The Novelles were a rather unusual family. The kind that garnered plenty of gossip in the little village of Hinxhill. With their strange, eccentric and secretive ways and their large, beautiful house that the family had made absolutely clear that they did not want visited by the locals, they had become quite the curiosity. Situated on a winding country road just outside the village, the Novelles had created a bubble to exist within, away from the rest of the world. They had become the favourite mystery for the locals imaginations to run wild with. Little did they know just how close some of their more outlandish theories were to the truth. For of course, the Novelles were a wizarding family and with their bloodline tracing back to French aristocracy, their influence was far reaching within the wizarding world. Though not deemed a true pureblood lineage, the centuries had earned them high respect amongst their community.
Even so, in this society where oddity was the norm, the Novelle's young daughter stood out as particularly abnormal.
Wren Novelle awoke with a start, her heart still hammering in her chest as she could feel the room around her shaking. The sound of objects falling off her nightstand and shelves in the dark brought her further out of her unrestful sleep. As she had always been instructed by her parents, she began to take deep, calming breaths to steady her heart beat and regain control. Slowly the shaking objects on the rooms surfaces ceased to clatter and all became still once more around the little girl in the night.
As Wren sat in the dark, her covers wrapped tightly around her, she could hear the familiar sound of her parent's door opening and the footsteps of her father walking down the hall towards her. The door opened slowly and a pool of lantern light illuminated the room in a warm glow, casting strange shadows over the walls and ceiling.
'Sorry,' Wren whispered meekly.
'Hush now,' her father shushed her as he came to sit on the bed next to her and pulled her into a reassuring embrace. 'Bad dreams again?' he asked her softly.
Wren nodded her head as she rested it on her fathers chest, breathing in the comforting scent of wood smoke, clean linen and the transferred scent of her mothers lily perfume. She clutched at his pajamered arm like a child far younger than eleven. Lyal Novelle could tell from just how tense his daughter's body still was that this nightmare had been a particularly harsh one.
'Would you like to tell me about it?' He coaxed kindly.
Wren took another centering breath as she recalled all the details of her dream. 'I was in the wand shop.' she began quietly. 'But every time I reached out for a wand it flew away from me as if it was afraid I would hurt it. Soon all the wands had fled the shop and Mr Olivander told me that there was nothing he could do. The wand chooses the wizard and none had chosen me.' Wren looked fearfully up at her father and she could see in the dim light that he returned her gaze with an intense sadness.
Wren Novelle had not had the easiest childhood in regards to her magic. Most children had a few magical occurrences as they grew. Parents prayed for them, as they were a sign that their magic had passed on to the next generation. But Wren had far surpassed the usual amount of outbursts. Where other children had two or three in their early years that only occurred in extremely heightened states of emotion, Wren's parents had lost count of these occurrences to the point where the whole family had come to normalise her 'Episodes'. Wren shook the objects around her when she was scared or anxious, made the crockery float around her when she was excited and blew a gale when she was enraged.
The Novelles had sought advice and cures for their daughter as she grew. St Mungos even queried that her strange nature may even be due to an obscurus but it was quickly discounted. It was concluded that Wren simply either had very little control over herself or that her episodes were caused by an unusually strong level of magic manifesting at a young age. All had concluded that her condition would dissipate once she came of age for a wand and began to practise magic at school. In the meantime her parents were simply advised to create an environment where Wren could grow up mostly away from the muggle gaze.
Lyal held his daughter in silence for a long time before speaking. 'All will come right sweetheart. A wand will choose you. Any wand would jump at the chance to work with such a magical girl.' He smiled then kissed Wren on the forehead as he laid her back down onto her pillow. He sat with her until her eyelids closed heavily and her breathing slowed as she began to slumber once more as the house settled into the peace of the night.
As the sun climbed higher into the sky the next morning, the Novelle household began to wake and carry out their morning routines.
Wren awoke a little groggy from the night's events. Sluggishly she dragged herself from the covers and began to dress. She left her usual attire of dungarees strewn on the floor. Today she would not be trampling through the woods as was the usual plan for her summer holidays. Today the family were heading to Diagon Alley to collect all the supplies Wren would need for her first year at hogwarts. Her letter had arrived just over a week ago, now pinned proudly to her wall. She had been awaiting this day with equaling levels of excitement and trepidation ever since.
She thumbed through all the different fabrics in her wardrobe. Wren was a fortunate girl in many ways. With a mother who clothed wizards around the world with her fabulous designs, Wren had always had the choice of gorgeous robes. But in truth, much to her mothers dismay, she would always naturally gravitate to an outfit more suitable for exploring the wilderness or paddling the stream that ran at the back of their home.
Today however, Wren fort the urge to don her comfort clothes and chose an outfit her mother would approve of for an outing into the wider wizarding world. Delphi Novelle was a wonderfully warm and loving mother who enjoyed silly moments with her family but the one thing she had always been a stickler for perfection with, was her family's presentation to the world. Not wishing to incur her mothers wrath this day, Wren chose a knee length, light grey silk dress with a matching shoulder cape. Perfect for the humid august weather and fashionable enough for her mothers approval. Once dressed, Wren turned her attention to her knotted ebony locks. As she raked her brush through her hair she was relieved to see that her loose curls were behaving, springing back into ringlets down her back as her brush passed through them.
Once she was happy with her appearance, Wren made her way downstairs to join the rest of her family in the kitchen. The familiar sight of her father hiding behind the daily prophet at the head of the kitchen table and her cousin, Zeddicus Crow, sitting, buttering some toast, greeted her. Zeddicus had inherited the dark hair and handsome features of the Novelles. So much so that he looked like a fifteen year old mirror of his uncle. However, the proud high cheekbones and straight nose of Lyal Novelle was carried in a rather more horty manner on Zeddicus' face.
Zeddicus had been staying with his aunt and uncle over the summer to escape his parents messy divorce process. Wren had been very grateful for the older company over the summer. Ever since Zeddicus had left for Hogwarts she had only had her younger cousins, Miraya and Primrose Meriworth's company during homeschooling lessons and play times. Prue was only a year younger than Wren which made their friendship rather easy but at eight years old, Wren found Miri a little more challenging to interact with. Especially as her youngest cousin possessed a rather strong willed and bullish nature.
As Wren sat down at the table, Zeddicus greeted her with a playful grin. 'Well, last night was quite the ride! I'm surprised the house is still standing after those tremors.'
Wren stuck her tongue out at her cousin as she reached for a piece of toast. ' Don't start, Zeddi. I'm tired.' she warned her cousin grumpily.
Zeddi's expression softened from playful mischief to one of sympathy. 'It's alright little cousin. Not long and it will all be over. A wand in your hand will set everything right.' He repeated what her entire family had been telling her for years. At this point Wren found those words to be more pressure than comfort. The whole family had all their hopes riding on a wand 'fixing her.' Though Wren would never voice her thoughts, she had a niggling feeling that it may not be as simple as that.
'Today's the big day! How's my little girl feeling about getting her wand?' Wren's mother asked in an excited, sing-song tone as she placed a plate of boiled eggs infront of her and squeezed her shoulder lovingly. She seemed unaware that at her comment her pale daughter had turned a shade of green as she tried to contain herself from making the cutlery tremble in her mounting anxiety. Without a word, Lyal placed a steadying hand on his daughters and smiled reassuringly.
Once everyone had readied themselves for their excursion they stepped one by one into the living room fireplace after sprinkling the green floo powder into the flames and muttered 'Diagon alley.'
Wren was well used to the strange spinning, pulling sensation that travelling by floo caused on the body but despite having used this mode of transport from a young age, she had never managed to escape the nausea at the other end. She stumbled out of the fireplace in the book shop Flourish and Blotts, finding her balance just before toppling into one of the towering book displays. Once steady on her feet she waited for her family to join her.
Soon after arriving, Zeddi made his excuses and dashed off to meet up with some friends he had made plans with, leaving Wren and her parents to peruse the countless book shelves, adding titles from the school list into their basket as they went. Wren was an avid reader so sticking to an assigned list in a book shop was a rather impossible task. Multiple times her mother caught her adding various novels to the basket that had not been approved. After a little haggling on how many chores she would do, her mother obliged to let her have two. Wren took a while to narrow her armful of potentials down but soon enough she had chosen her titles. 'A year with centaurs' by Alidor Withers, a biography about an injured explorer who was found and nursed back to health by a herd of centaur for a year and had documented the unique insights into centaur life he had gained from his experience, and 'Foraging for your Brews,' by Penelope Hedgeway, a book that helped identify plants in the wild that where often used in potions. As Wren spent so much time in the woods, she wanted to become better at identifying the plants around her.
Once their now heavy basket had been hauled to the till and paid for, the family turned their attention next to school robes as they navigated the bustling street of Diagon Alley. Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions seemed to be rather busy when they arrived and as it was evident that there would be a rather long wait before Wren could have her robes fitted, her father decided to head to Potage's cauldron shop for the last supplies on the list.
Whilst Wren and her mother waited in line she scanned about the shop, curious about the other children also waiting for their robe fittings. Most looked alot older than her but one or two looked as if they might be in her year. She watched a short blond girl with a rather upturned nose and freckles be measured as she stood on a platform. She seemed rather pouty and fed up with the whole activity. It seemed the only thing keeping her on the platform was the promise of an ice cream at the end of the fitting, a promise Wren had overheard her mother bribing her with..
Soon enough it was Wren's turn to step up onto the platform and she quickly realised why the blonde girl had become quite so badly tempered. As tape measures zipped about her and pins were placed in her new robe's hem, her mother began to try and persuade the seamstress to change the fit of the fabric to a more fashionable silhouette. After holding her tongue for as long as she could whilst the seamstress tried to explain how school uniforms were supposed to look, Wren blurted out hotly 'I don't want to stick out mum! Let me just wear what everyone else will be wearing. I want to be normal.' At those words Delphi Novelle dropped the subject realising just how important it was for her daughter to feel like everyone else for once.
By 2pm everything bar the wand had been crossed off the list and Wren's nerves had grown to a constant churning sensation in her stomach. She barely touched the steak and ale pie her parents had ordered her at the leaky cauldron and her family had taken to holding their cutlery at all times so as to not draw attention to any unwanted shaking that the table may be enduring.
The family walked to Ollivanders wand shop in nervous silence, only communicating in strained smiles as they ushered their daughter through the shop door. As Wren heard the bell tinkling as the door shut she found herself in a rather dark room filled with shelves bowing under the weight of wand boxes. Every surface was covered in the long wand containers, all varying in colour and length to some degree. Some looked as though they had been there a long time, their lids covered in a film of dust, others looked to have been placed on the shelves that very hour with their more vibrantly pigmented packaging, less sun bleached than the others. Wren started to wander around the different shelves reading the labels of the various wood and core combinations.
'Holly and phoenix feather, 11'', Apple and unicorn 10 ½'', dogwood and.....' Wren turned away from the shelf as a voice issued from deep within the shop.
'A Novelle, Yes?' asked an old man with bushy grey eyebrows and a cloud of white hair as he shuffled out of the gloom. Wren nodded shyly as the old man began to eye her up and down intently with his pale blue eyes. 'Your afraid of the wands.' he concluded as he tucked his hands behind his back in a matter of fact way.
'No..' Wren began to protest but quickly let her voice dye when she saw the old man's brow raise to the sound of her lie.
'I think my daughter is just nerv....' Wren's father began before Mr Ollivander cut him off.
'Let the girl speak. Only she can find the right words for such a feeling.' Mr Ollivander explained turning back to the young girl, fixing his intense stare back on her. Before she had realised she was speaking it seemed his intencity had coaxed out her thoughts.
'I'm afraid that none of the wands will want me.' she whispered.
'Aaah,' the old man nodded in understanding. 'It is true that the wand chooses the wizard, but I can also assure you that I have made a wand for every wizard,' he said, gesturing to the heaving shelves of his work. 'No matter the purpose it is intended for nor the weakness or strength of a person's magic,' he emphasised the last few words as if he knew Wren's exact predicament. 'All there is to do now my dear is try them.' and with that the old man began to measure Wren's forearm, gap between her eyes and nose and all manner of rather odd distances on her body that she found the purpose of quite perplexing. Once Mr Ollivander seemed content with all his calculations he began to bustle down the various towering isles, pulling wand boxes from shelves as he went. After around five minutes he returned to the front desk with an arm full and placed them on the table. He swiftly unboxed the first one, a light sandy coloured wood with spirals along its length and offered it to Wren. She took a moment to take it, fear ceasing her muscles but eventually she managed to force her fingers to close around its wooden handle. She stood petrified for a moment waiting for something to happen before she heard her father whisper encouragingly, 'give it a wave, Wren.'
Slowly she did as she was told but no sooner had she begun to move the wand shot from her grip like a bar of soap and was caught by Mr Ollivander. 'No matter, the first ones rarely ever take.' the old man admitted as he pulled another wand from its box.
Over the next twenty minutes Wren tried a countless number of wands, all ending in varying levels of disaster. Some shot from her hand like the first, others shot red sparks or fizzed worryingly and some even ignited nearby objects which Ollivander and her parents had to quickly extinguish. As the piles of tried wands grew around her, Wren began to despair and she thought to herself that maybe her nightmare had been more of a prophecy. As this thought circulated her mind the other occupants of the shop became aware of the misplaced boxes beginning to quiver and shudder. Mr Ollivander watched the little girl intently for a moment before his face lit up with a new realisation. Without a word he left Wren and her parents in the shop as he disappeared into the back.
'Now, this wand has been waiting longer than most for its owner. It's a rather tricky combination but I believe it just might work.' Mr Ollivander exclaimed excitedly as he reappeared with a particularly faded and battered blue wand box. When he pulled away the lid, Wren was able to see a rather long ornately carved dark wood wand nestled in its faded blue silk bed. Its handle ended in a furled oak leaf design that shifted into elegantly turned ridges and divots as the design travelled down the wand's length. Even as Wren looked at this wand it felt different from the other. Where they had been little more than rather disobedient sticks in her mind, this one felt like a wand to her and she found herself instinctively reaching out for it. As soon as the handle touched her palm it was as if it had found its place, nestling comfortably into her grip and when she moved, she did not repeat the nervous flicks she had with the others for she suddenly had confidence that this wand would not cause chaos around her. Instead her graceful motion ended with a beam of warm light issuing from the wand tip and her face mirrored it with a smile.
'Most interesting,' Mr Oliivander mused as his lips curled into a satisfied smile. 'Have you ever ventured far into the woods near your home?' He asked curiously
'She's rarely at home as she is always exploring that woodland.' Wren's mother mused, relief showing clear on her face.
'Have you found its heart?' the old man asked, his gaze unwaveringly on Wren. And as he spoke she realised exactly where he ment. Her meadow and her tree. The secret glade in the middle of the woods that she believed only she knew of where an enormous oak tree stood in its centre, time causing its trunk and roots to knott and its beams to bow low to the ground. She had spent most of her childhood nestled between its roots reading or watching the wild deer graze the pasture around her. It had always been her sanctuary, a place to escape to when she could control herself no more and the oak tree had always been there to listen to her thoughts.
'My tree,' she whispered in wonder as she looked from the wand maker to the wand that now sat contentedly in her palm.
'I collected wood only enough for one wand from that tree eleven years ago. Its bowtruckle were particularly protective of it.' the old man mused, waggling his fingers as if remembering the bites he had sustained.
'I find woodlouse are a rather good peace offering,' Wren replied quietly with a smile.
'Well it seemed that that wand has been waiting for you. And I will remember that tip.' he chuckled, 'Oak and albino phoenix feather, 10 ½'' unyielding. A very experimental combination and near impossible to work with if a little weak on the natural magical abilities. Most wands can make up for a lack of power but this one ends up being a simple stick in the wrong hands. It will serve you well. You will not need to be afraid when spell casting, it is likely one of the most robust wands i have ever made though beware miss Novelle,' Mr Ollivander said as he lowered himself to her level, 'an albino phoenix is like a Unicorn and will fare badly if used for dark magic and the consequences, i imagine would be diar.'
The old wand maker left Wren feeling rather perturbed as he shuffled towards the counter as her father rummaged around in his coin purse. But no matter the warnings or omens the old man had given her, her mood could not be quashed. She had finally found her wand and for the first time in weeks she felt as if she could breathe freely and she began to believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be ok.