Everyone knew about Crouch's notorious sense of filial piety, so let's turn our attention instead to Ollivander Avery's side of the story.
Old Avery had finally entered the long-desired VIP room.
Though his total winnings had not exceeded ten thousand Galleons, he had the foresight to stop once a streak of losses began during the second round. Rather than pressing his luck, he bought thirteen hundred Galleons' worth of chips to make a round total of ten thousand and, under the respectful guidance of a waiter, stepped into the exclusive hall.
The first thing that caught his eye was a full suit of armor that exuded an ancient, majestic aura.
The waiter, ever courteous, introduced it in a practiced tone:
"Distinguished sir, this suit of armor dates back to the Renaissance. It once belonged to His Majesty King Henry VIII."
Avery, of course, had heard of Henry VIII's armor — one of Britain's lost national treasures.
Its presence immediately set the tone for the entire room: everything and everyone inside was extraordinary.
The sight filled Avery with a solemn awe, like when he had first gazed upon the shattered stones of Stonehenge within Count Dantes's castle. He walked through a long, luxurious corridor lined with antique paintings and dim golden lamps. At its end, the waiter drew aside a heavy velvet curtain — revealing a space utterly different from the clamor outside.
Beyond the curtain, the noisy casino vanished. There were no cries of triumph or despair, no clatter of coins. Instead, the air was hushed and elegant. Gentle music floated through the room. Men in tailored robes sipped fine wine, scattering golden chips across green tables while accompanied by beautiful women.
"Sir," the waiter asked with perfect composure,
"would you like me to arrange a companion for you? For a modest fee of five hundred Galleons, a lady will accompany you for the evening. They are all skilled players — and delightful company."
Avery was about to decline, but noticing that every notable figure in the room had a female companion, he reconsidered and gave a small nod.
"Yes," he said.
"Very good, sir," the waiter replied, bowing slightly before retreating.
Moments later, a Slavic beauty appeared — tall, graceful, and veiled in a shimmer of sheer gauze. Her movements were like water.
She smiled softly and spoke in a lilting accent:
"Good evening, sir. I am Takyiana Petrovna. I'll be your companion tonight — if that's agreeable?"
Avery found her beauty almost disarming. In that instant, he forgot all about the five hundred Galleons he'd just spent.
"It's my honor to have your company, my lady,"
he said, adopting the polished air of an English gentleman.
For all his faults, the old aristocrat still knew how to perform refinement when he wished.
Takyiana giggled behind her hand, a soft sound that made Avery feel, absurdly, like a young man again.
He smiled and asked:
"This is my first time here. Do you have any recommendations for me?"
Takyiana lowered her hand, her voice gentle and smooth as silk.
"I noticed you earlier, outside. Your blackjack skills are quite remarkable — and your luck is enviable. I think it will serve you well here, too."
"Then blackjack it is,"
Avery replied.
Together they walked to the table. The deep green velvet glowed under the lamplight, and golden chips shimmered like tiny suns. The dealer, a stern middle-aged man, nodded in acknowledgment before dealing the cards.
Avery's first hand — an Ace and a Ten.
Twenty-one points. Blackjack.
Takyiana clapped lightly, her eyes sparkling with admiration. The look alone was enough to make the old man's pulse quicken. Sometimes, a beautiful woman didn't need to speak; one glance could stir a man's heart more than words ever could.
Though inwardly delighted, Avery kept his face composed. That one round had earned him a thousand Galleons — a fine start.
And his luck held steady through the next few rounds. The stack of chips before him grew higher, the golden gleam brightening under the chandeliers.
"Your luck is truly amazing,"
Takyiana whispered, her breath brushing his ear like a caress.
"Did you know? I've seen many powerful men play here, but few are so invincible at the tables. The cards we use are made from mentorei metal — it blocks all magic. So anyone who wins here must have both extraordinary skill and extraordinary fortune."
Avery smiled faintly.
"Even so, I do lose on occasion."
She laughed softly.
"You've turned less than two hundred Galleons into nearly ten thousand. Losing a few hands hardly matters."
He knew it was flattery, but he couldn't help feeling pleased. He'd always liked being admired — especially by someone so beautiful.
Just then, commotion stirred at the far end of the table.
A wealthy-looking man stood up abruptly, his face red with frustration. The empty chip box before him said everything: he had lost it all.
"I didn't bring much cash tonight,"
he declared, voice shaking slightly,
"but I do have this!"
Avery recognized him — he had seen the man before, on the day Merlin City had been activated, standing among the French branch of the Rothschild family. Clearly, anyone with that sort of company possessed considerable wealth.
The man lifted an hourglass — exquisite, rose-gold in frame, filled with golden sand that shimmered within a casing of violet crystal. The room seemed to quiet at its sight.
Takyiana leaned close and whispered,
"That's Ludmila's Time-Turner. They say if you flip it, before the last grain of sand falls, your most beautiful memories will replay in your mind — over and over."
Avery nodded, intrigued. It was a magnificent artifact, far beyond what his current wealth could afford.
An appraiser soon appeared, examined the piece, and declared its estimated worth: sixty thousand Galleons.
The dealer asked politely,
"Mr. Noailles, will you be selling the hourglass or pawning it?"
The man — Mr. Noailles — hesitated, then gritted his teeth.
"Pawn it."
"Very well,"
the dealer said smoothly.
"With Ludmila's Time-Turner as collateral, we can lend you forty thousand Galleons."
"Forty? It's worth sixty!"
Noailles protested.
"Sir, you understand we run a business. We must ensure some margin. Of course, you may redeem it within one month if you wish."
"And if I don't?"
"Then the hourglass will become the property of our auction house."
Avery watched the exchange with quiet interest.
Takyiana tugged gently at his sleeve, whispering,
"Are you interested in that hourglass?"
"It's a rare item,"
Avery admitted,
"but I'm more interested in Mr. Noailles."
She arched an eyebrow, teasingly.
"Oh? And why is that, sir? Am I not beautiful enough to hold your attention?"
Her tone was playful, but when Avery turned to her, he found her eyes astonishingly clear — like a mountain spring. For a moment, his heart gave a startled flutter, as if struck by a faint current of magic.
"That was only a joke,"
she murmured quickly, lowering her gaze.
"You should focus on the game, sir. I believe you'll win at least twenty thousand Galleons tonight."
Whether by luck or by her charm, her prediction proved true.
Avery's fortune continued to rise. With her soft hints at key moments — when to draw, when to stand — he turned steady profit after profit until the night's end. When he finally cashed in, his total winnings exceeded thirty thousand Galleons.
He immediately offered Takyiana a thousand in gratitude.
"Take it — you've earned it."
But she shook her head.
"I cannot accept your money, sir."
"Please," Avery insisted, smiling,
"it's a token of thanks."
She pressed her lips together, her expression turning faintly sad.
"So in Mr. Avery's eyes, am I just another greedy woman?"
"Of course not,"
he said softly, patting her shoulder.
"You're a fine girl. It's simply my way of showing appreciation."
Her face brightened again, her smile blooming like a rose at dawn.
"Then, perhaps, you'll come again tomorrow — and let me accompany you once more? You see, we ladies also choose our guests. And, Mr. Avery… if possible, I would like to stay by your side forever."
There was something ambiguous — almost tender — in her words.
Yet Avery did not feel offended. On the contrary, as he looked at her radiant smile, a strange warmth stirred within him. For the first time in many years, the old aristocrat felt the faint stirrings of youth again.
The quiet murmur of the VIP room continued — laughter, the shuffle of cards, the clink of glasses.
But to Avery, the world seemed to have narrowed to the curve of Takyiana's smile and the gleam of her eyes beneath the low golden light.
Outside, the casino roared on — wins, losses, tears, and triumphs.
Inside, Old Avery's world had become smaller, softer, and infinitely more dangerous.
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