WINTER 1948 - SCANDINAVIA
The dark wood room smelled of peppermint oil, cedar, and cold leather. A hearth was nestled in the corner, alight with magical flame, with an incredibly large rack of antlers hanging above the stone. Lamps made of red crystal hung overhead, and there was a large leather sofa in the middle of the room adorned in mink and polar bear furs. Paintings of nautical storms hung on the walls, along with the heads of magical beats bearing tooth and fang. Gold and silver accents on crimson wallpaper featured depictions of falcons, bones, waves, and wolves.
The man behind the counter was stern and pale. Mykew Gregorovitch had thick brown hair and a bushy beard with small plaits interwoven. He wore his shoulder-length hair in the style of the old folk, braided tight against his scalp. His clothes were a deep ebony, with silver geometric motifs of Nordic design.
She had not stepped foot in Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe in over a decade.
His shrewd eyes didn't even bother to look up as she entered. Customer service wasn't the product here. Even the thick brown wool coat she wore did nothing to ease the chill that went through her when his green eyes finally pierced her.
She briefly averted her gaze to the window, where she spotted a grove of tall pines. For a second, she smiled to herself, reminiscing on how she once thought the snow on the pine looked like sugar. Many Decembers had come and gone since then.
The Northern European's equivalent of Diagon Alley was located in a village called Vilra. Surrounded by Boreal Forest of pine, fir and birch, the town was a concoction of Medieval Scandinavian architecture and golden domes. Taverns sold stews and sour beers, meatballs and reindeer jerky, and stores offered clothes of red, silver, and white lined with fur and boots that went up to the knee to ward off the chill of snow.
Winter was harsh and unforgiving in this part of the world, but magical folk made the best of the daily darkness—it almost seemed as though it was the most natural state to enact the frivolity of daily life. During the season, it was not a rare sight for there to be pop-up markets in the middle of the town square, featuring everything from hides to delicate perfumes. Vendors would sell specialty lichen tea blends promised to cure all ailments and dried mushrooms for potions. Hawkers would sell narwhal blubber and glaciers in a bottle. On occasion, whenever the market wasn't open, a lucky child would manage to convince an adult to charm a giant game of wizard's chess—the distinguished pieces of ice sculptures sliding around on a frozen board as though it was polished marble.
At night, which often felt eternal, there were operas and ballets and plays to attend and lavish lounges of crystal and gold crowded with witches and wizards dressed to the nines. Strong alcohol would fill diamond-like glasses, chilled in the snow and sweetened with preserved honeycomb imported from the south.
However, tonight appeared like it would be an even wilder atmosphere in Vilra.
The celebration of Sankta Lucia was upon the town. One of the few muggle holidays celebrated in the Northern wizarding world, the celebration was a mix of Christian traditions and Pagan folklore. It began with the tale of Lussi, a female being with evil traits often described to be part woman, part dragon. She was said to ride through the air with her followers, sending bolts of lightning and droplets of blood from the heavens, echoing much of the motif of the Wild Hunt found in other cultures.
She hadn't celebrated Sankta Lucia in a long, long time.
Between Lussi Night and Yule, it was said that trolls and evil spirits haunted the homes of the ill-protected. The tradition of Lussevaka – to stay awake through the treacherous night to guard oneself and the household against evil, found a modern form through throwing parties until daybreak.
Now, witches traversed the streets adorned in candle lit wreaths made of young fir boughs. Wizards wore suits of red with red holly berries tucked in their lapel. Drunken laughs and music could be heard from nearly every residence. After years of hiding, both from the Muggle War as well as Grindelwald, Vilra was alive with the rush of night and hedonism.
The same couldn't be said of Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe, despite its posh interior. Both the owner and the customer knew that such parties were not meant for them.
"What do you need? I'm closing soon."
Mykew's voice was gritty, but not unpleasant. It was like the crackle of fire on a cold night—startling but welcoming all at once. It tore her out of her reverie.
She redirected her attention back to the shop owner and pursed her lips. "I've come to buy a new wand."
"Original?"
Gregorovitch wasted no time. He immediately made his way over to a tall cabinet and began going through various drawers.
"Hawthorn," she replied. "Veela hair core," she said softly.
"What was the nature of the break?"
"Snapped," she breathed with a shudder.
"How long ago?"
"About three years ago."
She hadn't bothered to venture out in search of a new one in all that time. She argued that her hands worked perfectly fine, but Elphias insisted that no dignified witch went without a wand. And if she was going to re-enter society, she needed to look the part.
Mykew clucked his tongue in disapproval. "And what have you been using since?"
Thoughts better left alone surged forward in her mind. She battled them away with seasoned grace.
"I used an Aspen, briefly, but not of my own choice. It was what was available to me at the time."
"And what happened to that wand?"
"Also broken."
Mykew let out a groan of irritation, almost as if she had stabbed him with something dull and hot. He began to rummage through the cabinet more slowly, as if he was nursing troubled thoughts. He gruffly grabbed a blackthorn wand with a bloodstone handle.
"Try this."
It immediately backfired with a violent flash of flame.
"Paskaa paahtoleivällä," Mykew muttered as he turned back to the cabinet.
Out came a handsome wand of Silver Lime with a silver-dipped handle.
"A very desirable wand. Try."
Her fingers wrapped around the slim handle and there was a faint hum, but when she cast Lumos, the light was rather dull. Gregorovitch shook his head and took the wand from her hand, but not before he gave her a discerning glance. It was well known that Silver Lime had a special affinity for those with powers for divination—especially Seers.
He trudged back to the cabinet.
It was moments before he came back, this time carrying dusty box. He gently set it on the counter and plucked it up with nimble, crooked fingers.
"Cedar. For those with perspicacity and perception."
He twirled it in his fingertips, and she noticed the intricate details. Shimmering pieces of shell were engrained into the wood. She reached out to admire the swirl of iridescence.
Mykew smiled slightly at her admiration—the first time he lost his chilly demeanor during their interaction. "Abalone carries energies of protection and emotional balance. It brings with it a natural shielding that blesses the person holding it with tranquility. It pairs well with Occlumency and elemental magic."
Her hand closed around the hilt. She had held more wands than most in her hands, but this felt akin to the first time she had held her Hawthorn wand all those years ago. It sung and sparked in her hand, lighting up the room with a lovely white glow.
"Ei koskaan ristiä setrisauvan omistaja."
She looked up, her glacial eyes flickering in the lowlight. Snow began to fall softly outside, coating the windows in lacy frost. Her cheeks with flushed the exhilaration of magic.
"Never a cross the owner of a wand of cedar," Mykew Gregorovitch repeated. "Et koskaan huijaa setrikantajaa," he paused as he appraised the wand in her winter cream hand. His eyes flicker up to meet her gaze. "You will never fool the cedar carrier."
The woman allowed an infinitesimal smirk to overcome her face.
Mykew cleared his throat. "The core of this wand is Thestral Hair. You won't find it in any other wand shop—no one else knows how to temper it. The core will generally produce strong magic but only when the wielder understands themselves. If the wielder does not know themselves or loses themselves to their thoughts than their spells will suffer. It will serve you very well for Charms, the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration, and as I mentioned earlier, when paired with cedar, Occlumency and elemental magic."
When the woman said nothing and did not remove her stare from the tool, he twitched several fingers in annoyance. "That will be will 150 krohn."
Smoothly, the woman pulled out the money from her cloak pocket. She placed it on the counter.
"Keep the change," she uttered.
Mykew Gregorovitch was not slow to the grab the money, but his eyes widened at the amount she left. He looked up only to find the strange woman gone, no trace of her left behind, not even a cloud of hot breath. He shook his head and let out a sigh. It was time to close up shop.
Outside, the woman stepped into the snowcapped night. It seemed that the entire world was encased in the heady aroma of chestnuts and mead and melting candles. Overhead, the Northern Lights burned the ancient fire of the sun, creating the creamed existence of the heavens all in one schmear across the sky. The sight faded into her skin, igniting past memories that she hadn't bothered to yet smother.
In that light, she saw morning fields of amber grain, daffodils and flaming flowers that brightly blazed, sparkling eyes of china blue, skin purple and spotted with kisses that bruised, swirling clouds in violet haze, and the haunting green of a life abruptly ended.
She stared up at the blanket of night sky, so dark and otherworldly. She was transported to stone corridors where portraits hung in empty halls with frameless heads on nameless walls. She absorbed the world with eyes that watched and couldn't forget.
She clutched her wand of cedar and shell and, staring up at the sky, allowed snow of the purest white to caress her cheek before apparating into the night.
Hi all! A double update. I am hoping to turn a good lot of these out. The epilogues will be short and detailed, but won't fill so many gaps in that it functions like a second book. I'm envisioning one for every season and then perhaps two more substantial chapters.
As always, please vote, comment, and share!
What's your wand?
Candid