"I... it's not like that!"
Arthur Weasley opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air on land, utterly speechless.
"Mr. Weasley," Marius Cloud said coldly, his tone like a knife through glass. "I'll be informing Minister Fudge of today's events. The Ministry really ought to conduct a more thorough review of who's fit to work there."
He didn't wait for Arthur's reply. Turning away, Marius called out, "You're Aug, aren't you? Come over and start packing two sets of Hogwarts books according to the list. We're checking out now."
"Right away, sir!"
Aug scurried off like a dog that had just been offered a second chance at life.
The Grangers, who had turned to follow Marius, were stopped by Arthur's desperate reach. "Wait! Please—I mean... this was all just a misunderstanding, really, we—"
"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Weasley," said Mr. Granger, interrupting him this time. His voice was icy. "But I think we're fine. Mr. Cloud is the one who helped us out of this mess. I see no reason to associate with someone who insulted and misjudged him so rudely."
"But—but I just..." Arthur's voice trailed off as his hand slowly dropped. "At the very least, maybe I could make it up to you by acting as a guide around Diagon Alley..."
"Dad, if they don't want to talk to us, why are we still trying to tag along?"
Ron grumbled impatiently, clearly annoyed.
But Arthur, ever the bleeding heart, didn't give up easily when it came to Muggles. He was a walking goodwill mission, even if it made everyone else uncomfortable.
Surprisingly, it was Marius who stopped walking this time.
"Mr. Weasley," he said, pausing just long enough for the tension to build. "If we're not going the same way, I don't see how you could possibly guide us."
He turned around, gazing down at Arthur with the kind of look one might give a common beggar. "We're going to Madam Malkin's for Hermione's Hogwarts robes. We might even swing by Gladrags Wizardwear."
"Gladrags?!"
Ron practically choked on his own breath. In the Weasley household, Gladrags was legendary—not for its reputation, but for how utterly unattainable it was. To Ron, it was a place you admired from a distance, like a dragon's hoard you'd never dare approach.
"But I suppose you won't be going there, will you?" Marius said smoothly. "Little Ron here already has his brothers' hand-me-downs, doesn't he? Or maybe, if you're really feeling extravagant, you'll visit the second-hand robe shop to pick up something 'almost' new?"
With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Arthur's face cycling through shades of green and white as if he'd been hit with a color-changing charm. Hermione and the Grangers followed him, their expressions a mix of awe and amusement.
Marius might not fully agree with the narrow-minded blood supremacy of traditional pure-blood ideology, but that didn't mean he thought there was anything wrong with being a pure-blood. Statistically speaking, children born into pure-blood families did show stronger magical potential, and besides—he was a scion of one of the most powerful noble bloodlines in Britain.
He wasn't going to bite the hand that allowed him to dominate the room. He wasn't naive enough to rebel against his own pedigree for the sake of sentiment.
And as for Arthur Weasley? Marius had no patience for people who jumped to conclusions based on their own assumptions—especially when it led to baseless accusations.
So if verbally crushing him into the dirt was simple and satisfying?
Even better.
Although he'd told Arthur they were headed for robes, Marius reconsidered once they'd left the bookshop. First things first: it was time to get Hermione a wand.
Because let's face it—without a wand, how was he supposed to show off?
Wands were arguably the greatest invention in the history of European wizardry. Without them, casting spells wasn't just harder—it was unremarkable. And Marius never passed up a good opportunity to impress.
Ollivanders, founded in 382 B.C., was the finest wand shop in all of Britain. Unlike the so-called "Big Four" wand-making families in the United States—Marius privately thought of them as the "Four Dumbest Stickhouses"—Garrick Ollivander was in a league of his own: the oldest, the most skilled, and the most respected.
Though there were two other wandmakers in Europe with comparable fame, Marius knew that aside from their reputation, they couldn't hold a candle to Ollivander's skill.
Unfortunately, the shop's exterior didn't quite match its legendary status. Marius had offered to renovate it more than once, but every time, the old man had turned him down.
The Grangers curiously peered into the display window, where a single wand rested atop a faded purple cushion. Marius had already told them about wandlore earlier—how these seemingly ordinary sticks were actually the foundation of all wizard magic.
As they stepped into the shop, a soft chime rang out from somewhere unseen. It was a small, narrow place, barren except for a single wooden chair. Yet the sheer number of wand boxes stacked high like ancient tomes made it feel more like a fortress of knowledge than a retail shop.
"Good afternoon,"
said a soft voice.
An elderly man with luminous, pale eyes emerged from the shadows.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander."
"Ah, I didn't quite see—Marius Cloud, is that you?" Ollivander's eyes sparkled. "Forgive me—I'm just an old man alone in this dusty little place. I couldn't get away to attend your birthday celebration, but that won't stop me from wishing you a very happy birthday."
Marius smiled. "No worries. I've come to choose my wand today. I trust your missing gift will find its way into my hands soon enough."
"Still as sharp as ever, young Marius."
Ollivander chuckled. "So, it's finally your turn to find a wand, is it? I still remember the day your parents came in to buy theirs. It feels like just yesterday."
This caught Marius by surprise. "Wait, my parents knew each other before Hogwarts?"
"Oh yes. Your father, I heard, was originally meant for Slytherin. But in the end, he chose Ravenclaw to be with your mother. They both chose wands made of agarwood—nine and one-third inches, beautifully balanced. Quite the matching pair."
"That's the first secret I've heard today," Marius mused with a smirk. "But don't think that lets you off the hook for the missing birthday present."
He stepped aside and gestured to Hermione, who was standing a little awkwardly behind him. "Today, though, I'm hoping you'll help find the perfect wand for this young lady."
Ollivander's expression grew serious. "But of course. Let's begin with you then, young Marius."
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