Chapter 16: Tailor-Made Protection
After leaving Gringotts, Lyla took Rhys walking along the main street of Diagon Alley.
The crowd was even more packed than before. Early August was the peak time for new students to do their shopping. Everywhere, one could see parents in robes holding the hands of excited children, clutching long parchment lists in their hands. Rhys was holding his aunt's hand, weaving flexibly through the crowd, occasionally turning sideways to dodge some young Wizard running past in a hurry.
"Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions is just ahead." Lyla pointed to a shop not far away. "Your grandmother's robes were all custom-made there when she was young, and later I had mine made there too. They use good materials and fine craftsmanship, much better than the mass-produced ones in ready-to-wear shops."
Rhys looked up.
In the shop window stood several mannequins wearing various robes—there were daily work robes, solemn dress robes, and winter cloaks that looked very warm. The sign above the window was written in golden letters: "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions," with a line of small text next to it: "Tailor-made for you, highlighting unique temperament."
The shop door was open, and human voices could be heard faintly from inside.
Lyla pushed the door open, and a warm scent mixed with fabric and incense rushed to meet them.
The inside of the shop was much larger than it looked from the outside. The four walls were covered with various fabric samples, from the simplest Black wool to the most luxurious silver brocade, everything was available. Several witches wearing work robes were busy behind the counter, some cutting fabric, others sewing with magic needles and thread. In the corner stood a few full-length mirrors with complex patterns carved into the frames, looking quite old.
A plump, smiling Witch came up to greet them. She was wearing a purple dress, a string of pearl necklaces, and her hair was neatly coiled.
"Miss Lyla!" Her voice was warm and loud. "Long time no see! Was the last time you came... two years ago? To customize that dress for the International Wizarding Federation banquet?"
Lyla smiled: "Madam Malkin has a good memory. Today I brought my nephew here; he is starting school this year."
Madam Malkin's gaze fell on Rhys, and her eyes lit up.
"Oh my, is this little Mr. Black?" She walked over quickly, looking Rhys up and down, her face full of admiration. "Look at this temperament, this appearance, one can tell at a glance he is a child of the House of Black! Miss Lyla, don't worry, I will definitely make him the best-fitting robes!"
Lyla nodded, took the Hogwarts list out of her bag, and handed it to Madam Malkin.
"Everything on the list. Three sets of work robes, one pointed hat, one pair of protective gloves, one winter cloak."
Madam Malkin took the list, glanced at it, and was about to nod when Lyla spoke again:
"However, these are not enough."
Madam Malkin was stunned for a moment.
Lyla pulled Rhys to the fabric samples on the wall, flipping through them while saying:
"For the three work robes, use the best material you have—I know you have it, Welsh mountain cashmere blended with magic fibers, breathable and warm, wear-resistant and wrinkle-resistant."
Madam Malkin's eyes lit up: "Miss Lyla really knows her stuff! We do have that material, but the price..."
"Price is not an issue." Lyla didn't look back. "Also, order six more sets of daily robes, one or two sets in various colors. Don't make them all Black; it looks too old-fashioned for a young person."
Rhys opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Lyla had already continued:
"For the winter cloak, the list asks for one, I want three. One daily style with wool lining, one travel style with a waterproofing charm, and one lightweight formal style. Oh, right, also two sets of dress robes, one formal Black style, and one deep blue with silver trim—the colors of the House of Black must be reflected."
The quill in Madam Malkin's hand recorded quickly, and the smile on her face became increasingly bright.
"And underwear, pajamas, socks, and so on." Lyla continued, "It's not written on the list, but I know how cold the winter at Hogwarts is. Six sets of underwear, cashmere blend; four pajamas, thicker ones; a dozen socks, in various thicknesses."
She paused and added: "Right, and two suits. The kind of Muggle style, the kind without magic. In this day and age, you never know when you might need them."
Madam Malkin couldn't quite keep up, but the quill in her hand was still scribbling frantically.
"Mi... Miss Lyla, the quantity of these items is quite substantial. Should we measure little Mr. Black first, and we can calculate the materials based on the size?"
Lyla nodded and pushed Rhys forward.
Madam Malkin waved her hand, and a measuring tape flew from behind the counter, starting to automatically dance on Rhys's body, measuring various data. Shoulder width, chest circumference, waist circumference, arm length, leg length—the tape flew around quickly, reporting a number from time to time, and Madam Malkin recorded them one by one with a quill.
Rhys stood there, letting the tape measure do as it pleased, feeling a bit helpless.
Is Auntie trying to buy all the clothes for the next 7 years at once?
"Auntie, isn't it too much?" He asked in a low voice.
Lyla looked down at him and reached out to ruffle his hair.
"Not much." She said, "You are leaving home for the first time, you must have everything prepared. Buy these this year, and order a new batch next year. The winter at Hogwarts is cold, and the wind in the Castle is strong; you will catch a cold if your clothes aren't thick enough. When Auntie is not by your side, these clothes will be your armor."
Rhys felt a warmth in his heart and didn't say anything more.
The measuring tape finally finished measuring and flew back behind the counter. Madam Malkin looked over the recorded data and nodded with satisfaction.
"The size is very standard. Little Mr. Black can come back anytime to adjust when he grows up. Miss Lyla, regarding what you just mentioned, I need to check the back warehouse to see if we have enough of the existing materials in stock—"
Before she finished speaking, the shop door was pushed open again.
"Madam Malkin, I've brought my son to get measured—"
An elegant and slightly reserved voice sounded.
Rhys turned his head.
Three people stood at the door.
Leading them was a tall man with pale blonde hair combed meticulously, and gray eyes that revealed shrewdness and a hint of arrogance. He wore a sophisticated Black robe and leaned on a silver snake-headed cane.
Beside him was a tall woman, also with pale blonde hair, exquisite features, and a noble temperament. She wore a dark green robe, a pearl necklace around her neck, and every gesture revealed the upbringing of a pure-blood family.
Between the two stood a boy.
About the same age as Rhys, with the same pale blonde hair, a pointed chin, and gray eyes. He wore an exquisite dark gray robe, holding his head high, carrying an innate arrogance.
The Malfoy family.
Lyla's eyes shifted slightly, and then a proper smile appeared on her face.
"Narcissa." She spoke, her tone calm and polite.
Narcissa's gaze fell on Lyla, and she also revealed a smile—the kind of polite and distant smile unique to pure-blood families.
"Lyla." She nodded, then looked at Rhys, "This is... Cepheus's son?"
Lyla's hand rested gently on Rhys's shoulder: "Yes, Polaris, we call him Rhys."
Narcissa's gaze lingered on Rhys's face for a moment, as if looking at something. Then she nodded: "Very much like Cepheus. The eyes are like his."
Lucius Malfoy also glanced at Rhys, nodded slightly, which counted as a greeting. Then his gaze fell on Lyla, his tone carrying a hint of inquiry:
"Miss Black is here for shopping herself? It seems your nephew's enrollment is a big deal."
Lyla smiled faintly: "Naturally. Leaving home for the first time, one must always prepare more things."
At this moment, the boy walked out from behind his parents and looked at Rhys.
"Are you also starting school this year?" He asked, his tone curious and slightly reserved.
Rhys nodded: "Yes."
"Which House?" The boy asked again, then without waiting for Rhys to answer, he said it himself, "I'm definitely going to be in Slytherin. Our family has been in Slytherin for generations. What about you?"
He paused, suddenly remembering something: "You are also from the Black family, right? Most of the Black family are also in Slytherin."
Rhys looked at him, thoughts racing through his mind.
This was Draco Malfoy.
That arrogant, vain, but deep-down not-so-bad child from the original story. He took many wrong turns later, but at the age of eleven, he was just a child spoiled by his family, craving recognition.
"I haven't decided yet." Rhys said, "As for the House, let's wait until the Sorting."
Draco seemed not very satisfied with this answer, but he didn't continue to press, instead changing the subject:
"Have you bought a broom? I just bought the latest Nimbus 2000. You know the Nimbus 2000, right? It just came out this year, and its performance is much better than the old models!"
As he spoke, there was a triumphant expression on his face.
Rhys glanced at his aunt, and Lyla shook her head slightly, signaling him to handle it himself.
"I haven't bought one yet." Rhys said, "But I have one at home, a Polaris-Flash."
Draco was stunned for a moment, then his eyes lit up.
"Polaris? The new Polaris series from the Star-Spin broom brand?" His tone was noticeably more interested, "I heard my father say that Star-Spin brooms are handmade and even harder to buy than the Nimbus series! You actually have one?"
"My aunt gave it to me." Rhys said.
Draco looked at Lyla, his eyes filled with a bit of envy. Then he looked at Rhys again, his tone becoming much warmer:
"You are so lucky! I wanted my father to buy me a Star-Spin, but the pre-order takes a year, it's too late." He paused, then added, "But the Nimbus 2000 is also very good! When we get to school, we can play together! Do you play Quidditch?"
Rhys nodded: "Never played, but I'm quite interested."
"What position do you like?"
"Beater."
Draco smiled, the smile of finding a kindred spirit.
"I like Seekers! When we get to school, we might be teammates." He said, suddenly remembering something, and lowered his voice, "You must be in Slytherin too, right? Most of the Black family are in Slytherin. When the time comes, we'll be in the same house and play Quidditchtogether; it will definitely be better than those Gryffindorguys who only know how to use brute force!"
Rhys didn't respond.
Draco didn't mind and continued: "Do you know, my father said Slytherin is the best House, having produced the most powerful Wizards. The Dark Lord—oh, I mean, that person—was also in Slytherin. Although we can't say his name now, you understand, right?"
When he said this, his voice was even lower, but there was obvious pride in his tone.
Rhys looked at him and thought: This child is indeed a Malfoy, not a bit off.
Over there, Narcissa and Lyla were also talking.
"The situation is not very good this year." Narcissa said in a low voice, with a complex emotion in her tone, "You heard about Gringotts, right? Someone is trying to fish in troubled waters."
Lyla nodded: "I heard. But the House of Black doesn't get involved in those things."
Narcissa looked at her, seemingly wanting to say something, but in the end, she just smiled slightly.
"That is your choice." She said, "But some things, you can't avoid just because you don't want to get involved. The times have changed, Lyla. We all have to plan for ourselves and our families."
Lyla didn't respond.
Narcissa looked at Rhys again, her gaze softening slightly.
"This child looks good." She said, "Draco doesn't have many friends at school either. If he's willing, I hope they can look out for each other."
Lyla nodded: "Naturally. They are both of the Black family bloodline; although distant, they count as relatives."
Narcissa seemed very satisfied with the term "relatives," and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.
At this moment, Madam Malkin had already called Dracoover to get measured. Before leaving, Draco patted Rhys on the shoulder:
"See you at Hogwarts, cousin. When the time comes, I'll take you to see the Slytherin common room; it's beautiful, at the bottom of the lake, with water outside the window."
After he finished speaking, he followed Madam Malkin to the measuring platform.
Lucius looked at Lyla, nodded slightly, and followed.
Narcissa looked at Rhys one last time, her gaze seeming to carry a bit of scrutiny and a bit of something else. Then she also turned and walked towards her family.
Lyla sighed softly and looked down at Rhys.
"How do you feel?"
Rhys thought for a moment: "He... talks a lot."
Lyla couldn't help but laugh.
"People from the Malfoy family are all like this." She said, "But Narcissa... she wasn't like this before."
Rhys looked up at her.
Lyla didn't explain, just took his hand.
"Let's go, let's go buy other things."
— —
As they walked out of Madam Malkin's shop, Rhys looked back.
Through the shop window, he saw Draco standing in front of the mirror, letting the tape measure dance on his body, with that triumphant expression on his face that is typical when being the center of attention.
He remembered what Draco just said— "I'm definitely going to be in Slytherin."
And that sentence— "When we get to school, we might be teammates."
He didn't know if Draco would develop like in the original story.
But at least in this moment, it was just an eleven-year-old child, craving friends, craving recognition, craving a place of his own at school.
Just like himself.
"What are you thinking about?" Lyla asked.
Rhys shook his head and looked away.
"Nothing. Auntie, where is the next stop?"
Lyla looked at the list.
"Flourish and Blotts." She said, "Books are the most important."
Chapter 17: Yarnball
Coming out of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Lyra led Rhys along Diagon Alley.
The crowd was still bustling, but Rhys's mood was a bit lighter than before. His clothes were ordered, and next were the books and various school supplies. He looked at the list in his hand, which read:
"The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1" by Miranda Goshawk
"History of Magic" by Bathilda Bagshot
"Magical Theory" by Adalbert Waffling
"A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration" by Emeric Switch
"One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" by Phyllida Spore
"Magical Drafts and Potions" by Arsenius Jigger
"Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" by Scamander
"The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection" by Quentin Trimble
There were quite a few books for the first year.
"We're here." Lyra stopped.
Rhys looked up and saw a three-story shop. The windows were filled with various books, some stacked in pyramids, others magically floating in the air and turning pages automatically. A golden sign hung above the shop door, with the large words "Flourish and Blotts."
Opening the door, a mix of paper, ink, leather, and old books hit him. Rhys couldn't help but take a deep breath—this was one of his favorite scents.
The bookstore was larger inside than it appeared from the outside, likely due to an Undetectable Extension Charm. Shelves reached from the floor to the ceiling, packed tightly with books. Some shelves had ladders for readers to reach the higher rows. There were many people in the shop; some were browsing the shelves, some were queuing with thick stacks of books to pay, and a few children sat on the floor, engrossed in storybooks.
"Pick them out yourself," Lyra said. "Find all the textbooks on the list. You can buy other extracurricular books too if you want. I'm going over there to see if there are any new Potion works."
Rhys nodded and walked toward the textbook section.
The textbooks were easy to find, all placed in the most prominent positions. He took them down one by one according to the list: "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1", "History of Magic", "Magical Theory"... Every book he took, he placed into the leather suitcase Lyra had prepared for him—he was already carrying it on his back; it didn't look large on the outside, but it was quite empty inside.
Soon, all eight books on the list were collected.
Rhys didn't rush to leave; instead, he began to wander around the bookstore.
He walked to the "History of Magic" section, his eyes scanning the rows of spines. "Hogwarts: A History", "Ancient Runes Made Easy", "The Origins of Magic"... These books all looked more interesting than the textbooks.
But he didn't take them.
Because the family collection was more complete than this.
There were several large bookshelves in his grandmother's library dedicated to various histories of magic and theoretical research. He had flipped through them as a child; those books were even older and more detailed than the ones in Flourish and Blotts. Moreover, Bangbang had already helped him pack the textbooks and notes his parents used during their school years, which were far more valuable than new books.
He then walked to the "Charms" section. There were many monographs on specific spells here, some introducing defensive spells, some on household charms, and some dedicated to the evolution of a particular ancient spell.
Rhys pulled out a copy of "An In-depth Analysis of Protection Spells", flipped through it, and put it back.
Better wait until after school starts, he thought; then he could consult Professor Flitwick.
Finally, he stopped at the "Extracurricular Reading" section. Various leisure magic books were displayed here—Quidditch guides, Wizard joke books, magical creature encyclopedias...
Rhys's gaze fell on a thin pamphlet: "Simple Alchemy for Beginners."
He reached out, took it down, and flipped through it.
The book was very thin, and the content was very basic, explaining the fundamental principles of Alchemy and some simple small projects. Compared to the ancient alchemical texts of the House of Black, this pamphlet was practically a children's book.
But Rhys still decided to buy it.
Because sometimes, simple things are easier to understand.
Taking the pamphlet, he walked back to the counter and paid for the textbooks and the pamphlet together.
Lyra also came over, holding two thick books—"The Dilemmas of Modern Potion-Making" and "Jigger and His Era."
"Finished buying?" she asked.
Rhys nodded.
Lyra glanced at the thin pamphlet in his hand and raised an eyebrow.
"Alchemy?"
"I'm a bit interested," Rhys said.
Lyra didn't ask further, just nodded: "Your grandfather was also interested in Alchemy back then. There are some related books in the family collection; I can find them for you when we get back."
Rhys's heart stirred.
His grandfather's collection? That should be much better than this pamphlet.
"Thank you, Aunt."
---
The next stop was The Apothecary.
The Apothecary was diagonally across from Flourish and Blotts. The storefront wasn't large, but a complex scent could be smelled from afar—bitter, sweet, pungent, and fishy, all mixed together, making Rhys's nose itch.
Stepping inside, the sight was even more impressive than the smell.
The shelves on all four sides were filled with various jars and bottles, some containing dried herbs, some with strange biological specimens soaking in them, and some holding liquids of eerie colors. Behind the counter stood a thin Wizard in robes covered in mysterious stains, grinding something with a mortar and pestle.
"The items on the list." Lyra handed over the list.
The Wizard took it, scanned it, and turned to take several small boxes from the shelves—a basic cauldron, brass scales, glass vials, and a small bag of various ingredients. He placed the items on the counter and looked at Rhys.
"First time at school?"
Rhys nodded.
The Wizard grinned, revealing a gold tooth: "Remember to season the cauldron before using it, or the Potions will stick to the bottom easily."
"...Thank you."
Lyra paid, put the items into the suitcase, and led Rhys out of the shop. Stepping out, Rhys couldn't help but take a few deep breaths of fresh air.
"You'll get used to it," Lyra laughed. "Once you start Potionclasses and smell those scents every day, you won't find them unpleasant anymore."
Rhys wasn't quite sure if he would "get used to it."
---
The final stop was Eeylops Owl Emporium.
This shop was near the end of Diagon Alley. The storefront wasn't large, but before even getting close, one could hear the various bird calls coming from inside—hoots, chirps, and squawks, all blending together.
Pushing open the door, a scent of feathers and grain hit him. The space inside was much larger than it appeared from the outside, with cages of all sizes on all four walls, containing various owls. Tawny owls, long-eared owls, short-eared owls, snowy owls, eagle owls—Rhys recognized several, and there were some species he couldn't name.
"Miss Lyra!" A plump Witch greeted them from behind the counter, her face beaming. "You're here! The one you ordered has arrived; I specifically kept it from others!"
Lyra nodded and led Rhys further inside.
The Witch led them to the back of the shop, where there was a separate, exquisite small cage. Inside the cage sat a tiny owl.
Rhys was stunned.
The owl was truly tiny, only about the size of his fist. Its feathers were brownish-tan with light-colored spots, like autumn leaves. Its round face had a pair of large, round eyes, bright golden in color, which were darting around, curiously observing him.
It turned its head nearly a hundred and eighty degrees, looking Rhys over from head to toe, and then let out a soft "hoot."
The sound was thin and soft, like a coo.
"This is..." Rhys looked up at his aunt.
"An Eastern Screech Owl," Lyra said. "The smallest owl species in North America; adults only get this big. They fly fast, have a great sense of direction, and are very reliable for delivering mail. Plus, they're cute and won't scare people."
The Witch added from the side: "This species is very rare; you hardly ever see them on the market. Miss Lyra reserved it two months ago, specifically waiting for you to come."
Rhys looked back at the little owl.
The little fellow was also looking at him, its golden eyes unblinking. Then it hooted again, tilting its head to the left, then to the right, as if studying who he was.
Rhys couldn't help but smile.
He reached out a finger and gently poked it into the cage. The little owl looked down at the finger, then slowly leaned in and rubbed its little head against it.
It was soft and warm.
"Do you like it?" Lyra asked.
Rhys nodded.
"Give it a name."
Rhys thought for a moment, looking at the round little fellow, its round face, round eyes, and round body—
"Yarnball," he said.
Lyra was taken aback: "Yarnball?"
"Yeah." Rhys pointed at the little owl. "Look at it, round and fluffy, like a Yarnball."
Yarnball seemed to understand he was talking about it and hooted again, turning its head a hundred and eighty degrees to face its back to Rhys, pretending to ignore him.
Lyra laughed.
"Then Yarnball it is," she said, then looked at the Witch. "We'll take this one."
The Witch quickly opened the cage, led Yarnball out, put it into a portable small cage, and handed it to Rhys along with the owl's certificate of purchase and a small bag of owl treats.
"The little guy is only six months old, the best time to raise one," the Witch instructed. "Change the water daily, and don't give too much food; it has a small appetite. You can talk to it when you're free; owls are smart and can understand their owner's tone."
Rhys took the cage, and Yarnball tilted its head inside to look at him, then reached out its small claws, grabbed the bars of the cage, and hung itself upside down.
"Hoot!"
Lyra laughed again.
"It seems it likes you very much."
Rhys looked at the upside-down, round little owl, a strange feeling welling up in his heart.
This was his owl.
It was the first time he had a pet of his own.
"Yarnball," he called out again.
Hanging upside down, Yarnball hooted again, its golden eyes sparkling.
---
By the time they walked out of Eeylops Owl Emporium, the sun had begun to dip in the west.
On the streets of Diagon Alley, the crowd was thinner than at noon. Some shops were beginning to close, and shop assistants were tidying up the shelves at the doors. Occasionally, an owl would fly across the sky, likely rushing to deliver the last batch of goods.
Lyra looked at the list and then at the items in the suitcase.
"That's about it. Just the wand left." She looked down at Rhys. "The wand should be bought last, and you have to pick it yourself. Shall we head back for today and come back tomorrow?"
Rhys nodded.
He stroked Yarnball's feathers through the cage; the little fellow had quieted down and curled into a ball, truly looking like a Yarnball.
"Aunt."
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
Lyra looked down at him and reached out to ruffle his hair.
"What for? You're my nephew; who else would I spend it on?"
Rhys didn't speak, just gripped the cage in his hand tighter.
This day, he had bought books, medicine, and a tiny owl.
In a few more days, he would be going to Hogwarts.
Going to the place he had waited eleven years for.
Yarnball let out a soft hoot in the cage, as if responding to his mood.
Rhys looked down and, through the gaps in the cage, saw those golden eyes looking at him tenderly.
He suddenly felt that the road ahead was not so lonely anymore.
Chapter 18: The Choice of a Wand
The next afternoon, the crowds in Diagon Alley were a bit thinner than yesterday.
Ris followed his aunt through the cobblestone streets and stopped in front of a small, shabby shop. Tucked between a second-hand robe shop and a shop selling magical firecrackers, its storefront was pitifully narrow, with a peeling sign that read:
Ollivander: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
The window was thick with dust, and a single wand lay lonely on a faded purple velvet cushion.
"This is the place." Lyra looked down at Ris. "Ollivander is the best wandmaker in Europe, but... he's a bit eccentric. Don't pay too much mind to what he says later; just feel the wand with your heart."
Ris nodded.
Pushing the door open, the bell hanging above it gave a crisp chime.
The inside of the shop looked a bit larger than the outside—but not by much. The four walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with narrow boxes, thousands of them, each wand in its own little cubby. Only a single chair stood lonely in a corner, covered in a thin layer of dust. The air was filled with the scents of aged wood, some mysterious spice, and the lingering traces of magic.
"Good afternoon."
A soft voice came from the depths of the shop.
Ris looked toward the sound and saw an old man emerging from behind the layers of boxes. His eyes were pale, an almost transparent silver-gray, shining with a strange light in the dim lamp-glow. Silvery-white hair sparsely covered the top of his head, and he was as thin as a dried-up wand.
"Miss Lyra Black." Ollivander approached, his gaze falling on Lyra, his tone carrying a dreamlike sense of recollection. "I remember, I remember... Hawthorn, Dragon heartstring, eleven inches, suitable for dueling and protection. Hawthorn wands always choose those Wizards with complex hearts, and you have used it to protect the family estate for so many years—very fitting, very fitting."
Lyra smiled slightly. "Mr. Ollivander has a good memory."
Ollivander waved his hand gently and then turned his pale eyes toward Ris.
"Ah," he said softly, his voice carrying a peculiar excitement. "Mr. Black. Polaris Black. Let me see..."
He paced in a small circle, looking Ris up and down, his gaze scanning him like a precious artifact.
"You have a pair of Black family eyes, just like your father," he murmured. "Cepheus Black... Cedar, Unicorn hair, twelve inches, flexible. Cedar wands often choose Wizards who are loyal and upright, and Unicorn hair represents a pure heart. He used it throughout the battles of the Order of the Phoenix, until..."
He didn't finish, but Ris knew what he wanted to say.
Until his father sacrificed himself.
"Your mother, Long Meixiu," Ollivander continued, his eyes shimmering with a certain light of memory. "That was a special guest. Peach wood, Phoenix feather, ten inches, very springy. Peach wood carries the meaning of expelling evil in Chinese culture, and the Phoenix feather came from an Oriental Phoenix species, more... mysterious than the phoenixes we have here. The magic cast by that wand carried a rhythm I had never seen before."
Ris listened quietly, complex emotions surging in his heart.
"Alright, alright." Ollivander clapped his hands. "Let's find you a suitable wand. You're right-handed, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Ollivander drifted toward the stack of boxes, his movements light as if weightless. He pulled out a few at random, put them back, and muttered to himself.
"Let me think... Oak? No, Oak is too stubborn... Holly? Perhaps... Maple? Also possible..."
He walked back holding a stack of boxes and opened them one by one in front of Ris.
"Try this one first. Beechwood, Dragon heartstring, nine inches. Beechwood is for Wizards who are broad-minded; give it a try."
Ris took the wand and gave it a light wave. A small patch of dust on the table was kicked up, but nothing special happened.
"No, no, not right." Ollivander immediately took the wand back and opened another box. "Try this one. Black walnut, Unicorn hair, ten and three-quarter inches. Black walnutlikes a master with insight."
Ris waved it—a faint yellow light flickered and then went out.
"Hmm... not that one either." Ollivander took the wand and handed him the next one. "Yew, Phoenix feather, eleven inches. Yew has great power, but it's quite picky."
Ris waved his hand, and a burst of golden light erupted but quickly dissipated, nearly hitting the nearby shelf.
"Oh, careful!" Ollivander dodged nimbly, but his eyes shone with excitement instead. "There's a reaction, but it's not right, not right. This wand is too... irritable; it's not for you."
He swapped it for another.
"Hornbeam, Dragon heartstring, twelve inches. Hornbeamalways chooses exceptionally talented Wizards."
Ris waved it—no reaction at all.
"Strange, strange..." Ollivander muttered, swapping one after another.
Ris tried no fewer than a dozen wands; some had no reaction at all, some sent sparks flying, one burned a hole in the curtain, and another swirled the dust on the floor into a tiny tornado. But every single one felt wrong—not that "this is it" feeling.
Ollivander's excitement, however, grew higher and higher.
"Interesting, very interesting!" His eyes glittered with a fanatical light. "A picky guest, every single one refuses to submit! Yesterday there was also a picky guest—that boy, Harry Potter. He tried several, and finally chose Holly, Phoenix feather, eleven inches. The combination of Hollyand Phoenix feather is very rare; that wand is truly a match made in heaven for him."
He paused and looked Ris up and down.
"You were born on the same day of the same month of the same year, weren't you? I remember, July 31, 1980. Interesting, so interesting. Two children born on the same day; one chose Holly and Phoenix feather, and the other... what will he choose?"
He turned and walked deeper into the shop, rummaging through a shelf in the farthest corner.
"Perhaps..." His voice came from behind the layers of boxes. "Perhaps this one... I rarely recommend this one to anyone, because its temperament is too unique..."
He came out carrying a long, narrow box, which was older than the others, its corners somewhat worn.
"Holly." He opened the box, revealing a silver-gray wand inside, its body faintly showing the wood grain. "Holly is a very rare wood; the Wizards it chooses are usually associated with protection and confronting anger. But the core..." He looked up, his pale eyes shining with a strange light. "Chinese dragon heartstring."
Ris felt a stir in his heart.
Chinese dragon.
"The Chinese Fireball and European dragons are completely different." Ollivander gently took the wand out of the box, his movements as reverent as if he were touching a sacred relic. "The heartstring of a European dragon is violent and direct, but the Chinese dragon's heartstring is more restrained, more... profound. Their power lies not in destruction, but in protection and balance. This kind of core is very rare because Chinese dragons are rarely willing to contribute their heartstrings—they are quite picky."
He looked up at Ris, a peculiar expectation in his gaze.
"I think this wand might have been waiting for the right person. You try it?"
Ris reached out and gripped the wand.
In that instant, a warm sensation surged from his palm, flowing through his arm and across his entire body. That warmth wasn't like the scorching heat of a fire, but like winter sunlight—gentle, inclusive, and full of power.
He waved it subconsciously.
The tip of the wand erupted in golden sparks, bright but not blinding, spinning in the air and condensing into the shape of a thin, faint golden dragon that circled once before dissipating into the air.
Ollivander gasped.
"Oh, beautiful..." he murmured, his eyes full of wonder. "Beautiful! That's it! Holly, Chinese dragon heartstring, eleven and a half inches, quite flexible. Perfect! Perfect!"
He took the wand from Ris and examined the body carefully.
"Do you know, Mr. Black? Holly represents protection, and the Chinese dragon represents ancient Eastern wisdom and power. This wand choosing you means you have the potential of a guardian, and you have deep roots in the East—your mother's bloodline must have played a part."
He returned the wand to Ris, his expression like an artist who had finished his most prized work.
"Eleven and a half inches, flexible. Remember these numbers. As you use it, it will adapt to you more and more, becoming your most faithful companion."
Ris gripped the wand, feeling that warm pulse, as if the wand had its own heartbeat.
This was his wand.
"Seven Galleons," said Ollivander.
Lyra pulled out her coin pouch and counted out seven gold Galleons, placing them on the counter. Ollivander swept the Galleons into a drawer and then looked back at Ris.
"Mr. Black, I hope you can do great things with this wand." He said softly, "The wand chooses the Wizard; it chose you, so there must be a reason."
Ris nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."
"No, no, don't thank me." Ollivander waved his hand. "If you must thank someone, thank the wand."
He pointed at the wand in Ris's hand and then turned, vanishing behind the layers of boxes like a silent ghost.
---
Stepping out of Ollivander's wand shop, the afternoon sun made Ris squint his eyes.
He looked down at the wand in his hand—a silver-gray body, gleaming softly in the sunlight. He gave it a gentle wave, and a scattering of golden light flickered in the air.
"Chinese dragon heartstring," Lyra said softly, her tone carrying a sense of emotion. "Your mother would have been very happy."
Ris looked up at her.
Lyra smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair.
"Let's go, everything has been bought. Go home and rest well for a month—then to Hogwarts."
Ris nodded, carefully packing the wand into his trunk along with the books and potion bottles.
Hogwarts.
He had waited eleven years for this day.
---
When they returned to Star-Swirl Manor, Bangbang and Kreacher were already waiting at the entrance.
"Little Master is back!" Bangbang hopped forward to greet them. "Did you buy it? Is everything bought? Let Bangbangsee!"
Kreacher stood behind, craning his neck to look as well, but muttering, "Such a fuss... what's so special about what the Little Master bought..."
Ris smiled and opened the trunk for them to see. Bangbang leaned over it, his head almost going inside, letting out a series of exclamations. Kreacher stood nearby, pretending not to care, but his eyes kept glancing inside.
"This is Yarnball." Ris pointed to the little owl still sleeping in the cage. "My owl."
Bangbang leaned in to look, lowering his voice: "So small... so cute..."
Kreacher took a look too and muttered, "An Eastern Screech Owl, he certainly has an eye for quality..."
Yarnball seemed to be woken up, opening his eyes dizzily. Seeing Ris's face, he gave a soft "hoot" and closed his eyes to continue sleeping.
Everyone laughed.
---
That night, Ris lay in bed with his wand on the pillow beside him.
Outside the window, the North Star twinkled in the night sky.
He closed his eyes and thought silently in his heart—
Mom, Dad, I have my own wand now.
Holly, Chinese dragon heartstring.
I will use it well.
Goodnight.
Chapter 19: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
The last month of August was the most pleasant time in Polaris's memory.
Every morning, he would wake up to the scent of milk brought by Bangbang, then go to the garden to practice magic—not the abilities bestowed by the system, but real magic spells. The Levitation Charm, the Unlocking Charm, the Color-Changing Charm... he practiced with his wand over and over, feeling the sensation of spells gushing from the tip of the wand.
The Holy Lord's talent gave him a natural affinity for magic. He finished reading all the first-year textbooks in just one week and memorized them firmly. Even more precious were the old textbooks left by his parents; the dense notes on them were more valuable than the textbooks themselves.
His father Cepheus's handwriting was neat and rigorous, with many practical tips annotated on the side; his mother Long Meixiu's handwriting was delicate and agile, occasionally drawing a small smiley face next to a spell or writing a few thoughts in Chinese. Polaris understood those Chinese words; he could feel the tenderness his mother felt when she wrote them.
"The pivot point for this Levitation Charm should be at the wrist rather than the elbow" — his father's writing.
"Try chanting it silently, it works even better!" — his mother's writing.
With every page he turned, Polaris felt a little closer to his parents.
In the afternoon, he would go to the infirmary to help his grandmother identify medicinal herbs. Cassiopeia's knowledge of Potion ingredients was master-level; she taught Polaris how to distinguish between Dittany and Nettles while telling various anecdotes about St. Mungos.
"Dittany leaves have a fresh fragrance when crushed and can treat minor cuts; Nettle leaves have denser serrated edges and cause itching when touched." She placed the two herbs in front of Polaris, "Close your eyes and take a sniff."
Polaris closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A fresh, slightly sweet scent—that was Dittany; the other had almost no smell—that was Nettle.
"Very good." Cassiopeia nodded with satisfaction, "Identifying medicine is not just about looking, but also smelling and even tasting—of course, you must make sure it's not poisonous before tasting."
In the evening, Aunt Lyra would teach him some practical magic, such as the Scouring Charm, the Cleaning Charm, or some simple defensive techniques. Lyra's mastery of spells was very high—after all, she was a Ravenclawgraduate, and her understanding of various spells was both profound and flexible.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Polaris waved his wand, and a feather slowly drifted up.
"Not bad." Lyra nodded, "But your wrist could be a bit more relaxed. Remember, spells don't rely on brute force, but on will and focus."
In his spare time, Polaris would practice the abilities bestowed by the system—the extreme speed of the Rabbit Talisman, the invisibility of the Snake Talisman, the immense strength of the Ox Talisman, as well as the Mountain Demon and the Wind Demon. He had secretly tried them in the garden and could feel his power increasing every time.
One night, he sat at his desk and flipped through the book he had bought from Flourish and Blotts, "Easy Introduction to Alchemy."
Alchemy.
There were indeed many Alchemy classics in the House of Black's book collection, but they were all too profound for Polaris to understand well right now. This introductory booklet actually helped a lot, giving him a preliminary understanding of the basic principles of Alchemy.
He thought of his idea for pseudo-talismans—if he could create those disposable talisman pendants so that ordinary people could also use some of the power, then his grandmother, aunt, Bangbang, and Kreacher would all have the ability to protect themselves.
Lord Voldemort would return. He knew it.
When the time came, he had to protect them well.
"If only I could get the notes of the creator of the Philosopher's Stone..." he murmured to himself.
Nicolas Flamel, that master alchemist who had lived for over six hundred years, his notes must record countless mysteries of Alchemy. If he could have such notes, the research and development of pseudo-talismans would surely go much smoother.
But it was still too early to think about these things. He was only eleven years old and hadn't even started school yet.
Polaris closed the book and looked out the window. In the night sky, the North Star was still twinkling.
Soon.
September 1st was almost here.
—
On the morning of September 1st, Star-Swirl Manor woke up earlier than usual.
Polaris put on his robes and stood at the door, watching Bangbang and Kreacher check the luggage one last time. The owl cage and the suitcase with the Undetectable Extension Charm were already packed full—all the books, clothes, Potion equipment, and some snacks that Bangbang had forced in.
"Bangbang prepared Pumpkin Pasties for the little master!" Bangbang stuffed a package into a gap in the suitcase, "And Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Licorice Wands... the little master can eat them if he gets hungry on the train!"
"Kreacher prepared for the little master... Kreacherprepared warm wool socks..." Kreacher muttered, stuffing a bag inside, "Hogwarts is cold in winter... the little master must dress warmly..."
Yarnball stood on the small perch in the cage, tilting its head and watching all this, occasionally letting out a tiny "coo."
Lyra came downstairs, wearing an elegant purple robe with her hair meticulously pinned up. Cassiopeia had also changed into her outing attire, her silver-gray hair impeccable, clutching that old-fashioned handbag in her hand.
"Ready?" Lyra asked with a smile.
Polaris nodded, taking one last look at this home where he had lived for eleven years.
"Let's go," Cassiopeia said.
—
King's Cross Station was bustling, with Muggles in a hurry everywhere.
Polaris was held by the hand by his aunt, with his grandmother walking on the other side. The three of them walked through the crowd toward the barrier between Platform Nine and Platform Ten.
"Just walk straight through in a moment," Lyra whispered, "Don't be afraid, it's just a wall."
Polaris nodded, but he felt a little excited.
He certainly knew this was the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Lyra was the first to dash into the barrier and vanish. Cassiopeia looked at Polaris: "Go on, Grandma is following behind."
Polaris took a deep breath, pushed his luggage cart, quickened his pace, and rushed toward that solid brick wall—
The moment he passed through, it felt like passing through a layer of cool water film.
Then, the scene before his eyes changed.
A deep red steam locomotive was parked by the platform, its engine puffing white smoke. The train's sign read "Hogwarts Express, 11:00 AM." People were coming and going on the platform, Wizard parents everywhere sending their children to school. Owls hooted in cages, toads croaked in boxes, and several cats darted around people's feet.
"How is it?" Lyra stood beside him and asked with a smile.
Polaris looked at the huge train and the children in robes, an indescribable feeling welling up in his heart.
He had finally arrived.
"Over here!" Cassiopeia followed from behind, straightened her robes, and then her eyes fell on a figure not far away.
"Augusta," she spoke, her tone carrying a hint of courtesy.
Polaris followed his grandmother's gaze. An old lady wearing a tall hat and dark green robes was standing not far away, with a round-faced boy beside her. The boy looked a bit nervous, one hand tightly clutching the corner of his grandmother's clothes, the other holding a struggling toad.
Mrs. Longbottom.
"Cassiopeia." Augusta Longbottom turned around, nodded slightly, and then looked at Polaris, "Is this Cepheus's son?"
"Yes, Polaris," Cassiopeia said, "Polaris, this is Mrs. Longbottom."
Polaris nodded politely: "Hello, Mrs. Longbottom."
Augusta looked him over, nodded slightly in approval, then looked at the boy beside her: "Neville, this is the Blackfamily's child, say hello."
The round-faced boy looked up, his chubby face filled with nervousness. His round eyes glanced at Polaris, then he quickly looked down again.
"H-hello," he said stuttering, "My name is Neville... Neville Longbottom."
"My name is Polaris Black," Polaris smiled friendly.
Cassiopeia and Augusta walked to the side and began to converse in low voices. Polaris vaguely heard a few phrases like "St. Mungos," "Frank and Alice," and "still the same," and his heart stirred slightly.
Neville's parents.
He knew who Neville's parents were—famous Aurors, driven mad by Bellatrix's Crucio, now long-term residents of St. Mungos.
His gaze toward Neville involuntarily carried a trace of pity.
This boy, like him, had also lost his parents.
No, it was different. His parents were gone, while Neville's parents were still alive but no longer recognized him. Which was more painful? Polaris didn't know.
Neville seemed to sense his gaze and became even more nervous. The toad in his hand took advantage of his distraction, gave a sudden lurch, and jumped out.
"Ah! Trevor!" Neville was panic-stricken and tried to give chase, but the toad hopped very fast and soon disappeared into the crowd.
"I'll help you find it," Polaris said.
"N-no need..." Neville's face turned beet red, "He's always like this... he'll come back on his own in a while..."
Polaris remembered the plot in the original book where Hermione helped Neville find his toad, but Hermionehadn't appeared yet. He thought about it and decided to wait a bit.
At this point, the conversation between the two old ladies ended. Cassiopeia walked over and said to Polaris: "It's time to get on the train. Find a seat and sit down, be careful on the way. There will be prefects to meet you when you get to school."
Lyra leaned down and hugged him: "Write to me if anything happens, tell your aunt if you need anything, and write if you run out of money."
Polaris nodded and hugged her back.
Cassiopeia also gave him a hug and whispered in his ear: "Remember, no matter which house you go to, Grandma is proud of you."
Polaris's nose felt a bit prickly.
"I will," he said.
Neville was also being exhorted by Mrs. Longbottom, and clutching Trevor, who had run back on his own, he walked toward the train.
"Together?" Polaris asked.
Neville nodded, and the two of them moved their luggage onto the train together. The round-faced boy's movements were clumsy, and he almost tripped over the steps; Polaris reached out to steady him.
"Th-thank you."
"It's nothing."
—
They found an empty compartment and put their luggage away. Yarnball's cage was placed on the luggage rack, and the little fellow looked out the window curiously, letting out a "coo" from time to time. Neville placed Trevor beside his seat, and the toad tried to jump out as soon as it hit the floor, but Neville was quick and pressed it down.
"He always wants to run away," Neville said sheepishly.
Polaris smiled and sat by the window. Neville sat opposite him, rubbing his hands awkwardly.
"Are... are you also starting school this year?" Nevilleasked, then felt the question was stupid and his face turned red again.
Polaris didn't laugh and nodded seriously: "Yes, you too?"
"Yeah." Neville paused, then plucked up his courage and said, "My grandma said... said my mom and dad were also at Hogwarts... they... they were in Gryffindor..."
His eyes dimmed a bit as he said this.
Polaris was silent for a second, then said: "My parents were too. But they were in Ravenclaw."
Neville looked up at him.
"Are they... are they still around?" Neville asked very quietly.
Polaris shook his head: "No. Not long after I was born, they... sacrificed themselves."
Neville's eyes widened suddenly. His lips moved as if to say something, but he only managed to squeeze out: "I'm sorry..."
"It's nothing," Polaris said, "At least they protected many others. Your parents are heroes too."
Neville was stunned, his eyes slowly turning red.
He lowered his head and after a long while said softly: "My grandma says that too... but... but they don't remember me anymore..."
Polaris didn't speak.
He just sat there quietly, looking out the window.
Sometimes, some things don't need to be said out loud. Just as he knew how Neville felt, Neville also knew how he felt.
What they had lost were different forms, but the same pain.
After a while, the compartment door was pulled open.
A girl with bushy brown hair poked her head in; she had bright eyes and two very large front teeth. Her gaze swept over the compartment and landed on the toad next to Neville's seat.
"Oh, you found it?" She walked in, her tone carrying a kind of familiar confidence, "I saw it in the corridor just now and chased it for a while, but it disappeared again. So it's back. Is this your toad?"
Neville nodded blankly.
"You'd better keep an eye on it, or what if it gets lost again before we get off?" The girl said, turning her gaze to Polaris, "You're new students too, aren't you? I'm Hermione Granger, and you?"
Polaris looked at her, his heart stirring slightly.
Hermione Granger.
The Witch who would become a know-it-all and Harryand Ron's best friend in the future.
"I'm Polaris," he said, "Polaris Black."
"Neville Longbottom," Neville said softly.
Hermione nodded and sat down naturally next to Polaris.
"Do you know which house we'll be sorted into? I've checked a lot of books. They say Gryffindor and Ravenclaware both good, and Slytherin seems a bit... scary. But the books say sorting is based on our traits. I hope to go to Gryffindor because Dumbledore was in Gryffindor, and Gryffindor students are very brave. But Ravenclaw is also good, they're the smartest..."
Her string of words left Neville a bit dazed, but Polaris listened calmly.
"Which house will you go to?" Hermione suddenly asked Polaris.
Polaris thought for a moment: "Ravenclaw, probably."
"Why?"
"Both my parents were in Ravenclaw," he said, "And I want to learn more things."
Hermione nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer: "I also want to go to the house where I can learn the most. I've memorized History of Magic, and I've practiced a few spells. I wonder if I can get into Ravenclaw."
As she spoke, she looked at Neville again: "And you?"
Neville rubbed his fingers nervously: "I... my grandma says my family are all in Gryffindor... I hope to get into Gryffindor... but... but I can't do anything right..."
"How could that be?" Hermione said seriously, "Anyone who can get into Hogwarts won't be bad. Although I don't know what the sorting ceremony is like, sorting looks at the qualities in your heart, not how well you're doing now."
Neville blinked, seemingly encouraged by her words.
Outside the window, there were fewer and fewer people on the platform. The whistle blew, and the train slowly started moving.
Polaris looked out the window and saw his grandmother and aunt waving at him. He waved back, watching their figures gradually shrink until they finally disappeared from sight.
The train carried him toward the place he had been waiting for for eleven years.
Hermione was still talking incessantly about the books she had read, Neville occasionally interjected a sentence or two, and Yarnball gave a soft "coo" in its cage.
Polaris leaned back in his seat, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
A new journey had begun.
Chapter 20: Accio and the Savior
The train sped through the English countryside, the view outside the window changing from city to fields, and from fields to rolling hills.
Hermione's mouth hardly ever stopped. She went from History of Magic to Charms, from Transfiguration to Potions, pouring out all the knowledge she had read in books. Neville listened nervously at first, but gradually relaxed, occasionally nodding in agreement.
Rhys leaned against the window, listening to Hermione's non-stop chatter, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
This was the eleven-year-old Hermione Granger. Smart, confident, a bit proud, and not yet understanding what it meant to "know when to stop." But she did have a kind heart—evident from how she proactively helped Nevillefind his toad.
Speaking of toads...
"Where's Trevor?" Hermione suddenly stopped, her gaze falling on the empty seat next to Neville.
Neville looked down, his face instantly turning pale.
The spot was empty.
"He was just here..." Neville's voice began to tremble. "I'm sure I put him right here..."
Hermione sighed and stood up. "Come on, let's look again. The train hasn't stopped yet; he must be nearby."
Neville hurriedly got up, and the two of them left the compartment.
Rhys didn't move.
He knew Trevor would come back on his own—that toad loved to escape but always returned to its owner. Just like it was written in the original books.
But he didn't stop them, because this was the beginning of the friendship between Hermione and Neville.
A few minutes later, Hermione and Neville returned. Neville's eyes were red, clearly frantic with worry.
"Couldn't find him," Hermione said with a frown. "I asked in several compartments, and no one has seen a toad. By the way, I ran into that Harry Potter in the compartment next door."
She paused, a hint of excitement in her voice. "The Boy Who Lived! He's in our carriage too, sitting with a red-haired boy. Do you think he might be looking for a toad as well?"
Rhys glanced at her but didn't respond.
Harry Potter.
The boy born on the same day, month, and year as him.
The boy destined to bear the name of the Savior.
Rhys felt no ill will toward Harry, and even felt some sympathy—a child abused since childhood, suddenly told he was a Wizard and some "Boy Who Lived." Anyone would find that hard to handle.
But he didn't want to get too close to Harry.
Not because he disliked him, but because he knew what was coming next.
Lord Voldemort would return.
The Death Eaters would make a comeback.
And Harry Potter would be the heart of this war.
If he got too close to Harry, the House of Black would be dragged in. His grandmother, his aunt, Bangbang, Kreacher—all these people would face danger because of his friendship with Harry.
He couldn't afford that price.
"Rhys?" Hermione's voice pulled him back to reality. "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing." Rhys stood up and looked at Neville. "When did Trevor go missing?"
Neville sniffled. "Just now... he was still here before we went out... I'm so useless, I can't even keep track of a toad..."
His voice grew smaller, and tears began to well up in his eyes.
Rhys looked at him and sighed inwardly.
This boy, the future hero of Gryffindor, was currently just a child crying because he lost his pet.
He thought of Neville's parents, lying in hospital beds at St. Mungos, long unable to recognize their own son.
He thought of his own parents, and the voids that could never be filled.
"Don't worry," Rhys said.
He pulled out his wand—Holly, Dragon Heartstring, eleven and a half inches.
"Accio Trevor."
The moment the spell left his lips, a soft golden light burst from the tip of his wand. A few seconds later, a fluttering sound came from the corridor, and a fat toad squeezed through the crack in the door, flying straight into Rhys's palm.
Rhys caught it and handed it to Neville.
Neville's eyes widened, his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.
"How... how did you do that?" His voice cracked.
Hermione's eyes were shining like lightbulbs.
"The Summoning Charm!" she almost shouted. "That's Accio! I read about it in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1—that's fourth-year material! How can you use it so well?"
Rhys put his wand away and said nonchalantly, "Practiced at home."
"Practiced?" Hermione looked incredulous. "That spell requires extreme focus and magic control. Even adult Wizards can't always get it on the first try! How did you practice? For how long? Are there any tricks?"
Rhys looked at her excited face and suddenly felt a bit of regret.
If he'd known, he wouldn't have stepped in.
"Just lots of practice," he said. "You get it eventually."
"Lots of practice?" Hermione was clearly unsatisfied with the answer. "I've practiced many spells too, but I've never succeeded with Accio! You must have a special method! Is it the wand? What's your wand made of?"
Before Rhys could answer, a commotion suddenly came from the next compartment.
"Let go of me, Potter!"
A sharp voice, filled with obvious annoyance.
Rhys recognized the voice—Draco Malfoy.
"Just you wait... my father will hear about this!"
Then came the sounds of scuffling, gasps, and something heavy hitting the floor.
"I'll go take a look." Rhys stood up and left the compartment.
Hermione and Neville followed behind him.
In the corridor, doors to several compartments had opened, with curious heads peeking out. Rhys walked quickly to the next door and saw Draco scrambling up from the floor in a mess. Beside him, a much sturdier boy—that was Goyle—was clutching his nose and howling, blood seeping through his fingers.
"My nose... my nose..."
Draco's face was flushed red, his eyes full of anger and embarrassment. He glared fiercely at the two people in the compartment—a black-haired boy with green eyes and a red-haired boy with freckles—then turned to leave, only to see Rhys standing nearby.
His expression froze for a moment before he quickly adjusted into an arrogant mask.
"Cousin," he said, his voice carrying a hint of awkwardness. "You're in this carriage too?"
Rhys nodded, his gaze sweeping over the dust on Draco's clothes before looking at the wailing Goyle.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," Draco spat through gritted teeth. "Just someone who doesn't know the rules."
The red-haired boy in the compartment—Ron Weasley—stood up immediately upon hearing this. "Who are you calling'someone who doesn't know the rules'?"
The black-haired boy—Harry—held him back, though his own expression wasn't pleasant.
Rhys didn't press for details, simply walking over to Goyle.
"Let me see."
Goyle was still howling while clutching his nose, blood dripping from between his fingers. Rhys drew his wand, tapped the bridge of Goyle's nose lightly, and recited a Healing Charm his grandmother had taught him.
A soft white light flashed, and the swelling in Goyle's nose quickly subsided as the bleeding stopped.
Goyle blinked, letting go to touch his nose.
"It doesn't hurt anymore?"
"It doesn't hurt." Rhys put away his wand and turned to Draco, reaching out to pull him up.
Draco stood up, brushed the dust off his robes, and looked at Rhys with a complex expression.
"Thanks," he muttered, then raised his voice, returning to his usual arrogance. "No need to lower yourself to their level, cousin. Once you're in Slytherin, you'll know what a real Wizard is."
He shot a cold look at Harry and Ron, gave a sneer, and left with Goyle and Crabbe.
Rhys stood where he was, not following them.
He felt someone watching him.
It was Harry.
Those green eyes were staring at him, filled with curiosity and a hint of wariness.
Ron grumbled beside him, "Malfoy's cousin? Another Pure-blood git."
He didn't say it quietly; Rhys heard it clearly.
Hermione frowned and was about to speak, but Nevillespoke up first.
"He's not a git!" Neville spoke loudly for once, his face turning bright red. "He just helped me find my toad! He... he's very nice!"
Ron was stunned, seemingly not expecting anyone to talk back to him.
Hermione glanced at Ron, her tone somewhat sharp. "You two can't even use Accio, yet you have the nerve to talk about others? At least Rhys could heal that big guy's nose. What can you two do besides fight?"
With that, she pulled Neville back to their compartment.
Rhys glanced at Harry, gave a slight nod, and turned to leave as well.
---
Back in the compartment, Hermione's face was still slightly flushed.
"That Weasley boy, how could he say that about someone!" she said indignantly. "He clearly doesn't know anything, yet he just jumps to conclusions!"
Neville chimed in softly from the side, "Yeah... Rhys is great..."
Rhys sat down across from them, and Yarnball gave a soft "coo" in its cage.
"It's fine," he said. "It doesn't matter what others think."
Hermione looked at him, seemingly wanting to say something, but finally just asked, "Are you really Malfoy's cousin?"
Rhys nodded. "My aunt and his mother are first cousins. So, we're distant relatives."
"Will you go to Slytherin too then?" Hermione asked. "Malfoy said he's definitely going to Slytherin. You..."
"I won't," Rhys interrupted her. "I'm going to Ravenclaw."
Hermione blinked. "Why?"
Rhys looked at the scenery flying by outside the window and didn't answer directly.
"Because Slytherin can't teach what I want to learn."
Hermione looked at him thoughtfully.
After a long while, she spoke again. "No matter which house you go to, at least you're better than that Weasley. He's so narrow-minded, talking trash about people he doesn't even know."
Rhys smiled but didn't respond.
The sky outside gradually darkened as the train continued its journey.
He didn't know what the future held, or what kind of relationship he would have with Harry or Draco.
But he knew one thing—
He came here to become stronger.
To protect the people he cared about.
As for the Savior or the Dark Lord...
He'd avoid them if he could.
And if he couldn't... he'd deal with it then.