With a mouthful of pasties, he nodded eagerly. Margareta gave Aurora and Enzo a look, and they got up from the chairs and walked over to the huge fireplace at the end of the kitchen, where Margareta already stood with a big, beautiful porcelain carafe shaped like a stag’s head. Enzo steps up to his mother and extends his hand toward her. She pours out the contents of the carafe onto his hand until a handful is showing. From where Marcus is standing, he can see the glittering powder and immediately recognizes it it is Floo powder.
Enzo steps into the fireplace, turns around so he is facing the room, locks eyes with Marcus, and smiles cheekily; - ‘See you, Half-pint!’ right before he tosses the powder, he says; - ‘The Crawford Apartment, Apartment 3B, 47 Diagon Alley, London!’ 'a loud roar and whoosh and big green flames enclose him, and suddenly he is gone.
Right before Marcus’s turn, he looks up at his mother with longing in his eyes, - ‘Where is papa?’ She pulls him into a hug and smiles kind of sadly to him, - ‘Well, he had to go to the ministry, but he promised he would be an Ollivanders and a promise is a promise, remember that.’ She is saying that all the while she runs, her fingers through his curly hair. He smiles and nods hopefully, but there is still doubt back in his mind. Two finale whooshes can be heard in the kitchen.
Marcus was almost thrown out of the fireplace and entered a room, much like one back home at the manor. His family had, for generations, procured a flat at Diagon Alley for the private use of the Crawford family. In the middle of the room stood Enzo and Aurora, and by the looks of it, they were removing the soot and dust from themselves. When Aurora spots Marcus, she immediately twirls her wand, and Marcus is instantly clean.
After dusting off and preparing for social activities, they live in the flat to enter Diagon Alley for the one and only purpose: to acquire a wand for Marcus and put him on the path of magic and mysteries. They step directly onto the main street of Diagon Alley, right across the street from Gringotts. Marcus has been to Diagon Alley before, and he has experienced it being busy before, but never as it is today; it is like the whole wizarding world is gathered here. The little group stands still for a moment to drink in the crowd and prepare themselves for whatever social activity may come their way. Margareta breaks the standstill, pushing her children in the back and stating, - ‘Come now, we have an appointment with the gentle Mr. Ollivander, and we must now be late.’
They slowly move up the street towards Ollivanders wand shop. At a purple shop with a display of both school uniforms and beautiful dresses, and various styles, with a golden tailor's scissors above the entrance. Over the display, a beautiful, written sign says, “Madam Malkin’s: Robes for All Occasions.” When Marcus and the group pass the entrance, an old, squat, and smiling witch leaps out the door in recognition of Margareta, - ‘Ahh, Lady Crawford, come in, come in. I just got a new fabric and pattern for a lovely summer dress.’ For a split-second, Margareta was taken aback in surprise, but quickly gathered herself and warmly smiled at Madam Malkin, - ‘I´m sorry, Madam Malkin. We, the children and I, are on an important and pressing errand. You see, my youngest, Marcus, is visiting Ollivanders for his own wand and finally joining our world. But send me an owl next weekend and I´ll come by. Have a good day, Madam Malkin.’ Madam Malkin's smile fell a bit but politely redrew a new smile and nodded while repetitively saying, - ‘Of course, Lady Crawford.
After pressing on and stopping to smalltalk with different witches and wizards, the little Crawford group finally arrives in front of a shop which is narrow and a bit shabby looking shop, with peeling gold letters over the door of the shop reads, “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.” Marcus is taken aback by the look of the stop. The shop’s display consisted of a single wand lying on a faded purple cushion in a dusty window. Marcus walked close to the display window to be able to see inside the shop. It was tiny, empty except for a single turning chair in the corner close to the display. Thousands of narrow boxes, which Marcus thought must contain wands, were piled right up to the ceiling of this tiny shop. Everything had a thin layer of dust about it. Marcus was brought back to reality by Enzo; - ‘Yep, this is Ollivanders, it hasn´t changed a bit. Oh, I see papà(father) inside.’ Marcus snaps around and his heart leaps in excitement, and he runs over to the entrance door, and right before he turns the handle, he hears, ‘Now, Mr. Ollivander, my family is coming today because my youngest is getting his wand today. I expect him to have a good wand and preferably one with a wood type that relates to my side of the family. Nothing fancy, Italian wood, like olivewood, or anything like it. Just do as I say. Is that understood?’ - ‘Mr. Crawford, one thing wandmakers agree upon is that “The wand chooses the wizard or witch.” I think it was told to you when you got your wand back in the day.’ - ’It´s Sir or Lord to you, Mr. Ollivander, just do what I asked, and everything is going to be alright!’ In that moment, Marcus enters the shop, and a small bell at the door goes off to signal a new customer. Mr. Ollivander is standing right up against the shop counter, bending backward almost over the counter, and Marcus’ father is standing very close to Mr. Ollivander and having a threatening finger towards Mr. Ollivander.
As quick as a Zouwu, Mr. Ollivander twists out of the way of Lord Crawford, - ‘Oh, come, come in, my young sir.’ He steps closer towards Marcus to invite him further into the shop. Marcus’s father turns around with a cold but polite smile, but his smile changes to a surprised, sincere, and real smile - ‘Marcus! You´re here and ready for the Rite. I´ve been looking forward to this day. Step closer, the spotlight is yours.’ He friendly ruffles Marcus’ hair and gestures to him towards the shop counter. Mr. Ollivander smiled in an eerily kind of way towards Marcus before disappearing amongst the rows of bookcases.
A few moments go by, and he returns with two boxes. Right before he lays down the boxes, he states, - ‘The thing about Ollivander wand makers, have a knack for remembering every wand we sell, and that every wandmaker agrees upon that the 'wand chooses the witch or wizard, ' not the other way around.’ A split second, his eyes land on Lord Crawford standing a bit behind Marcus. ‘But sometimes wand wood or core is the same throughout the family. Just like your older brother, you inherited the Fir wood, which is the same wand wood as your father here.’ A dark purple color box is unpacked and pushed towards Marcus, - ‘Here we got a wand made of Fir, 20 cm and very supple, the core is Dragon Heartstring, a perfect match for strong minds and focused people, very lovely for transfiguration.’ Marcus picks it up and immediately gets a wrong feeling; it isn’t the right match. In the second, Marcus holds the wand; it springs like a bullet out of his hand and terrorizes the shop. In the blink of an eye, Mr. Ollivander makes a wave with his wand, and the terrorizing wand flies back to its purple box. – ‘Well, well, weeelll. Very interesting. Very interesting, isn’t it, Sir Crawford?’ A loud growl and some mumbling come from Marcus’ father. – ‘Right after your parent wrote to tell that you needed a wand for your start at Hogwarts, I started straight away to look into your family’s wand history, and I found something curious, and perhaps this is for you.’ He dusts off the worst of the dust from the box and presents it just like the previous one. –
‘This is something different, Acacia wood, 30 cm long and with a unicorn hair as its core. And unyielding. It is a very unusual wand wood that creates tricky wands that often refuse to produce magic for anyone other than their rightful owner, and are very loyal. When well-matched, an acacia wand matched any power, though it was often underrated due to the peculiarity of its temperament!’
Immediately, when Marcus picks up the wand, a warm rush of energy surges through Marcus’ fingers. The wand fits perfectly in his hand, as if it has been waiting just for you. The wood gleams, core pulses gently, and for a moment, the world seems to hold its breath.
Mr. Ollivander smiles even more eerily than before, - ‘Is it not curious? Yes, yes, very curious....’
