Chapter 53

It was Sunday night, October eighth, and it was already past two in the morning.

Ryan was in the living room he had turned into his personal workshop. He was working intently on a pair of double-speed reading glasses, adjusting fine details with precise wand movements.

He’d had an intense week. Ever since Mia Macmillan, with whom he maintained a purely casual relationship, had commissioned a new pair of glasses, time had slipped away between classes, detentions with the caretaker, and piles of homework.

And yet, in the midst of all that… his reputation had completely changed.

In just seven days, he had gone from being “the eccentric Gryffindor who invents quills that write in the air in different colors” to someone seen not only as talented, but principled. His public stand against Mulciber and Rosier wasn’t just fair, it was poetic, direct, and impossible to ignore.

Though it earned him the disdain of Slytherin’s purists, the rest of the castle applauded him.

His popularity exploded. Quill sales rose, not dramatically, but enough to notice.

Yesterday, he’d delivered the glasses to Mia, and she’d paid him fifty-seven Galleons. Ryan had taken a little longer to finish them because of his detentions. His savings were now nearing his goal of three thousand Galleons.

For a fifth-year student, having three thousand Galleons of his own was like being rich, even among students from wealthy families.

By his estimates, those with the most generous allowances, Potter, Malfoy, Lestrange, Black, probably received between fifteen and thirty Galleons per month. And that was being generous.

He should already have gone to bed by now. He had to get up at seven. But that didn’t worry him; he had a Perfect Sleep Potion. He’d take it at five in the morning, sleep for two hours, and wake up good as new.

In front of him lay the object of his focus: a pair of x2 glasses. But not just any pair. These were for Andromeda Black.

The girl who was not only beautiful but also sharp-tongued, elegantly intelligent, and possessed a sense of humor that caught him off guard every time.

An aristocrat with the soul of a heretic.

Since that conversation in the empty Transfiguration classroom last Wednesday, October fourth, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

The chat, more like a floating magical text exchange, had been more fluid and natural than he ever could have imagined. And though his days were full of classes, inventions, and semi-illegal money-making schemes (clandestine duels, bets, magical creature tournaments…), whenever his mind was free, it drifted back to her.

Four days had passed since then, and Ryan had managed to arrive early to every shared class with Slytherin, knowing Andromeda had that same habit.

They didn’t share every subject, but when they did, she always arrived first, seeking that quiet corner. Ryan believed she did it to avoid having breakfast with her housemates.

And he had started doing the same.

They kept communicating with their enchanted quills, writing messages in the air.

A perfect method: silent, private, and just casual enough to say things that would sound far too direct aloud.

There hadn’t been any drastic leaps between them, but there was a steady, genuine progress.

It wasn’t that Andromeda was shy, far from it.

She was guarded. Like a fortress with high walls and constant watchmen.

And Ryan didn’t blame her.

From what he had learned, she had grown up wearing a mask, surrounded by purists preaching ideas she clearly didn’t share.

He had even discovered an interesting detail: her first major family conflict came in third year, when she chose Muggle Studies as an elective.

Her parents caused such an uproar that they went to the school to demand she switch subjects.

That was the first crack in the facade. Since then, her relationship with them had become tense, controlling, monitored.

The one she got along with best was her younger sister, Narcissa, the future mother of Draco Malfoy.

But even there the crack was already visible.

Narcissa was still in that moral limbo, fourteen years old, torn between what she’d been taught at home and what she saw in her older sister.

Ryan knew the future of that family line. In the books, Narcissa had remained on the purist side. She married Lucius Malfoy. She despised the Weasleys and the “mudbloods.”

And when Andromeda was erased from the family tree for marrying Ted Tonks, Narcissa, never spoke to her again.

But that was the future. For now, things weren’t set in stone.

The process of crafting x2 glasses wasn’t simple. So far, Ryan had sold pairs to Emmeline, Pandora, Marlene, Dorcas, Celeste, Alicia, and Mia, all bright and talented girls.

On average, he spent about an hour a day over five days on each order, so as not to neglect his other responsibilities.

The latest pair, Mia Macmillan’s, had been commissioned the previous Sunday, but delivery was delayed for… less-than-academic reasons.

The punishment Dumbledore had imposed after Ryan confiscated Mulciber and Evan Rosier’s wands had cost him several blocks of free time.

Andromeda’s order, however, was different.

She had placed it on Wednesday, October 4th.

But at the time, Ryan was already behind on Mia’s order. Considering he had just delivered Mia’s glasses yesterday, Andromeda’s would normally be ready by Wednesday or Thursday.

However, he’d have them finished by tomorrow. He’d used Saturday and Sunday, his freer days, to spend more than an hour a day on them.

And while he didn’t need an excuse to see her, having a refined, legitimate reason was always better.

But as he carved the final rune onto the inner frame of the glasses, his treacherous mind drifted to another girl.

A redhead.

Lily Evans.

The same Lily who, in the future, would become Harry Potter’s mother. The same one who was now in her fourth year, along with James Potter and the rest of the Marauders.

Lily had been there when the Mulciber and Rosier incident happened, when he defended Eliza. She’d witnessed how easily he subdued them, and how he later gifted the Hufflepuff girl an enchanted quill.

She had also helped him solve the riddle to hide the wands. Lily had even testified at the public hearing Ryan organized.

And when Dumbledore, following protocol, punished Ryan for hiding private property, Lily stepped forward and said she had helped hide the wands too.

That’s why, for five days in a row, they spent an hour each day together in the caretaker’s office. They talked while they worked.

Nothing too deep, until the third day. That’s when Ryan saved Lily from being hit on the head by a jar filled with some questionable liquid.

He caught it midair, pure reflex. And they ended up close. Very close.

Close enough for him to count her freckles.

And right there, between a few casual remarks, Ryan told her it would be an aesthetic crime to injure one of the prettiest faces at Hogwarts, or something equally foolish.

It wasn’t like he lacked practice in flirting; when someone caught his interest, he knew how to act. But that kind of compliment, so direct, from so close, wasn’t his usual style.

Maybe the attention was getting to his head. Maybe he was just caught in the moment.

Or maybe, he genuinely meant it.

Because the truth was, Lily was beautiful, not just physically, but because of that rare combination of firmness and compassion, of strength and empathy.

The following two days were strange.

They didn’t talk about what had happened, didn’t even mention it. But the air between them was different.

She seemed more nervous when replying to him, as if measuring her words. As if seeing him in a new light.

I just hope she doesn’t report me for harassment, Ryan thought as he set the finished glasses on the table and stretched in his chair.

What if he was falling for Lily Evans?

The thought appeared uninvited, floating above his head like a rebellious quill.

It stayed there, defying common sense. And worse yet, it didn’t seem entirely absurd.

What if the redhead actually liked him after that comment?

It wasn’t ego, it was pure logical observation.

He remembered it clearly: when they ended up close, she hadn’t stepped away.

She’d looked at him with that mix of surprise and restrained shyness. She’d even asked what the jar’s label said, as if searching for an excuse to keep talking, or to keep him from stepping back.

And when he’d made the remark about her beauty, she hadn’t corrected him, hadn’t shoved him away, hadn’t rolled her eyes or sighed that all men were the same.

She’d just stayed silent, as if she didn’t know how to respond, and not out of disgust. He would’ve noticed if that kind of comment had revolted her.

And considering everything he’d done since arriving at Hogwarts:

– Inventor of expensive enchanted quills, with over 120 active users across the school.

– Redeemed himself, earning more than 50 points for Gryffindor.

– Wealthy, with a charming personality.

– Duel magic far above his yearmates.

– Publicly punished two of the school’s most feared purists.

– Model-like looks: golden hair, gray eyes, and features inherited from his mother.

Was it really so far-fetched to think Lily Evans might have become interested in him after all that, and after he’d complimented her so directly?

Of course not. Any other girl would already be in his bed, but Lily Evans wasn’t just any girl.

“No… I can’t. Or can I?”

Ryan turned his head back in the chair, staring at the ceiling with a distracted expression.

What would happen if he got closer to Lily Evans?

If, unintentionally, he started interfering with the future?

It wasn’t just about feelings, it was about the timeline.

What if he was preventing Harry Potter from being born?

That would be a heavy blow for someone like him, not being able to meet the famous Harry Potter, the protagonist of his favorite literary work. But that wasn’t the real issue.

If Harry wasn’t born, Lily wouldn’t marry James, which meant Voldemort would win.

Lily had been the trigger of the ancient protection spell, the one that defeated the Unnamed One.

Her sacrifice for Harry had activated a magic so ancient that even the oldest texts didn’t fully understand it. Without her, without that exact love, without that exact moment…

Voldemort wouldn’t have fallen. In fact, the Death Eaters’ victory would have been almost certain. The good side had literally won by a miracle.

Sure, he could think: “Well, if Lily marries me and we have a child, she’ll protect them the same way.”

Yes, probably she would. But then he’d die like James. Then Lily would die too, and their child would grow up an orphan, burdened by a prophecy.

Although, of course, maybe the prophecy would change.

With his interference, perhaps Voldemort would choose another target, another baby.

And Ryan had the advantage of future knowledge; he could prepare better, train harder, design strategies, craft useful artifacts with the help of the system.

But realistically, by 1980, Voldemort would be over fifty years old, an extraordinary dark genius, gifted since youth, obsessed with immortality.

He had created Horcruxes, performed rituals so profane that even the most fanatical purists dared not speak their names.

He was a force of nature, not a mere enemy.

And Ryan?

He’d barely be twenty-two or twenty-three.

Talented? Yes.

Clever? Yes, maybe.

Capable of facing Lord Voldemort in a duel to the death?

Naive to think so.

Sure, he had the system’s crafting advantage. His early formulas were useful, not only for earning money but also for studying more efficiently: like the Perfect Sleep Potion, or the enchanted dueling boots that boosted his speed and reflexes. And if he unlocked more formulas, he’d have even more powerful artifacts at his disposal.

Even so, it would still be dangerous.

Ryan sighed, rubbing his face. “I’m overreacting,” he muttered.

He was already imagining a wedding with Lily Evans, planning children, funerals, and magical prophecies, all because he had looked at her up close, told her she was pretty, and she hadn’t denied it or stepped away.

He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the image.

He could have something with Lily, sure. But that didn’t mean fate was sealed.

They could go out for a few weeks, a couple of months, and then break up, just like so many other teenagers at Hogwarts.

And if destiny was truly destiny, she’d end up with James Potter anyway.

Just like in the books, and Harry would be born all the same.

As for him, he was still in control. But yes, he had to be careful.

Because what he was feeling wasn’t just superficial attraction, and that was dangerous for someone like him, who should be thinking about building his magical capitalist empire instead of getting butterflies in his stomach.

Especially when he compared it to his past experiences with other girls.

Take Mia, for instance. Beautiful and intelligent, a seventh-year. They’d slept together several times, yet nothing. He’d felt nothing deep. Just another body beside his, having fun. Weightless pleasure.

With Lily, on the other hand, he hadn’t even touched her beyond that brief moment when he caught the falling jar. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her gaze, that restrained silence, that mix of courage and faint trembling, it had all branded itself into his memory.

And with Andromeda, well, that was even worse.

He wouldn’t call it romantic tension like the moment with Lily. It was something more cerebral, more elegant, slower. Whenever he had free time, he thought about her, about her sharp replies, her phrasing, the way she wrote in the air with her gray quill, graceful yet mechanical.

He thought about her more than he cared to admit.

Two girls.

Two orbits.

What’s next? he thought, pressing a hand to his forehead. An awkward dance and a love triangle?

He sighed. No. For now, he just needed to deliver Andromeda’s glasses.