Redniro
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Chapter 24: Breakfast advertising
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 17:53:57 +0000 UTCThe alarm clock rang sharply at exactly 7:00 AM. Ryan opened his eyes immediately. No startle. No yawn. Not the slightest trace of drowsiness.
He blinked a couple of times, processing the clarity in his mind. His body felt light. His breathing deep. His head clear. As if he had slept a full eight hours.
No… better. As if they were the best eight hours of sleep of his life.
He sat up quickly. There was no usual stiffness in his shoulders, no heavy eyelids, no early-morning brain fog.
Nothing.
“Shit… this works way better than I expected,” he whispered.
He stayed seated for a moment longer, simply enjoying the perfect lucidity, as if his entire nervous system had been rebooted with pure magic.
Then he stood up with almost military efficiency, grabbed his Gryffindor robe, slipped it on with fluid movements, and gathered all his things. Wand. His wallet with his glasses, money, and other belongings. His griffin feather quill he tucked into a compartment of his robe in case he needed it today. And he carried an extra case too, just in case he managed to make a sale that very day.
Before leaving, he pressed his ear to the door of the Room of Requirement.
He listened. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices.
Perfect.
He opened it carefully, stepping into the corridor like a well-trained shadow. He closed the door softly, leaving not the faintest sound behind.
He looked both ways.
Empty.
Without wasting time, he took the most direct route toward the Great Hall, where breakfast was just beginning to be served. As he walked through the corridors bathed in the gentle morning light, he couldn’t help but smile. The potion had worked flawlessly.
'Too much sun,' Ryan thought irritably, as he reached into his robe for his dark sunglasses.
The Great Hall was already open.
From outside he could smell the fresh bread, raspberry jam, and other delicious aromas.
The enchanted sky on the ceiling displayed a perfect sunrise, streaked with orange and pink, while a few owls swooped toward the professors’ table, envelopes and packages tied to their legs.
The tables weren’t nearly as crowded as at dinner the night before. Each was less than half full.
'Mm, I came way too early,' Ryan thought. It was barely 7:10 AM.
Most people arrived around 7:30. Thirty minutes was more than enough to eat. And the latest stragglers might show up fifteen minutes before eight, shoveling food in for five or ten minutes before rushing to class.
Ryan went straight to the Gryffindor table. He sat down silently.
He poured himself pumpkin juice, sliced a piece of bread, and spread it with butter and jam.
He ate in peace.
While chewing, he noticed a few fleeting glances from further down the table: older Gryffindor students, probably sixth or seventh years, who recognized him instantly.
The troublemaking Ollivander boy who last year had cost them more than 35 points for things that could have easily been avoided.
The name muttered in frustration whenever someone remembered why the House Cup hadn’t been theirs.
Ryan kept eating, unfazed by the stares. Barely a few minutes had passed when someone stopped beside him.
“Ryan Ollivander, fifth year, right?” asked a firm, slightly curt voice.
Ryan slowly raised his gaze over the rim of his dark glasses.
She was a seventh-year or maybe a sixth-year prefect, he wasn’t sure. He recognized her face, but not the exact year, nor her name. The old Ryan, though blessed with a good memory, had always been too lazy to remember people.
The girl carried herself with authority. Dark brown hair tied back in a flawless braid that fell over her left shoulder. Pale skin, angular features, and sharp eyes, as if she analyzed everyone with a permanently raised mental eyebrow.
Her prefect badge gleamed discreetly on her neatly pressed robe. Her posture was upright, her tone professional. She clearly wasn’t there for pleasantries.
“Yes,” Ryan answered, in his usual voice, calm, with that shade of nonchalance that defined him.
She extended a rolled parchment toward him.
“Your schedule. Classes start at eight. Don’t be late, or you’ll probably be punished… and cost us points.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
Was that a formal warning? A polite threat?
He smiled slowly as he reached out, his hand moving as if he had all the time in the world to take the parchment.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said softly, his words carrying a faintly amused drawl. “I just hope I don’t get lost in the castle. Haven’t memorized all the corridors yet… Hogwarts can be treacherous.”
She didn’t reply. She simply held his gaze, waiting for him to take the parchment without further chatter.
But Ryan tilted his head slightly, smiling a little more.
“You could guide me, if you’d like. That way you can make sure I’m not late and don’t lose us any points.”
The prefect frowned, her expression saying are you kidding me? without needing words.
“Me? Guide you?”
“Of course,” he said as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “It’d be a pleasure to have the guidance of someone so lovely… and so efficient.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that sarcasm, or are you trying to flirt?”
Ryan shrugged, his smile unwavering. “Depends. Is it working?”
She let out a short snort through her nose, the kind of sound from someone who doesn’t have time for nonsense… but wasn’t entirely annoyed either.
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Ryan said, keeping the easy tone of someone chatting effortlessly.
The girl crossed her arms but didn’t walk away.
“Lia Macmillan.”
Ryan blinked. Not exaggeratedly, but enough that the surprise showed in his eyes.
Macmillan.
One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Respected, influential… and usually firm in her stance on tradition.
“Oh…” Ryan murmured, the smile still there, though with a more thoughtful glint. “The Macmillans.”
“Is that a problem?” Lia asked evenly, though her eyes narrowed just a fraction, weighing his reaction.
“Not at all,” Ryan replied, resting both elbows on the table like he was looking at a potential customer with money, not a prefect.
“I just didn’t expect it. Efficient, elegant, and of illustrious lineage. At this rate, you’ll intimidate me, and I won’t be able to keep up my sarcastic flirting without stammering.”
“You’re not exactly low-born yourself, Ollivander,” she finally answered, holding his gaze for a moment before turning to leave.
But just as she crossed into that awkward distance where one shouldn’t speak without raising their voice, she tilted her head slightly over her shoulder.
“Your first class, 3-C, is on the ground floor, around the central courtyard. If you’re late… and cost us points, I’ll know.”
And with that, she left. Firm steps. Braid swinging with precise rhythm.
Ryan watched her for only a few seconds before returning his attention to breakfast. Calmly, he unrolled the parchment with his class schedule.
'First class… Transfiguration. With Slytherin.'
He rolled the paper back up with a flick of his wrist and tucked it into his robe. He kept eating, unhurried.
Lia Macmillan. Pureblood. Prefect. A gaze that could kill… And a potential customer with expensive taste.
He smiled inwardly.
An ideal client.
Meanwhile, Lia sat down with her group of seventh-year friends at the far end of the Gryffindor table.
There were three of them: Megan, tall and blonde, always with a critical expression; Aria, with short, curly hair and razor-sharp words; and Daphne, the calmest of the three, though no less observant.
As soon as Lia settled in, Megan raised an eyebrow.
“What happened? You took a while with Ollivander. Did he apologize for sinking Gryffindor last year, or was he just being a nuisance?”
Lia cut a piece of bread without looking at them. “Nothing important. I gave him his schedule and he turned on the charm. You know how it is.”
“Charming?” Aria repeated, feigning scandal. “That boy’s a walking disaster. A provocateur with a fancy last name.”
“A provocateur who made us lose the Cup when we almost had it in the bag,” added Megan dryly. “Thirty-five points lost in total. For idiocy and for mouthing off to professors with stupid remarks.”
“And you talking to him like it was nothing?” asked Daphne gently, though her words were no less cutting.
Lia took a sip of coffee before replying. “I was just doing my job. Gave him his schedule. Looked him in the eye. Reminded him that if he’s late, I’ll know. Mystery solved.”
“And what did he say?” Aria pressed.
Lia set her cup back on its saucer and leaned back slightly, as if weighing whether to say more. “Nothing you wouldn’t expect… though I admit he has a knack for saying nonsense with style.”
The three exchanged looks. Aria gave a short laugh. “And he didn’t say anything… odd? Any out-of-place jokes? Did he try flirting with you?”
“Let’s just say he made an ambiguous effort. I’m not sure if it was sarcasm, flirting, or some calculated provocation. But…” Lia paused briefly, “nothing that offended me.”
Megan frowned. “You’re saying you didn’t dislike him?”
Lia shrugged, like someone tossing a stone into a lake and ignoring the echo.
The conversation drifted to other topics.
By then, the Great Hall was a little fuller when Emmeline and Alicia arrived, walking briskly down the central aisle, robes neat and wands stowed properly. Behind them came Marlene, Dorcas, and Celeste, the other girl who shared their dormitory.
“Nervous about your first day as an official prefect?” Emmeline asked.
“No. Just alert and ready,” Alicia replied.
But as soon as they reached the Gryffindor table, the two stopped abruptly. Ryan Ollivander was already there, eating with complete ease.
He wore the same round dark glasses from the train, his hair artfully messy, and his posture far too relaxed for such an early hour.
He wasn’t yawning. He didn’t look sleepy. Not even sluggish.
He looked… rested, and worst of all, ready.
“I wasn’t expecting this on the first day,” Emmeline remarked, though her expression remained almost unchanged.
“Neither was I…”
Marlene, Dorcas, and Celeste halted too, following their gaze. When they spotted Ryan, they also showed signs of surprise, each in their own way.
“We’ll be right back,” Alicia said, already moving with Emmeline toward Ryan.
Marlene, Dorcas, and Celeste simply nodded before finding seats farther away.
Ryan didn’t so much as flinch at their presence. He only turned his head, showing an unhurried smile. “Well, well… finally arrived.”
“Since when have you been here?” Emmeline asked, her tone neutral but firm. It wasn’t a complaint, it was an assessment.
Ryan lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose, letting them dangle with a theatrical gesture.
“For a while now. You girls sleep too much.”
Alicia checked the large clock. “It’s seven twenty-five.”
“And?” Ryan asked.
“You seem to have slept well,” Emmeline remarked. She thought Ryan clearly didn’t want to be late, or else he’d have to give away his speed-reading glasses.
Ryan let out a short chuckle. Then he turned toward Alicia. “By the way, Fortescue… what a disappointment.”
“Excuse me?” Alicia asked, confused.
“I worked so hard to get here early. Thought you, my favorite prefect, would be the one to hand me my schedule. But in the end, some Lia-something gave it to me. Very serious, very professional… but zero charm.”
“Lia Macmillan?” Emmeline asked, recognizing the name instantly.
Ryan nodded with mock solemnity.
“Exactly. Perfect braid, cutting tone, killer stare. Very you, Fortescue. For a moment I thought you were related. I was even afraid she might deduct points from me for breathing too loudly.”
Alicia crossed her arms, trying not to react. “Well, at least you’ve got your schedule, you’re having breakfast, and you’re fully awake. That’s the best start to a school year you’ve had in five yerars.”
Ryan smiled, almost genuinely. For once, he stopped teasing her… at least on the surface.
“So, do you actually have business with me? I doubt you just felt like sitting down for breakfast right next to me,” Ryan said.
Alicia and Emmeline were friends of Marlene’s, sharing a dorm with her since first year. And Marlene was his ex. Besides, he wasn’t even that close to either of them, classmates since day one, sure, but not friends.
Emmeline said nothing. She kept her expression neutral.
It was Alicia who spoke. “Actually, yes, we do have a reason. Emmeline told me about your quills… the ones that write in the air.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow, surprised. Then he glanced sideways at Emmeline. “Free advertising this early? I’m impressed. Thanks, Vance.”
Emmeline arched an eyebrow slightly, as if to say: You’re welcome, but don’t get used to it.
“I’m interested in buying one,” Alicia said directly. “If it’s not a bother, of course.”
“Not at all,” Ryan replied, sitting up straighter.
“Any color preference? Or anything, as long as it doesn’t shine like a Snitch?”
“Something discreet. Nothing flashy,” Alicia answered.
“Good,” Ryan murmured, already reaching into his robe.
He pulled out a small rectangular case of dark leather, discreet yet elegant. He opened it with a fluid gesture, revealing a perfectly kept eagle feather quill in dark green, with a matte sheen.
He picked it up delicately and, doing what he did best, raised his voice just enough, not enough to sound forced, but loud enough for half of Gryffindor table to hear without effort.
“Eagle model. Forest-green shade. Each stroke lasts exactly four hours and erases automatically if you trace over it with the tip.”
He twirled it and wrote his name in the air: Ryan Ollivander.
The letters hovered with a soft emerald glow, perfectly legible.
Nearby conversations fell silent for a few seconds. Not because it was unknown, many students had already seen these quills during the trip on the Hogwarts Express. But this was different. Here, Ryan Ollivander wasn’t using the quill. He was selling it.
“Total durability: one year. As long as you don’t use it to scratch your head or drop it into a boiling cauldron.”
He handed it to Alicia for inspection.
She took it gracefully without saying a word. She lifted it, wrote 'Magical test' in the air, and then traced over the word with the tip, watching the letters vanish with precision.
“How much?” she asked bluntly.
Ryan leaned his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, pretending to think. “Eight galleons. Special price for a prefect,” he said at last.
“Eight?” Alicia repeated.
Ryan nodded without a hint of guilt. “In a shop you’ll see them between ten and twelve.”
Alicia frowned slightly.
“I heard you sold one to Pandora for five galleons on the train. Emmeline was there.”
Emmeline, at her side, didn’t deny it. She just watched him with one eyebrow raised, waiting for his answer.
Ryan didn’t flinch. He simply shrugged, as if it were obvious.
“Pandora was likable.”
“And I’m not?” Alicia asked, frowning deeper.
“You lecture me every five minutes. What do you think?” Ryan shrugged again, adding with a half-smile, “I’m already giving you a better deal than any shop. Take it or leave it, General Fortescue.”
Emmeline let out a soft, amused snort. “The worst part is, this is practically a discount coming from him,” she murmured, folding her arms.
Alicia sighed in resignation, reaching for her coins.
But just as she was about to pay, Ryan lifted a finger.
“Wait a moment. I have a more… luxurious option.”
Both girls looked at him. “Which one?” they asked almost in unison, curiosity and suspicion mixing in their voices.
Ryan smiled inwardly. He knew he had everyone’s attention. With subtle theatrics, he pulled out another case from his robe. Longer, slimmer, with golden details at the corners. He opened it with a soft snap… and revealed a griffin feather quill. The plumage bore golden streaks, with a natural shimmer that wasn’t enchantment but pure magical rarity.
“Griffin feather. Double effect: eight hours in the air. Total lifespan: two years.”
He lifted it and wrote:
"Limited Edition"
"For smart collectors only"
The strokes glowed cleanly, leaving behind a faint golden halo.
Heads turned. No longer half the table, now the entire Gryffindor table was watching.
“How much is a griffin feather without enchantments worth?” Emmeline asked, arms crossed.
“Not much. Twenty galleons,” Ryan replied with insulting casualness.
Alicia rolled her eyes while Emmeline pressed her lips together, holding back a snort.
'Not much? Stop showing off, stylish hustler,' Emmeline thought.
“And how much would you sell it to me for, oh fair merchant?” Alicia asked in a flat tone, already anticipating the ridiculous number about to come.
Ryan smiled like an actor preparing for his favorite monologue.
“Let’s see…” he said, tapping a finger against his temple as though truly running the most complex calculations.
“An eagle quill costs 0.59 galleons. I sell it for 8. That’s…”
He paused, spinning a spoon between his fingers, then concluded:
“About thirteen times more. Well, thirteen point five, if you’re picky with decimals.”
Alicia and Emmeline said nothing.
“So… if a griffin feather costs twenty galleons without enchantments, and we apply that same markup factor, we’re talking about…”
He let the silence stretch. He turned slightly, catching the wide-eyed stares of some third-years nearby.
“Two hundred seventy. But since this one has double the effects, which requires more craftsmanship, precision, and a touch of natural genius…”
Alicia was already shaking her head.
“Let’s round it: three hundred galleons.”
The table went silent.
Ryan lowered his voice just slightly, leaning toward Alicia with a fake conspiratorial smile.
“But… since you’re a prefect, and because it’s your first purchase, I’ll let you have it for… two hundred fifty. Special price. Final offer.”
Alicia looked at him as if he were a charming lunatic. Then she sighed and pulled out her purse.
“I’ll stick with the eight.”
“Are you sure? You could live on rice until Christmas and it’d still be a good investment,” Ryan remarked.
“The eight,” Alicia repeated firmly.
“As you wish.”
She placed eight galleons on the table.
Ryan picked them up with precise movements, as if they were gold chips on a gambling table.
Before putting the griffin feather away, he raised it once more. Twisting his torso, he wrote in elegant floating letters across the air:
"If you want your quill, find Ryan Ollivander"
He left the words hanging like a living advertisement.
Then he stored the griffin feather, the case, and seven of the freshly earned galleons inside his inner robe. The eighth he held between his fingers, spinning it masterfully over the back of his hand as he rose to his feet.
“See you in class, ladies. Always a pleasure doing business.”
And with that, he left the Great Hall like a little emperor of school commerce, a galleon spinning in his hand, and more than a dozen students’ eyes following him with a mix of fascination, puzzlement, curiosity, distrust… and a few with the urge to buy.
Emmeline watched him go, expressionless. “I can’t decide if he’s brilliant… or a complete idiot.”
“Probably both,” Alicia muttered, tucking away her new quill.
