Chapter 164: The Pre-Holiday Feast
"Mr. Ollivander, you flatter me. Any apprentice who graduates under your tutelage is undoubtedly an elite in the field. As long as we can retain such talent, no amount of Galleons is too much to pay." Ryan immediately stated that talent was priceless.
After some friendly banter, the two returned to their joint research on the Magi-Alloy wand.
Ryan's life fell into a rhythm, split between wand research and returning to Hogwarts to teach. He would occasionally stop by the hospital wing to see if there was any chance of Quirrell recovering. On weekends, he would organize group dinners with friends who had helped him in the past, a practice Dumbledore called "faction-building," which Ryan simply chose to ignore.
He also ramped up his efforts to help and change wizards' fates using his prophecies. He went from releasing one piece of intel every three to five days to releasing one every day or two. Whether it was useful or not, he put it out there to build his brand. His reputation grew, spreading beyond Britain to the European continent.
As for MACUSA, Miss Julia—who was thoroughly enjoying her time away from the States—claimed to be "not that familiar" with her home Ministry. After all, back at MACUSA, she didn't get to see Nava, nor did she have a dedicated Auror trainer come to her home for private tutoring.
Just like that, the first term, which had seemed to have a month left, drew to a close.
The Adventurers' Club
"Tomorrow, the holidays begin. So tonight, everyone relax! We're here to eat, drink, and have fun," Ryan announced, having just returned from Diagon Alley. Unlike their usual study sessions, this was a party, pure and simple. He had already coordinated with the kitchens, asking the house-elves to prepare a feast for thirty people.
"Hooray!"
"Hooray!"
The talk of holidays, mixed with the aroma of food, was met with a chorus of cheers.
Harry's expression, however, flickered between sunny and gloomy. His mind was split in two. One part was enjoying the happy life he had now; the other was dreading the hellish life he was about to return to.
He suddenly remembered that day at the Ministry, after the protest had been resolved. Ralvin had come over to speak with Dumbledore and himself. Ralvin had said something to Dumbledore first, and Dumbledore had left to handle some matters. Then, Ralvin had spoken to him... Harry couldn't quite recall what was said; his mind had been reeling at the time. He only remembered one thing: Ralvin mentioning that Senior Ryan was staying at the school over the holidays.
Could I stay at school, too?
Harry looked up at Ryan, who was chatting with Vaisey, his gaze hesitant, darting up and then down again. The night sky outside was quiet, the moon hazy, occasionally obscured by passing clouds. As the moonlight returned, it fell on Harry's face just as he glanced down again.
He poked at the steak on his plate. The steak, drizzled with a sauce infused with a micro-dose of Cheering Charm and Felix Felicis, was rich in color and smelled incredible. But the amount on his plate hadn't shrunk, though the steak itself was now covered in a pattern of tiny holes from his fork.
At this moment, Harry Potter—who, in terms of raw magical power, if not mastery, already ranked among the notable wizards in Britain—was trapped, wanting to ask to stay but feeling an inexplicable fear.
While he agonized, the others had no such worries.
George and Fred were putting on a performance, seemingly trying to artistically interpret the role of a clown. Their acting was... not great. They couldn't seem to capture the essence of a clown, despite having a script. Suddenly, Fred "accidentally" dropped a pile of Golden Galleons. "Oh, dear. Apologies. We've just been earning so much lately."
"Isn't it the truth," George said, picking up the thread, his face blank, his voice a perfect monotone, reading lines that weren't in the script. "The players simply love our management style. They voluntarily spend heaps of Galleons on our services. Fred and I have more Galleons than we can spend."
The clink-clink-clink of the gold coins rolling across the floor was far more convincing and captivating than their performance.
George: "Oh, my. Now we can buy whatever we want."
Fred: "Unlike certain great prefects, who can't even fully cover their own expenses. Such a pity."
George: "What should we do, brother?"
Fred: "Why, pay for the great prefect, of course! He is destined to be a big shot at the Ministry one day, after all~"
The others looked at Percy and nodded approvingly. You know, the Weasley twins' performance is actually spot on. A perfect "Joker."
Of course, it was all in good fun, and because they were among friends, Percy could take the joke. Everyone knew—Percy included—that he was guaranteed a good position at the Ministry after graduation. He could very well reach Deputy Head of a department within three to five years, a position that, in terms of rank, would match his father's (after his recent promotion).
During the recent Ministry upheaval, Dumbledore had forcefully recommended Arthur Weasley, praising his high moral character, loyalty, diligence, and magical skill, declaring him capable of great responsibility. As a result, Arthur Weasley had been unanimously approved by the new Ministerial Council for promotion to Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Transportation, filling the vacancy left by Ralvin.
His father's promotion had given Percy even more confidence in his pronouncements. And although George and Fred now accounted for 99.99% of the Weasley family's income, Percy still felt that a Ministry job was far superior to being in business.
Ryan's assessment of this was simple: Percy was born in the wrong place. In any other family, they would have understood him.
"Ever since taking over the Selwyn family and dealing with all those in-laws, I've realized just how enviable the Weasley family is to them," Vaisey said, chuckling as he watched the three redheads interact.
"Of the so-called 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' families, most are on the brink of extinction..." He carefully reviewed the status of the various pure-blood families in his mind and came to a very firm conclusion. After all, when a family with centuries of heritage only has two or three members in its main line, it truly can be called "endangered."
Ryan didn't feel it was his place to comment on the pure-blood population problem. He waited for Vaisey to finish, swirling the pomegranate juice in his wine glass. He looked the part, the very picture of a proper London gentleman.
Vaisey had only been making a passing comment and didn't intend to dive deep into demographics. So Ryan changed the subject. "How is the Communicator business developing? How far has the network spread? When I was coming back through Hogsmeade this afternoon, someone even asked me if we were selling them at MACUSA yet."
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