Cassowary Clare and the Stone Heart - Prologue

    A wand lay on a pillow.  It had been there for quite some time; far longer than any can remember.  There was nothing unique about this wand.  It didn’t even have a core.  No, the only reason it drew the attention of anyone was the fact it was on window display at Ollivanders, perhaps the best known and most respected wand making shop since 382 BC.  It was a simple display; a purple cushion coated in a fine layer of dust.  Only the wand itself seemed to be tended to, maintaining a nice, clean sheen to it. 

     Pressed against the window was the small face of a girl, hands cupped around her eyes to better see.  She stared right at the wand in wonder, as do most young wizards and witches as they approach the shop.  What spells has it cast?  What famous wizards once wielded it? 

     “Come along, dear,” said her mother from behind, “You’ll get smudges on your new robes.”

      The quiet of the shop was filled with the jingling of the entry bell.  Air smelling of sweets and potions rushed in from the streets and disturbed the recently settled layer of dust, which the store could never quite seem to get rid of.   The hustling and bustling from the busy street outside gave in to silence as the door gently clacked shut behind the two entrants. 

     “Coming,” chimed a voice from the back room.  It didn’t sound as though there was any sense of urgency in the voice.

     “Now, dear,” the mother cooed while fussing with the hem of her daughter’s robes, “Mr. Ollivander is tried and true with his craft.  Your father’s wand came from one of those shelves, too.”

     The girl remained quiet, staring at the immense stacks of long and narrow boxes.  They numbered in the thousands for sure, reaching as high as the ceiling.  It appeared that some stacks didn’t make it and were left as tumbled heaps.  A stairwell ran up one side of the store, ending at a door which happened to be blocked by another pile of boxes.

     “Good afternoon,” said a tall man who appeared at the front of the hallway.  The young girl gave a start, having not noticed his quiet arrival.  His silver eyes peered down from a large hooked nose and met hers.  “How may I be of service today?”

     “Oh, I’m sorry,” replied the mother, “Is this not Ollivanders?  I was expecting to see…”

     “My father is currently on leave,” he sighed, as though repeating himself for the hundredth time, which may very well have been the truth, “He will be away from the shop while he is on the mend.  Until such a time as that, I believe I can offer assistance with your needs here.  Name?”

     “Oh.  Well, yes.  My name is Griselda Clare, and this one here,” she said patting the young girl, “is Cassowary.”

     The tall Ollivander never looked away from Cassowary as he spoke with her mother.  His passive stare seemed to be appraising her down to the bone.   The girl very much wanted him to look somewhere else, and at last he looked away as he turned to reach behind the counter.  Up came a measuring tape, which floated over and began to measure various limbs.  He approached and bent over her, giving a sniff.

     “Hmm…  Perhaps vine.”  He sniffed again.  “Eleven inches.  May I?”

     Cassowary yelped as she felt a hair plucked from her scalp.  Straightening, he deftly held a single strand of hair between two long, nimble fingers and quickly poked his tongue out for a taste.

     “Yes…  Yes, that will do.  Unicorn hair.”  Another taste.  “Springy?  No.  Swishy.  Hmm…  Surprisingly so.”

     His movements picked up pace as he strolled back through the shop to hunt down the appropriate wand.  He disappeared from sight, though his mutterings could still be heard.

     Mrs. Clare’s hand fell on her daughter’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze, “My wand is also vine, Cass.  I think it’s a rather nice fit for you.”

     All Cass could do was stare down the hallway after Ollivander.  She could still hear his mutters along with the muffled sound of clattering boxes as they were shifted around. 

     It was after a moment when Cass realized that some of the clattering was coming from somewhere closer, there in the front of the store.  A distinct rattling noise, rather insistent, soon began to drown out any noise that Mr. Ollivander was making.  Cass ran up to the shelves, scanning them to find the source. 

     “Whatever is the matter, dear?” asked Mrs. Clare, who did not seem to hear whatever Cass could.  Ignoring her, Cass kept moving.

     The noise grew more frantic, it sounded as though a box were practically jumping for attention.  She didn’t hear any of her mother’s protests; her ears were only for the box calling to her.  Past this shelf, not on that shelf, not under the counter, not under the single chair in the room, and the noise only grew louder.  Where was it?

     Cass found her way up the stairs, slowly at first, but running the last few.  Just as she thought she couldn’t bear to stand the noise any longer, she came to an abrupt stop at a disheveled pile of boxes in front of a door.  There.  It was in there.

     Closing her eyes, she shoved her arm shoulder deep into the pile, sifting her hand through a sea of wood and cardboard.  She thought she could hear the sound of her mother angrily climbing the stairs after her, but she didn’t care.  She was so close.  Hands wrapped around her shoulders.  She could feel her mother pulling her away. 

     Not yet… Wait!

     There, right under her hand; the distinct twitch of a box.  Her desperate fingers found their way around it, just as she lost the tug match with her mother.

     A sense of victory filled her, and she held her arm high, box in tow. 

     “What on earth has gotten into you?” panted her mother, “You shouldn’t be digging about on your hands and knees like that, especially in things that don’t belong to you!”

     “It looks as though that may not be the case, Mrs. Clare.”

     Cass, feelings of elation still swirling within her, looked down.  Standing at the foot of the stairs was the tall shopkeeper.  The stern look he had worn was replaced with one of curiosity, eyebrow raised.  He held out a hand.  “Have it here, child.  Let’s see who was so eager to meet you.”

     Her mother released her, and Cass carefully tread down the stairway as though holding something fragile.  Upon reaching the bottom, she lifted her eyes to meet Ollivander’s own.  Her prior reckless courage was replaced with her usual timid demeanor, though her heart still pounded with curious excitement.  Slowly, reluctantly, she handed the box over to his waiting hand. 

    He took it gingerly, treating it with the same care she had, something she suddenly felt grateful to him about.  He slid off the sleeve and flipped the lid open.  After a moment, a smile began to appear at the corners of his thin lips. 

    “I would have expected a vine to knock about, albeit rarely, but this?”

    He looked up to Mrs. Clare, who still stood at the top of the stairs.      

    “Cairns?”

    Still unsure of what was going on, and now taken aback by his question, she nodded her head and replied, “Tully.”

    That seemed to satisfy Mr. Ollivander, who glanced back down to Cass with a mischievous grin. 

    “Well, well, Cassowary Clare. It appears as though a piece of home was crying out for something a bit… familiar.”

    With that, he pulled out a wand, polished and quite elegant.  It was far more beautiful than Cass could have hoped for, even more so than the wand in the window.  He handed it to her, handle first. Deftly, she grasped it and pulled it close to examine.

    “Eucalyptus.  Twelve and a half inches.  Opaleye scale.  I remember my father carving this one.  He thought it too exotic to sell, but felt rather compelled to complete it.  Seems as though he was correct to follow his instincts.  Go on, give it a wave.”

    She looked up at her mother, who had since made her way down the stairs, and Mrs. Clare gave a slight smile and nod in permission.  Encouraged, Cass swished the wand in front of her.  A breeze filled the room, bringing with it warmth and humidity.  The air tickled her skin, bringing her back to a place she recently had to leave.  Tears welled in her eyes, but her smile was the largest it had ever been.

    “Well, dear girl, how does it feel?” asked Ollivander. 

    Softly, barely above a whisper, Cass replied, “Like home.”