General POV
Ryan stopped looking at Pandora and turned his gaze to the landscape sliding slowly past the window of the Hogwarts Express. The train was already underway, and ahead of them lay a tedious seven or eight hours of travel.
'Damn it, they should put some kind of enchantment on this junk to make it faster,' he thought irritably, watching how the trees seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace. Visually, the train was a nostalgic jewel, yes, but in terms of speed, it left much to be desired.
As for his brief conversation with Pandora Rosemary, it had been… interesting. He had been watching her, and she had noticed.
Not that it was very hard; even with sunglasses on, anyone could feel when someone was staring at them so intently. They had been sitting directly across from one another, only a short distance apart.
Ryan had observed her because he recognized her. It was her, the future mother of Luna Lovegood. Everything fit: the almost white-blonde hair, the bright, dreamy eyes, that exotic aura that seemed to wrap around her, as if she walked in a parallel world. Not as childish as Luna, of course, but definitely similar in spirit.
Pandora would survive the First Wizarding War. That was an important fact. Surviving Voldemort's first rise wasn't something just anyone could claim. To Ryan, that meant only two things: either she had an excellent survival instinct… or she was a formidable witch. And he was betting on the latter.
He based this on her death. Pandora was a spell inventor; she loved experimenting. One of those experiments had gone wrong, and the result was fatal. She would die in front of her daughter, leaving Luna forever marked. That was how the girl gained the ability to see Thestrals.
How many wizards create spells? Very few. Which proved that she was both intelligent and capable. Yes, one experiment went wrong and cost her life, but that didn't erase the fact that she had created spells.
Unlike Luna, however, Pandora didn't seem so scattered. There was eccentricity in how she spoke, yes, and in how she dressed, but it all felt deliberate, part of an aesthetic, rather than careless. She wasn't absent-minded, clumsy, or naïve. On the contrary, she had shown herself to be very attentive during their chat, especially when Ryan, with his classic sarcasm, tried to downplay the points he had lost Gryffindor the previous year.
And she hadn't gotten angry, despite his sarcasm and his mock "apology" about writing letters or poems. She had simply stopped the conversation and returned to her world. Most people would have snapped at him, glared, or worse.
Ryan had responded that way because he had to keep a degree of continuity with the old Ryan. He couldn't suddenly act repentant. That would have been strange, unnatural, given his history.
That said, although he shared many traits with the old Ryan, appearance, sarcasm, sense of humor, way of speaking, even that inability to take the House Cup seriously, which he saw as little more than a friendly competition with no real weight, there were things he couldn't share.
Like lack of motivation. Comfortable mediocrity. Or the fact that, unintentionally, he had made his house lose simply through negligence.
It wasn't exactly guilt… but he did see it as a mistake. And he wasn't going to repeat it.
He remembered Pandora's words: that even if he didn't care about the competition, he shouldn't scorn those who did, or lose points stupidly. She had been right. It wasn't a matter of whether the Cup mattered to him. It was a matter of respect.
'I could win back the points I lost this year as a form of redemption,' Ryan thought, staring out the window. That way, the slate would be even.
The compartment door slid open again with a faint squeak. Ryan looked up, more out of inertia than expectation… and found himself face to face with a presence that didn't need an announcement to fill the space.
Emmeline Vance.
The name came to him almost immediately, though he had to dig a little in his memory to place it in context. He was almost certain: a future member of the Order of the Phoenix.
Not one of the most famous, she didn't have her own chapter in the books nor any big scenes in the films. Her story was hazy, poorly documented. And yet, here she was. Alive at fifteen, with her whole life ahead of her.
Light brown hair, long and softly wavy, bright blue eyes, the kind not easily forgotten. Her features were as striking as they were serene.
Her robe was perfectly pressed, a neatly folded scarf, and a discreet silver brooch on her chest that probably cost many galleons, perhaps as much as one of his quills.
'Could I sell her a quill?' Ryan thought, eyeing her.
"Well, well, look who we have here," Ryan said with a faint smile. "The famous Emmeline Vance."
Emmeline didn't answer right away. She entered with the composure of someone who knew she didn't need to ask permission. Carrying her trunk without apparent effort, she lifted it onto the overhead rack with precise, fluid movements, and then sat down on the same bench as Ryan, leaving the middle space untouched.
She looked at him with calm, not a single muscle out of place.
"Am I not allowed to sit here?" Emmeline asked, her voice calm and elegant.
Pandora lifted her eyes from her book, observing the two of them. Ryan, with his trademark lazy posture, legs stretched out, back slouched slightly against the window, smirk included. Emmeline, on the other hand, sat straight, perfect, hands folded neatly on her lap and ankles crossed with quiet precision.
"No, no, of course not," Ryan said, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture. "It's an honor to have you in this compartment. I feel… blessed. And I'm sure my friend Pandora feels the same."
"I'm not your friend. And I doubt you feel the same," Pandora replied calmly, returning her eyes to her book.
Not a single eyebrow twitched on Emmeline's face. She simply turned her gaze forward again, naturally, as if she had been trained to withstand Ryan's sarcasm. In fact, she had. Four years of sharing house, classes, and hallways with him was more than enough to build tolerance.
Ryan studied her for a few more seconds, curious. Something caught his attention.
"And what's with the lack of a badge?" he asked, tossing the question like an accusation disguised as innocence. "How dare Dumbledore not make you a prefect? It's a scandal. I should owl him a complaint this very moment."
Emmeline glanced at him sideways, not fully turning her head.
"Because I have no interest in enforcing order among people who don't want to listen," she answered without pause, without raising her voice or sounding annoyed. "Being a prefect is a waste of my time. I'd rather use it for something useful."
Ryan nodded, agreeing with her.
"You've got a point," he admitted honestly. "Though the school did miss out on a great prefect. I think you're more intimidating than several seventh-years put together."
"And do I intimidate you?" Emmeline asked, meeting his eyes directly this time. Her expression remained utterly unshaken.
Ryan held her gaze. There was no mockery in his eyes now, just a playful spark, almost a challenge.
"No," he replied. "Maybe if I were a few years younger, you might."
Emmeline said nothing further and turned her gaze forward. She pulled a book from her robe and began reading, just like Pandora.
Ryan let out a faint huff through his nose. 'What boring girls,' he thought, turning his attention back to the window.
He was used to provoking reactions. A grimace, a complaint, a murderous glare, a forced laugh, something. But between Pandora and Emmeline… nothing. Neither flinched at his sarcasm, neither took offense, neither bit the hook.
It was frustrating… and also, in a way, entertaining. Like playing a game where the goal was to draw a reaction from these girls.
The train moved on slowly. There were still seven hours of travel left.
Outside, the fields stretched on like an endless tapestry. Inside the compartment, the atmosphere was so silent one could clearly hear the turning of pages.
'Well… if you can't beat the enemy, join them,' Ryan thought.
He sighed, straightened slightly, and opened his trunk. After rummaging a bit, he pulled out a tome on advanced Transfiguration. One his mother had recommended on conjuration.
He took it out without hurry, set it on his knees, and removed his sunglasses. He opened the book and began to read.
Pandora noticed first. She glanced at him sideways over her own book, not bothering too much to hide it. Emmeline was subtler. She caught him only with the corner of her eye before calmly returning to her reading. Still, both registered the event as if it were something unusual.
Because it was.
Ryan Ollivander reading for pleasure, and on top of that, an advanced Transfiguration book for sixth- or seventh-years, was stranger than a house-elf with rights.
He was known for passing without effort, thanks to his prodigious memory and innate knack for magic, but never, never, had anyone seen him open a book without obligation.
Several minutes passed in that strange silent balance, until finally Emmeline spoke.
"Since when do you read Advanced Transfiguration for fun?" she asked, without lifting her eyes from her own book.
Ryan didn't raise his head. He kept reading as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
"My mother gave it to me," he replied in a neutral, almost listless tone. "She is an academic researcher on Transfiguration. Pretty well-known. Don't know if you've heard of she."
'Of course I've heard of she', Emmeline thought, the faintest crease forming between her brows before she forced it away. Even when he looked like he was studying, Ryan managed to lace it with sarcasm.
Iris Ollivander was known not only as Garrick's direct daughter, but also as a highly advanced theoretical Transfigurist, respected in the academic field, with many published articles in renowned journals.
"So I have no choice but to be a filial son and make use of the gift," Ryan concluded, adding nothing more as he calmly turned the page.
Silence returned.
Pandora lowered her book just a few centimeters, enough to watch him. There was something like a trace of astonishment in her expression, barely visible. Ryan Ollivander, the lazy sarcastic one, reading advanced theory… by choice. She knew that book by name, though she hadn't studied it herself: it wasn't light reading, and it certainly didn't come with illustrations.
Emmeline, for her part, watched him only a couple of seconds longer before returning to her own reading. But the gesture was measured. Precise. As if recalibrating something.
Ryan wasn't looking at them. He didn't fully notice their reactions, though he did sense a subtle shift in the air. Maybe it was the tone in Emmeline's voice. Maybe the slight delay in the sound of Pandora turning a page.
'So this works?' he thought with an inner smile, without lifting his eyes from the book.
He, who had been complaining about not being able to provoke any reaction from these two girls, had just done it without even trying. Simply by taking something seriously. By not joking, by keeping the sarcasm low.
He made a mental note: act completely against what everyone expected of him.
Though it wasn't only a strategy to amuse himself. It was inevitable. Because this time, he really did take studying seriously. Deadly seriously. He knew what was coming, the war, the Death Eaters, the dark years looming on the horizon.
Preparing wasn't an option. It was an obligation.
...
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