Post by Gypsy on Oct 20, 2007 21:32:32 GMT -5
Gypsy walked into Ollivanders, grinning slightly at the mess that unfolded around her. There were boxes upon every surface, covered in thick layers of dust. Cobwebs hung sadly in the corners like a veil, spiderless. Dim candlelight lit the walls, slightly aiding her in viewing the mess around her. She could smell the years of smoke that had wafted from them; she inhaled the warm scent, glad to be inside on a day like today's. It was quite chilly, outside. She shivered with the thought of it. The floorboards creaked as she stepped farther into the shop. 'Ollivanders,' the sign had read, 'Fine wandmakers since 832 B.C.. Gypsy believed it, too.
Suddenly, a she heard a snap and turned on heel. A creased old man approached, face lined with years of pouring over wands. He approached in an ominous fashion, creeping up suddenly on her. Yet, he had a kindly face, hair receding from his scalp. It almost seemed as if his head had become so filled with information that the crown of his head had grown out from the hair. A familiar face, she took a step towards him, stopping herself from retreating with surprise.
"Ah, Gypsy, dear?"
She smiled at him; he remembered. "Of course. Sadly, my wand has started sparking; it's never seemed to work well after the Thames incident." She paused, waiting for a reply. It was unlikely that he could fix it, she knew.
"Of course, I won't be able to fix it, although I did love that wand. Plum and centaur hair, 14 inches, I believe. Very swishy. Ah, it has been too long, anyways. A new wand is in order." With a flick of his wand, the measurements began, a stressful process for the object of his measuring tape. "Something vine, maybe?"
Gypsy smiled again, for she knew that the master would be able to find her a wonderful wand in the span of a few minutes; she had seen him at work once before. "Vine sounds lovely."
While the man was rooting around in the back for a wand, she gazed around her, waiting patiently. Finally, he emerged with a prize in hand. "Try it: Vine, Demiguise Hair, 13 in. Give it a wave!" he exclaimed.
As she held it in her hand, she felt the familiar warmth of a good wand. She was surprised; he had found the perfect fit on his first try. Gypsy gave it a wave just to be sure. "Monsieur Ollivander, you've outdone yourself! I'll take it." She paid the amount due and left the shop, contentedly.
Suddenly, a she heard a snap and turned on heel. A creased old man approached, face lined with years of pouring over wands. He approached in an ominous fashion, creeping up suddenly on her. Yet, he had a kindly face, hair receding from his scalp. It almost seemed as if his head had become so filled with information that the crown of his head had grown out from the hair. A familiar face, she took a step towards him, stopping herself from retreating with surprise.
"Ah, Gypsy, dear?"
She smiled at him; he remembered. "Of course. Sadly, my wand has started sparking; it's never seemed to work well after the Thames incident." She paused, waiting for a reply. It was unlikely that he could fix it, she knew.
"Of course, I won't be able to fix it, although I did love that wand. Plum and centaur hair, 14 inches, I believe. Very swishy. Ah, it has been too long, anyways. A new wand is in order." With a flick of his wand, the measurements began, a stressful process for the object of his measuring tape. "Something vine, maybe?"
Gypsy smiled again, for she knew that the master would be able to find her a wonderful wand in the span of a few minutes; she had seen him at work once before. "Vine sounds lovely."
While the man was rooting around in the back for a wand, she gazed around her, waiting patiently. Finally, he emerged with a prize in hand. "Try it: Vine, Demiguise Hair, 13 in. Give it a wave!" he exclaimed.
As she held it in her hand, she felt the familiar warmth of a good wand. She was surprised; he had found the perfect fit on his first try. Gypsy gave it a wave just to be sure. "Monsieur Ollivander, you've outdone yourself! I'll take it." She paid the amount due and left the shop, contentedly.
