"This is ridiculous!"
Zelena yanks the plump pillow from behind her shoulders and pummels it aggressively." She glares at the austere walls inside the Storybrooke Abbey. Nuns and their minimalist lifestyle! "Ugh!"
Her husband returns the pillow gently to its former place and straightens the plain white sheet and the thin blue blanket, pulling it up to his wife's waist on the metal-framed twin size bed before he perches lightly on the edge.
"it's not ridiculous, my love. It's necessary."
"I am not helpless. I am not a bloody invalid."
"No one is saying that, darling. You fainted again and, this time, you were under for too long. You didn't come around for more than 12 minutes. That's not good Zelena. It's not good for you or our baby. Your either staying here with the fairies, or you're going back to Olympus until I feel it's safe to take you home." The dark god straightens his silk tie and gives his wife a stern look. "And that's final! I won't entertain the notion of anything less."
"If you're so worried, she glares at both her husband and Weil, then take me to the hospital."
Both men shake their heads adamantly and the doctor is first to speak up. "Hades seems to think you'll be safer here with the fairies than at the hospital. Especially with your sister gone and I can't, in good conscience, disagree with him. The fairies can provide far better security than hospital staff who aren't equipped to do that. I'm going to come by and check on you frequently. The mother superior has my pager number. I'm going to do everything I can for you Zelena. Trouble is, what I can do for you medically if somewhat limited. I'm a doctor and a scientist. I treat human beings. That's my job. Your child is special, and I'm doing the best I can. Everyone involved is. It would help us out dramatically, if you would take our words to heart, and rest, and stop stressing yourself and your baby needlessly.
Zelena's sighs in exasperation. "My sister is not the only magical person who lives in this damn town. Has it occurred to any of you to appoint someone else my bodyguard?"
"Of course, it has," Hades says with forced patience. "Emma and the auror are on dementor patrol. The fairies are watching you. Oddly enough, the people in this town who possessed and can employ light magic, which is the only one of use to you at the moment, are outnumbered by the people who possess dark magic. So, as I said until it is safe out there, you are staying in here because, like it or not, I have to go down to the underworld for a while."
Zelena's scowls repugnantly and wrinkles her nose. "Well, before you go, can you at least bring me some magazines… Oh, and maybe some spicy enchiladas."
He kisses her forehead. I will have them brought to you. Anything else?"
"Two dead dementor heads on spikes?"
Hades smiles. "I'm working on it, my love. I'm working on it."
Garrick Olivander is a warm but peculiar sort of fellow with a wide ready smile, unruly gray hair that is very reminiscent of Einstein, and silver eyes that are somehow alarming yet gentle. Upon first sight, when he steps through the tattered curtain that divides his cramped and dusty storefront from the equally cramped and dusty overstocked back room, Regina silently wonders if he's not some bizarre magical crossbreed between a seer and a geriatric hobbit.
"Bless my soul! Lightning strikes! Though, I do expect you're tired of hearing that after all these years. Do come in, Harry, my boy. Do come in."
"Hello, Mr. Olivander. How are you today, sir?"
"I'm quite well. Quite well, indeed." He gestures through the window at fat gray clouds outside that are dumping rain on the cobblestones hard enough to drive most folks indoors. "A fine afternoon for the ducks and the frogs, but what are you doing out and about Harry – and with company, too?"
Mr. Olivander, I'd like to introduce you to Regina. She's the mayor of a place called Storybrooke, and to her husband, Robin of Locksley.
The old man's eyes stretch wide as he stares at the pair of them. "You don't say, Harry."
"Yes, sir." Harry nods assuredly.
"Well, Harry would not bring you in here, if he thought ill of you, but just so you know, Mr. Robin of Locksley, help yourself to anything this store has to offer without payment and it is very likely that you will accidentally turn yourself into a platypus - or some other poor unfortunate creature."
Robin offers his very best roguish smile and bows from the waist. "Forewarned is forearmed, and I thank you for that, sir but I give you my word, I'm not in the habit of pilfering anything from anyone who has the strength of character necessary to work for a living."
"Well then, how may I be of service?"
"The lady needs a new wand."
Regina steps forward and shakes the shopkeeper's hand before producing a long narrow box carved out of black walnut with obsidian inlay from deep inside Robin's quiver. "It's just as my husband said. Mr. Potter has advised me that that I am in need of a new wand. Perhaps one that will understand me better than this one." She disarms the magical lock she keeps on the box for safety's sake and opens the lid; placing both halves of the box on the counter and taking a step back.
Olivander peers down at the wand nestled in the box inquisitively. For a long moment, he simply looks at it without touching it. Then, once he does pick it up, he runs his lithe fingers the entire length of the wand multiple times; almost as if he's caressing it or perhaps playing it like a flute.
Regina opens her mouth to speak and he quickly holds a finger to his lips, silencing her as he appears to listen to the wand, cocking his head to the side and holding it three inches from his left ear.
"Surprisingly pliant for this type of wood and at 16 ½ inches perhaps too long for you. Dragonheart string at its core?"
Regina nods without comment.
"Acacia is a rather difficult wand to make, and even harder to master." He says quietly. "Exceedingly few witches or wizards become one with the acacia wand."
"I've never felt even marginally comfortable with it, let alone become one with it."
"Well then, Madame, you either won it from another, or you were very poorly matched."
"It is my first wand; a gift from my mother. The local wand maker where we lived, wanted me to try others. My mother refused to allow it."
"How curious."
"Can you recommend something better?"
Olivander studies her; looking her over, mentally taking measurements that he does not verbally acknowledge with his intelligent silver eyes."
"Yes, I'm quite certain we can find you something more suitable. Wait here please."
Before he can disappear into the dimly lit recesses of the shop's storeroom, Regina calls out, letting him know. "I'll need something that will comfortably handle the practice of both the light and the dark arts."
He turns with only a flicker of surprise visible in his hypnotic eyes. They interrogate her again; asking silent questions, that she must somehow unwittingly answer because, at length, he smiles and says "Ah, yes, quite right. A soul that is no stranger to conflict needs a wand that is equally familiar with it. One moment please."
In less than a minute's time, the old man returns with nine different boxes. He lays them out on the counter and immediately removes the lid from half. Selecting one from a box labeled "YU" in the Elfish language he presents it to Regina palms up with just the slightest bow of his head as if he were offering her the keys to a kingdom."
She hesitates for a noticeable moment and then, deciding that standing around timidly will get her nowhere, she reaches out and plucks the wand from his outstretched hands.
She turns, careful to keep the wand pointed safely at the floor and turns her head right to left as if searching for something.
"You'll have to test it." Olivander encourages.
"Yes, I know. I'm just looking for someplace safe to aim. I haven't had the best of luck with these things. I don't want to put you out of business."
Garrick Olivander laughs quietly. "Never mind that. Give it a go. Trust me, you will not be the first person to blow something up in this shop."
Regina points at a narrow expanse of wall that is not home to shelves aligned with merchandise. She waves the wand with the nearly nonexistent flick of her wrist.
Nothing happens.
She tries again, putting just a smidgen more intent into it, and the resulting eruption of power shatters two mirrors on parallel walls, on opposite sides of the room and sends the four of them crouching and diving for cover as hundreds of shards of glass assault them from both directions.
When it's over, Regina crawls out from underneath the small table near the window and looks around wearing a startled expression. Once she ascertains that copious amounts of blood are not flowing from either Robin, herself, Harry or the shopkeeper, she wastes no time returning the first candidate back to its box on the countertop. "I think not!"
When he's back on its feet again, with a little help from Harry, Olivander puts the lids back on and removes three of the nine boxes; storing all the ones that are labeled with an elfish letter Y quickly and safely away behind the counter. "Right then, wands made of yew are out of the question; no matter length or what the core is comprised of." He opens two more boxes. These two are labeled respectively, BKT – U, and BKT – D. Olivander selects the one labeled U first and passes it to her.
Regina points at the same expanse of wall and tries again. One definitive flick, and a hot dry wind arises in the room strong enough to whip wildly at their hair and clothing as it unsettles all the dust. Stunned at first, she simply watches in utter amazement until she realizes the dust is gathering and forming a rather ominous looking vortex. When Robin sneezes violently five times in rapid succession. She chooses simply to point the wand at the front door without the corresponding flick of her wrist."
When the doorknob turns and the door swings inward on its hinges causing the brass bell to chime softly, and Regina pushes the swirling tornado of dust out onto the rain dampened street, the shopkeeper frowns intuitively. "Well, that's improvement. Blackthorn bonds well with the heart of a warrior, which technically, you may not be, but I suspect you don't run from a fight either."
Regina shakes her head in the negative as Harry points out, "A fast learner too. You tried once and created a mess, adapted immediately and cleaned up the mess. Still, I would think there's probably a better option."
Regina nods her agreement and reaches for the wand in the box labeled BKT – D. Before she even has the chance to turn and aim properly, a steady unyielding arc of flames erupts from the end of the wand and jettisons across the room, setting a shelf over-burdened with stock ablaze.
The flames would have quickly become a blazing inferno were it not for the shopkeeper; ready and waiting with his own wand. One quick swish of his wrist and all is normal.
Having jumped back, startled, Regina drops the wand. Recovering quickly, she chases it as it rolls across the floor, still throwing faint orange sparks. Doing an impromptu little tap dance, she extinguishes embers before she picks the wand up again and looks it over curiously.
Mildly unsettled by the sudden glimmer of light in her eyes, her husband steps forward to carefully pluck the wand from her hand, holding it between two fingers and away from his body as if he suspects it might be diseased. He says quietly but firmly "No!"
Taking him seriously, she teases anyway. "Hey, it's a bit volatile, but with a little practice…" The sweet smile she offers him borders on being a smirk.
"No!" Robin repeats adamantly. Returning the wand to its box, he puts the lid on with the decisive snap of his own wrist and eagerly thrusts it into the waiting hands of the shopkeeper as he informs his wife, "You throw perfectly good fireballs that are very large, very hot, and quite dangerous. "You do not need a flamethrower; you unbelievably sexy little pyromaniac!"
Regina smiles and chuckles quietly when Olivander's eyes widen and a faint blush rises in his normally ashen cheeks.
"I love it when he feels passionately enough about something to actually tell me no. Most men would annoy the hell out of me. I'd ignore them, and do whatever I damn well please. But not him. He says no, he means it, and…" She pauses to shrug theatrically. "He makes me feel good all at the same time."
Harry and Robin exchange a silent look as she turns to find Olivander setting more of the boxes aside, out of reach. The first Elfish letters on the remaining three boxes are HWT and after a careful moment's consideration the old shopkeeper excludes the one labeled HWT – D and puts it away as well. He removes the lids on the remaining boxes and studies them both very closely before making a decision and offering her one that is rigidly straight, highly polished, and ebony in appearance. "If you would, Madam. Give this one a wave."
Regina reaches for the wand, but as her hand passes over the counter, the one still laying in its open box trembles faintly. For a second, she stares, not entirely certain that she actually saw the thing move. Slowly she retreats and then passes her hand over the top of the box once more.
The handsomely dark and gnarled wand with delicate veins of silver filigree coursing through it; swirling upward from the handle trembles eagerly this time in anticipation of her touch.
The old man smiles and sets aside the one he has just offered. "Yes, I thought that might happen." He nods encouragingly toward the remaining wand
Regina picks up the fourth wand, instantly understanding on an innate level that it is the right one. First, nothing happens until she takes aim, and secondly, the very instant she does an easily managed and tightly controlled manifestation of delicate white light glows softly from the wand's tip with awe-inspiring jagged sparks of black lightning in it.
Olivander softly claps his hands together twice in approval as he observes the warm light in Regina's eyes. "Yes, yes, no surprise really. Hawthorne always pairs well with those who are no stranger to inner turmoil. I am a tad bit surprised this wand is no shorter than the one you came in with, but no matter. Wands such as this one can often take time and dedication to master. They may learn slowly, but they bond almost exclusively and irrevocably with the witch or wizard who is every bit as strong-willed and independent as the phoenix whose tail feather resides within their cores."
Queen Cora sits in the underworld's version of the Storybrooke mayor's office; enjoying all the comforts that her new ally, Lord Death, can provide, while His Unholiness approaches the gateway to Beyond. Stepping into the dark bowels of purgatory, and inhaling the stench of brimstone, he rubs his hands together invitingly as he smiles his most chilly smile. "Who's ready to talk? He eyes all the most prominent villains of the underworld.
Walsh yawns, Pan sneers, and Cruella examines her manicure. Bella hums some psychotic little ditty, and Fiona gets as close as she dares to the electrified magical force field that holds them in place and bursts into flames with the slightest little bit of tampering. They have no access to magic here which, for Fiona, is unbearable. "You let us out of here you wretched filthy little weasel. You can't keep us locked up like this forever!"
Hades clicks his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "Oh, but I can, and I am. Unless one of you tells me who is responsible for unleashing those soul-sucking monstrosities on my wife and child, this is where you all will remain. If you try to escape you will be released from your prison here and sent straight into the eternal flames of Tartarus. So, your choice. First one to give me viable information gets a free ride out of here."
They all silently stare at each other; avoiding his gaze. No one's ready to make a deal with the devil just yet.
By the time they complete Regina's wand purchase and indulge in a light repast at The Three Broomsticks the rain has stopped. Once the sun comes out, Harry takes his traveling companions via apparition to an open field of earth and stone. He gives Regina a few guidelines for basic wand handling. All in all, it's about ten minutes' worth of specific instruction, and ultimately, she finds it infinitely more helpful than countless hours in agony spent under her mother's or even Rumpelstiltskin's tutelage. For the first two minutes, she feels awkward and out of place; uncomfortable in her own skin. How could she not be when she's so unaccustomed to having a patient coach as opposed to an aggressive authoritarian instructor who utilizes fear, intimidation, and humiliation for training tools.
Once she's got a few basic maneuvers under her belt, Harry sets to work teaching her the Patronus charm. Ordinarily, it's not the first defensive move he would teach, but time is of the essence and his current pupil is not a Hogwarts' student in the DA. For twenty minutes they practice. For twenty minutes his student makes good, solid, genuine effort, but has no success. Realizing that she's frustrated with herself and her own lack of success and that such frustration will do her no good; Harry suggests a break.
Regina kicks at a small stone in self-loathing and then curses softly when she realizes that doing so has only scuffed her new boot. "Damn it." She hisses under her breath. "I don't need a break. I'm used to working a lot longer than this to accomplish something. I can do it. I'm just used to someone yelling at me when I'm trying to learn something new."
Unsure what to do or say, Harry looks to Robin.
Robin wrinkles his nose as he shakes his head. "Sweetheart, that was a long time ago. You've learned new things since then without anyone screaming at you. Besides, if you're supposed to be tapping into your happiest memories, good vibrations, and all that warm fuzzy stuff, I don't think it's bloody likely that's going to happen if someone is standing in front of you dredging up feelings of animosity." He steps around behind her and folds his arms around her; pulling her back gently to rest in his embrace. "Close your eyes. Don't think about the charm. Don't think about getting things right… Just feel."
Regina scoffs lightly and tries to step free but Robin holds on tight and whispers quietly, "Don't do that. Don't dismiss what I'm saying. Just listen. Close your eyes. Think about how you feel when you're talking to your dad. Think about is how you feel when Henry asks for Mom's help something, or how you feel when you and Snow are alone together talking about whatever it is you two talk about these days. Think about how you feel when you're in the kitchen making apple turnovers with Roland and Norah and they've got more flour and dough on their faces than under the rolling pin…"
Regina smiles and chuckles so quietly that Robin feels it more than he hears it.
He tightens his embrace and lightly kisses the pulse point beneath her ear before resting his chin on top of her head. "Think about how it feels right here, right now, with me."
When she snuggles deeper into his arms Robin reaches out, gently guiding the hand that is still clutching her wand. He lifts it to the sky without a single word and isn't the least bit surprised when pure dazzling white light gently erupts from the tip of her wand and spreads outward like ripples in a pond before it begins to take the form of a winged creature.
She feels the power flowing but doesn't open her eyes until Robin whispers that she should. When she does, she finds the two of them gazing at the celestial form of a raven that is slowly undergoing some form of metamorphosis.
Harry stares at her with equal parts wonder and confusion. "I've never seen anyone produce a patronus without speaking the incantation."
Regina shrugs. "I was thinking it."
Harry nods in recognition of her remarkable power, still staring in wonder and perplexity. "I'm also never witnessed the moment of transition. It is possible for a person's patronus to change in accordance with major life events, but this is the first time I've ever witnessed the moment of transformation."
As the three of them watch, the soaring raven appears to land and change shape before their eyes, growing in both size and intensity until telltale bird slowly morphs into a sleek, lean and powerful lioness on the prowl.