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First names were most often used by childhood or school friends. If the friendship was made after school age, first names would only really be used by women. Men were far more likely to refer to their friends by their surnames, a mark of familiarity. — Documentation


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WANTED:

Carson Bixby for Sloane Bixby. You can take the middle-aged man out of quidd—oh, apparently you can't.
Separating was also not a great idea, though they weren't doing great at staying together anyway. If she were to volunteer to be the human sacrifice.. well... Hogsmeade had plenty of debutantes anyway...

Barnabas Skeeter in CYOA: Group D


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Well-Traveled

Complete threads set in ten different forum locations. Threads must have at least ten posts, and three must be your own. Character accounts cannot be combined.

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Another Generic Wand Thread
#1
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July 28th, 1888 — Ollivander’s Wands, London

“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.

Open to an incoming first year + entourage!

#2
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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."



Wherever life plants you
Bloom With Grace
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#3
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"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."

#4
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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.



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#5
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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."

#6
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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.



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#7
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"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.

#8
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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.



Wherever life plants you
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#9
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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."

#10
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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.



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