Elara had never been to the sea before.
She'd seen it on the telly and had heard one of the parishioners chatter about her holiday to the Spanish coast, but she didn't have any personal experience with the ocean—and the first day Mr. and Mrs. Flamel took them to the shore, she didn't much like it. The sun was too bright, the sand got trapped in her socks and gloves and hair, and she was too hot in her long sleeves and skirt. She ended up with a headache, terribly sunburned, and stinking of aloe vera.
She grew fonder of it as the days passed. She would wake too early in the morning, anxious and irritable, and would walk from the Flamel house to the shore by the village. Once there, she'd sit on the rocks and watch the fishermen on the jetty pull cod and bass from the water, a merperson stopping by sometimes to barter with fish from deeper depths. Elara would wait for the first light of dawn to peek over the forested hills and whisper, "Amato animo abunati animagus," with the tip of her wand over her heart.
She'd roll the new wand between her fingers, testing the unfamiliar grain and handle. Ebony wood. Rougarou hair. Mrs. Malfoy had taken her to get the replacement early in the summer, and Elara had been surprised when Ollivander looked at her, at her scarred hand, and came back with a wand he claimed he hadn't made.
"It's from a wandmaker in America," he explained. "We wandmakers exchange a choice selection every few years as not every person of a region is perfectly suited for the elements located there. Normally I would send you off to Gregorovitch, but there's no need for that. This particular wand comes from Violetta Beauvais in America. Eleven and a quarter, quite rigid. Ebony, with one Rougarou hair. Go on, then, give it a wave...."
Her first wand had been blackthorn and dragon heartstring. "A bit temperamental, but good stock nonetheless," Mr. Ollivander told her the first time. "A wand meant for a warrior, no doubt in my mind."
He didn't say anything about the new wand. Elara had gone back home and looked it up in an old wandlore book she scrounged in the library. She realized why the wizard hadn't told her about it when she read Rougarou hair was drawn to Dark magic.
Elara spent early mornings on the shore and grew accustomed to the quiet, to the iron-gray curtain of fog that balked and tip-toed away once the sun came out. If she stayed too long, Perenelle sent a Patronus summoning her back, so Elara always left before the sun could clear the treetops proper. She'd walk into the house and hear the clatter of dishes being set out by Harriet, Mrs. Flamel cooking, Mr. Flamel sitting at the table with the Daily Prophet or a paper from aboard. She'd sit down without saying a word and let the scene enfold her.
It was...nice. Surreal in a way magic never had been for Elara. The sisters had talked about the devil and his cheap tricks a lot more often than they ever discussed anything familial, and so Elara wondered what would scandalize her old caretakers more, the wand waving or the group of heathens sitting down to a meal together like normal people?
They went to the village or the beach during the day more often than not, and Elara grew to love the afternoons by the sea. Sometimes it was just her and Harriet, and Elara would wear shorts and a t-shirt just like the other witch—or least she did once Perenelle fashioned a pair of bracers like Harriet's for both her wrists, covering the marks. They'd play in the water or lie on the beach with their feet buried in the sand, or they'd duel with Mr. Flamel on the dock and he'd send them sailing into the cool water more often than not. Harriet finally managed to trip him in and he came up sputtering, soaking wet, and shocked, much to Perenelle's amusement.
They'd return, count new freckles on their cheeks and arms, and help with chores about the house. In the evenings, they would sit in the den and eat sweets made for dessert, listening to the wireless or to Perenelle chattering on about Astronomy while Mr. Flamel smoked his pipe and read periodicals. With her day so full, Elara found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep at night—but always she woke too early.
