Lucius and Caecilia.
The roster of customer names and orders in Catalina and Kaavya’s workshop begins to shimmer with baby blue and soft white ripples, and by the time Kaavya is back from the heart of the workshop to the entrance, it is already flipped open to the appropriate page, and on the page is the sweeping script of Lucius Malfoy’s handwriting, detailing the specifications for his latest order.
Kaavya smiles as she picks up the book to carry back to the workshop to show her beloved Lina, who will certainly be just as amused as she is. Even if their orders and clientele must be kept secret, it does not mean that the artisans cannot speculate amongst themselves.
“Lina! Oh Lina, you must see this,” she waits until Catalina’s tow head is raised in surprise before continuing. “The Malfoys have left us a most fascinating order.”
Catalina’s giggle betrays her.
“Oh? Show me.”
Kaavya sweeps past table after table covered in precious gemstones and metals, past the tables covered in diagrams for blood circles, and under the book arch that is filled with reference material and rosters of orders from previous generations.
She and Catalina have worked diligently to keep the memory of their Master’s workshop, as it was when they taught the both of them. Wixen Vyrrinde Mousai had been retired nearly eight years, but nostalgia and fondness had kept the workshop in a constant state long after they left.
The wealth of information that surrounds them, however, is of little import at that very moment. Kaavya ceremoniously lays the roster on the desk before Catalina, peering out the window at the various colours of dresses and coats on the streets of Leisure Alley. The colour of the season seems to be a soft mauve, which she tucks away in her mind for later.
Catalina bursts into a mess of giggles as she looks over the specifications, and there is mischief in her warm aureate eyes. Her hands run over the lines as she laughs,
“A Malfoy necklace? Watch it catch the eyes of every witch from here to Ireland, Kaavya, just watch. We’ll be inundated with orders, I tell you.”
Kaavya pries the box of athames free as she looks back at Lina indulgently, carrying them over to the altar and rolling out her shoulders in preparation for the first of many rites. Lina cracks her knuckles loose of any tension as well, and readies herself to begin the first of the Blood-Art infusions that have been included in the request.
The Athames have been used for ritual purposes for centuries, and that practice has imbued them each with their own unique properties and powers, though information on them is passed down exclusively from Master to Apprentice.
Kaavya twirls them expertly between her fingers, feeling for the one that has the exact sort of innate power that her client’s request seeks. She was always the better at sensing signatures between the two of them; Catalina heads past her to look over the diagrams for the Blood Arts’ casting circles. The main cause for her to butt heads with her Master was her insistence on combining elements from multiple types of circles, a dangerous business that was liable to backfire when done by an unskilled caster.
Well. Kaavya and Catalina are anything but unskilled. They wouldn’t be the premier designers of the Spindle, the ones known by name and not merely pieces - like many of the others under the Spindle’s employ - if they weren’t.
She muses over the runes, reminiscing between her study about the days in Hogwarts that were spent pouting over having to memorize them. She remembers sitting in one of Hogsmeade’s many cafés with Kaavya, puzzling over runic symbols and analysing the many meanings and interpretations of spells that could be cast with them.
For a few minutes, all that is heard in the workshop is the thin whistling of the Athames as Kaavya spins them and searches for their signatures, and the delicate rustling of papers as Catalina unfurls scrolls covered in runic circles and traces her nails over them in thoughtful consideration.
Then finally, with the same unison that made them the Apprentices that outdid their Master, they each look up from their study, smiling at each other knowingly.
Perfect.
Preliminary studies done, they each help the other prepare to begin, organizing the various sacrifices and elements they will be presenting, as well as gathering the gemstones and chains they will be using.
When they are done, the familiar circle, five feet in diameter and rough in many places from the generations of Artisans that have been etching and painting and drawing over it - as is tradition - is pristine, awaiting the enchantments that will dance over its surface.
“Shall it be the Scitalis or the Jaculus, Kaavya?”
The two vases of beautifully dark blood, like fine wines, are presented to Kaavya, a veritable connoisseur. She takes the vase of Scitalis blood first, twirling it gently. The markings of a Scitalis had magical, mesmerising properties, and simply looking upon one would freeze the watcher in place, such that the serpent might devour it. Kaavya shakes her head at it, however. It might have the unintentional effect of tempting those that saw the necklace closer, which was the opposite of what had been requested.
As she continues to twirl it, she brightens at the sight of the painting of the Scitalis that decorates the curved surface. She and Catalina had painted images of all the beasts their Master had taken them on expeditions to stalk and hunt and drain of their blood, based on the sketches they had been instructed to draw of the creatures they found. Now, each of their blood-vases were decorated with enchanted paintings of beasts, that would writhe and stalk and fly along the vase if touched by a wand.
However, as Master was fond of saying, Blood Arts were a form of Ancient Magic that predated even wands, and that to practice them meant learning to use your own body to channel magic and intent, without the channelling power of a wand or a staff.
With the Scitalis blood nestled away in storage, the only vase left now is the vase of Jaculus blood. Kaavya smiles in satisfaction as she traces the outline of the spear-tip markings on its snout. Yes, the Jaculus, which launched itself viciously at its victims, at its prey, it would be perfect.
She passes the vase back to Catalina, who nods and rolls open the fabric that houses the athames Kaavya has deemed right for the task, handing the second to Kaavya. Mirror images of each other, they paint the runes and symbols into the circle with athames for brushes, dipping the athames into the Jaculus blood for paint.
The designs are elegant and sweeping, decorating the ground in delicate flourishes and bold twirls of iridescent blood that shines violet in some lights and deep red in others.
The runes speak of the curses that are commonly requested to protect maidens, such as curses that will mutilate those that attempt to touch them without consent into flayed piles of flesh, curses that will blind those that cast lascivious eyes on them without their knowledge, and wards that will guard the jewels themselves, by ensuring that any thieves will lose their fingers and bleed in excess from the stumps.
There are other enchantments that must be cast upon them, but a circle alone cannot do all the work. Once it is drawn, Catalina wordlessly and wandlessly casts fire to dry the wet blood down, and Kaavya reaches for the jewels and for their fine carpets. The carpets are laid on the floor alongside the circle, where Artisans sit beside the circle as they work.
Kaavya and Catalina then lay out the scales of the Zytiron they hunted off the coast of the Silver Isle. Long have Artisans kept stocks from creatures from specialised territories that belong to certain families, and care is taken that stock from different families is never mixed, except in the case of bondings between houses.
In this case, however, Lord Lucius and Lady Caecilia are both of House Malfoy, so there will be no such mixing. The Zytiron scales will be more than sufficient for the necklace, though, so neither Artisan has any complaints to make.
Half the measured amount of scales are laid out to decorate the gaps within the circle with their shimmering silver light, and the rest are to be ground to fine dust.
This, like, many of the aspects of Blood-Art Artisanship, must be done with another.
The mortar and pestle are not the small tabletop variety used in potioneering, but a massive grindstone laid over a base, to be pulled in both directions by the two Artisans on either side of the grindstone, which will produce a dust fine enough to use in the ritual. The base is pale from the sheer number of bones that have been ground down onto its rough rock surface over the years, and now it shimmers as the scales are cast out over it.
With practised ease, the witches take their places at either side of the grindstone, taking the dragon heartstring ropes in hand and beginning to grind away the scales, and for the first of many times in the process, they begin to sing.
The language of the Blood-Artisan is one that is unknown and unintelligible to the uninitiated, and both Kaavya and Catalina are not just fluent, but eloquent.
Together, their voices meld into a breathy, husky harmony, calling upon the energy of the Zytiron to guard the owner of the jewels as it would its treasures beneath the waves.
“Stand your ground, o’ weathered warrior,” Catalina sings, eyes shut and hands awash with a soft blue glow.
“Fight and never flee, for your treasure has grown thousand-fold,” Kaavya sings in reply. Her hands seem to drip with glittering silver, and together, their magic and music entwine.
They imbue the scales with a direction for their essence to take, intention and instruction that gives them a purpose, not unlike the one that they had in life.
When their song concludes, the dust is fine and emanates a soft blue light. Catalina collects into a seaglass jar and kneels on her side of the circle, awaiting Kaavya. She joins her once the symbols on the altar stone begin to glow the same blue, kneeling opposite Catalina with a smaller jar in her hands as well, a jar of Augury’s tears, to forewarn the wearer if they will be harmed in any way.
For the final step, they light candles in the predetermined places within the circle, using the remnants of a Phoenix’s feather to do so. Night has properly fallen, and the time is right to begin, with the dark worksop lit only by the glowing elements and the candlelight.
As the light dims and glows in time with their heartbeats, Kaavya and Catalina begin to sing, wordlessly and yet with emotion, in the same rhythms and melodies their ancestors would have used, the songs that were passed down to them by their predecessor.
They shift the jewels into place over the chains, and as Catalina covers them with the fine dust, tossing it upward in time with peaks in the rhythm. Kaavya answers by pouring the tears over the stones during the lulls, and slowly but surely, the light begins to slip into the blood-drawn lines, and as the song reaches a frenzied peak, with both witches tossing the lines of their song back and forth one after the other, the blood-lines shimmer brilliantly.
The both of them reach their left hands out to each other, and using the magic that floats in wispy clouds around them, they craft blades, keen enough to slice through almost everything in Avalon. With these enchanted blades, they cut runes of protection into each other’s palms.
The moment the blood hits the floor, the jewels begin to rattle and tremble, floating upward and beginning to absorb the magic that surrounds them. The altar sends delicate tendrils out from the symbols that decorate it, and the magic slips into the wounds, healing them in a matter of seconds.
As the last of the enchantment slips into the jewels, the lines begin to shine not with curse-magic but with fire. With that fire, they work, melding the stones to metal and bending the metal into shape, all the while shifting from a primal heartsong to a metalworkers’ hymn to the dwarven Masters.
Delicately and gently, the metal takes shape, braiding and melting and flowing like liquid as they work with one image in mind. Slowly but surely, the double-chains take the form of the body of the Jaculus, twining over twice until the head of the Jaculus creates the end of the necklace and bracelet, which close with the beast biting its own tail.
It is well past the early hours, and sunlight is just beginning to creep through the windows that encircle the ceiling. However, that touch of light is just enough, and the light and flames vanish with a whisper of smoke, leaving the Artisans standing with interlocked hands and a necklace-and-bracelet set floating between them.
Tired but still vaguely coherent, they smile at one another, each taking one piece of jewellery in hand before walking to the back, arm in arm. Kaavya searches for a box and Catalina looks through the deliveries they receive from the Spindle’s head office for the roll of acromantula silk.
The jewels are set into an orbchamber to float in gentle circles, allowing them to look it over from every angle, that they may see if any flaws exist. Of course, knowing them, there are none. Kaavya leaves the box on the table beside it, and rifles through the drawers until she finds the standard pattern the Spindle’s designers use for the pillows that hold the jewellery in place.
She hands it to Catalina, who has since sunk into the rocking chair to sew. Catalina begins to cut out the pieces, and Kaavya pats her on the shoulder before heading to the roster to make their notes.
Double-string Star-Sapphire and Lapis Lazuli necklace and bracelet set; Curses of Protection.
The book shines the Malfoy colours once more, meaning the person that ordered it will be alerted to the fact that their order is ready. Kaavya yawns and calls over her shoulder,
“Put the needle down a minute and put your hair up tighter, Lina. It’s come loose.”
Catalina reaches for her wand and blearily casts a styling spell to thread her hair into a braided crown bun, identical to Kaavya’s and a standard part of the uniform, just like the dragon leather boots and split-fronted black gown with its black leather trousers beneath it. She has been doing it for ages, so even if she is exhausted, she looks put-together, at the very least. Kaavya does the same, adding a few hair beads to make the bun a bit more presentable, seeing as she’ll have to greet her customer when they come through the Floo at what will likely be opening-hours sharp.
Lina’s hands work fast, and the pillow is done by the time Kaavya is done making them a bite of toast and some eggs to have for breakfast. The hour is nearing nine-o'clock, and they’ll have a heartier meal once they’ve had some sleep.
She slumps onto Kaavya’s shoulder, peering at the finished product.
The box is open to reveal the necklace and bracelet resting on a bed of acromantula silk, and the light catches on every scale of the Jaculus, details that would be impossible to achieve without magic. Satisfied, pulls Kaavya into a momentary hug before yawning widely herself.
Chuckling, Kaavya passes her a Sleepless Night potion, knowing that in their case, it will make a poor substitute for true rest, just as Master always said. However, once they have both downed the contents of the bottle, they are refreshed and awake enough to at least greet and hold audience with their customer for a good half-hour, if need be.
Thankfully, that doesn’t happen in most cases, as most Pureblood customers were well aware of the exhaustion that Artisans often struggled with, and had the ingrained courtesy to bid them goodbye soon after arriving.
Rolling out their sore necks and shoulders, they walk downstairs from the workshop to the foyer, sitting in the plush couches with eyes trained on the Floo and the clock interchangeably, and sure enough, as soon the clock strikes nine, the fireplace is enveloped in sickly green flames.
Heir Lucius Malfoy steps through, immaculate as always and looking directly at the box. Kaavya can be forgiven for her pride, for even the Heir to The Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy is enraptured by the craftsmanship of the Spindle's finest Artisans.
"Heir Malfoy.”
Kaavya rises, and Catalina rises alongside her. They both sink into the Artisan’s bow, with the right fist pressed to the heart and one foot behind the other, knees bent just so.
Heir Lucius responds with a textbook bow of his own, and with courtesies concluded, all three of them take a seat to discuss the piece.
He takes the box in hand, gently angling it this way and that to see it every way that the light could possibly catch and reflect on the stones and exquisitely detailed metalwork. He runs a finger over the points that connect the jewels to their chain setting, and his eyes dart up sharply.
“Malfoy family magic,” he breathes.
Kaavya nods and Catalina explains, her high and musical voice just as easy to listen to as their Master’s had been.
“As it is a courtship gift presented to a maiden of your own house, we realised she would likely find the feeling of the family magic more comforting and reassuring. As such, we used a Zytiron hunted off the coast of the Silver Isles to imbue the jewels and metal with House Malfoy’s magic, Heir Malfoy.”
He raises an eyebrow before dipping his head, saying only,
“Your Master was right to offer high praises of you both to my father, artificum. ”
Beaming, Catalina dips her head back, leaving a silence to fill the room as Heir Malfoy gazes at the contents of the box, eyes locked onto every minute detail. Kaavya doesn’t doubt that he must be imagining Lady Caecilia seeing and wearing it for the first time, and finds it to be every part the great joy her Master told her it would be, to someday see the eyes of an admirer of one’s art enraptured by the creation before them.
Silence stretches between them for a few more moments, until Heir Malfoy seems entirely satisfied.
“Ah, I have kept you too long, Artisan Patil, Artisan Fawley. You will receive the letter from Gringotts surrounding payment by noon.”
He pauses, but one more glance at the box softens his features with gratitude.
“Thank you.”
They rise to bow once more, and with a parting word, he steps back through the flames to return to Malfoy Manor.
Heaving a weary sigh, Catalina clings to Kaavya’s arm for support as they make their way back upstairs to the workshop and return to the altar to begin the ritual cleansing.
They slice open their palms a second time to whet the stone with their blood and whisper ‘Episkey’ to each other once there is blood enough to cover the shimmering carvings. They then take turns washing it down with water of the oceans, the seas, and the rivers and lakes, watching the rivulets wash the blood down the surface until it pools in translucent red at the base of the stone. For the final step, they bring fresh candles that they light with conjured flame and decorate the bloody foot of the altar with freshly cut wildflowers.
The cleansed altar emanates warmth and kindness, which fills the workshop with what sounds like delicate humming, and the warmth of the magic it creates bleeds into Kaavya and Catalina too, fending off the early morning chill.
Just as they turn to head upstairs and get a bit of rest, the sound of flipping pages sounds before them as the roster flips open to reveal yet another order. Horrified at the thought of carrying on after a sleepless night filling a priority order for a revered customer, Catalina turns wide and vaguely teary eyes onto Kaavya imploringly. Kaavya, for her part, bursts out laughing and pulls Catalina upstairs to the loft without so much as a backward glance.