A Core Memory
A lungful of stale air greeted Catallena Nocturne the moment she opened the door. She welcomed it with a deep breath. It smelled of wood, polish, old paper and dried flowers.
There was no bell overhead that would’ve chimed with her entrance. Compared to the other lively boutiques, this quiet room felt ancient. Respect and power hummed softly in the background.
Disturbed dust bunnies of all shapes and sizes scrambled across the floor as a gentle gust of air swept through the open doorway. They sped off to where the light couldn’t reach, carrying whispers of a customer.
The door groaned as it closed behind Miss Nocturne and Professor McGonagall. Once again in a dimly lit room, Catallena’s hair glowed timidly.
Only bits of sunlight streamed delicately in through the cracked window. The skinny rays kissed the floor but died out before they could inch further toward the back of the shop. There, a mahogany counter separated rows and rows of shelves and drawers from the unfurnished space the two witches were standing in.
The shelves were tilted in odd directions and they were stocked full of boxes which were stacked in perfect disarray. Some of them looked like they were hanging on to a shelf by a mere spiderweb. Others were stuffed tightly into a compartment so small that actually pulling them out seemed impossible.
Wobbly towers of the same colourful boxes threatened to curve to the side, yet a thick layer of dust indicated that everything was calm and stable even in the uncertainty. It must be magic that is keeping everything from crumbling to the ground, thought Catallena. Either that or the shopkeeper was a particularly talented jenga player.
A wrinkly head of silver hair appeared high up from behind a tower of boxes and Catallena decided that he did indeed look like a very magical jenga player.
The man took his sweet time descending his ladder. “Just a moment!” he croaked and Catallena waited three.
“Mr Ollivander,” chirped McGonagall. “Good day!”
“Good day, indeed! I see you have brought another young witch to buy their first wand,” he spotted Catallena with his light yellowing eyes. A furrow in his brow creased deeper as he took in the girl’s peculiar hair and look. He didn’t comment on it, though. Maybe he thought that his old age was finally catching up to him and hindering his eyesight. His thoughtfully pursed mouth drew to a small smile.
“Welcome to Ollivanders - a shop you’d best come to for wands. Of course, it would be best if you didn’t come for wands often and instead took good care of the wand you will find today - or rather the wand that will find you today. The wand chooses its wizard, after all. It is well known that the first wand is a match far greater than any possible replacements.
My family has worked to provide generations of great witches and wizards their lifelong accompaniments. I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. Now, you have no magical family, child?” he spoke in a hushed and important tone. Another one of those sentient measuring tapes Catallena met at Madame Malkins’ circled her enthusiastically. It measured the width of her shoulders, the circumference of her head, and the lengths of her forearm and each individual finger.
Catallena answered his question by shaking her head. Her hair’s curly ends caressed the rug below their feet.
“No matter. A wand chooses its owner on the basis of what lies inside. And we are made of more than just blood, little one. Whether you come from a long line of wizards or not doesn’t dictate the kind of wand -the kind of power - you are capable of wielding. I shall make sure that you leave this shop completely satisfied.”
The measuring tape snapped back into a roll on the wooden counter and Mr Ollivander disappeared with a wink behind the shelves once more. McGonagall retreated into a chair by the window, where she looked on as Ollivander got to work and Catallena fidgeted with uncertainty.
Going to the wandmaker’s shop with her students was certainly the professor’s favourite duty as a guide to the Muggle-borns. It brought her much joy to see the shop unchanged throughout the years. It was also momentous to see such happy faces of children who get to experience having their very own wands. It made her reminisce about her own first time at the shop. As she settled into her seat, she prepared with an endeared heart to see the beginnings of yet another great witch.
At Hogwarts, the professor was known as a warmhearted but stern woman who one would not like to cross. That image helped with the job and allowed her to be a great mentor. In this alley and in this particular shop, however, she allowed herself to open her heart just a bit more. Maybe this time it also had something to do with the rather sympathetic girl.
McGonagall had been watching the girl very closely during their shopping. She was taken aback by how enamoured the girl was by everything. Every child that visits the alley is without a doubt full of wonder, though the girl was something else. Catallena would pace the shops with a careful and jumpy approach, but her curiosity and wonder just seemed too great to ignore. The girl reminded the professor of a bunny hopping out of its nest for the first time, still sleepy and unaccustomed to the world outside.
Said girl was now being handed a yellow box. Inside was a gorgeous light brown wand.
“Chestnut, unicorn hair core, nine and a half inches, fairly bendy. Go on, give it a test,” pushed Ollivanders eagerly.
Catallena lifted the wand from its container. She didn’t even get to bring the wand to her eye level before a fire erupted on the carpet.
“Quite a fright!” gasped the wandmaker after waving his own wand and putting out the flames. The scorch mark disappeared after a muttered spell and the wand in Catallena’s hands was hastily taken away and put back onto a shelf.
Catallena thought very adamantly that she didn’t want a wand that would turn her into an unwilling arsonist. Fire was too hot and destructive for her liking.
Another box -this time a deep blue one- was thrust into her hands and she once again grabbed a wand’s carefully crafted handle. It was a dark brown wand with engravings that felt coarse underneath her fingers.
“Rowan, phoenix feather core and reasonably supple, this time,” she heard Ollivander explain. The slightest flick sent him flying towards a shelf in no time. McGonagall softened his landing with a quick spell and soon the man was once again searching the shelves for a wand that wouldn’t create destruction in the young witch’s hands. He didn’t seem at all phased by the bursts of uncontrollable magic Catallena was creating. Catallena on the other hand…
The wandmaker kept searching and bringing back wand after wand that either shattered a window, burned Catallena’s hand when touched, created an explosion in the shelves or pulled the rug from underneath all their feet.
Wands made of different woods and different cores were given to the girl and then withdrawn in a panic. Ollivander kept muttering about different lengths and flexibilities.
No wand seemed to want her, Catallena realised.
In hopes of finding some aid in his research, the wandmaker often went to the small library he kept at the back of the store where his family stored their centuries worth of notes on wandmaking.
An hour passed by and then another. Some other customers came by but he was too dedicated to give up on Catallena in their favour.
A mad look had taken over Mr Ollivander’s features as he struggled greatly with this client. It was partly due to the doubt he had started to feel towards his expertise and partly due to the delight of this unexpected new challenge. Every time he brought a rare wand from the depths of his store and it wasn’t the correct wand for Catallena, he let out a chuckle and shook his head. Each time the wands got more ridiculous and at one point Catallena tried to use one the size of her leg.
McGonagall couldn’t believe it either. She was growing worried there was no wand for Miss Nocturne.
“You have exhibited accidental bursts of magic before, haven’t you, Miss Catallena Nocturne?” asked Ollivanders carefully. Clearly the same worry was dawning on him as well.
“Accidental magic?” Catallena looked up from the vase of flowers that was once again shattered on the ground. She broke her long silence, this time in a defeated tone.
“Did you ever find yourself in a dangerous or otherwise unpleasant situation where a seemingly impossible or magical solution aided you? Perhaps you were about to slip and fall on an icy path outside but found yourself in your soft bed before you could hit the ground?” Mr Ollivander prompted. He was now slightly slumped and leaning against the counter.
She had done something, hadn’t she? Something had happened but she would rather not think about it. Too soon.
“Of course she has magic in her!” exclaimed McGonagall, having thought of something. “I’ve never seen a child with glowing hair. That is something very magical even by my standards.”
“Glowing…” Ollivanders drawled and approached the girl slowly with squinted eyes. He took hold of a curl and turned it around between his bony fingers.
Oh right. Catallena had honestly forgotten. Was her hair really not that common?
As if it was second nature, Catallena suddenly lit the whole shop in a blinding light. She glittered brightly and the two other people in the room cowered. Ollivanders lifted his head from behind his protective arm and his thin mouth gaped open in awe and disbelief. Light glared off McGonagall’s glasses.
In a rush, Ollivander returned to examine the girl’s hair once more. His closeness and wide eyelashless eyes put Catallena on edge but she stayed frozen to her spot and stared back. He stayed there on the floor for a while and then disappeared behind the counter, babbling to himself.
After some rustling, the wandmaker emerged with a wand.
The wand was white and exceptionally pointy. Its sharpened tip could easily draw blood, Catallena guessed. The bone-coloured wand wasn’t completely smooth: small engravings of flowers decorated its handle and a long dented line -like a groove for a stream- ran all the way from one end to the other.
“Aspen, just short of ten inches, unyielding in its flexibility. No core .”
“No core?” exclaimed the professor, quizzical.
“I had not yet finished making this wand. If I’m correct, it shouldn’t be a problem…”
Catallena extended her hand toward the offered shell of a wand. All pairs of eyes looked intently as her fingers curled slowly around the handle.
Catallena didn’t really know what happened. One moment she was holding the wand and the second her feet were off the ground. The wandmaker and the professor were both spellbound and horrified to witness such an event.
Catallena had been lifted in the air. Her hair formed a stormy cloud that made the whole room crackle and rumble with electricity. Her dress flowed and fluttered in the rising winds. The energy in the shop was inescapable - it brought with it a metallic taste and a thick flowery scent. The light that radiated through the shop’s window cautioned people walking down the alley from entering.
Ollivanders laughed a hearty laugh as he witnessed strands of Catallena’s hair wrap around her hand and wand. The curls coiled tightly around the handle and entered the hollow wand through its deadly point. The wand somehow felt ice-cold and fiery at the same time in the girl’s clasp.
A small shockwave followed the wand’s creation and Catallena Nocturne was lowered to her normal height. Only a few stubborn curls remained afloat.
“Marvellous,” breathed the old man. McGonagall had gone rigid and speechless.
He inspected the wand and Catallenas hair once again. Between the notes he was writing in a heavy notebook he chortled and shook his head.
“Magical properties in the child’s hair are comparable to those of other known wand cores… Naturally, I’ve experimented with Veela hair but this… Never seen such a reaction... The hair… As if it had a mind of its own - a connection with the wand… Never before have I sold a wand made of its wielder’s own hair… A direct connection like this…”
At the customers’ departure, Mr Ollivander shook Catallena’s hand vigorously and for a long time. He made the girl promise to return another day and shared his plans of writing about her in his research.
The shop was a mess - boxes lied haphazardly on the floor and on the counter was a mountain of books and papers.
As the two witches stepped out of the door onto the cobblestone pathing, Catallena felt more confused than she had ever before. She was one beautiful wand and an ornate wand holster richer but the adults’ reactions had hardly been consoling.
She felt burdened and frightened by the wandmaker’s and the professor’s pestering questions and nonsensical conversations.
Were there no witches or wizards like her? Maybe it had been wishful thinking to imagine a school where she could meet similar students. What if they deemed her too weird for even their standards? She couldn’t really help glowing like a little blue lightning bug, she supposed.
The same wary look from earlier in the day had returned to Professor McGonagall’s face, as if she expected another storm to brew in broad daylight. Nevertheless, she bought the pair two servings of super stretchy mint soft serve from a vendor in a funny hat. They sat at a small round table and absentmindedly watched as people carried on with their errands.
The ice cream was good, Catallena sighed.
Once done with their treats, McGonagall took the girl’s hand and held onto her school supplies with the other. They disapparated in a second and the scenery changed into a dark and cold one.
“Now, Miss Nocturne, it is time for me to return to Hogwarts. You shall follow me by Hogwarts express in a few days’ time,” her voice was soft as she was reminded of the girl’s unfortunate living situation. The professor would make sure to speak to Dumbledore and write to the Ministry in order to demand an audience with someone who could enlighten her as to why the girl stayed here. Why was she left alone? Why was her magic different?
She handed the girl a small ticket with gold lettering. “This is a ticket for the train. Platform nine and three-quarters is hidden between platforms nine and ten. To access it, you will have to walk through the pillar separating them. Just watch out for other witches and wizards, they will surely help you.”
Catallena took the ticket and tucked it into a safe pocket. The moment was bittersweet. She couldn’t wait to go to this Hogwarts school yet she was scared. She didn’t want the teacher to leave, either, but put up no fight.
Her glassy eyes watched on as the older woman stood back and bid her farewell for now. The professor promised to send an owl before the school year starts and Catallena wondered what she could use an owl for. Company, perhaps?
She waved as her guide disappeared with another whip. Standing there in her dead garden, she felt more alone than she had in a long time. With a puff of air, she picked up her new items and dragged them inside.
At least the ghosts that welcomed her home weren’t at all phased by her. They acted as if she belonged - even though she was slightly less transparent and slightly more bright.