Chapter 56: Thor Style

[POV Lily Evans]

I’m in my room, sitting at my desk next to the closed window, since it’s cold. The January sun barely comes through, that pale winter light that doesn’t warm anything but somehow makes everything feel calmer.

I’m reading. Again. But this time, it feels different.

The words in the History of Magic book flow effortlessly, as if someone were quietly narrating them to me. My eyes don’t get tired anymore, and every page I turn puts me further ahead. Thanks to the glasses. His glasses.

They’re a dark maroon color, with fine details that, without me meaning to, match my hair. When I put them on for the first time in front of the mirror, I noticed immediately. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think whether he had considered that. But I did. And I’m thinking about it again now.

I glance at the wardrobe mirror. The glasses look good on me. Not just good… really good. For a second, I wonder if Ryan will think the same when he sees me wearing them for the first time.

I shake my head.

No, I’m not falling into that. Not with him. Not with that impossible boy who walks around Hogwarts like he owns the castle, who says the most arrogant things with that crooked smile, and at the same time, gives gifts like this. A gift I didn’t ask for, one I couldn’t have afforded in years.

This morning I sent him my letter. I still don’t know if it was the right thing to do. Maybe I was too insistent again. But, I just can’t figure him out. Ever since that improvised trial he held in the Great Hall, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. Not just because of what he did, but how he did it.

And that changed the way I saw him.

Before October, Ryan Ollivander was that weird, arrogant type who somehow redeemed himself by finally showing up on time and becoming the inventor of very expensive enchanted quills.

After the trial, I saw him differently. He wasn’t just an arrogant inventor anymore, he was brave, and surprisingly fair. Something you can’t fake.

And since then, we started talking.

First during the punishment. Then in the common room. Then in the corridors. Later, letters. Short messages. Long glances. Comfortable silences. And now, this.

I look at the glasses again. Lean toward the book. Turn the page. Reading feels effortless.

I wish he’d reply today.

After about ten minutes of reading, I heard wings flapping. My heart gave a little jump, one of those silly ones you don’t want to admit to. I stood up slowly and opened the window. There was his owl.

I took the small scroll tied with a red string. Gently, I took the letter.

“Thank you,” I whispered, giving it a dry cookie I keep in a jar. The owl accepted it with dignity and left without haste.

I went back to my desk, but before opening the letter… I took off the glasses.

I didn’t want to read this fast. I didn’t want the words to fly by. I wanted to take my time. To understand everything, even what wasn’t written.

I untied the string and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was unmistakable: angular, a little impatient, as if he didn’t have time to lift the quill properly between words.

[Evans.

Finally. Praise Merlin, you’re not insisting on returning them anymore.

If I had received one more letter from you saying you were going to send the glasses back, I think my ego wouldn’t survive seeing you in person after the prettiest and strictest redhead at Hogwarts rejected my gift.]

I brought a hand to my mouth, holding back a laugh.

Did he just call me the prettiest redhead?

Was that sarcasm? A joke? The truth?

All three.

I kept reading.

[I’m glad they help you study. That was the point.

I can’t imagine Lily Evans getting anything less than the best grades. And if there was something that could make that easier, it was this. You deserve it.]

I pressed the letter to my chest for a second. After a moment, I kept reading.

[As for Gingersnap…

“Gingersnapped.”

I have to admit, you’ve got a talent for making up words.

It’d be nice to meet the cat who nearly destroyed one of my inventions.

Luckily, the leather case is durable. And I think it has more personality now.]

I couldn’t help but smile. I looked at the case on the edge of my desk. There were the marks, tiny teeth, little scars.

[And about your gift…

It doesn’t matter if it’s not expensive.

That’s not what makes a gift special.

Just knowing you made something thinking of me is enough. I’m happy already.]

I stopped. Read that last line twice. Again.

[I’m happy already.]

I covered my face with my hands. I didn’t know whether to smile, sigh, or fall onto my bed with a silent scream.

Leaning over the desk, I pushed the book aside and grabbed paper and quill.

I wrote my reply slowly, with a smile slipping out every now and then. I thanked him for the letter, for his words. I told him Gingersnap probably wanted to meet him too (though he’d probably bite his pant leg since he’s very playful), and that now I was curious to see whether Ryan knew how to invent excuses as well as artifacts.

I didn’t write much. I didn’t need to. I told him his letter had made me smile. I tied the paper carefully, slipped it into the small tube, and fastened it to my owl’s leg, Cormac, who was already on the windowsill, as if he knew it was time.

“Take it to Ryan,” I whispered, “and fly carefully. That boy probably times your delivery.”

Cormac hooted in reply, with dignified seriousness, and took off powerfully. I stood there for a few seconds, watching his silhouette fade against the afternoon sky.

I turned back to the desk. There were the glasses. Dark maroon. My initials. Sturdy. Elegant. Perfect.

I thought about the price, over sixty galleons. Probably three times my father’s monthly salary, or a bit more.

What would my father think if he found out a boy had given me such a gift?

Then I opened my drawer and took out my green enchanted eagle-feather quill. I had bought it in four payments of two galleons each. I’d already paid three, the last one was due in mid-January.

He had lowered the price to eight instead of ten because, according to him, I’d helped solve the riddle and hide Mulciber and Rosier’s wands.

I leaned back in the chair, crossed my arms, and asked myself, not for the first time.

Why was he so kind to me?

He wasn’t a saint. He wasn’t a knight in shining armor. Sometimes he was sarcastic, unbearable, and mysterious. But with me, there was something different.

I think I know the answer, though not completely.

He’s complimented my looks more than once. He gave me glasses worth more than anything I’ve ever owned, and they’re genuinely useful for studying. In fact, they’ll probably improve my grades.

He takes the time to write me letters that feel personal. And when we talk, when I look at him, sometimes I see something in his eyes. Something I’m not sure if I want or should interpret the wrong way.

But at the same time, he’s never done anything concrete.

He hasn’t asked me out. He hasn’t tried to hold my hand. He hasn’t gone for a kiss or any gesture beyond words.

And that confuses me. Because part of me thinks yes, he does like me. That he’s interested.

And the other part… doubts it. Maybe it’s just how he is, and he sees me as a friend.

A classmate he admires, respects, and can talk to without masks.

That, while not bad, leaves a small ache in my chest.

...

[General POV]

The fireplace crackled softly in the Ollivanders’ living room.

Iris was lounging on the sofa like she was posing for a Renaissance portrait, a glass in hand and a faintly mocking smile on her lips as she looked at her son.

Beside her, Joseph flipped through a practical potions magazine, pretending to be interested in an article titled “The Return of Traditional Ingredients.”

Ryan stood firmly in front of them, near the fire, wearing that expression, half serious, half arrogant, that came to him naturally.

"Very well," he announced, "I'm going to do something that, according to the books, I shouldn't be able to do at this age."

"Oh, what a surprise," said Iris, "Breaking the magical world's expectations again. How tiring it must be for you to carry so much talent."

"It is," said Ryan, adjusting the cuffs of his robe as he prepared.

Joseph raised an eyebrow, amused, "What are you going to do? A new invention? A new speech to humiliate half of Slytherin?"

"No, uncle. Calm down. I'm just going to call my wand," said Ryan, and then he paused for effect.

"Oh, drama," whispered Iris, delighted, "Is there background music or do I have to imagine it?"

Ryan did not answer.

He simply raised his arm, extending it into the air, fingers spread, his gaze fixed.

The pose was clearly rehearsed. With a bit of ego. Quite a lot of ego. Thor-summoning-his-hammer style.

Silence.

And then… a sharp thud, a vibration in the air. From Ryan's room upstairs, whose door he had left open, the wand shot out, descending down the stairs and heading like an arrow toward his hand.

Ryan caught it without looking, with the exact precision of someone who had practiced it a hundred times.

Iris clicked her tongue, half amused and half proud. Her surprise had faded after her son's feats, turning into the inventor of two very useful and key magical objects, surpassing 5,000 galleons in assets, and staging an improvised trial against two Slytherin purists from well-known families, especially the Rosiers.

Joseph, on the other hand, leaned forward with genuine interest, "How did you do it? It's not impossible, of course. But not even many Aurors can pull it off without a wand… and without words."

"First, Aurors can't do it because they don't train for such a thing. I followed a structured study plan I created myself," Ryan began, "First, normal Accio, with wand, perfecting every part: precise visualization of the object, intonation, wrist movement. Then, without words, focusing only on intention. After that… without wand, but still verbal. And finally: no wand, no words. Just will and magical precision."

"Sounds boring," said Iris, "But functional."

"Thanks, mother."

"And why so much effort?" Joseph asked, intrigued, "Just to show off in front of your future victims?"

Ryan shook his head, "Showing off is a side benefit. I did it because… if I'm ever disarmed, I want to have an advantage. If you're in danger and you don't have your wand to hand… but you know where it is… you could save yourself. Or win."

Joseph studied him for a moment, "And you studied that alone? Without guidance?"

"I read African texts," Ryan nodded, "Magical communities that never used wands as the main channel. They study magic as a force of the body and mind. It helped me."

"I'll give you another practical example. Imagine this," said Ryan, "I'm in a duel. I'm disarmed. My wand flies away. The other guy smiles thinking he's already won…"

After saying that, with a twist he threw his wand upward. The wand spun in the air, rising like a projectile before beginning to fall in a straight line.

At that same instant, still saying nothing, he raised his hand with precision. The wand, mid-fall, abruptly changed course and, like an enchanted arrow, flew toward him, faster than before, slotting into his palm with a dry thud.

Ryan flicked his wrist stylishly and aimed.

"Before he realizes or moves his wand to attack me, I already have mine back and I attack him… I win," he said with a minimal smile.

Iris and Joseph applauded as if they had witnessed a perfect performance.

"You want the other to let his guard down so your counterattack looks more spectacular, right?" Iris asked, amused.

"In Hogwarts, yes," Ryan replied cockily, "I doubt anyone there can disarm me. In fact, if I want to do this, I’m going to have to let myself be disarmed and act a little."

"Wow, my son thinks he's the best duelist in the whole school," Iris retorted, laughing, half proud, half sarcastic, "I know you beat Mulciber and Rosier with one hand, but aren’t you being overconfident?"

"I heard that that boy, Rodolphus Lestrange, in sixth year, lives for duels," Joseph added, "And that Bellatrix Black… they say she’s a prodigy. Temperament included."

"Mm, they might be good... but I beat them. It’s not confidence. It’s certainty, don’t worry," Ryan said.

Of course, he didn’t tell his mother or uncle, but his confidence came from something more concrete. Besides his natural magical abilities, he had built a silent arsenal.

In addition to mastering nonverbal Expelliarmus, with a speed that had disarmed Rosier and Mulciber embarrassingly easily, he had also managed to perform nonverbal Protego with his wand. Although, for pure efficiency, he preferred to cast it aloud, the spell responded better to verbal intention, and the shield turned out more solid.

And that was not all. He had enchanted his robe. After finishing book two of Enchanted Objects, he had managed to enchant his robe with five charges of Protego. It was an automatic shield, if someone attacked him unawares and he couldn’t react, the robe would trigger the spell on its own, silently and elegantly.

Moreover, the charges were from his most powerful Protegos, shields cast with full intent, he had spent great magic, so when the shields activated they already provided strong defense by themselves. Not like casting a careless Protego with little intent or a clumsy one because you were taken by surprise.

On the other hand, he had small metal spheres, the size of marbles. At first glance they revealed nothing, but they were inscribed with ancient runes, delicately traced thanks to his study of Runic Manual I and II. He only had to throw one with his hand and activate it for it to explode like a magical grenade.

Their power? He believed that with a few he could fell a troll.

He also carried talismans, small rectangular papers inscribed with spells of paralysis, confusion, temporary blindness, and dense fog. Hidden in the seams of his robe, attached like harmless labels.

The good thing about these items, both the marbles and the talismans, was that Ryan had managed to use his own hand as a catalyst, as he explained in the system books. And activating these objects did not drain his magical energy, the magic had already been infused at creation. Activating them was like lighting an already set fuse.

And if the enemy dodged the marble or the talisman or threw them away, while his opponent was distracted, Ryan had a direct line to cast any spell with his wand.

Of course, all that would only be useful in an unauthorized duel. An illegal attack, a free-for-all with no rules. In an official duel, under rules, he couldn’t use his marbles, his talismans, or the automatic defenses of his robe.

"Still, don’t underestimate anyone," said Joseph, in that tone that sounded like a warning disguised as a joke. "Arrogance wins battles, yes… but it also loses them."

"I know, I know…" said Ryan without arguing, spinning his wand between his fingers.

Then they heard the beating of wings. A short hoot. The owl landed gracefully on the back of the sofa, extending its leg.

Iris smiled knowingly the moment she saw the owl, it wasn’t theirs.

"It’s your friend Lily’s owl," Iris said in a sing-song tone, "The redhead who makes you write letters and smile like an idiot?"

"Mom…" said Ryan, not denying it.

"Have you confessed yet? Made her fall for you? Or are you waiting for the next eclipse to act?"

Joseph burst out laughing. Ryan took the letter, unrolled it, and pulled a piece of food from a jar to feed the owl. The bird accepted the treat with dignity and took off, flying back home.

"For now, never," Ryan replied calmly. "We’re friends. We write to each other. And that’s fine."

"Oh yes, sure… friends," repeated Iris with a sly smile. "A friend to whom you gave a pair of your custom speed-reading glasses. Dark maroon, her initials on the frame, exclusive model. Very friendly indeed."

Ryan didn’t respond. He just folded the letter carefully.

"I’ll go to my room for a bit. I’ll be down later. In half an hour a client’s coming to negotiate a pair of glasses. Then I’ll head to the Prewetts’ place, Gideon and Fabian are having a meeting before we go back to Hogwarts."

Joseph raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "Oh, you’re finally leaving your workshop."

Ryan smiled faintly and started up the stairs toward his room to read the letter.