Chapter 55

Ryan was at home. It was winter break. Nearly three months had passed since he had given Andromeda the speed-reading glasses.

Three months that had flown by.

The holidays had begun on December 20, and in two days he would have to return to Hogwarts. He had spent a pleasant festive season with his family, seeing his mother, his uncle Tobias, and his grandparents again. He also took the opportunity to do some business in Diagon Alley, producing enchanted quills and closing a few deals.

During those almost three months, Ryan managed to sell a total of 175 quills, about 58 per month on average, although the pace was very different from when he had first arrived here, when he sold 195 quills in just 41 days.

The reasons were simple.

First, the context. At Hogwarts, he sold directly, which was much slower. The average was about two quills per day, peaking at three on good days, and dropping when he had exams or simply disappeared because he was studying, practicing, or doing something else. He wasn’t an active salesman going around looking for students to sell to, that would have taken too much time out of his routine.

December, with the arrival of the holidays, brought a small boost: several students wanted to buy gifts, and enchanted quills became a popular option. He ran a few special offers and managed to keep a fairly high average that month.

Besides, the market inside Hogwarts was limited. Selling in the castle couldn’t compare to the constant flow of people in Diagon Alley, where wizards and witches of all kinds strolled, shopped for gifts, or simply explored.

Even so, Ryan didn’t neglect his external network. He kept in touch with the shops that already knew him and sent them about 15 quills per month, totaling 45 units sold through stores during that period.

And something curious happened with those shops: since they were receiving less stock, the price of his magical quills rose without him even planning it. What he used to sell for 7–9 galleons was now being bought at 8–9 as a base, and the merchants were reselling them for 12 or 13 galleons, especially the classic eagle-feather versions.

When Ryan found this out, he adjusted his strategy.

Inside Hogwarts, he raised his base price to 11 galleons, which was still reasonable considering sales, demand, and the fact that he offered interest-free installments.

The Slytherins also resumed buying from him after more than a month had passed since the trial against Mulciber and Rosier. According to them, it had only been against those two, it wasn’t as if he had insulted the rest directly...

Of course, Malfoy, Lestrange, and other big-name families didn’t buy from him. It would be a blow to their egos to have a conversation with him where they were the ones buying his product.

His total profits were around 382.5 galleons from store sales, and about 1,570 galleons from Hogwarts, also considering that he sold some higher-end editions. In fact, he even managed to sell a griffin quill for 40 galleons.

There really was a collector willing to spend that much on a quill, though it wasn’t that crazy. If you bought a griffin quill for 20, you could spend 20 more for it to write in midair.

All in all, his quill sales over those months totaled 1,952.5 galleons.

Subtracting the cost of materials, about 240 galleons (including 20 for the griffin quill), he ended up with a net profit of 1,712.5 galleons.

But that wasn’t all when it came to sales.

During those three months, he also continued producing and selling his second invention, the Speed Reading Glasses (x2). Although he didn’t promote them directly, word had already spread since October, when after selling a pair to Andromeda he reached a total of eight units sold.

In those three months, he produced about fifteen pairs, of which he sold ten. Those ten customers were seven Gryffindor students and three acquaintances of his family, since he had asked his mother, uncle, and grandparents to do a bit of advertising for him.

The glasses weren’t exactly cheap, but they weren’t unaffordable either. After all, in the wizarding world it wasn’t unusual to see high-end broomsticks sold for several hundred galleons. And these glasses, while discreet, offered an immediate practical benefit.

The first three pairs were sold for 60 galleons each, purchased by three of Mia Macmillan’s friends. Since he had sold Mia’s pair for 57 galleons, Ryan considered it unethical to raise the price too much within the same close circle.

The next four pairs sold for 65 galleons each. Two of those buyers were sixth-year prefects who saw their usefulness thanks to other Gryffindors who had bought them and shared their reviews, so they bought without hesitation.

The last three pairs were purchased by adults, wizards and witches with stable jobs, at 75 galleons each. Iris Ollivander, his mother, offered them a product demonstration, and since she was a respected academic, her positive opinion served as a guarantee of quality. They didn’t hesitate to pay the price.

Total earned from ten pairs = 665 galleons.

The production cost for the fifteen frames was 7 galleons each, totaling 105.

665 G – 105 G = 560 galleons in net profit, and that was with four pairs still unsold.

Well, three for sale, since one of those pairs he had given as a gift to a redhead who had somehow become closer to him than he expected during those three months: Lily Evans.

Adding the quills and the glasses, his total profit came to 2,275.5 galleons.

His previous capital had been 2,820 galleons + 2,275.5 galleons = 5,092.5 galleons.

More than five thousand galleons rested in his coin pouch, which he had enchanted with strong protections so that only he could open it, and if anyone else tried, they wouldn’t be able to and would receive a mild electric shock.

“Thank you, books of ancient runes and object enchantments.”

Although of course… in reality, the pouch didn’t hold exactly 5,092.5 galleons. Part of that money was still in the process of being collected. Several students had bought in installments, some paying two galleons per month, others biweekly. Technically it was guaranteed money, just not yet cleared.

Ryan, ever the businessman, kept track of everything: expenses, income, outstanding debts, profit percentages, and even projections for future production. His black notebook with the red ribbon already looked more like a balance sheet than the diary of a fifteen-year-old student.

That afternoon of January 5, after reviewing numbers and noting down costs, he opened a letter that had arrived that morning. He recognized the handwriting instantly, firm, straight, and without unnecessary flourishes. Lily Evans.

They had kept in touch over the holidays. They started talking more in October, after the incident with the trial and then the punishment they served together.

After that compliment Ryan gave her, a mix of teasing and genuine sincerity, they kept talking, to Ryan’s surprise. They didn’t share classes, but they shared a table, a house, and many afternoons in the common room. Ryan started the conversation, Lily replied. And little by little, that initial tension turned into something… odd, but comfortable.

It wasn’t exactly a traditional friendship, but it wasn’t an obvious romantic interest either. It was something in between, a kind of in-between bond, with long glances, unexpected conversations, and a trust that slipped in through the cracks. Now, after three months, Ryan could say he considered Lily a friend. Or something like it.

At Christmas, he decided to send her a small gift: a pair of speed reading glasses. Or at least, he thought of it as a small gesture, or maybe he just wanted to show off a little while genuinely helping her, knowing how much she loved reading and how useful they would be for her.

The last pair he had sold went for 70 galleons, which, converted into Muggle terms, was about 345 pounds. And considering that a middle-class worker in 1972 earned between 125 and 166 pounds a month, he had basically gifted Lily the equivalent of three months of her father’s salary.

Of course she panicked.

Lily’s first letter had been an explosive mix of surprise, nerves, and embarrassment:

[Ryan! Are you insane!? These glasses are worth a fortune! You didn’t have to do this! I haven’t even finished paying you for the quill! I’m happy, of course… but this is too much. Way too much. I’ll give them back when we return to Hogwarts.]

He replied the way he knew best, with precise sarcasm and just the right touch of emotional pressure. He explained that he had made them exclusively for her, with her initials engraved on the frame. If she returned them, he would have to destroy them, because he couldn’t sell them to anyone else. So, essentially, if she gave them back, she would be making him throw away hours of work.

That worked. The next letter was much calmer.

Now, sitting at his desk, Ryan opened the new letter that had arrived that morning. His fingers brushed over the paper as he read silently, a small smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

[Sorry for being so insistent about your gift, but I still think it was too much. Mary told me she saw when you sold a pair of glasses to Jack, the sixth-year prefect… and that he paid you over 60 galleons. See what I mean? You gave me something that others have to pay for like it’s a brand-new broom!]

Ryan rolled his eyes with a resigned smile.

Jack Harrington. Sixth-year prefect, average height, bangs styled with so much gel they looked bulletproof. Very diligent. Very formal. Very… everything. When Ryan offered to let him try the glasses for twenty minutes, Jack had been skeptical.

But not even half an hour later, he came back practically bursting with energy, babbling excitedly about everything he could achieve with them, the notes he could review, the grades he could improve, the time he could save. He begged Ryan to make him a pair, paying half upfront.

"Please, Ollivander, I need them! I can literally read three books before Friday! I’ll pay you right now. No, seriously, right now!"

Ryan went back to Lily’s letter:

[Well, I suppose you’re right. They have my initials. You couldn’t sell them even if I wanted to return them, and I don’t. I’ve tried them. They’re amazing. Really.]

[You can’t imagine how useful they’ve been during the holidays. I got ahead on History of Magic like never before. For the first time, reading about goblin wars didn’t feel like torture. And since comprehension isn’t a problem, it’s like having gold. Academic gold, of course.]

[Oh, and another thing: Gingersnap, my cat, bit the case. It’s full of little teeth marks now. The leather looks scarred. But you know what? I like it better that way. It makes me feel like the glasses are even more mine. Imperfect. Personalized. Gingersnapped.]

“Gingersnapped?” Ryan thought with an amused smile.

He read the last paragraph:

[When we get back to Hogwarts, I’m going to give you your gift. It’s not as expensive, but I made it thinking of you.]

Ryan read that last line twice.

Not because he was curious about the gift, but because of how it was written, direct, sincere, and without pretense.

He picked up a quill and began writing his reply. After a few minutes, he handed the letter to his owl to deliver.

Leaning back in his chair, resting his head against the wooden backrest, he let the silence surround him.

Lily Evans wasn’t the only girl occupying his thoughts.

There was another one too. Very different, though just as intelligent. Just as intriguing, but from a completely different world:

Andromeda Black.

After selling her the glasses for 40 galleons, she paid him a few days later when they met again in another Transfiguration class, forty minutes before class started, with no one else there.

That girl had really gotten to him. She had made him arrive early to a class.

Him. The one who used to barely manage to show up on time, maybe five minutes early at best, and who in previous years had collected warnings for being late. Now he was arriving forty minutes before the damn class even began.

Their basic way of communicating was through air-written messages using the quills he had invented, a sort of magical chat. While each read their book, one would at some point write a message with the quill, leaving glowing letters floating in the air. Eventually the other would look up, notice the message, and reply, and so it would go, back and forth.

Messages to get to know each other little by little. Sharp jokes. Witty observations.

Three months of that.

Of glances that lasted a bit longer than necessary. Of replies that tasted like challenges. Of flirting wrapped in sarcasm and double meaning.

It was different from what he had with Lily.

With Lily, there was tension too, yes, but subtle, undefined. A strange friendship built on shared moments.

With Andromeda, on the other hand, the air was already charged. From the very beginning.

She didn’t hide it. She didn’t play dumb. She had asked him directly if he started coming early because of her.

And he had to admit that yes, he did, and then added that if it bothered her, he would stop coming so early. But she told him it didn’t bother her.

And when he handed her the glasses she had ordered, with her initials engraved on the frame, she put them on calmly and asked if he only engraved initials on hers.

He answered yes, because at that time, he hadn’t yet made Lily’s pair.

It was clear there was something mutual there. Intentional. And yet… everything remained just as slow.

No owl letters, like with Lily. No accidental touches. No hands held. No stolen kisses in hallways.

Nothing.

And that drove him a little crazy.

Because, in theory, when the year began, his plan had been different. After his exhausting routine of studies, homework, and inventions, what he wanted were casual relationships. Something to unwind. To have fun. Nothing serious.

But now...

Now there were two completely different girls, equally intelligent, equally brilliant, equally difficult, who made his mind, used to deciphering complex runes and magical enchantment systems, fail to find the easy solution.

And the worst part (or maybe the best) was that he hadn’t even tried anything direct. He hadn’t taken their hands. He hadn’t invited them anywhere special. He hadn’t made any real move.

Maybe, he thought, it was because deep down he knew they weren’t the type for that.

Or because he knew the chances of failure were higher, and his ego didn’t want to deal with rejection.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

'Three months without anything with any girl…' he thought with a grimace.

Since October, he had stopped seeing Mia Macmillan, with whom he’d had… let’s say, practical encounters. Convenient ones. Zero drama. Zero conflict. Nothing emotional.

But when his attention drifted toward Lily and Andromeda, he simply pulled away. Mia understood. It was mature. Adult. Exactly what you’d expect from a strict seventh-year prefect.

Ryan respected her for that. If he had to rate her as a casual relationship: 10/10, five stars, no hesitation.

And now, there he was. With two magnetic, intelligent girls who were both emotionally difficult to approach.

“I should start charging extra for emotional stress on my next inventions,” he muttered half-jokingly as he spun in his chair.

Although, when it came to Lily, if he was honest with himself, his chances of success were actually pretty high.

I mean, if he tried something more direct now, a date in Hogsmeade, holding her hand, or throwing one of those shamelessly confident flirtations he’d mastered, it would probably work.

Three months had passed.

Three months of talking, of sharing spaces, of listening to her talk about her cat, of discussing Transfiguration in the common room.

Now, Lily looked at him differently.

When they first met, when he had stepped in that hallway and faced those two Slytherins for that first-year girl, he’d noticed the immediate change in the way she looked at him.

He was no longer just “the weird Gryffindor inventor who redeemed himself.”

There was respect, of course. Respect for his principles, for stepping in when most would have just looked away.

But there had also been a certain distrust when he told her she had one of the prettiest faces he’d ever seen. As if she liked the compliment but was also keeping her distance, wondering if he was just another flirt who said that kind of thing to every girl, or if he meant it.

But now she no longer looked at him with that distrust. She had told him about her cat, they had written to each other during the holidays, and now she had made him a gift, thinking of him.

And Ryan, remembering those last moments before leaving Hogwarts for winter break, knew perfectly well that if he made a move now, he’d have a chance.

Not a guarantee, it was never a guarantee with a girl like Lily, but if he asked her out to Hogsmeade, she’d probably say yes.

If he took her hand on the way back, she probably wouldn’t pull away.

And if he gave her a well-timed compliment, she’d probably blush, like it, and know he meant it, and that he wasn’t just some flirt.

So yes, he could do it.

He knew it. He felt it. Everything was in place.

But he still wouldn’t. Not yet. Maybe out of fear of breaking the rhythm. Or maybe because, deep down, he wanted it all to flow naturally.

Without forcing it. Without turning it into a race to see who gets there first.

And of course, there was also Andromeda.

A dilemma he preferred not to think about right now, since he didn’t even have anything with either of these girls yet to justify thinking about love triangles, or acting like some anime protagonist with a harem of five girls waiting for him to choose