Scene Type: Closed
Characters: Isolde Sweetwater, Sebastian Rosier
Location: Hogsmeade, Highlands, Scotland, Great Britain.
Isolde still loved the trips to Hogsmeade, despite being an adult fully capable of heading to the small wizarding village any time she liked. The young professor hardly found time during the school week for such trips, but besides the workload, there was something magical about watching the excitement of her students. With Valentine’s Day just around the corner there was an extra bout of excitement. She could see many couples already gathering for their trip to Madame Puddifoot’s or preparing to head to Honeydukes.
Isolde drew her fawn colored cardigan closer around her body. Her wild red hair, that had never touched a drop of Sleekeazy’s Potion, had been drawn into a soft twist wrap bun. Never one for hats, instead she wore a bronze branch of holly with fat red berries clipped just behind her left ear. A group of students went running past her, giggling excitedly, and Isolde could not help the smile that crept to her lips. She remembered her first time to Hogsmeade, it had been a beautiful event even with all of the dementors hanging around.
Separating herself from the throng of students, Isolde pointedly walked away from the most popular destinations this weekend. She would stop at Honeydukes before heading back to the castle and perhaps pop into The Three Broomsticks for a bite to eat and a Butterbeer. Isolde was on her way to Tomes and Scrolls when a shop caught her eye that she had not noticed the last time she was in town -- Rosier’s.
She had been to the Rosier wand shop in Diagon Alley just this past summer to take her nephew to get his first wand. While Ollivander’s had always been the standard for witches and wizards, the Sweetwater family traditionally sought out unique wands with rarer cores or woods. So when Isolde had heard word of the shop, even with the owner’s questionable allegiances and surname, she had gone in.
Lugh seemed quite happy with his wand and Isolde had enjoyed the experience. Rosier himself had been surprisingly young. Isolde had perhaps foolishly considered all of the wand makers to be older wizards who had dedicated their whole lives to study to art of it. Despite his youth however, he made impressive pieces. Every wand in display in the shop had been a masterpiece and her nephew’s own wand was beautiful to look upon.
Perhaps it would be worth a visit to the shop to at least browse the selection. Isolde doubted that Rosier himself would be in Hogsmeade this weekend, surely his Diagon Alley shop saw more business, but perhaps he would be there. Isolde thoughtfully pressed the mandrake leaf to the roof of her mouth and considered what she might say to him if he was there.
Making up her mind, Isolde strode towards the shop and pushed the door open. The bell above the door jingled to announce her presence as she entered the warm building.
It was a clear afternoon, the sun claiming dominance upon an azure sky despite it's inability to truly combat the chill in the air or melt the snow upon the ground. A sort of day that was ideal for outdoor activity, and a sour reminder that neglecting one's duties wouldn't assist with profit. Or so would be the humbug response if pressed by the ever attentive house elf to get outside of the shop. In truth it was just to avoid the curious stares or protective clutch of loved ones in passing. As if one would be daft enough to fire an unforgivable curse in public.
Sebastian found the mistrust of others to be both amusing and exhausting. Perhaps in time, he would earn a bit of reputation to counteract that of his ancestors. But it didn't seem likely to effect the near future..
A glance was given to the door, when the bell twinkled merrily overhead to announce the new arrival. The delicate herald was just loud enough to alert him, should he be in the back of the shop but simple enough to not be a nuisance. Eyebrow arched at the familiar redhead, as the slender wand box he had been holding was placed upon the shelf. His shelves were not as crowded by wands as Ollivanders, but still boasted a nice selection. A few were on display nestled on a bed of velvet in varying shades that complimented the wood used for the wand -- in the shop window and on the walls, in place of typical pieces of art.
There was a portrait or two of course, but their subjects seemed to be engaged in an intense staring match and cared little for the potential patron. If it wasn't for the subtle rise and fall of chests, or flare of nostrils, it would have been easy to dismiss them as ordinary pieces.
"Good afternoon, Professor Sweetwater," a faint smile hitching at the corner of mouth as he drew forward to the immaculate counter of ebony that separated them. Large hands slipping into the deep pockets of black trousers in a relaxed stance. The sleeves of white dress shirt had been rolled upwards to the elbow, and coat could be spied lounging on the back of work chair. As it was the weekend, he had ditched the trappings of a tie or vest. "How can I help you?" wondering idly if she developed freckles on her nose when exposed to hours in the sunlight, or if they bloomed year round on her shoulders.