The Greedy Frog
patreon
Hey, I Ruin Stories! Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2024-04-19 16:25:28 +0000 UTCChapter 4: A New Life
“Pray tell why did he send you to me?”
Tonks didn’t sound too happy.
“Maybe they thought you were free?” I said, “But I do appreciate that you were willing to help me find a place.”
She did find a good place. Cozy ambience, pretty big fireplace and big enough rooms.
Three rooms to be precise.
“This is only temporary.” She said, “You would have gotten a much worse room, but they did not have anything other than this. So, count yourself lucky.”
Lucky I was, but this was no luck. This was pure magic, the magic of the white orb.
“You have around a month to find a job.” She said, sitting opposite to me. “You seem to be my age, around twenty-five-esque, so you shouldn’t have that difficulty in finding a job. Especially if you have skills to back you off.”
“I do have the skills.” I sure did, five of them. “And I will look for work starting tomorrow. That was the plan as well, even before getting robbed.”
She nodded, sipping the glass of red wine.
It was free from the hotel’s side. Honestly, it was much more of a manor than a hotel. And I got pretty much the royal booking thanks to their lack of open slots and the previous guy’s recommendation.
But I did have to make a correction.
“And I am older than you.” I said, “By quite a bit actually.”
This made her curious. “Like?”
“Like thirty two.”
She nearly spat her drink, but realizing that it was probably expensive, she swallowed it —choking on it in the process.
“Thirty two? You are thirty-two?” She asked, baffled as she stared at me.
“Don’t worry.” I assured her, “My skills can make up for my age.”
“Thirty-two, huh.” She was still focused on my age. “That's not what I expected.”
“But I do thank you for the clothes.” This time, I wasn't in robes. But a proper suit. “This suits my style more than the purple robe.”
“Purple is a good color.” She said with squinted eyes.
“And I never said that it wasn’t.”
She tried to find any form of mockery on my face. But I wasn’t trying to make fun of her. Purple was a nice color, just not to be worn as a robe.
“I believe you this once.” She said, which unintentionally made me smile.
“You have been believing a lot of what I have been saying.”
“What do you mean by that?” She was confused, but she wasn’t going to get an answer from me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I said, finishing my drink. “It's very late. Would you like to stay over?”
“No, I have work in the morning.” She declined instantly, “But I am happy that you found a place.”
“Thank you.” I thanked her once again, “But are you sure? It's way past midnight and there is not a soul outside at this place in this hour. And my bed is big enough for two people.”
“Funny.” She rolled her eyes, “You would find better success in trying your luck at finding a job.”
Worth a shot.
“Luck is not necessary when you have the skill.” I said, “Don't worry, I will find a job even before you find any job article.”
Once again, she was confused and just like before —I wasn’t planning on giving out any information.
“You better not act that mysterious everytime.” She said, surprisingly not angry. “Many don’t like that.”
Without commenting on that topic, I asked. “Would you like me to drop you off?”
“Appreciate the gesture, but I can go on my own.” She said, “You should rest. You had a hectic day.”
That was putting it lightly.
“You sure?”
“Quite.” She finally gave a smile, although through only one side of her lips. “Rest well, Darius. And even if I find you a little annoying, I don't mind helping you. So, do inform me if you get into trouble.”
“Do I get any contact information to do that?”
She chuckled, “The Auror post at the east. Your message will be delivered to me.”
She was interesting. Being brought up away from the magical Britain House politics made her quite free spirited.
“You should get yourself a wand.” She suggested, getting off the chair. “You will need it for protection and to demonstrate your skills in case you find a job opportunity.”
“I will be going to shop a little tomorrow.” I did get a tiny budget from the ministry’s scheme that the Auror post kept for emergency needs. And that guy from earlier was very generous with his help. “I heard Diagon Alley is a good place to shop?”
“Oh, you have heard of it?” She asked, amused. “And that is possibly the best place if you are on a budget. Just be careful not to have your money stolen.”
“Maybe accompany me?”
“No.” She said sternly, “I am not free, but it is not far so you can go on your own.”
The guy gave me a letter stating that I am allowed to possess wands, so it should be fine.
“Anyhow, good night and rest well.” She smiled and walked past the fireplace and towards the door. “Hope you find a job soon.”
Leaning back on the chair, I smiled. “Thank you, and have a good night.”
She vanished just as quickly as she greeted farewell, leaving the door slightly open and me fully awake with my thoughts.
“Alcohol and chaotic thoughts,” I found myself smiling like an idiot. “Not the best mix.”
The night was still young and I was more awake than when I got here.
Walking to the window and staring out at the dimly lit place filled with the scent of the old city, I wondered if a night trip was the best choice.
“The best choices never make fun memories, do they?”
And there I had my answer.
…
…
[Diagon Alley, 1992]
“Did you hear?”
Diagon Alley was peaceful, yet full of whispers.
“Three men were sent to the healers last night.”
News spread like wildfire through the streets, through the ears of Diagon Alley.
“They all claim that the other stole their galleons, but each of the others declines it.”
“How can they all steal from each other? That doesn't make sense.”
Rumors are rarely truthful.
“Do you think they were drunk? Or lunatics?”
“No wonder they spoke nonsense.”
“Excuse me.” My voice drew the gossiper’s eyes, causing one of them to blush. “Might you know where Sir Ollivander’s shop is?”
“Y-Yes.” The blonde middle-aged woman stuttered, forgetting her chirpings. “It is to the south.”
“Thank you.” Saying that, I walked south. Checking each store on the way, while keeping track of the few hundred galleons that were on me.
Chaos does not have to start at a large scale, even three men fighting like rabid dogs in the middle of the night and preventing others from sleeping can also be considered chaos.
And when that chaos helps someone secure a bit of money, it only counts as a bigger success.
“Ollivanders. I remember the old man.”
I recall the hazy memory of the man that treated wands as children, caring for them more than he did for humans.
Taking out the letter of approval to wield wands, and keeping a hand over the pouch of galleons, I walked through the door.
Wondering what I might find inside. Hopefully a decent wand, not too big, not too small.
Just decent.
…
…
{Garrick Ollivander}
The shop has seen better days.
Old wood that needed replacement, paint that was coming off and fabric across the room that was torn.
It wasn’t the lack of money, it was the lack of time. I didn't just have enough time to focus on the shop.
Pulled to and fro the wands and the students, I barely had time to care for the shop.
But it is way past Hogwarts’ admittance ceremony and that meant a major decline in sales.
It was a little sad, but most witches and wizards bought wands only once in their life —like they should— and that once in life occurs when they join a school of magic. So, for us at Ollivanders, our sales see a spike during August and even during early September.
But at this time of the year, in the middle of June? Sales are stagnant.
Not that I mind, but it in a way gives me time for myself and my shop.
“I should probably replace the old oak wood with something new.” Analyzing the pillars, I realized that they wouldn't last very long. It has been centuries since the place was last renovated and needs some serious work.
This week, I should work on it.
But as I focused on the condition of the shop, I did not notice the bell chiming as a man, a customer, walked in.
“I hope I am at the right shop.” A deep but smooth voice, definitely not a student.
And turning to the side, surprised at the sudden visit, I saw a man no more than twenty five to seven, standing in a nice coat with a handsome smile.
“Ah, welcome to Ollivanders, the finest of the wandmakers in all of Magical Britain.”
“Then I am at the right place.” He said, taking a few steps closer and checking out the place.
“Pardon the dust.” I should have cleaned it a bit. “And how may I help you today?”
His appearance and age said that he needed repair or cleaning of his wand. But his words said something entirely different.
“I was hoping to find a wand that would fit me.”
“Quite late for a first wand, aren’t you.”
It was saddening to see people discarding their old wands once they lost their glitter or took a bit of chipping.
“Unfortunately it is my second, the first was broken in front of my eyes.”
“That's blas—”
“Tragic, I am aware.” He said, even before I could complete my words. “But the Aurors are after them, hopefully me and my wand get the justice we deserve.”
“I am sorry.” I had to apologize, to him and to his wand. “You are not from around here, are you?”
“Middle Eastern.” He said, and those eyes and face were proof enough of his words. “Came here for a new life and instead lost everything that I had.”
The place was filled with thieves, robbers even and I could not apologize for all that happened here. All I could do was sympathize.
“Losing a wand that you are bonded with is like losing a piece of yourself.” I had my head lowered, ashamed for what a man faced in my own land. “I hope I can help you feel better through a new wand, even though it will never replace your previous, it will at least make you feel less lonely.”
“That's what I have heard of you,” He took out a piece of paper from the back of his hand, “This is a formality.”
And once I took the paper, I could only feel worse for him.
His words held all the truth, the stamp of the Aurors was proof of it.
“Do you wish for a similar wand as your old one?” I had to ask, “I can try to forge a similar —not same, never same— one.”
“As you said, the first wand can never be replaced.” He felt for his wand, a symbol of a good wizard. “So, I do not want anything similar. No gimmicks, only ones that are capable in their own unique ways.”
“Each wand is unique.” I said and he instantly agreed.
“That is why I want a new one, and I trust you can find me the perfect one.”
“Of course, lad!” I pointed at the stack of wands that I made a few days ago. “You can find a wand for you, one that will consider you her first even if she is your second!”
He laughed a little, “A man married to his craft.” He commented, “Then I will trust your craft, good sir.”
It had been a long time since someone showed such interest in the craft and I could not help but rush towards my wands.
“Tell me, son.” I looked at him, the poor handsome boy had a hidden sadness in him. “What kind do you desire? Wand with higher magic output, greater speed of casting or better balance?”
“Just a wand that lets me cast spells.” He said, “All wands are good, none greater.”
He was wise, wise beyond his years.
“Long or short? Thin or thick?”
“Short enough to hide in my robe, long enough to still be seen after a proper grip.” He explained, “Thin enough to fit in my palm, thick enough to not break in my grip.”
“Excellent!” I had to rush to my warehouse, “Give me just a toad’s croak of time!”
I knew exactly what he needed, exactly the type of wand that would suit him.
His demeanor, his noble aura and kind heart —yet the melancholic soul.
I know what he needs.
Blackthorn for the melancholic heart.
Searching through the stash of blackthorn wands, I finally found it.
The only pieceI I had made in the last few years.
Gripping it in my hand, I rushed towards the boy who had been waiting patiently with a calm face.
“I believe this best suits you, young one.”
I placed the wand gently over the counter letting the boy witness the wand’s magnificent glory.
And with my joy, he walked towards the wand.
“It is beautiful.”
“Fourteen inches.” I told him, “Blackthorn for someone with the pain of losing a piece of themselves, their first wand and dragon heartstring for the courage they possess to move forward despite the pain of loss.”
He examined the wand from above, before finally asking permission.
“May I?”
“Please.” I asked, “Take it.”
If it did not work, I had a few more blackthorn wands or even yew that might suit his tragic self.
But to my surprise, it was very rare when it happened.
The wand danced in his hand for a moment before sitting comfortably over his palm, like a tamed puppy.
“I think…” The boy showed a smile that I shared as well. “It likes me.”
In a very long time, had a wand found its owner in its first meet.
“It has,” I said, “It has found itself an owner.”
A rare occurrence.
.
.
.
Yet one that I didn't know would have occurred no matter which wand he chose.
He was an Omni-Bearer.
One who could wield any and all wands. And without a doubt, the scariest kind of wizards.
Not good, never good.
______________________________________________________________________________
[[A/N: Will post the rest once I wake up]]
