Mumbai
“If I die, I need you to tell my siblings that I died doing something cool. Like skydiving or fighting a dragon. Not that I melted my organs from eating a bit of green chili,” panted Kieran in between frantic sips of water. His ears were deep pink, and there was something wild in his eyes.
“Don’t be dramatic,” scoffed Rose, taking another enthusiastic bite of her vada pav. It was delicious – spicy and nutty and intensely savory in every bite. “You’re not going to die. You might just have a rough go of it on the toilet tomorrow.”
“Rosie, it burns,” he whined, giving up on the water and fanning himself. Rose polished off the last of her food and hopped off the park bench.
“Alright, stay here. I’ll be back in a mo’,” she said, and marched off to find the coconut water guy she had seen earlier.
Mumbai was an assault on the senses in the best way possible. As soon as their Portkey had landed, the humidity of the air had sat heavy on her skin, causing her hair to frizz and grow to twice its usual volume. The colors in the city were a swift departure from the drab Londoner garb, with women wearing colorful saris and men wearing colorful kurtas. The people were expressive and loud, and the food was a treat for the senses. Rose had never realized food could taste so good.
She hadn’t planned on coming to India on this trip, given that it was a completely foreign country where she would stick out like a sore thumb. She’d been saving it for a future trip, but when Kieran told her that his next assignment was somewhere in magical India and invited her to tag along – how could she say no?
He’d stayed with her since coming to California, and they’d travelled together some more, even going down to Mexico for a bit before circling back to the East Coast of the US. They were good at giving each other space, and besides a few minor disagreements, they hadn’t fought at all. Rose was cautious, but she knew that she was falling for him. It helped that the sex was great.
It was their first night in India, and they were enjoying the sunset view on the beach. They had inadvertently stumbled upon a lover’s spot, and there were couples everywhere – eating, drinking and walking hand in hand. It was quite romantic, really. Thanking the coconut vendor and paying him the forty rupees she owed, Rose made her way back to the bench, where Kieran was still pink-faced but breathing steadier. “Here,” she said, passing over the coconut with the pink straw.
“Thanks,” said Kieran gratefully, taking a long sip of the coconut water. “Much better,” he sighed in relief.
“What time do they want you on site tomorrow?” she asked, sipping her own coconut water slowly, savoring the taste.
“Six in the morning,” grimaced Kieran. Rose pouted slightly but didn’t bother voicing any complaints. She’d known before coming that tagging along while he was at work would be different as compared to when he was a free agent. She’d made plans already.
“Have fun. I, on the other hand, will be sleeping in,” she said, grinning impishly.
“Laugh it up,” he grumbled. “Not all of us have the luxury of being rich and unemployed.” Rose stuck her tongue out at him and laughed when he shoved her lightly in the arm. “The others want to have dinner tomorrow night,” he said. “Are you in?”
Rose felt a faint twinge of anxiety at the thought of meeting her boyfriend’s colleagues. After all, it had been a long time since she’d had to worry about making a good impression on someone – not since she started off on her trip. Breathing deeply, she smiled and nodded. “Sure. It’ll be fun, hopefully.” He must have seen some doubt in her face, because Kieran took her hand in his and squeezed.
“Don’t worry about it, yeah? They’re a bunch of heathens anyway.” She smiled and squeezed his hand back. “What are your plans tomorrow?” he asked, sucking the last of his coconut water away loudly.
“I was going to see if I could get Agarkar to talk to me about wands,” admitted Rose. “He supplies the wands for this region of the country and has done some really cool things. I wanted to pick his brain a bit.”
She’d found herself lost in the MACUSA National Library in New York when they had come to the city for their outbound Portkey. Apparently, there was a global organization known as the Wandmaker’s Guild, which all accredited wandmakers were a member of. They released newsletters and research papers that were available to the public upon request. Rose had promptly signed up for the newsletters. It was in one of these that she had read about Agarkar’s work, and had immediately been intrigued. He was the only wandmaker in the world experimenting with carved runes on wands. Rose desperately wanted to try to apply the technique, but something was holding her back. She hoped the man himself would be willing to talk about his craft.
Rose woke up alone the next morning, a good two hours after Kieran had left. She showered quickly and left the house, dressed in cream linen pants and a patterned button up shirt left open over a white shirt. She’d brought with her the few wands she’d made to-date, including the failures and successes.
There wasn’t one specific magical district in Mumbai, unlike London. Instead, there were magical stores dispersed across the city in various areas, often disguised as completely mundane stores. Agarkar’s store was quite far, so Rose hailed a rickshaw. She’d written down the address since she didn’t speak the language. When she showed it to the rickshaw driver, he nodded for her to get in. Riding in the rickshaw had some of the same charm as flying a broom did. Rose could feel the wind in her hair and look out the open side to watch the people on the street.
Agarkar’s wand shop was disguised as a sweetshop by the name of Agarkar Mithaiwala; to some extent, it was. The front of the shop had glass cases that were filled with piles of colorful sweets, and the sticky-warm scent of sugar syrup filled the air. A ceiling fan was blowing lukewarm air around the shop, lifting Rose’ hair away from her neck. A young woman was sitting at a small desk behind the counter, flipping through a textbook of some sort. She looked up when Rose politely cleared her throat.
“Hi,” greeted Rose uncertainly. “I’m looking for Mr. Agarkar. Maybe in the back of the store?”
“Witch?” she asked shortly, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Is he in?”
“My father is in the back,” she said, gesturing towards a door that Rose hadn’t seen until just then. Rose thanked her and walked through the door.
It was like a completely different shop. Where the front of the shop had been bright and airy, the back was candlelit and full of shadowed corners. Unlike Ollivander’s, the stock wasn’t displayed. Instead, there were all sorts of trinkets and devices lined up on a simple counter. She recognized them from a book on wand-matching techniques, but had no idea how they actually worked. The front was empty, but a small bell rang when the door closed behind her.
“Hello?” she called hesitantly, but there was no response. A few moments of awkward waiting around later, a man that looked to be about seventy years old appeared out of nowhere. He wore a plain white kurta and draped, billowy pants. He looked unassuming and quite normal, unlike Ollivander who had an elfin strangeness about him. Rose jumped back a little, wand in her hand. The man smiled kindly at her, and she relaxed enough to take her hand off her wand. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.
“Not to worry,” he said. Interestingly, his accent was similar to her own, a relic of the bygone era of British occupation. “Are you here for a wand?” Rose’ heart started beating faster as she steeled herself to ask for this stranger’s time. She’d faced down Voldemort, but asking for something that she wanted still made her palms sweat.
“No, actually, I was hoping to get your opinion on a wand I made,” she blurted, feeling a little light-headed. “It’s a bit different than other wands I’ve seen, and you’re kind of my hero in terms of innovation in the field. I loved your paper on increasing magical output using active runes. I was in the area, so I thought I’d ask…”
“You made a wand, you say!” he exclaimed, looking intrigued. “What is your name, girl?”
“Rose. Rose Potter,” she said hesitantly. She saw the spark of recognition in his eyes, but he didn’t comment on her status as a war hero.
“Show me this wand. If it is any good, we can chat some more, okay?” Rose nodded and stepped closer to the counter he was behind, pulling out the birch and beeswax wand as well as a second wand she’d made from items found in Mexico. Placing them hilt-first on the counter, she watched anxiously as the wandmaker examined them. His expression was remarkably flat as he turned them over in his hands one by one, and then pulled out a monocle to get a better look. When he finally looked up, it was with a strange expression on his face. “The core is plant-based.”
“Yes,” said Rose, grinning. “The birch one is shrivelfig leaves in glumbumble beeswax. The avocado wood has a core of Venomous Tentacula spikes treated with wild dittany.”
“How did you make it work? Typically, the bonding magic reacts badly. Wandmaker’s spells are designed specifically to connect with the animal’s essence,” he said, attention drawn back to the wands.
“Um, wandmaker’s spells, sir?” asked Rose, unsure. She had read about some of the spells wandmakers used, but they were proprietary and passed down from master to apprentice. No wandmaker worth the title would share that knowledge in a book. “I’ve been doing it intuitively.” She explained her forays into connecting with her magical core and meditation. By the end of her rambling rant, all the wands she’d made over her trip were laid out on his counter.
“You have innate talent in the field,” he said finally, putting the monocle away. “Some degree of intuition is required to make wands. You need to be able to match certain cores to certain woods, but to do it on this level is incredibly difficult.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, flushing. “Um, I was hoping to ask about your rune carving method, and if you have any ideas on how to match runes and wands. I’m struggling with the intuition on that a bit.”
“Futhark will never work,” he cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “Hogwarts only teaches Elder Futhark, but the language by design is rigid. Straight lines and specified meanings in specified contexts. It isn’t about the runes,” he said simply. “It’s about the patterns and the intent that the wandmaker uses when carving.”
“How does that work?” she asked, confused.
“Miss Potter,” he said gently, putting the wand in his hand on the counter. “I am impressed with your work, I truly am. It is remarkable how far you have walked the path of a wandmaker without an instructor. That said, I don’t teach my proprietary methods to anyone but my apprentices. People come from far and wide to buy specialty wands at my store. To share those secrets is bad business.”
“Oh,” she said, put out. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to learn from you.”
“Well, if you become my apprentice, I am willing to teach you,” he said, grinning. “The wands you have already made prove your potential, but you have a long way to go in terms of finesse. You need a master. Whether that is me or some other wandmaker is up to you. It would be a great shame if you were not able to share your talent and creativity with the world for lack of proper credentials.”
Rose gaped at him, shocked. When she had walked into his store that morning, she had not expected an apprenticeship offer. It made her feel giddy to be recognized for something she had worked hard on, but to apprentice to any one wandmaker was a big deal. “I definitely want to be accredited someday,” she admitted softly. “I’m not sure about who to apprentice with, but I appreciate your offer very much, sir.”
“It is a fine thing, to see young talent in the field,” he said, smiling at her. “While I refuse to share my signature spells and techniques, I am at liberty to discuss more basic aspects of wand making. I think it is time for my second cup of chai for the day. Would you care to join me in the back room for further discussion?”
Rose accepted, and spent the next hour talking about the different types of wood she’d encountered on her journey. Master Agarkar was a great conversationalist and a kind man, and she wished he practiced his craft closer to England. It would be complicated indeed to move to India to apprentice under him for an unknown number of years, but she could almost envision it – it was a dream. Then, she remembered her various responsibilities at home, including her godson and Wizengamot seat, and came down to reality. With an invitation to correspond more frequently, Master Agarkar sent her on her way.
She had lunch alone at a South Indian place – idli with sambar was her new favorite meal – only to spend the afternoon walking up the coastline. She found an interesting piece of driftwood on the beach that hummed happily in her hand and tucked it away. She observed a film set from a distance, trying not to stare even as she couldn’t help but fixate on the colorful outfits of the backup dancers. Mentally, she made a note to catch an Indian movie before she left the country – if only for the visual appeal.
The evening came quick. Rose was lounging on their hotel room bed and flipping through a romance novel she’d picked up in America – it involved a shirtless cowboy and was making her quite hot and bothered – when the door opened. Kieran walked in, looking exhausted and grimy but happy.
“Good evening,” she greeted, rolling over to look at him the right way up. “How was your day?”
“I’m so tired,” he groaned, leaning against the door frame. “I could sleep for a million years.”
“We have that dinner with your colleagues,” she reminded him.
“Fuck, I need another shower,” he swore as he looked down at his clothing despondently. He looked up at her with a little twinkle in his eye that Rose had come to associate with very good things. “Care to join me?”
Safe to say, they were late to dinner.