15 Chapter:15 Eerie Wand
{I kinda Winged the chapter so do tell me how I did}
"So, you are joining 'Ogwarts zis year, cher."
A tall, lean witch asked with a friendly smile on her face.
"Yes, Madam Sophie."
Nodded Victoire, a polite but uncomfortable smile on her face as the witch patted her waist.
"Merci, Madame, for taking ze time out of your busy schedule."
{Thank you, Madam, for taking the time out of your busy schedule.}
"You are more polite zan ze time we first met. Maintenant, stand still, ma fille, let me measure your tailles."
{You are more polite than when we first met. Now stand still girl, let me measure your sizes.}
Said Miss Sophie La Couturière and with a gesture of her wand, her case filled with tailoring equipment zipped open, and measuring tape, pins, and a notepad with auto-writing quill floated out of it.
It was a tedious task and took almost half an hour before she was finished groping and patting Victoire. Miss Sophie grasped the quill and notepad and began writing down details of the bill on it,
"Three sets of plain school uniforms, zat will be 3 rolls of Arachnid Silk, 3 sets of Gillyweed-infused Linings, Enchantment fees, Labor, and tailoring. Zat will be 205 galleons for trois sets of school uniforms."
'Say what?'
205 galleons for three lousy pairs of school uniforms.
"Two pairs of protective gloves, dragon hide, zat will be 35 scales, 30 galleons for ze scales, 25 for ze enchantments, and another 15 for ze Labour and Tailoring. Zat will be another 70 galleons for ze gloves."
'What the fuck?'
"Zen zere are two winter cloaks, with black and silver fastenings, zat will be 6 yards of sun-sheep wool, 15 galleons per yard which will be 90 galleons, 15 galleons per enchantment which will be 30 galleons and ze labor cost will be 20 galleons."
'Ok, now this is not even funny anymore.'
"Two plain pointed hats for daywear, noir(black) color, 10 galleons for ze deux hats."
She stopped writing for a moment and checked the list she had made so far.
"205 galleons for ze uniforms, 70 galleons for ze protective gloves, 140 galleons for ze winter cloaks, and 10 galleons for ze daywear hats. The total of your order will be 425 galleons. I will knock off the 25 galleons since you are an old customer."
Her wand floated out of her hand and began scribbling on a yellow parchment, printing or rather... writing a contract for the order.
"Ze uniforms will be ready in a week, home delivery is already included in your subscription. As usual, half of ze payment needs to be made upfront, ze rest will be made on delivery."
She handed the parchment over to Isabelle who was sitting nearby, browsing through a fashion magazine.
"That's fine by me Sophie, but I expect you to do a good job."
Sophie gave a small bow to her and walked out of the room.
"But Ma isn't that too much for a couple of uniforms."
Victoire started to complain as soon as the tailor was out of earshot.
"Nonsense dear, Sophie is the best tailor in the business. The price is appropriate considering that the material and enchantment she uses are the best in the market."
Isabelle winked at Victoire and beckoned her to come closer,
"Between you and me, it takes ten times as much as this to hire one of the Veela from the reservoir to act as her model."
But still, Victoire was not convinced that it would take this much to tailor a couple of uniforms.
"Now, now, dear. It's not every day that you get your very first uniform. Well, yours is the second time but still, you get the meaning right?"
Isabelle said, her eyes not leaving the magazine featuring a pretty witch wearing skimpy black lingerie and winking at her from the page. Not the best example of age-appropriate content but Victoire was enjoying the show... or the moving picture, whichever one it may be.
"Now all that remains is a wand, a proper wand mind you, not one of that do-hickey practice wand that Hector gave you."
Isabelle stood up and guided Victoire to the top of the Lefevre Manor and stopped in front of a grandfather clock placed at the very end of the hallway. Isabelle stood in front of it for a moment and then with a flick of her arm, set the clock on fire.
The flames flickered and raged, consuming the old wooden structure and nurturing its growth until the arm of the clock struck 11 in the morning. A resounding gong echoed all around them and the flames that once consumed the clock were devoured by the machine.
The clock's face glowed ominously in a deep red hue for a moment. With a loud thud, the clock swung aside, revealing a dimly lit corridor. The candles on the wall burst into flames, casting flickering light that danced and created shadows on the wall.
Isabelle placed an assuring hand on Victoire's shoulder and with a sweet smile, guided her inside.
They walked for a long time, almost an hour, before reaching a grand staircase that led further upwards. Slowly, they scaled the staircase, one careful step at a time, until they finally reached the topmost floor.
It must have been a room deserted long ago for the dust blanketing the floor was almost an inch deep and every step that the mother and daughter duo took seemed to leave a deep imprint on it. But it appears that it too was not their destination as Isabelle kept on walking, not waiting to look or even examine the various paintings that adorned the wall.
She kept on walking until they reached a heavy oak door upon which Isabelle placed her hand and began muttering incantations and spells that Victoire had no knowledge of. Several moments later, the door swung open, revealing a gaping, dark hole that was their destination.
Isabelle walked in first, a small sphere of flame dancing on her palm, illuminating the path ahead. She took seven long strides before coming to a halt and blew a gust of air at the ball of fire which erupted into a sea and flooded the room.
For a moment there was a bright light and Victoire could see nothing except the dancing red of the fire and then, the flames subsided, revealing what once must have been a workshop of great splendor.
The flickering flames subsided, lighting a dozen candles that were placed randomly all over the workshop. A sea of wooden boxes, shelves laden with artifacts, and tools made of glistening silver and shining gold. Dust danced in the air, catching the golden glow of the candles in their lazy drift.
The air was thick with the smell of aged wood, moldy honey, wax, and a suspiciously metallic tang. Victoire gazed upon the artifacts, or perhaps the remnants of her ancestors' craft was a more appropriate term for them.
She had known of Émile Lefevre, her great-great-great-great, add another ten great, grandfather. A master of his art which was wand-making, a man who was considered one of the darkest wizards of his time for he dabbled in finding how to make wands from the bones of magical and non-magical creatures. He was finally killed by his son when he went so far as to slay his wife to make a wand out of her spine.
Quite a disgusting backstory and a greater reason not to be standing in his workshop.
Isabelle walked in circles for a while before she found what she was looking for, a wooden frame covered by a grimy old cloth that once must have been bright blue but the time hadn't been kind to it.
She uncovered the frame, revealing the painting of their ancestor. The figure in the painting was of a short, wretched-looking man. His eyes, devoid of pupils, were a haunting mass of darkness set against a sickly purple hue that dominated the hollowed cheeks of his face. The rest of his visage was hairless, save for his bright silvery hair and eyebrows that added an otherworldly aspect to his appearance.
Suddenly, the eyes in the painting flickered to life, its eyes blinked and its mouth opened in a noiseless scream of terror, the figure went limp but stirred soon afterward as if it was awakening from a long slumber. Victoire stared in horror and fear, then, ancestor's gaze shifted slightly, meeting her own.
With a raspy voice, the man in the painting spoke, the sound emanating from the confines of the painting yet it appeared to be echoing from all around them,
"Welcome, child of the Lefevre, welcome. It has been a long time since I last saw a living being within the confines of my workshop. How long has it been? 30 years? or was it forty years ago? Hector! I believe, was the name of the child that came here last. Tell me, girl, what of him?"
Isabelle, her expression a mixture of exasperation and annoyance, addressed the man,
"Hector is now the Head of Aurors in the French Ministry of Magic..."
Her words were cut short as the painting burst into an eerie laugh,
"MINISTRY. The Ministry, you say. There was no Ministry in my time, and they bloody well are lucky that they were not. Who do they think they are? Trying to control all wizards through flimsy 'RULES'!"
His laughter went from eerie to straight-up mad cackle.
"Yeah? Well. Good for you then."
Isabelle interrupted before he could begin boosting again.
"This here is Victoire Lefevre, mine and Hector's daughter. Today she is here to get her official wand."
The portrait stopped laughing and stared intently at Victoire,
"Hmm, yes, half-human I see. And a Veela no less! Mind you, it was quite a pain to find one back in my time."
He spoke while examining Victoire with a squinted eye,
"Of course, it would be hard to find them if you were going to pluck their hair and gouge out their eyes."
Isabelle muttered under her breath, clearly these words were not meant to reach his ears, and yet he must have heard them,
"Yes, hairs are good catalysts of magic not to mention their eyes were the perfect core for making Legilimence Artifacts. Almost forgot, their spines, oh yes, their spines make for excellent wand material."
His raving seems to disgust Isabelle who appears to be regretting her decision to be the one bringing Victoire here.
"Enough about me, why don't you tell me something about yourself, little girl."
The portrait's eye bore into Victoire's and she felt as though someone was drilling holes in her forehead but she resisted, or at least attempted to resist until a piercing pain shook her body and her mind was laid bare before the ancestor to read.
Not so surprisingly enough, her past life was not there. But having someone read through her memories was not a pleasant experience.
"Ah, what do we have here? You have a good enough talent for the mind arts. My advice, start by filling your mind with junk instead of emptying it, it would be a fun little experiment."
He said while stomping out the little resistance she still had,
"Hmm, some talent in charms, good enough for herb lore, nice resonance with magical creatures, and... Wonderful! Simply Magnificent! You have a superior talent in the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Potions, just like me."
He seemed quite happy after learning that particular detail and his Legilimence became less brutal,
"You do have a tinge of talent for Alchemy and... Strange, you have a talent for Divination. As far as I know, there has never been a prophet in our lines, must be from your mother's side."
He gave Isabelle a strange look before continuing his work,
"So, we have a child talented in spellcraft, herbal lore, beast mastery, and divining. Can't say call it the best we ever had but you are in the top five. Fifth of course, but you should be proud, we are a family that has survived many millennia. Come, the time has come to claim your legacy, to choose the wand that shall be yours."
His voice suddenly turned serious and dignified.
The cabinets within the workshop creaked open on their own, revealing hundreds, if not thousands, of boxes covered in dust. One by one, several of the boxes opened, revealing within them, an impressive display of wands, each radiating its unique aura. Some were cold, some sharp, several cheerful, and the others dreary.
"Seventy-seven, not a bad number, not bad at all. Now child, pick one you like and I shall see if the wand agrees with you or not."
Victoire was not happy, not happy at all, her brain had been ripped open, or at least felt like that, and this creep of an old-timer was bossing her around like that. She decided to quickly find a wand that agreed with her and get the hell out of this hellhole.
Looking through the system, she observed a slightly greenish and tough-looking wand with a broad hilt.
[Wand of the Forest's Guardian: 54%]
She reached out to it and the portrait began to the wand in great detail,
"Ah, I remember that one. Its body is made of a Centaur's bone, that one, in particular, was a great diviner. Unicorn hair as a core, is loyal and adaptive. Slightly yielding, a wand well-suited for those with an open mind and gentle disposition. It will nurture your talent as a diviner."
Victoire didn't need to be told twice, she had already jerked her hand back after hearing the Centaur's bone part.
Wiping her hand on her skirt, she zoomed in on a wand that looked more like an iron stick rather than a wand.
[Wand of the Dragon's Roar: 60%]
"The tailbone of a Ukrainian Ironbelly, powerful and resilient, core is the heartstring of the same dragon. Stiff, a wand suited for a strong-willed and determined wizard. Particularly helpful in Transfiguration.
Another flop... well not quite, looking around at the numerous single-digit compatibility, Victoire thought it might be a close candidate for her wand.
Another, sickly green and almost twig-like wand floated in front of her,
[Wand of the Serpent's Gaze: 59%]
"Good one, it's carved from the bone of a serpent king, they are extinct now, but a watered-down version of their species was created by a dark wizard. What were they called, ah right, Basilisk. Its core is the snake's venom. Unyielding, a wand meant for a wizard with unwavering determination or insanity. Quite good for dark wizards and the darkest of the dark arts. A proud piece of mine."
Nope, not happening, not in a million years.
Next!
And as if to respond to her thoughts, another wand floated down beside her.
[Wand of the Sea's Whisper: 75%]
"Aha, so you found one of my most beautiful works have you."
Indeed, this wand was beautiful. A slender body with a coral-like hilt, and a rippling pattern adorned on its surface.
"I carved it from the bone of a Mermaid, its core is the essence of seaweed. I believe it was the last essence stone to ever be mined from the depth of the seas, pity. Balanced, attuned to a wizard with a harmonious nature. A jack of all trades and master of many arts. This wand will make to a force to be reckoned with."
Another wand, another bone.
Couldn't he have made this wand from something morally acceptable?
She waved the wand out of the circle of many others that surrounded her and moved on to the next wand,
[Wand of the Griffin's Valor: 80%]
"Another masterpiece of mine, don't know how you managed to get the attention of this one. It is molded from the bone of a Griffin, quite a hard material to acquire unless you know the right place and the right time. Its core is a Griffin feather. Firm, designed for a wizard who values courage and resilience. And of course, it's best suited for Transfiguration and Charms."
'How the hell did this old fart manage to get hold of a griffin. They live in packs of hundreds and on top of treacherous mountains no less.'
No matter how curious her mind was, deep down she knew that she better off not knowing the method.
It had already been half an hour and Victoire was getting increasingly annoying. So much so that she shoved a wand out of her way only for it to get stuck to her hand.
[Wand of the Moonlit Moth: 92%]
"HOW DID YOU GET THE ATTENTION OF THIS ONE? SCRATCH THAT, NO FAMILY OF MINE SHOULD EVER BE ATTUNED TO THIS FAILURE!"
The portrait bellowed so loudly that most of the wands floated back into the cabinet, not daring to remain in their creator's presence. Not only the wands, but even Isabelle who was dozing off on an armchair jumped to her feet and began scanning the room with unusually sharp eyes.
The Ancestor kept on ranting for a long time before he sighed ruefully and told her about the wand.
"It is made the bone of a Moon Moth, its core is a Moon Moth's Silk strand. It's flexible, resonating with wizards of adaptability and intuition. This means it would betray you at a moment's notice, and it will attempt to slay its previous owner with all its might even going so far as to bewitch its new owner into hunting down the old one."
Point taken, bond broken. Wand yeeted, hand sanitizer needed.
Victoire quite literally attempted to burn the wand only for the ancestor to scream at her for trying to destroy his work. No matter how much he hated it, he couldn't deny that this wand was one of his favorite works. Also, the one that his son used to kill him.
After shutting the wand back into a cabinet, Victoire once again began her search but this time there was not much to choose from. The bellowing had scared most of them back into their boxes, the only ones remaining were those that she had already tried.
One... two... three... four... no, something was not quite right. There was one more wand that she hadn't tested yet but was still floating around at the very center of the room.
A single, pearly white wand with a golden hilt adorned with a sapphire. No... sapphire didn't have that same glow, it was some other gem with a blue hue. She didn't know what it was, but it called to her.
With a sense of trepidation and intrigue, Victoire Lefevre grasped the eerie wand, feeling its cool, smooth surface against her palm. The ancestor watched her closely, his eyes betraying a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"Oh, that can't be right."
The portrait muttered in a soft, hoarse voice, his tone betraying a hint of sorrow.
[The Ebon Wand of Haunting Echoes: 99.99%]
"It is crafted... from a Banshee's spine. The hilt is adorned with a jewel made from the last tears of a dying Siren, it was... a sight that may haunt my soul till the end of time. It's moderately yielding, creating a balance between adaptability and resilience. Also, this one is the master of all trades, it will help you exert your full potential in whatever you do."
He fell silent but Victoire knew it was not over, far from it, he was about to tell her something that may change her mind.
"It's core... is a Veela's heartstring."
At these words, Isabelle's eyes snapped back to the portrait. Her beautiful face, usually adorned with a cheerful smile, distorted as she began to revert to her non-human form.
Tendrils of flame began to lash out at all that stood in the room, leaving deep, black, charcoal lines.
And then, as quickly as it had appeared, her anger vanished. Her face was ice cold with a deadly intent hidden deep in her eyes.
"I won't give excuses for my actions, but I will say this, it was at the peak of my madness that I made this wand. I say this not to seek forgiveness, but to warn you child. Do not be tempted by its power, a wand may choose its master, but it is the master who chooses the wand's actions."
Victoire nodded her head and pocketed the wand... along with the one made from the Ironbelly's bones.
With one last look of bewilderment, the painting settled back into a state of dormancy, the ancestor's eyes returning to their still depiction. Isabelle and Victoire briskly walked out the oak doors and down the stairs. And the room was once again deserted, waiting for the next member of the Lefevre family to come and claim their wand.
