Chapter 85 – An Unpleasant First Meeting
"Please forgive him, Mrs. Weasley," Russell said calmly. "George and Fred asked me to look after Ron. I'm sorry for worrying you."
The moment she heard that, most of the anger drained from Mrs. Weasley's face, her ire immediately shifting from Ron to the twins.
"Leaving their own brother behind and dumping the responsibility on someone else—just wait until I get my hands on them!"
When she turned back to Russell, her expression softened instantly, her change of mood nothing short of astonishing.
"Thank you, Russell."
She was about to take Ron home when her eyes suddenly fell on the brand-new wand in his hand.
"Ron—where did that wand come from?"
Her tone was steady, but Ron's face grew paler by the second. He knew that this calm meant she was truly angry.
"Please don't blame Ron, Mrs. Weasley," Russell stepped in again. "I gave him that wand as a gift."
"That's right, Mum," Ron exhaled in relief.
"That's far too expensive," Mrs. Weasley said, clearly shaken. "We can't accept this."
She had assumed Ron had taken advantage of the chaos to steal a wand—that was why she'd been so furious. Now she realized she'd misunderstood him entirely.
"Please," Russell said with a smile. "I was hoping to visit your house more often during the holidays. I'd hate to be turned away."
"Of course not," Mrs. Weasley said warmly. "The Weasley home will always welcome you—and Wednesday as well."
She looked at Ron, who was gazing at the wand as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and her eyes grew faintly red.
"I'm sorry, Ron. Mum was wrong just now."
Russell and Wednesday quietly slipped away at that moment. Russell wasn't good with scenes like that—though that had absolutely nothing to do with being an orphan. Definitely not.
"Shall we buy your clothes first?" Russell asked. "Then maybe a pet—"
He suddenly remembered something.
"By the way, did those Acromantula eggs I gave you hatch? I didn't see them at home."
"Dad put them in the vault as guards," Wednesday replied, clearly displeased.
"Then I'll buy you another pet later," Russell said. "And one for Pugsley too. How about that?"
"…Mm."
Buying clothes was always exhausting—whether for an eleven-year-old girl or a thirty-year-old woman.
While Wednesday went inside to try something on, Russell waited idly. Then—
Creek.
The door opened.
The newcomer had pale blond hair, nearly silver-white, very fair skin, a sharp, narrow face, gray-blue eyes, and a slender build. His posture radiated arrogance and pride, chin lifted slightly.
"Hey," he drawled. "Where's Madam Malkin?"
Russell closed his eyes, pretending he hadn't heard a thing.
Seeing that he was being ignored, the boy immediately flew into a rage.
"Are you deaf? I asked you where Madam Malkin is!"
"If no one at home ever taught you manners," Russell said as he opened his eyes, his gaze turning icy, "then I suppose I can teach you instead."
Russell had walked through blood and fire before. Against a spoiled, ill-mannered young wizard like this, a single look was more than enough.
Sure enough, the arrogance on the boy's face collapsed into terror. He yelped, spun around, and bolted out the door.
Watching his retreating back, Russell frowned slightly.
He looked… strangely familiar.
Before he could place it, Wednesday emerged from the fitting room. In addition to her school robes, she had purchased several black robes in different styles.
It was getting late. Time to leave.
Just as they finished paying and turned to go, an extremely smug voice rang out behind them.
"Dad—him! And her! They're the ones who glared at me!"
Russell frowned and turned around.
The boy from earlier now stood triumphantly behind a well-dressed wizard.
The man had long, pale blond hair, sleek and perfectly groomed. His face was pallid and severe, his features sharp and aristocratic. Beneath faint eyebrows, a pair of gray-blue eyes regarded Russell coldly, laced with disdain.
He slowly swept his gaze over Russell and Wednesday.
"So," he said leisurely, "you're the one who bullied Draco?"
His tone was calm, confident—superior.
In his eyes, Russell was nothing more than a half-blood or a Muggle-born. The pure-blood circle was small, and he knew all of them.
"Apologize to my son," he continued coolly, "and I'll allow you to leave."
The sheer arrogance made Russell laugh.
"Why?" Russell replied mockingly. "Because your face is bigger than everyone else's?"
Lucius Malfoy.
So it was Voldemort's dog—one that wasn't even particularly loyal.
"You—" Lucius's expression darkened. He clearly hadn't expected such blatant disrespect.
"Very well," he said slowly, eyes narrowing with malice. "What's your name? I think we should… talk further."
In his mind, punishment had already taken shape—parents losing their jobs, futures quietly destroyed. He had that power.
"Russell Fisone."
"Fisone…?" Lucius's habitual smile froze.
He searched his memory—but there was no such family among wizarding bloodlines.
"A Muggle-born, then," Lucius scoffed, shaking his head. "Hardly worth my time."
He had already decided—he'd simply have a Slytherin student deal with this boy at Hogwarts.
But then Draco spoke again.
With a vicious grin, he pointed at Wednesday.
"Hey—your little sister, right? Just wait. No matter which house she's sorted into, I'll make her life miserable. You too."
"Is that a threat?" Wednesday asked calmly.
Something felt wrong.
Lucius opened his mouth to stop Draco—but it was already too late.
"So what if it is?" Draco sneered, confidence swelling under his father's shadow.
"Stupefy."
A red flash erupted from Wednesday's wand.
It struck Draco squarely in the chest.
He didn't even cry out—his body stiffened and toppled backward, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
For someone who had only received her wand today, her casting was flawless.
"You filthy Mudblood—how dare you—!" Lucius roared, drawing his wand from his cane, ready to unleash a curse—
But Russell was faster.
"Expelliarmus."
Brilliant red light exploded forward.
Lucius staggered back two steps, nearly losing his balance. Years of comfort and complacency had dulled him—he could barely hold his ground against a first-year.
The shop fell deathly silent.