As uncomfortable as Percy was, as comfortable was Cass. He loved the sun, and the Italian fashion and he moved easily along the narrow streets, nodding to those he knew that they passed.
As they reached the shop Cass stepped in before Percy, but it was Percy who spoke first. Cass wasn't sure it was a good idea when he saw the reaction in the shop keeper, Petrocchi, who looked almost shocked that someone would speak something other than his mother tongue. Clearing his throat, Cass took over, introducing himself and explaining why he needed a new wand. The wand maker immediately lit up, speaking quickly and vividly in Italian. Cass couldn't help but to wonder how it would sound to Percy, but he couldn't do more than shoot him an apologetic look as the man disappeared behind a big shelf emerging almost as once with a pile of boxes in his arms.
The rest was tedious at best. Box after box was opened, wand after wand tried, all the while the shop keeper kept commenting ("Strange, those of Montague blood usually responds well to this type of wood."), talking ("Young Montague was in here only a short while ago, did you know?"), and firing off questions in quick succession. ("What type of magic did he do most? What wand wood had he had before? Did he prefer a wand that was rigid or flexible?")
Cass answered the questions, small talked as much as was necessary and ignored the comments. Instead he took yet another wand in his hand trying again - and again - and again, until he was ready to throw all the wands into the wall in frustration.
He didn't realise that he'd almost given up by the time he finally felt the magic surge through him again, the grip on the new wand firm as he turned it in his hand. The sparks were automatic, as if the wand welcomed its new owner. He wasn't expecting the feeling of relief, or the lightness when a worry he hadn't been aware of left his shoulder. Until just then, he'd not fully realised that he'd been seriously worried that his magic would never return full force. That he'd never more find a wand that responded to him. Now that he held a wand that fit him in his hand again, he could relax, and he turned to Percy and flashed him a grin just as Petrocchi mentioned the price.
It was only many years of practise that kept him from wincing, though he was sure Percy could read the expression in his eyes.
Right in that moment he hated being dependent on Percy's money. How much easier wouldn't it have been if Pansy had been there - such a sum wouldn't even put a dent in her economy but though Percy certainly had enough to live comfortably this would by no means be a small sum to him.
Not that they had a choice. He needed a wand to work, to move around, to function in their world. Expensive or not, it was a necessity.
'Thank you,' he told Petrocchi, still in Italian, asking him for a bag he was sure was not in the front. The man disappeared to the back of the shop and he turned to Percy.
'Sorry for making you wait,' he said. 'And that man surely do know how to make the most of the competition being absent. It's a ridiculous price."