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Chapter 37: Gentleman
🕑 Added 2025-09-24 01:54:24 +0000 UTCIt was nearly ten in the morning.
Sunday. Hogwarts was breathing more slowly than usual.
Students weren’t getting up at seven like during the week; most were still asleep, or dragging their feet half-dreaming toward the Great Hall.
Ryan, on the other hand, walked with a steady stride, whistling softly.
He was in a good mood.
After all, just a few minutes ago, he’d had one of those “decompression sessions” with Mia that he so strongly defended in his personal philosophy.
And yes, they did him good. His body relaxed, his mind clear, and his ego satisfied enough to feel the day was already worth it.
He pushed open the great doors of the Great Hall and stepped inside.
Since it was Sunday, the atmosphere was calmer. There were still plenty of gaps at the tables.
The first to notice him were Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who raised their hands enthusiastically as soon as they saw him cross the threshold.
“Ollivander!” Gideon shouted with a smile.
“Come have breakfast with the popular crowd!” added Fabian, laughing as loudly as ever.
A month ago, that wouldn’t have happened.
When the term began, most of Gryffindor ignored him or eyed him with suspicion over the points he’d lost.
But in recent weeks, the story had begun to change.
Ryan had not only stopped being late, but he’d also earned back 35 points for the house, the same amount he had lost.
His debt was settled.
And he was the feather guy.
Now also the guy with magic glasses, though that was a fact only Gryffindors knew.
His reputation was no longer that of a carefree rebel. Now he was an inventor. A good student, since he’d won so many points, and a stylish genius.
He wasn’t introverted, either.
So when people started talking to him, he answered. With his usual sarcastic tone, of course. But also with clever jokes even the rowdiest, like Gideon and Fabian, could appreciate.
He made his way toward them, still whistling, and sat down without ceremony.
Beside him were Callum and Jamie, his roommates, and at the same stretch of table, a little farther down and somewhat apart from the bustle, sat Marlene, Alicia, Celeste, Dorcas, and Emmeline.
The girls said nothing when he sat.
“Good morning, countrymen. And as for popularity… that’s debatable. I think I’ve outdone you without breaking a sweat,” he said, just as his breakfast appeared in front of him with almost magical timing.
“You’re so full of yourself, Ollivander!” protested Fabian, laughing. But he didn’t deny it.
Ryan took a bite of his food as if unaware of the aura now surrounding him.
“Fame has a price,” he said theatrically, shrugging. “Luckily for me, it’s easy to handle.”
“One day you’re going to choke on your own ego,” Callum said, laughing along with Jamie.
The girls, sitting a little further off, watched the exchange without interrupting.
Marlene raised an eyebrow. She said nothing, but a small smile touched her face. After that conversation, and the unexpected gift of the griffin feather, the tension with Ryan had faded.
She still didn’t trust him blindly, nor was she about to get back with him just like that, but something inside admitted she missed him. And seeing him relaxed, being himself, only made that feeling harder to ignore.
Emmeline, for her part, sipped her tea in silence. It wasn’t indifference. She was watching. She always did.
And though she said not a word, her gaze did linger on Ryan a second longer than necessary.
Alicia, seated beside her, crossed her arms with feigned indifference. Her expression was neutral, but in the depths of her eyes flickered that spark of discomfort you only noticed if you knew where to look.
Dorcas and Celeste, more relaxed, shared a smile between them. They had bought quills and glasses. They liked Ryan. They had no sentimental or physical interest in him, or hid it well, but they acknowledged his charisma, his change and the usefulness of his inventions.
Then Callum, with a mischievous grin and a look of complicity, threw out the question:
“By the way, where were you last night, Ollivander?”
Eyebrows rose all along the table.
“Your bed’s been untouched since yesterday afternoon,” added Jamie in an innocent tone, though clearly mocking. “Not even the sheets are wrinkled. And you woke up as if you’d been sleeping on clouds. Lucky you.”
Ryan didn’t answer right away. He just sipped his coffee, unhurried, without lifting his gaze.
“Working, what else? Enchanted quills don’t make themselves,” he finally replied.
And though his voice was natural and his posture relaxed, no one quite believed him. Not because the excuse was absurd, but because he said it with that studied calm, that calculated pause, that… rehearsed perfection only the well-trained guilty ever manage.
“Working all night?” Gideon shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t even come back to sleep. Got another dorm hidden somewhere, don’t you?”
“A secret lab,” Fabian joked. “With a fancy bed and floating candles.”
Before Ryan could open his mouth to reply, Dorcas, who was beside him, frowned ever so slightly.
She leaned in just a bit, and caught his scent.
Not obviously, but with that natural sensitivity some people have for aromas.
And it was clear. A woman’s perfume, and not a subtle one.
“Working…?” Dorcas murmured, raising an eyebrow with a look half-curious, half-mocking. “Because you smell like someone else. And not ink or parchment, mind you.”
Ryan froze.
Outwardly, he kept his composure. Inwardly, his mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour for a decent way out.
The perfume. The shirt. The night with Mia. Of course. She’d worn it. They’d slept curled up together. She gave it back. Now he reeked of her.
Gideon noticed instantly. He leaned toward him and sniffed, exaggeratedly.
“Confirmed!” he declared theatrically, pointing at him. “This man smells like high-class lady. Who’s the lucky one?”
Ryan, who could no longer hide it—unless he claimed he liked women’s perfume, looked at them with a smirk.
“Whoa, you guys really are nosy.”
Since he hadn’t denied it, it was obvious. The laughter came quickly.
Callum spun around with a scandalized face, Jamie clapped, and Fabian tossed a napkin at his chest.
Marlene lowered her gaze to her plate, lips pressed lightly together. Her smile faded a little. She said nothing, but the gesture was clear. Not anger. Not sadness. Silent, contained jealousy.
Ryan noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fidget with the napkin. And though he wasn’t sorry for what he had done with Mia, nor planning to explain it, a part of him wished Marlene didn’t feel that way.
Emmeline, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. She brought her teacup to her lips, held it for a second longer, then lowered her gaze to her plate.
She made no comment. Asked no question. Looked at no one.
But Ryan, who knew her well enough, or at least was starting to understand her, caught the important part: the blink just a little too slow, the faint tightening of her fingers around the cup, that micro-gesture of serene restraint only a truly observant eye would notice.
Ryan sighed inwardly. Yes, he had been flirting with Emmeline since the very first day of class.
And she, elegant and distant, had returned some gestures. She sat with him, helped him with the windows, and the like. There was a connection. Without a doubt. But it was slow. Very slow.
Too slow. Over time, he had come to understand that Emmeline was an elegant wall. A brilliant, confident, magnetic girl, but closed.
Even with her own dorm mates, with whom she had shared house and year since first year, she kept an emotional barrier. Always proper and kind.
But never truly open. Ryan didn’t blame her for that. On the contrary, he respected it.
But he was also realistic. A serious relationship with someone like that would take time. A lot. And an informal one, like with Mia, was simply impossible.
More time than he was willing to invest right now, in the middle of inventions, studies, training, homework… and a war looming like a distant but inevitable storm.
Callum pressed on, and it didn’t surprise him.
“Come on, man, you can’t leave us hanging,” he said, the grin still on his face. “No one here is judging. Hogwarts is a giant castle, full of hidden passages and secret rooms. We’ve all had… moments.”
“Exactly,” Jamie added with an elbow jab. “You weren’t the first. And you clearly won’t be the last.”
Ryan looked at them for a second and replied, “Yeah, I know. But I’m not saying a thing. You’d have to throw a Cruciatus at me to make me talk.”
Callum nearly choked on his juice. Fabian spat out a piece of bread, and Jamie laughed with a mix of horror and fascination.
“Cruciatus!?” Callum repeated, still coughing. “By Merlin, couldn’t you just say: no, guys, I’m not talking?”
Ryan smiled faintly and went back to his breakfast.
“Nothing? Not even the year? Or the house? Come on, at least give us a hint. Make it fun,” Jamie pushed on.
“It’s not about being mysterious,” Ryan clarified, leaning his elbow on the table.
“It’s simple: I respect the privacy of the person involved. Logic in business, and logic in this sort of thing.”
The comment landed with a different weight. Not solemn, but unexpectedly mature.
Dorcas glanced at him and nodded silently. Celeste, with a half-smile, murmured, “Chivalrous and mysterious… what a dangerous combination.”
Alicia crossed her arms and let out a faint sigh, almost like silent approval.
Marlene, without fully lifting her gaze, also gave the slightest nod, as if she valued that gesture more than she wanted to admit.
Emmeline watched him for a few seconds, then returned to her breakfast.
Then, as if everyone understood at once, no one asked again. Not a single joke more. Not with Marlene there. Not with that soft but unmistakable tension floating in the air.
As the group kept eating in a now more relaxed atmosphere, between bites, loose laughter, and contained jokes, a figure entered the Great Hall, automatically drawing several gazes.
Tristin Jones. Fifth-year Gryffindor.
Golden-blonde hair perfectly styled, radiant skin without a single visible flaw, lips outlined with almost magical precision. Her walk was elegant and deliberate, as though every step had been choreographed. She wore the uniform with that subtle but provocative touch that set her apart from the rest: the robe slightly more fitted, the skirt shorter, paired with black stockings, nails painted bright red.
Beautiful. Fully aware of it.
Tristin was not a quiet beauty like Emmeline, nor a magnetic force like Marlene.
She was something else. A queen bee. Popular, yes, but in a very different way than the others.
Not for her grades, nor for her magical skills, nor for being good at Quidditch. She was popular for presence, manipulation, social control.
A mix of superficial charisma, sharp remarks, and friendships built more on influence than on real affection.
And yes, she was in Gryffindor. To many people’s surprise. Though some claimed the Sorting Hat had its capricious days.
She had been the girlfriend of the current Quidditch team captain, a sixth-year boy who was easily impressed, good, noble… manipulable. Their relationship had ended last year, but not without leaving marks on the house’s social hierarchy.
The strange thing was that now she came alone. Without her two inseparable followers who usually hovered behind her like adoring satellites.
She walked up to the Gryffindor table. Passed behind Gideon and Callum, ignoring one of their automatic greetings.
And stopped right in front of Ryan.
“Ollivander.”
Ryan raised his eyes from his cup, not rushing. He looked at her with his usual expression, half bored, half amused.
“Do you need something? Directions? A mirror?”
Gideon let out a snicker and pretended to choke on his bread. Jamie elbowed him under the table, muttering a sharp “shhh,” trying not to laugh harder. Callum crossed his arms, openly enjoying the scene.
Even Fabian raised his eyebrows, as if to say this is going to be good.
Tristin, for her part, kept her smile. Though her eyes glimmered with a different spark. She wasn’t used to people failing to react with enthusiasm to her presence. Much less to being answered with direct sarcasm.
“I wanted to talk to you. In private,” Tristin said with a measured smile. “I’m interested in one of your quills, but I’d like to choose the model, color, you know… the details.”
A second of silence hovered over the table. Marlene lifted her gaze very slowly. Alicia twisted her lips slightly, as if chewing on a word she wasn’t going to say.
Dorcas and Celeste raised an eyebrow. Emmeline… didn’t move. But her knife stopped mid-slice over her bread.
Private, just to choose a color…? thought Ryan, already stringing together the obvious conclusion.
“Sure, but I’m having breakfast. You can wait for me, or sit down and tell me which model, which color you want, you know, the details…”
He repeated her exact words with clear irony. Dorcas had to turn her face away to keep from bursting out laughing at Tristin’s expression.
Tristin smiled again. Though this time, with less conviction.
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
She turned gracefully and walked to a nearby corner of the Great Hall, by a column. Alone.
Ryan didn’t flinch. He went on eating. Calm. Took his coffee, chatted with Gideon, Callum, Jamie, and Fabian as if nothing had happened.
Five minutes passed. No more. But every second felt like an eternity for Tristin.
Finally, Ryan wiped his hands on his napkin, rose calmly, and bid farewell to the boys with an informal nod.
“Unfortunately, business doesn’t stop just because it’s Sunday. Money calls,” he said, and left.
'Arrogant,' the girls thought.
Ryan left the Great Hall walking alongside Tristin.
