modern romanticism || OPEN

A lovely day in April was not a thing to waste. In a month often besotted with rain, and occasionally known to produce snow, warm sunny weather was scarce. Fine weather never failed to put Garrick into an equally good mood. Today was no exception. He had closed up the shop for the day, leaving an order form on the door, just in case there was some urgent need while he was away. Business put out of his mind, Ollivander was free to wander at will. A lifetime spent in Diagon Alley had given him an intimate knowledge of the place. He could have walked it blindfolded and still found his way anywhere he wished to go. It was a comfort to have such familiarity with his home and center of the Wizarding World, but sometimes a man craved the new and the exciting. That much had always been true of him, and was part of what had kept him interested in wandmaking. Every wand was different, and every creature he hunted for materials was exciting. It must be said, that same desire also played a large role in his marital infidelities, but that was a more complicated issue. He would not spoil a gift like this day with dreary thoughts like commitment. He resolved to venture out into the Muggle parts of the city, instead. One of the few times he had planned to do so for its own sake (and not, for example, because he had an acquaintance who lived there), he actually remembered to change his money for Muggle notes. The slips of paper always felt so immaterial compared to the solid weight of Wizarding currency, he mused, folding the bills into a pocket.

He wandered rather aimlessly, content to let his feet lead him to whatever awaited. Whether by fortune or providence, he did not end up in a slum, but found himself at a charming open-air market. There were many tables displaying Muggle craft work. Handmade ceramic tiles, original paintings, still photographs. He took the time to admire them all, more than capable of appreciating them for what they were. Though raised firmly in the magical world, Garrick had always had the utmost respect for Muggle achievements. Particularly, he felt there was no better expression of that than in their innovation. While the Wizarding world seemed to change little through the centuries, Muggles had gone from perfecting the biplane to landing on the moon, just within his lifetime. Their art had also changed by leaps and bounds. These street peddlers were skilled in their own right, but it was the masters who impressed Ollivander with their artistic genius. He stopped in front of a table selling lithographs of famous paintings. Here were things that really caught his eye. There was quite a hodgepodge of selection. There were prints from almost every style of art that Ollivander was familiar with, and a few from styles he did not know (some of which he found rather unsettling). One of the prints that drew his attention was a beautiful painting of ballerinas. Degas, yes, he'd seen some of these paintings before. Ollivander thought he knew just the place in his house where this picture would look outstanding.

He was just lifting the lithograph for a closer look, when he noticed someone hovering behind him. Turning around, he discovered it to be a woman far lovelier than any painting. She quite distinctly did not look British. Her olive skin, dark hair, and dark almond-shaped eyes gave her away as a foreign beauty. And she was beautiful, indeed. He stepped slightly to the side, to allow her better access to the table. "Ah, excuse me, miss," he said with a courteous nod and a warm smile, "was I in your way? I'm dreadfully sorry. Quite the selection, don't you agree?"