Chapter 54

[POV Andromeda Black]

I woke up, as always, before everyone else.

Not because I had anything urgent to do, but because I needed those moments of silence before the castle’s noise began.

By 6:45, I was already ready. Around 7:00, I arrived at the Great Hall, no earlier, since it doesn’t open before that.

As every morning, I was among the first to enter. Few students had breakfast so early: upper years, prefects with unbreakable routines, and the most diligent or anxious students worried about some assignment or exam.

I walked to the Slytherin table and sat at the farthest end.

My usual spot. Away from the murmurs. Away from the stares.

The food appeared as always, right on time. I took some fruit, toast, and unsweetened tea.

Enough to start the day.

Eating early had become part of my routine since fourth year.

Besides, ever since the day I told my older sister, Lucius, and the others that I would buy a quill from Ollivander, a day after the trial, and then actually did it, my relationship with my house had become irreparable, especially with those in my year.

Even Cissy, my sister, spoke to me less.

And to think that over the summer we had gone together to buy our school supplies. We had talked a lot. We had laughed.

But here, Hogwarts puts everything into perspective. And a Black who defies the unspoken rules of her lineage is a Black who makes others uncomfortable.

I’m still part of the family name, yes.

And thanks to my perfect grades and spotless behavior, I still retain a degree of academic reputation.

But the important surnames, Malfoy, Lestrange, Rosier, Greengrass, no longer bother to hide their disdain.

Just as Bellatrix looks at me with disapproval and contempt, they do the same. Hard to believe there was once a time when I wasn’t so lonely.

In first and second year, I felt like I belonged. I had friends. I laughed.

Of course, back then I hadn’t yet realized who they truly were, the kind of jokes they made, their comments, the way they looked down on others.

And I… an eleven-year-old girl raised among them, unaware that something inside me was already starting to reject them.

I tried to get closer to other girls in Slytherin, those who weren’t so purist, from more normal or less involved families. But they looked at me cautiously. Some even with fear. As if my mere presence were a threat.

No matter how kind I tried to be, my surname spoke for me. My way of walking, my posture, my gaze.

Even if I didn’t want it, I already carried the presence of a Black.

And as for girls from other houses, well, that was impossible territory.

With boys, it was a different story. Because of my looks, my name, and my grades, yes, they courted me.

But they were all the same: cold, mechanical, boring.

Sons of purist families, convinced that being handsome, rich, and pure-blooded gave them the right to everything, and that I should laugh at their stupid, dull jokes, which calling “jokes” is an insult to humor.

I wasn’t interested.

And the other boys, the ones who might actually have been decent, simply didn’t dare approach me.

Except for one: Ted Tonks.

A Hufflepuff, also in fifth year.

We’ve shared several classes since our first year at Hogwarts. He’s kind. A bit clumsy. He treats me as if I were any other person.

And that’s, strange. Refreshing, even. He never flirts or tries to please with hidden motives.

He’s Muggle-born, though I don’t say that with disdain. Maybe that’s why he’s always treated me normally. He’s never looked at me with fear.

Nor with admiration. Just as a classmate.

And then, in a completely different category, there’s him: Ryan Ollivander.

Grandson of Garrick Ollivander, the man whose wands power half of magical Europe. An untouchable name. Traditional. Influential.

My opinion of Ryan hadn’t been particularly good, judging by his first four years at Hogwarts.

He constantly lost points for his house, a rebel through and through. Late arrivals, sarcastic remarks to professors, brilliant answers, though clearly impertinent ones.

I saw him argue with McGonagall, with Flitwick, Slughorn, and probably the entire Hogwarts staff.

And yet… I must admit, his sense of humor is far superior to that of the boys who’ve tried to court me. It’s not forced. It’s natural. Intelligent. Sometimes sharp. He’s genuinely funny, and he knows it.

But something changed in him this year.

Suddenly, he became an inventor, “the brightest of the century,” as he puts it.

He sold hundreds of enchanted quills, and now he’s shown me his second invention: reading-speed-enhancing glasses that double your pace without causing fatigue. I tried them for a few minutes, and they really do what they claim.

Two inventions in just a few months. And the glasses are on a whole other level, not just about writing in the air like his quills, but about boosting your study rhythm, research, and even the reading of dull documents.

If your comprehension can keep up, you can do eight hours’ worth of reading in four.

He’s also shown other sides of himself beyond the inventor’s image: he stopped being late, earned house points, displayed impeccable oratory in the trial he improvised himself, and faced all of Slytherin without fear.

And of course, he defeated Mulciber and Rosier, two students from my own year and house, both with quite a fearsome reputation.

Even I don’t think I could beat both of them in a 2-on-1 duel. And from what he said, he beat them easily. It doesn’t sound like a lie, otherwise, he wouldn’t have had both their wands in his possession and walked away unharmed without even visiting the infirmary.

Besides, Mulciber and Rosier avoid eye contact with him, which either means fear or uncertainty about being able to defeat him after such a humiliating loss.

On the other hand, Ryan showed integrity in the face of bullying and even gifted one of his enchanted quills to an eleven-year-old girl to calm her down. I’d dare say it was a noble gesture. I might even call it kind, if it weren’t accompanied by that unmistakable smile of his, the one that knows it’s being watched.

Because yes, he loves the spotlight.

When the trial ended, he put on his glasses like a champion crowning himself and walked to the Gryffindor table, receiving cheers as if he’d just won the Quidditch Cup.

But, I can’t say it bothered me., and principles are far harder to fake than a smile.

Besides, when we first talked alone, in this very classroom, it was different.

He was empathetic. Brilliant. With a sense of humor that actually made me laugh, something that doesn’t happen often.

I noticed he started arriving earlier to our shared classes. He hadn’t before, this had always been my routine.

The second time I saw him that early, it surprised me. We ended up having another conversation through messages in the air.

And, naïve as it might sound, I’d like to believe he’s interested in me.

If I had to point out when that changed, it was the day I ordered the gray quill—a day after the trial, right there in the Great Hall. I did it just to defy Bella, who told me I couldn’t buy one from him because it would be humiliating after what had happened, and that the money my parents gave me wasn’t really mine.

That’s why I did it, not to get his attention. But in the end, I got that too. And I don’t mind.

It’s sad to admit, but if I think about it, this might be my first real connection with a boy in all these years.

One that isn’t boring, predictable, or imposed.

For years, nothing happened. Those who courted me were ambitious purists, pure-blood sons who saw me as a trophy.

All of them the same, all predictable.

And the others never dared approach, perhaps out of fear, respect, or the weight of my surname.

Maybe Ted Tonks was the only exception, he treats me like any normal classmate, but I think that’s just kindness. He doesn’t seek me out, or anything like that.

Ryan is different.

He doesn’t limit himself to politeness; he doesn’t hide his interest. He seeks me out, talks to me. He wants to know me. And he does it boldly, humorously, with that irritating, and at the same time, charming confidence.

Yes, it’s only been a few days. Just a couple of conversations.

But they’ve been different, fresh, curious, and fun.

His questions, written through the quill, are as subtle as they are personal. Other times, he just writes something absurd that makes me laugh. And for the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so alone at Hogwarts.

I finished breakfast without hurry.

At 7:20, I stood up, gathered my things, and headed to the Transfiguration classroom. I gave a quick glance toward the Gryffindor table before leaving but didn’t see his golden hair or those signature sunglasses.

I entered the empty classroom, still dimly lit by the first light of dawn. I chose my usual desk by the window and sat down.

I took out my Celestial Cartography book, opened it to where I’d left the bookmark.

But before I began reading, my eyes lifted almost reflexively toward the large clock above the blackboard.

7:24.

Then, my gaze shifted to the door.

Why am I waiting for him?

I gave a slight shake of my head. It made no sense. I tried to focus on the text. I began to read:

“The nodal lines in Orion’s astronomical mapping…”

No. I couldn’t concentrate. The words floated, refusing to settle.

Will he come today? Should he? And why do I even care?

I took a deep breath and forced my eyes back to the book.

Just then, I heard footsteps.

One, two, three, steady, confident. Approaching down the hallway.

My chest tightened, an absurd reaction that irritated me, and I quickly lowered my gaze, pretending to read with great focus.

The door handle turned, and opened.

"Oh, as early as ever, perfect Black," said a familiar voice, dripping with irony.

I slowly lifted my eyes from the book, as if I’d truly been absorbed in my reading.

"That line should’ve been mine," I replied, folding my hands over the open pages. "I’ve been coming here before anyone else since fourth year. Thirty, forty minutes before class. And you, who last year used to show up late with a crooked tie and even worse excuses, have now appeared at this hour for the fourth time in a row."

I tilted my head slightly, studying him.

"What changed, Ollivander? Did the Earth start spinning in the opposite direction? Or did you discover that an empty classroom has better acoustics for your inner monologues?"

Ryan closed the door behind him leisurely, the tilted smile that seemed to have become part of his uniform never leaving his face. He walked to his desk, two away from mine, and set his bag down on the table.

"I don’t know if the Earth changed direction," he said, "but now that I’ve got a reputation to uphold and I’m earning all those points in Transfiguration, I can’t let McGonagall down."

"Your redemption as a model student began at the start of the year, true," I said, allowing myself a faint smile that slipped out, as if I’d caught him in a small lie. "But in the first Transfiguration classes, you didn’t show up this early. I did. Therefore, your argument is invalid, Ollivander."

Ryan raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fair point," he murmured. Then he leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other with an air of utter calm.

I didn’t say anything right away. I watched him from the corner of my eye, pretending to focus on the open book before me, but every sense was alert.

Because I knew exactly when he had started coming early. Since that time I’d caught him watching me in the Great Hall while I ate breakfast, and afterward he’d followed me out, only to admit he wanted to make sure the quill I’d bought from him wasn’t malfunctioning.

Before that, his routine was different. He’d show up at the last minute, walking in casually with his half-buttoned uniform and crooked tie, as if the world owed him leniency for his brilliance.

"Well?" I asked, turning my head slightly toward him. "Are you going to admit it or not?"

"Admit what?" Ryan asked.

"That you’ve been coming early because of me," I said bluntly.

There was a pause. He held my gaze, steady, unwavering.

And then, with the same ease as breathing, he said,

"Yes. I admit it."

He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. He just said it, plain and simple. And for some reason, that honesty disarmed me more than any of his jokes or provocations ever had.

It took me only a second to recover my neutral expression, though I felt a faint warmth creeping up my neck.

Ryan, still looking at me, added with a dramatic sigh,

"But well… since you’ve cornered me and won’t let me use one of my brilliant excuses, if it bothers you that I’m here, I’ll stop coming."

He paused briefly, then, with a slight crooked smile, added:

"You know, I wouldn’t want to ruin your stoic reading ritual, your silent meditation before the stars, while you peacefully hate humanity."

I had to turn my head so he wouldn’t see the smile that slipped out. I hid it behind an exhale meant to sound indifferent, but it came out dangerously close to a stifled laugh.

"Your ego gives itself too much credit," I replied without looking at him, flipping a page I hadn’t actually read. "If you really bothered me, you’d already know. Subtlety isn’t exactly one of my traits."

"That’s true. Your honesty is as sharp as your remarks."

"Then you can relax," I said, this time meeting his eyes. "If I wanted you gone, you’d have noticed, four classes ago."

Ryan raised both eyebrows, surprised and smug at once.

"Aha… so you admit it: my presence doesn’t bother you."

"It doesn’t," I said plainly, no embellishments, no sarcasm. "But don’t get excited. It’s a very specific exception. At seven-thirty in the morning. In silence. And only if your comments are clever enough to compete with those in my astronomy book."

"Clever comments in exchange for your morning tolerance?" he repeated, resting his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand, with an exaggeratedly thoughtful pose. "Sounds like a fair deal, for you."

"You’re free to leave anytime, Ollivander," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"And risk losing the honor of being the only person tolerated during your sacred reading rituals?" He clicked his tongue. "Never. I’ll stay. Out of duty."

"Duty?"

"Of course. It’s my moral responsibility to ensure that Miss Black retains her humanity and doesn’t turn into some dark library myth with basilisk eyes."

This time I couldn’t hold back a laugh. It was brief, quiet, but clear enough to surprise even me at how easily it came out.

"Shut up and read, Ollivander," I murmured, turning toward the window with an inevitable smile tugging at my lips.

"As you command, milady," he said, and pulled out his Transfiguration book.

For the next few minutes, we settled into an unusual calm. Each of us focused on reading, or at least pretending to. I moved line by line, though my attention lingered at the edges, alert. Because I knew his patterns. And if there was one thing I’d learned about Ryan these past days, it was that he couldn’t stay still for too long.

And sure enough, as if my suspicion had summoned him, I noticed movement to my left.

Ryan carefully took out his griffin-feather quill and wrote in the air with golden letters. I couldn’t see what he was writing, otherwise, I’d have had to look directly at him.

Then he finished his message and went back to reading.

After about a minute, I glanced up and read what he’d written. I already had my quill ready to respond, but I frowned at the message:

[Your speed-reading glasses are ready. Want them?]

Seriously? He already had the glasses I’d ordered, and this was how he told me, after all that conversation?

Shouldn’t that have been the first thing he said when he saw me? Or was he just trying to annoy me?

"Seriously?" I muttered under my breath, turning slightly toward him. "That’s how you’re going to tell me?"

Ryan didn’t look up from his book. "Tell you what?" he asked, all innocence, too much innocence.

"I ordered those glasses four days ago. And now you’re telling me they’re done like it’s some casual afterthought? Not even a ‘Here’s your order’? Not a ‘Prepare to revolutionize your academic life’?"

"I didn’t want to interrupt your morning reading ritual, you know," he said with a faint smile, clearly pleased with my reaction.

“I’ll improve my reading with these glasses, Ollivander. You, on the other hand, should work on your salesmanship.”

“Whoa, tough customer service standards you’ve got there. And for the record, yes, I did care about your glasses. I spent most of my weekend finishing them. Otherwise, they would’ve taken me at least four more days.”

I held his gaze, folding my arms over the still-open book in front of me. “So you finished them quickly for efficiency, or for me?”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, visibly caught off guard by how direct I’d been.

I didn’t blame him. I’d already asked if he came early because of me,  and now this. I was clearly straying from my usual script.

He narrowed his eyes, wearing that expression of his that always seemed suspended somewhere between amusement and analysis.

“And I’m the egomaniac? I think you’re not that far behind, Black,” he said, as if discovering a new side of me.

I shrugged, keeping my composure. “I don’t lack self-esteem. That’s not a sin.”

“No, of course not,” he replied, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, watching me boldly. “I suppose if you grew up surrounded by mirrors and noble bloodlines, something had to rub off.”

I met his gaze calmly. “I know my worth. And it’s not because of my surname.”

Ryan smiled with that satisfied look he always got when someone spoke his language.

Without another word, he opened his bag and pulled out a rectangular black leather case. He slid it across the desk toward me. “Here you go. Finished product.”

I took the case, opened it carefully, and couldn’t help the brief pause in my fingers when I touched what was inside.

The glasses were obsidian black, with a clean, elegant finish. The design was simple yet sophisticated, functional without losing its beauty. And on the inside of the temples, I saw it.

Runes.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen them.

I’d noticed them on his own pair, days ago. I hadn’t commented then, but I had observed closely.

Ryan didn’t enchant objects in the traditional way. He didn’t cast floating spells or recite standard incantations.

He inscribed runes. A much more complex, advanced, and undeniably difficult method.

But on the quills, there had been no runes.

Were they hidden with a spell? Or simply too small to be seen with the naked eye?

I looked at him, still holding the glasses. “I knew you weren’t just an ordinary enchanter. You use runes,” I said quietly, like revealing a card I’d been saving.

He didn’t answer, just smiled faintly. And I didn’t ask further.

Lowering my gaze, I noticed something else on the inner temples of the glasses. Just beneath the runes, engraved with the same precise craftsmanship, were my initials: A.B., carved in a stylized stroke with a subtle shine.

I arched an eyebrow, amused. “Do you do this for all your clients?” I asked, turning the glasses slightly between my fingers so he could see them.

“No,” he replied simply, no elaboration needed.

I put them on slowly, then looked back at him with a half-smile. “Then… was it true you finished them quickly because of me?”

Ryan didn’t answer right away. He just held my gaze for a few seconds, as if weighing something he couldn’t quite say aloud.

And I had to admit it, even if only to myself, I was being bolder than usual.

It wasn’t like me to press like this, to repeat a question when I already suspected the answer.

But there was something about him, his audacity, his persistence, the way he looked at me without flinching, that pushed me to test him.

To test him.

Finally, Ryan tilted his head slightly and said, “Why would I answer a question, when you already know the answer?”

I felt a strange warmth rising up my neck, but I didn’t look away.

I just tilted my head, playing along. “Because sometimes, hearing the answer is more interesting than guessing it.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, as if debating whether to say it or not, but in the end, he simply shrugged, resigned.

“All right, if you really want to know… yes, I finished them faster for you,” he said plainly.

My breath caught for a second.

“And your initials,” he continued, subtly pointing to the letters engraved on the glasses’ arm, “I wrote those just for you. I’ve sold seven pairs since Hogwarts started, all to Gryffindor girls, strangely enough, one of them even my ex-girlfriend.”

“And?” I asked, my voice lower without meaning to.

“And I didn’t put initials on any of theirs. Only yours.”

I didn’t know what to say right away.

Part of me wanted to keep my neutral mask, the detached poise, the cautious distance.

But the other, the other felt dangerously flattered.

Not because of the glasses, but because of the gesture. The detail.

I looked at him in silence for a few more seconds, until a small, inevitable smile formed on my lips.

“I suppose then, I’ll have to wear them carefully. Wouldn’t want all your clients getting jealous.”

Ryan let out a quiet laugh but didn’t add anything else. I watched him settle into his seat with that effortless, relaxed air of his, while I paused for a moment before speaking again.

“I didn’t bring my purse,” I said suddenly, realizing it with mild irritation at myself.

“It’s fine,” he replied without hesitation, and for once, without a smile. “You can pay me in the next class.”

I looked at him. Not because I doubted him, but because it wasn’t typical. Ryan wasn’t the type to be careless, much less someone who handed over his creations without ensuring he got something in return. And yet, there he was, giving me the glasses without asking for payment.

I said nothing. Just nodded once, lightly, and turned back to my book.

I adjusted the glasses on the bridge of my nose. As soon as I did, I opened to the page where I’d left off and began to read.

And Ryan said nothing else.

He didn’t write in the air, no silly remarks, no teasing jokes. Nothing.

Only the faint sound of a page turning now and then, as if, for the first time, he truly wanted me to enjoy my routine in peace.