Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
“No, that one won't do!” Gervaise insisted, resisting the urge to swat the wand from the youngster's hand. The wandmaker could tell just from looking that the massive, fourteen-inch acacia rod was not at all suited to this particular customer, and he was relieved he had emerged from the shelves with enough time to prevent catastrophe.
He always had been a bit of a drama queen.
Measuring tape in hand, he moved to stand beside the youth, raising his eyebrows by way of asking permission.
Finally, after a month and a half of lounging around the Sanditon, Flora had finally found it in her to complain—and surprisingly, her mother had not at all been fussed about taking her to London! Saying that the different scenery was a breath of fresh air probably wasn't the most accurate statement, but it was true in her situation; she'd never thought she'd grow so bored of the zoo and ocean and spa, but she had!
Flora's chest was filled with butterflies as she stood in front of the Ollivander's storefront, thoughts of her future wand swirling around in her head. Would it be a light-colored wand wood? Would it have a pretty, ornamental handle? What would the core be? What cores did they even use?
She wasn't sure how long she stood outside, but a gentle nudge from behind send her walking straight towards the door—and then with a deep breath, right inside the building. It hadn't taken very long for her presence to be noticed by Mr. Ollivander himself, and before she knew it she was trying out an assortment of wands.
The fourteen-inch wand was far too big for her, but the wood was very pretty—prettier than anything she could have imagined!—and she was hesitant to give it back to the wandmaker. She did eventually resign with a sigh and place the wand back onto the counter top without anything more than a frustrated huff.
A moment later, she nodded up at the wandmaker, giving him permission to measure her.
"I want something that oozes elegance and beauty—not literally, though."
"No, an oozing wand is no one's friend," Gervaise agreed dryly as he moved to record the necessary measurements.
"A wand is not a fashion accessory, mind, it's a tool, an extension of the wizard—or witch—that wields it. Finding something that fits the bill in that respect will do you far better than choosing one just because it's pretty."
— Bee makes the pretty things ♥ —
August 4, 2018 – 9:05 PM
Last modified: August 4, 2018 – 9:06 PM by Flora Mulciber.
Flora stood stiffly as he recorded the measurements, wondering what her height had to do with her wand—it wasn't as if she was done growing! She hoped Mr. Ollivander didn't expect to get her business in the next few years...
"Well," she said, eyeing the numerous wand boxes stacked along the shelves. "I suppose you must have an idea of what 'fits the bill' then, sir?" she asked, eyebrows high on her forehead as she stared up at him.
More than you ever will, I'd wager, Gervaise thought to himself. There were little princesses like this one at least twice a year—nevermind their older counterparts coming in for repairs and replacements. He had long since learned that verbalizing his feelings on their attitude did him little good, and so kept his comments to himself. Mostly.
"Perhaps this?" he suggested, handing her a suitably 'elegant'-looking wand, with a small pearl at it's base much like the pommel of a sword. "Nine and seven-eighths inches of willow. Bendy, with a billywig's stinger at it's core."
Taking the wand in her hand, Flora twirled it around as if she was examining it for any sign of imperfections. It was an appropriate length, she thought, and the pearl was decidedly a pretty addition, but—
"Billywig stinger? Are there any special qualities about it?" she asked curiously, not waiting for him to respond before giving it an experimental wave.
"Good for healing magic, as well as combative," the wandmaker answered, surveying the girl—and wand—carefully, "but evidently not for you. If you'll just put it back in it's box—carefully!—I'll go and fetch another."
Without waiting for a response, Gervaise did just that, disappearing for several minutes into the stacks. When he returned, it was with five boxes under his arm: three were the simple boxboard lined in felt he used for most, decorated with the Ollivander's O, but two were a thin, wooden box—those used by his apprentice. It was one of these that he selected for the witchling next.
"Cypress, ten inches precisely, with a unicorn tail hair. Whippy," he detailed, extending the wand to his young customer. It was not nearly so ornate as their first effort, but he would not let Reid stock a wand if he did not thoroughly approve its overall quality, looks be damned.
Flora scrunched the nose at the man's suggestion that the wand, as apparently pretty and versatile as it seemed, was not for her. She placed it back in the box, determined not to let her impatience get to her. She did, however, find herself tapping her foot and glancing back between the door and the place where the man had disappeared, the worry that she'd never be able to find the right wand beginning to set in.
Thankfully, Mr. Ollivander appeared a few moments later, effectively distracting her from her worries.
"It's not as pretty as the last one," she said. It was a simple observation—bratty tone not present. "What of cypress wood? Any special qualities associated with it? Wives' tales?" She gave it a curious wave, just pleased to have another in her hand after the wait between tries.
She would be a Ravenclaw, or Gervaise would eat his hat. Not the useful kind, though, but the sort that made a nagging wife and was presently making a nagging customer. Still, for all her questions—and her fixation on appearances—she did at least seem interested, and so Gervaise indulged her.
“Cypress wands match best, but not exclusively, with a wizard or witch who is noble in nature—those most apt to be heroes, if you will. They are not matched often, but are quite loyal once acquired.”
And acquired, it seemed, this one would be. Gervaise's eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise, though the rest of his face was practiced stillness as a warm envelope of light encircled the young witch—a clear sign, if ever he'd seen one.
"Well my dear, it seems we've found just the ticket."
Flora did not fancy herself the heroic sort, but it seem the wand—ten inches long and not the prettiest, but apparently useful enough—seemed to believe she had it in her. She glanced between her wand and the wand-maker, her eyes wide in a pleasant sort of shock. That was easier and far less eventful than she'd imagined!
"And that's it, then? It's chosen me?" she asked, giving the wand yet another experimental wave.
“It has indeed,” the answer came dispassionately, though Gervaise offered the youngster a reassuring smile. “I have little doubt that the two of you will do great things together.”
As he spoke, he moved behind the counter, from which he drew out an old and hefty tome. The book contained fifty years’ worth of wand details—though those sold in Hogsmeade from 77 to 84 had seen their own records lost in the High Street fires of that same year—and had several cousins kept in the back, each dating back further and further still.
Gerviase remained quiet as he scribed in the precise details of the wand, including its measurements and maker.
— Bee makes the pretty things ♥ —
August 23, 2018 – 11:23 AM
Last modified: August 23, 2018 – 11:26 AM by Flora Mulciber.
After digging into her dress pocket to find her coin pursue, Flora removed the proper amount of galleons and held them awkwardly as she awaited Mr. Ollivander to finish scribbling away.
"Where is the best place to store my wand on my person? Do you know if Hogwarts robes come with built-in wand pockets?" she nagged after her impatience got the best of her. "- And instructions for keeping the wand clean and polished don't happen to come in the box, do they? I'd hate to wear it down!"
Merlin help him, the questions—although, he supposed, questions about wand maintenance were both apropos and, given his line of work, welcome. He set his quill down as he answered.
“I know little of the current uniform fashion, Miss, so your best bet on that score is to figure out what works for you. Like the wand itself,” Gervaise explained, “it is very much a personal decision. That said, you may wish to take a flyer, as we here do carry a variety of options—” the wandmaker gestured to the simply adorned metal wand sheath that he wore upon his belt “—that may be ordered by mail. For best results, it’s advised that you give your wand a good polish once a month, however that’s more for looks than for function—so long as a wand doesn’t get beaten about, they are quite low maintenance. Now, all I need for my records is your name.”
A pout slipped onto her face unintentionally. It seemed that every adult either lacked the information she required or had no interest in revealing Hogwarts' greatest secrets. Hopefully her excitement for school would translate into strong academic performance once she was finally able to attend! In regards to her wand, however, she could at least rest assured that her Mama would do - or buy, in this case - whatever she needed to succeed.
"Well I'm hopeful I won't find myself in a situation that would result in a 'beaten about' wand," she assured, clumsily twirling the wand in her slender fingers. "But then again, if I'm as heroic as the wand choice suggests, I might be able to save it from its untimely destruction even if I do."
She glanced towards the man's book - which apparently held his records - before looking back to him.
