Chapter 3 - Introduction of a VERY IMPORTANT Original Character. -LFB
Wind swept dusky red hair and moss green eyes stared back from the mirror shining with a disgust that was rarely seen on any of the Broadmoor faces. But Rowan wasn't a normal Broadmoor. No he was apparently a prodigy, the first Broadmoor in fifty years that could speak to and command the plants of the moorland in northern Ireland where his ancestral home was located, as if they were lifelong friends. To Rowan, the plants were his lifelong friends. The moors had understood him when his pureblood mother, who hadn't grown up alongside the moors and hadn't heard to stories from the muggles about his family that they whispered on dark stormy nights that they were demons or gods who could command the moors to do their bidding, would attempt to force her expectations on him about what a pureblood son should be. The Broadmoor family took its name from the same moorland that had kept their family safe from muggles for untold numbers of generations.
Rowan Broadmoor was the second of three children, an unheard of number of children for a pureblood witch to bear, and was the first Broadmoor in six generations to receive an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. So he had been dressed by the house elves in his best dress slacks, itchy wool socks, painful dress shoes, a shirt that felt like it had been starched within an inch of his life and robes that he was sure had been a christmas gift but had never been worn. He typically wore a pair of well worn leather breeches, no shoes, a loose linen shirt that was the same as the stable hands wore and a green jerkin over top of that. All and all he usually looked like he had stepped out of a folk tale. Whenever he strayed close to the muggles they whispered about the return of the godling Pan and tended to give him a wide berth. They had started leaving him little gifts of food at the cave he frequented when the rain started coming down too hard for him to walk safely through the moorland. In return for their generosity he had taken to carving little god figures and giving them a touch of magic and leaving them in the same place they left the food. He figured that if he left items that looked like their god than they would be more likely to take them and the magic in the little stones would bring them some measure of luck. It felt like a fair trade to him.
When his father had found out what he had been doing Rowan had feared punishment for getting too close to the muggles. He knew he was suppose to avoid them but sometimes the moorlands led him to the muggles without allowing him to keep away as he had been told since he was the same size as his baby sister Hazel, who was due to turn three in a few weeks. His father had taken a different route though when Rowan had told him that the moorlands were leading him to the muggles. Specifically ones who were in some sort of small trouble that Rowan could help them out of. His father had gotten a strange look on his face at that and had sat Rowan down to tell him a tale of the first moorland walkers.
The story had started with the moors being a once terrible, untamable place. Then his ancestor Anona had fled her Christian prosecutors seeking refuge from their cruelty ending up in a small cave not far into the moors where she had run out of strength and collapsed. Sobbing her heart out and fearing that at any moments her captors would find her once more, Anona wept herself into a restless sleep, too weary and too hurt to continue on. When she woke sitting beside her tending the tiniest fire Anona had ever seen was a woman who seemed to be ancient and yet at the same time just at the cusp of adulthood whose mane of dusky red hair and moss green eyes sparkled with the misty rain and mischief in equal parts. The woman told Anona that she was the keeper of the moors and she had been looking for someone strong and cunning to take up the task as she was getting too old to be keeping track of lost travelers. The old woman had then asked Anona if she would consent to being bound to the moors for her entire life in exchange for her safety from the Christians seeking to burn the world. That was the story of the founding of the Broadmoor line. Rowan was more than inclined to believe the story as he looked just like the portrait of Anona that sat sleeping on the topmost level of the library.
Glancing back at the mirror Rowan scowled again at the picture he made of the perfect pureblood scion. His older brother Ash would probably laugh until he cried because Ash had somehow made it past the landmark age of eleven without receiving a letter. At least Rowan assumed he hadn't received a letter because his had shown up at breakfast announcing to the entire family that he had been accepted to Hogwarts. His mother unfortunately for Rowan would hear nothing about his declining the invitation even though the last thing he wanted was to go gallivanting off the moor to some unknown castle in the middle of nowhere scotland. His mother had insisted and since she insisted on so little his father had agreed to her demands so now Rowan was on his way to Diagon Alley to purchase his things for school.
Diagon Alley was a nightmare of screaming children, yelling adults and pushing as Rowan followed his mother from store to store gathering the needed items on the list provided with acceptance letter. The last stop was Ollivanders for his wand. He had protested the stop as Broadmoor's had always used the wands that had been in their family for generations. They had an entire room dedicated to the storage of family wands. But again his mother insisted. So there they were stepping into the dusty dark shop filled with so much magic that it gave him a headache at the base of his skull. The old wandmaker appear out of nowhere and gazed him with an unreadable look before he said
"A Broadmoor, I would know your family anywhere young sir. It is curious as to why you are here when the Broadmoor's always take care of their own. There has never been a witch or wizard who has come into my shop that has left without a wand though so let us begin."
Hours later, back in the comfortable safety of his home Rowan plotted to betray the trust of his father. He was going to sneak into the wand room and find his true match. The wand that Ollivander had said was a fit felt like he was putting on a pair of gloves missing a finger or several sizes too small. He wasn't sure which one worked better. Watching the shadows of his room lengthen until the hour was very small and the house felt like it was holding a figurative breath. He stepped softly out of his room on to the plush carpets that ran the length of the main hall. Rowan silently made his way to the one room that had always been forbidden to him. The wand room where the magical history and every wand made specifically for the Broadmoor's resided when not in use by a family member. The door was ornate, beautifully carved with the Broadmoor coat of arms. A solid green shield bisected by a white chevron a cypress tree to the right, an oak on the left and over it all was an owl in flight. Rowan ran his fingers over the little details of the owl. He had always held a great respect for the image of his family and felt a little like he was betraying a sacred trust by sneaking around as he was. Taking a deep breath he looked at the owl and whispered
"Show me the way, silent hunter, to be all that is destine for me." He watched as the owl's eyes opened and seemed to stare through him for a few moments before there was a click and the door to the wand room opened. He pushed it open holding his breath that the doors wouldn't squeak. He had no idea when the last time the door had been opened and let out a sigh of utter relief when the door swung open, and shut, soundlessly. Stepping inside his breath caught once more. Stacked floor to ceiling along the wall to his left were wand boxes, the magic in each wand singing a gentle song of welcome. To the right were the same simple brown leather books that had resided on his father's desk for as long as he could remember. Running his fingers over their spins he could almost taste the weight of history their pages contained. He wanted more than anything to take the books down one by one and read through the trials and tribulations his family had endured over the long years of their existence. But that wasn't what he was there for, he was there to find his wand. The one that would fit him and his magic and allow for him to reach or exceed his true potential. Turning to the back wall he was shocked to see a portrait of a woman smiling down on him. She looked both ancient and young at the same time. Her dark green eyes were filled with mischief as she gave him a once over and asked
"A wee lad! Who dares come before me, sneaking as a thief in the dark?" Rowan gaped at her and as her words registered panicked saying
"Please don't tell my father!" The woman in the portrait frowned at him and said voice calm and curious
"You'd best be telling me the whole story laddie, I'm not in the habit of denying my protection to those who earn it. So tell me why should I keep your secret?" Rowan took a deep breath and pondered where to start. Finally he looked at the floor and started his tale.
"Great Lady when I was three I ran away into the moors, because the house elf set to watching me had been called away and I could hear the singing on the moors. I am told they searched for me for two days and two nights only for me to appear seemingly out of thin air back in my crib. A note was left in an elegant unknown hand warning my parents that if they lost me again that the fair folk would keep me. Since then strange things have always happen around me. Especially on the moors. The plants reach for me and react to my presence unlike anything my family has ever seen before. Sometimes, I can hear them in my head as well. And I always know what they want. Two days ago I received a letter from Hogwarts and despite my protest I will be sent away to begin my training as a wizard. My mother, though a pureblood, ignores the traditions of the Broadmoor family in her delight of her second son being accepted to attend her alma mater. My family is my strength, and my families strength is in the moors. It disgusts me that I am being forced to walk a path not of my choosing. I came here to see if there was a wand more suited to myself than the ministry approved one that Ollivander provided. No matter what the man said it does not fit my magic, it feels as if I'm trying to put on a glove that doesn't fit." Rowan looked up at the woman a fire in his eyes and finished with
"If I'm going to walk a path that leads me away from the protection of the moors than I want to do so with every advantage the long history of my family can provide me, whether my mother believes it necessary or not." Rowan watched the woman in the picture throw her head back and laugh at him. A deep earthy rasping laugh, like the winds over the moors, honest and chilling. She smiled down at him and said cryptically
"Finally a son worthy to bear the name. Find your armor child, your path is indeed one not of your choosing and it will not be an easy one. Rest assured that you will always find your way home. A word of advice from an old portrait, seek out the one of darkness, he will be walking a path just as dark and dangerous as yours. You will benefit from his knowledge as he will benefit from your protection. May ní mór dúinn i gcónaí ar an airdeall guide your soul." Rowan bowed his head, the family motto rang through his head as if it were in and of itself magic. We must always be vigilant rather than a latin phrase some would have considered more appropriate Semper Vigilans or always vigilant. Turning to the wall housing the wands he held out his hand as he had been taught when he was very small and his father was still interested in showing him the ways of wild magic allowing just a trickle of magic to wisp out from his fingers. He focused entirely on his desire for a partner equal to him, that would be able to keep up with his ever changing magic for Rowan was more like the moors than anyone wanted to admit to him. Always changing and unpredictable in his reactions to those around him. A song that he hadn't heard since he was child afraid of the dark started in a corner of his mind and slowly drew him forward until his fingers touched a solid wooden box near the floor. He gently pulled the box out from the shelf and opened it. Inside the cover was written a description about the wand he now held. Wondering he read the inscription aloud, hoping the portrait would help him once more.
"Cypress sapwood harvested from the burial yard, phoenix tears and Griffin feather, ten inches, rather encompassing. A very good wand for defense." Looking back at the portrait he was shocked to find her smiling, open and accepting, at him. Before he could say anything else she told him
"Take good care of my friend, you will be his third partner. The first was your ancestor Anona, the founder." And with that she stepped out of the portrait and Rowan decided that he had tempted his father's wrath long enough. Creeping back to his room seemed anti-climatic. Looking at the pale nearly white wand he noticed a subtle and delicate carving of ivy leaves intertwining around the wand from top to bottom and in the half light of twilight there seemed to be a green sheen to the varnish. Rowan smiled and placed the wand in his trunk. It felt like he was ready to face the future. He knew the cypress wand would never betray him and would never fail him.