(Arcane Tinker) Chapter 9: Mild Bearings

Chapter 9: Mild Bearings

10 June 1991, Diagon Alley, London

The way back to the orphanage was spent in silence. Everyone was admiring their gifts from the matrons. Dean’s new canvas and colours were a bit on the pricy side, but they were still less expensive than Lisa’s new owl. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t really see a reason to buy one. He didn’t have any friends in the magical world who didn’t live in the orphanage.

And if, by some miracle, he made other friends, it wasn’t like he couldn’t get an owl whenever he needed one. There were the school owls in Hogwarts, and he could rent an owl from the village for just a Knut a day, which was more than cheap enough to be manageable, even with his allowance.

To be fair, there had to be some kind of discount involved. An owl was at least worth around five galleons, which, after making a few calculations, would only earn its worth if it were used every day for seven years. After considering training costs and maintenance, Dean couldn’t see a way Owlery could make a profit with something this cheap.

If he had to guess, it had something to do with his age or the orphanage having some kind of deal with the owlery. It made sense, since a common form of punishment was to clean the owlery at the village without any magic. It was a very dreaded punishment, for some reason, not that Dean had ever been to the owlery.

As for his other companion, Sally-Anne chose a cat, which she kept playing with during the entire trip back. Matron Kara had to yell at her to get her to use the floo back to the village. It was a fluffy, cute kitten that kept purring whenever Sally-Anne stroked her, which was quickly dubbed Midnight. Not a really original name, but the kitten seemed to like it.

Dean, on the other hand, was constantly playing with the ring on his finger. It was remarkably cheap, especially considering how valuable he instinctively knew it was. He didn’t know how to explain it. It would be like explaining colours to a blind man or a melody to a deaf man. It was a small instinct in the back of his head that told him that there was magic in the ring and that it was complex. Its nature, however, was something that he didn’t understand.

However, he couldn’t help but be happy with the result. This was the first sign of his personal magic. Not that it would help him much when he returned to the orphanage. He needed to protect himself from the older kids, and knowing uncertain stuff about magical objects wouldn’t do much in a fight.

It didn’t help just how eye-catching his painting supplies were. The canvas was rather large, and the pots of colours definitely caught the attention of everyone walking around. The matron, Kara, had refused to put anything in her expanded bag, like she did the rest of their shopping, telling him that he was the one who chose it, making Dean carry it all the way back to the orphanage.

He was so going to get attacked when he came back home.

Dean probably should have gotten a pet like Lisa and Sally-Anne. The matrons registered students’ pets, so they couldn’t really be stolen without severe consequences.

Unfortunately, he was just drawn to the idea of painting.

Speaking of the painting supplies, the store clerks clearly had no clue about painting and probably bought the entire set on a whim. He could tell that they were pretty underpriced for what Kara had paid, but he didn’t know why.

His magic really was infuriating, and he hoped he’d just figure it out already.

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sight of the orphanage. The matron motioned them to follow her, and she walked to what must have been her office. When they arrived, she smiled at them, “Well, I hope you have a good time in Diagon Alley. Now that you’re officially Hogwarts students, you are allowed to go to the alley on the designated dates if you ask for permission. We will go to the alley once more in August to register your wands, so be careful with that. Now, like I said before, you’re not allowed to cast any magic outside the orphanage boundary, and now that you have your wands, the consequences will fall directly on you. This is a show of trust from the entire magical world that you won’t reveal its secrets, prove yourselves worthy of it.”

The three of them gulped at the dark end of her little speech. After a few seconds, Kara giggled slightly, “Alright, with that out of the way, I don’t see why you can’t have your full Hogwarts materials.”

She waved her wand, and three large pieces of luggage appeared from thin air. The luggage looked like it had seen better days, with worn edges, scuffed surfaces, and leather straps that had clearly been mended more than once. Despite their battered appearance, the trunks seemed solid enough. Dean noticed that they had their initials on them, even if they did look somewhat worn down. Kara knelt down and opened one of them, revealing a collection of items inside.

There were cauldrons stacked neatly, books with dog-eared pages and scribbles in the margins, and robes folded carefully despite their slightly frayed hems. Other school supplies—quills, parchment, and potion ingredients—were packed tightly but organised.

Kara glanced up at the kids and smiled warmly. “The rest of your stuff should be there,” she said, pointing to the cauldrons, books, and robes. “They’re second-hand, though. The orphanage has limited funds, so we had to make do with what we could get. But hey, these should serve you well enough at Hogwarts. Plus, they’ve got character, right?” She winked, trying to lighten the mood.

The woman had gotten a lot warmer during their visit to the alley, which was extremely odd. They hadn’t exactly done anything, for some reason. He simply shook his head. He felt like he would never understand what went on in the matron’s head.

She waved her wand, and their shopping for the day, other than their wands, of course, slowly levitated and arranged themselves inside each of their respective trunks. “You were lucky that there weren’t any new books required this year. We had enough to get you a new robe each and a little gift. Now, Sally-Anne and Lisa, you should know that by now, but let me repeat it just to be sure. Your pets are your responsibility. Feeding them will come out of your allowance, and you will clean up after them. If you don’t, I will take them back to the menagerie in the Alley. Am I clear?”

The two of them swallowed heavily and nodded. She clapped her hands. “Perfect, then. You should be ready for your school year. I hope you do try to make the best of it. Now, off you go. It’s almost lunchtime.”

The three of them grinned and walked back to their respective rooms. Dean understood what the matron was alluding us. She had chosen to get them their wands and schoolbooks early so that they would prepare themselves for the school year. Dean wasn’t exactly someone who loved reading educational books. He found them pretty boring and dry and preferred fiction instead.

Nevertheless, he had to admit to being very curious when it came to his magical education. He wanted to know how it worked, why it worked, and this was the first step into sating his curiosity.

Lost in his thoughts, he felt something hit him in the chest, and he lost his breath. Seconds later, he found himself lying on the ground, his trunk falling next to him.

He groaned as he slowly got up and saw two large boys smiling viciously at him, “Look what we found here, Mark. A little boy on the ground.”

“I wonder if we should help him with his trunk, George,” the other boy retorted.

Mark Russel and George Robinson. Jack had warned him about those two in particular. They were very notorious in their bullying the younger orphans and had a bad habit of buying some cheap Firewhiskey from the village with their spoils.

They had obviously decided to come take his things before anyone else. They hadn’t even waited for lunch. Dean slowly glared at them, “Leave me alone.”

The older boys’ grins widened, “Now, now. We’re just being helpful here. Who knows what might have happened without us? A fall like this could have killed you.”

Dean’s other attacker continued, “That calls for some kind of compensation, right? For our generosity.”

He glared at the two boys, “I said to leave me alone!”

Mark waved his arm at him, and he felt himself being pushed back violently into the wall. He fell down with another thud and groaned in pain.

George, though, walked slowly towards him, “Come on, man. Just unlock the trunk for us, and it’ll all stop. We won’t ever bother you again.”

“Go... Go fuck yourself,” Dean retorted.

He felt himself being thrown once more into the wall. This time, George created spikes in the air, impaling his clothes into the wall, “You know. Anyone else would have tried to fight us. It wouldn’t have helped, but they would have. But you, you’re just staying there, just glaring at me. You don’t know what your magic is, do you?”

Mark spoke up this time, “I read about those. I’ve never seen anyone in person before. Maybe they made a mistake, and he just doesn’t have any magic.”

Dean didn’t respond, and George’s smile turned predatory, “You’re right, maybe he’s just some muggle playing at being a wizard. I guess even his mother biting the bullet didn’t activate his magic. Or he just didn’t love her enough for that to happen.”

That did it.

Those last few words about Dean’s mother broke the dam that he’s been holding in ever since the incident, and everything came crashing down. Rage, pure rage and despair, was what he felt. It was like a tidal wave, a force of nature that no one could ever stop.

He dared talk about Dean’s mother, the wonderful woman who saved people for a living. He dared say that Dean did not love her when he was more than willing to give up on his dreams just so that he would repay what she sacrificed for him. He dared to taint the memories Dean had of her.

This could not stand.

The world itself turned red in his haze. He realised then that he wanted to hurt them. He had never really wanted to hurt anyone before, and yet it felt so. natural.

Dean felt something click inside him and felt some warmth on his hand. He noticed that the ring had gotten slightly hotter.

It all happened in a fraction of a second. He had almost missed it.

The warmth from the ring disappeared, and instead, Mark’s elbow started to hurt. The older boy yelled, “Get it off me, get it off me.”

George took out his wand and cast some water at it, but it would just not be abated. The boy simply took off his shirt, and threw it to the ground, where it kept burning.

Dean gave them a dry look, his anger slowly draining out, “You were saying.”

George yelled out, “Fuck! He’s a fucking Pyrokinetic. I’m out of here.”

He ran away, his friend following after him.

Dean grinned slightly to himself. He couldn’t have really chosen a better lie. Pyrokinetics were known to be unstable, at least according to Jack and Lisa, and rarely used their magic in public. They tended to be short-tempered and had the highest number of accidental casualties than any other magic users in the country. No one was going to mess with him after that.

Still, Dean knew that he didn’t really control the fire. He charged the ring, somehow, and it summoned the fire. He wasn’t really ready to think about any of this, Mark’s words still ringing in his ear. He shouldn’t have blown up like this at him. He thought that he had mourned his mother in his dream. After all, he spent decades there.

But he hadn’t, not really. It all came spilling back at the moment.

God, he missed her so much.

He would never get to speak to her again, to eat her cooking, or hear her smile again. He would never experience the warmth of her hugs and that broke something in him. Or was it already broken, and he never realised it?

Dean walked to his room with these thoughts spilling in his head. He wasn’t hungry anymore, not with these thoughts in his head. He solemnly put his trunk on his bed and opened it, took out the painting supplies, and just started to paint.

He didn’t know much time had passed while he just kept painting. He remembered someone knocking on his door, but he didn’t really care to answer. He just kept painting, channelling everything he felt with every brushstroke.

Dean remembered the warm days with his mother, the comfort. the love. He remembered the pain, the agony at not idea of not seeing her again. He put everything he had into the painting, a wonderful portrait of his mother.

He almost choked when the portrait smiled faintly at him.

AN: Alright, I know that some of you don’t like this story or at least don’t care about it. This is me just uploading a few of the already written chapters. This is the first of two today. Don’t worry, tomorrow will have the customary EM chapter, and the schedule will continue as normal. This is just something a bit extra. As for the chapter itself, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.