Sycamore and Heartstring of Dragon

Sycamore and Heartstring of Dragon

The following morning, Riana woke up and knew exactly where she was. She felt her mind and body acclimatizing itself to the dusty hospitality of the Leaky Cauldron, and, though her belly felt uncomfortably heavy on this dewy morning of August the twenty-eighth, she was enjoying her stay there. At least, that's what she thought at first. Then again, she hadn't tried to truly rouse herself either.

Rolling out of bed, Riana leaned over and stretched her thin arms toward her toes. Her muscles felt taut and sore from the walking she'd done in Diagon Alley the previous day. She was mentally chastising herself for neglecting to stretch...which she'd read was a preventative for sore muscles...when the first pangs of pain began. Initially, Riana thought that perhaps she needed to pee, but the pain intensified quickly, spreading through her stomach, burning to the ends of her cold, blue fingertips. She felt as if hundreds of tiny daggers were stabbing into her abdomen as she dashed quickly to the antique washbasin, her hands grasped together over her stomach. Leaning over the cracked bowl in agony, Riana vomited every bit of croissant from the previous evening's dinner. So long had her body been without nutrient, it was rejecting the unknown food with the feverish fervor of an attacked immune system. Every shred of decomposing bread, every globule of butter was emptied into the basin as Riana's thin body racked with horrifying spasms.

Finally, minutes later, when no more food was left in her tiny stomach, Riana straightened slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her thin hand as her throat burned. Sighing, she closed her eyes and slouched so that her back arched, causing her newly emptied stomach to pooch out.

Her forehead creased in pain as she swallowed. A shuddering sigh raced through her body as she steadied herself against the dresser upon which the bowl lay. It was at moments like these that Riana hated herself the most. The loss of control, the feeling that she couldn't stop ... Yes, she hated herself at these moments.

And then, as if remembering a schedule long followed, Riana's steely eyes snapped open. She slinked over to the mirror, whipping the soiled peasant shirt over her head and mussing her straight, raven black hair. At the exact moment her gaze fell upon the reflection in the mirror, she gasped in shock and agony...her ribs were only slightly protruding. She felt the tears pool in her grey eyes and sprang lightly to the bed, flinging herself onto it and sobbing bitterly. This unhappy display continued for several minutes, while Riana wretchedly decided that she would never eat again ... even if it killed her!

As the grey rain shower gradually abated in Riana's own eyes, a thunderclap boomed deafeningly from outside, and the heavens opened up, their enormous eyes weeping in sympathy with Riana's miserable plight. Riana sat up slowly, hugging her thin arms around her emaciated body. She closed her swollen eyes, but still the thick, salty tears spilled out from under the eyelids. Riana sat there, listening to the patter of raindrops hitting the roof only a few meters above her head. The tears fell less and less frequently as she mentally composed herself, drawing deep, calming breaths.

At last, Riana's tears stopped and she opened her eyes, which shone with a red-veined, watery glimmer that could only be attributed to one cause. She edged to the corner of her mattress and, still hugging her arms tightly to her chilled body, slid off and tiptoed to her open suitcase. Releasing her hold, Riana plunged both hands deep into the slippery pile of clothing, and sought around for attire absently, her mind traveling back to the unsatisfactory image of herself in the mirror that morning.

Feeling her eyes start to mist over again, Riana shook her head violently, her straight hair swinging around her ears, trying to clear the image. By angrily turning her attention to the case-full of clothing, she succeeded.

After choosing her ensemble, Riana stood, the articles of clothing in her hands, and proceeded to dress herself, carefully paying attention to the detail of the silvery-grey faux velvet top and black corduroy cargo trousers. This infinitesimal inspection of her otherwise ordinary clothing was the only way she could keep the image of her inadequate body at bay. Only when she had placed the Converse sneakers on her bony feet and folded her weathered piece of parchment dictating school supplies into a pocket-size square did Riana feel controlled enough to descend to the first floor and pay another visit to Diagon Alley.

She avoided looking at herself in the dated mirror as she rushed headlong from the room. Riana felt sure that one glance would send her straight into another river of weak tears, and so she continued her plunging stride through the hallway shadowed in rivulets by the rain-spattered windows lighting it.

Because of her self-hatred and anger toward her supposed "weakness," Riana did not notice the bright yellow eyes of the tawny tomcat that stared with a slightly amused and curious expression from the now open doorway of room number three.

*

Lightning splintered from the roiling sky as Riana waited in the rainy backyard of the Leaky Cauldron, drizzle pelting onto her shiny black head, and running in glistening trails down her chattering, slender body. Her rapt gaze was fixed on the brick wall in front of her, her ears deaf to the slamming of a door behind her. She felt, rather than saw, the aged presence of the shabby innkeeper, Tom, and turned to watch him shambling out of the Leaky Cauldron clutching an enormous, tattered, magenta umbrella at which she stared enviously.

As Tom approached her, she heard him muttering something about the "Blasted weather" as he extracted his plain, thick wand with difficulty from his apron pocket, trying to keep the umbrella in place over his own bald head.

Three up, two across, Riana recalled as Tom tapped his wand against the bricks. Oh, yes, she remembered ... she would never forget. The proud Riana never forgot anything once she had determined to remember it; the entrance into the magical world of Diagon Alley was not ever going to be forgotten. She would remember this rainy backyard as the entrance to her birthplace of independence. The portal opened, causing Riana to gasp again with astonishment...she would never fail to be amazed by magic!

Without so much as a glance in Tom's direction, she lifted her proud chin and prepared to step over the threshold and enter Diagon Alley, when she felt a slight tap on her shoulder. She pivoted in annoyance, and saw a soaking wet Tom holding the umbrella out to her, a slightly begrudging expression on his wrinkled countenance. Riana sucked in her cheeks and pushed out her lips, tilting her small head upward and staring down her nose at the offering with a fair amount of disdain. She'd never carry anything that was magenta and old and tattered and ... borrowed.

However, when a particularly vindictive rain cloud opened a pouring drain of pelting raindrops directly on her head, Riana darted forward and pulled the umbrella out of Tom's outstretched hand, opening it over her head and turning her back on the old man. As usual, the small, respectable voice struggled to make itself be heard in her brain, Thank him, thank him, thank him ... but she smashed her unwelcome conscience by darting quickly through the doorway into a soggy Diagon Alley.

*

Riana was pleased to note that not many people had decided to brave the weather...which wasn't affecting her in the least...and that those who did were all wearing dark colors and turning their secretive faces away from their fellow patrons, rushing to collect whatever purchases they needed, then darting, specter-like, away into one of the dark alleys squeezed between shops.

Holding the umbrella firmly in one hand, Riana walked along the muddy lane and, ducking under the overhang of the cauldron shop, pulled her supplies page out of her pocket, running her eyes up and down the list.

First, she decided, I will get ... my wand. Her grey eyes lit up in anticipation and more than a little satisfaction as she remembered that she would not have to rely on the rather odious Tom anymore to open the passageway to Diagon Alley. With this thought to cheer her, Riana grinned wryly and set off in the general direction of Gringotts, hoping to spot a wand shop on her way.

*

The rain was now falling faster in drenching sheets that raced with the wind, each element trying to outstrip the other, as Riana sloshed, slanted eyes squinting, knee-deep in mud past Gringotts. She paused slightly past the grand threshold of Gringotts and stood, looking around for a wand shop. My toes are wet, she thought numbly. There's mud down my socks... And why isn't there a wand shop around here? Riana gazed desperately into the distance, searching for the wand shop she just knew had to be there. But apparently, she was wrong. Seeing no wand shop in sight, she sighed in reluctant acceptance, her thin shoulders sagging under the weight of doubt. A hard look crossed her sharp features and, narrowing her eyes, Riana again bent her head against the gale and surged forward, frail body desperately trying to overcome the great forces of nature that fought to drive her back.

*

Ugh! Finally. Riana sighed, wavering tiredly in the flowing street and staring up at Ollivander's, a dingy and narrow shop with a motto stating that Ollivander's was a "Maker of Fine Wands since 382 BC," a fact that Riana sincerely doubted. She had passed several shops on her sojourn and found herself standing at the far end of Diagon Alley. Riana knew that she had reached the end of the magical shopping district for she noticed another wall, clearly marking the end of the Alley, a few shops past the left side of Ollivander's.

Breathing deeply and consequently receiving a nose full of precipitation, Riana snorted derisively, spraying invisible raindrops into the saturated air, and marched through the shabby, smudged door of the shop.

Once inside, she shook her umbrella carefully, propped it beside the door and gazed with interest at the dimly lit interior of the wand shop. Piled in towering stacks, crammed on every chair and table, were long, slender boxes. Boxes of wands, Riana thought excitedly. She was slinking closer to a heap stacked atop a chair to her left, when a rattling noise caused her to whip around, eyes wide. There she found herself gazing directly into a pair of very large silvery eyes that mimicked the watery world outside. She drew back involuntarily, something about those eyes glowing like twin moons disconcerted her; when the man spoke, however, she lost her fear and drew closer, interested.

"Good morning. I don't know you, but that chin is familiar ... and your eyes ... Ah, yes, those grey eyes. I know them well. Come for a wand, have you? Well..." The man's voice was soft and silky. Riana felt hypnotized and leaned dreamily in ... hoping against hope that he would explain not only what was so distinctive about her eyes, but why he knew them so well. Instead, however, the old man spun around and hobbled back into the depths of his store, leaving a very confused...and admittedly disappointed...Riana standing conspicuously in the middle of the cluttered room.

She peered nervously after Mr. Ollivander and was steeling herself to follow him into the maze of wands when he suddenly appeared from an aisle to her left, pulling a measuring tape with silver markings out of his deep pocket.

"Hold out your wand arm, Miss...?" Here he faltered, his soft voice trailing off as he turned his glowing gaze on Riana. She lifted her chin and announced "Carrington," defiantly. Mr. Ollivander's thick eyebrows shot up; his expression looked puzzled, but he nodded and asked her to hold out her wand arm.

A frown creasing her brow, Riana looked down at her hands and then held out her left, which she favored in composition class and therefore decided that it would do very well as a wand arm.

Mr. Ollivander's withered yet graceful hands measured Riana's arm and other extremities as he murmured, "Miss Carrington, every Ollivander wand contains a core drawn from a potent magical source." He paused, placing the measuring tape in his pocket and folding his hands placidly together in front of him.

Riana leaned closer, her slanted eyes glaring out from the depths of her gaunt face.

Mr. Ollivander looked back at her calmly and, standing solidly on two feet, gazed at Riana with his enormous eyes. "We traditionally use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons."

Heartstrings? Riana thought confusedly. What are those?

Mr. Ollivander, however, continued, clearly oblivious to Riana's confusion.

"Although there are other makers who use different ingredients, we have always found those three to be sufficient. I say we have found, but it's the wand that does the finding, doesn't it?" He nodded sagely at this and turned abruptly to his left, retreating into the bowels of the wand shop.

Riana stared after him curiously. The wand does the finding? This revelation did not help to assuage her fears. What if no wand chose her? What if no wands fit her personality, characteristics, whatever it was a wand searches for in a person? What if...?

But her fearful musings were cut short as Mr. Ollivander reappeared, clasping a stack of thin boxes in his arms. He dumped them onto a nearby table and opened the first, sliding the top off of the thin box and handing Riana the wand inside.

"Hawthorn and phoenix feather. Eleven and a half inches, delicately springy, responds well to the proper touch. Now, Miss Carrington, give it a swish."

Riana looked at him blankly.

"Give it a wave. There's a good girl."

Riana obliged, her eyebrows lifting, mouth twisting to the side. Here goes nothing. She swished the wand skeptically and waited for a few moments. But, she was right. Nothing happened.

Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand out of her hands, and replaced it in the box, tossing the offending article carelessly to one side. He rummaged in the stack on the table and pulled out another box.

"Sycamore and dragon heartstring. Nine and a half inches, stiff. Wave it about, Miss Carrington." She did so. A burst of green, snake-like sparkles curled out the end of the wand, and Mr. Ollivander nodded, eyes wide, pleased and knowing.

Riana gazed at the wand in her hand. She felt the power of magic the wand contained and reveled in the feeling of control that each nine and a half inches gave her. She grinned suddenly and then looked up at Mr. Ollivander, who was watching her with an unidentifiable expression in his huge eyes that, as he felt her gaze upon him, was quickly replaced by a guarded stare.

Riana jerked her chin up and asked the price. Mr. Ollivander looked slightly affronted and murmured that it was seven Galleons. Digging deep into her purse, Riana extracted the proper sum and slipped the slender wand box into her purple cloth bag.

Walking to the front of the shop, followed closely by a bowing Mr. Ollivander, Riana allowed herself one small smile, a genuine, true smile, as she picked up her damp umbrella and stepped into the rain. She opened the magenta monstrosity, for which she was immensely grateful though she didn't like to admit it ... even to herself, and set out along the muddy Alley.

The purple bag bounced against her pencil-thin thigh, and she felt the magical power of the wand emanating from the bag and entering her body like a warming sip of butterbeer. She sighed, letting the glow of magic flow through her until a sudden thought imposed itself upon her silent revelry.

She stopped, rain showering down on her umbrella, her mouth shaping a silent "O" as she recalled the expression in Mr. Ollivander's eyes as he gave her the wand. She desperately fished through her memories until she had pulled up a clear picture of his ancient face. She concentrated deeper into the memory and, eyes narrowed in concentration, poked and prodded it until she had conjured up an exact representation of Mr. Ollivander's shining, twin eyes. The gaze hung, suspended, in her mind. What was that expression? She knew she'd seen it, but where ... And suddenly she gasped, for now she knew. It was fear.