Rai_jin
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#11 WSWW
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 16:00:14 +0000 UTCWizards share a unique and often magical bond with their pets, a connection that can be called a "magic pet pact."
When this bond is formed, a magical contract is created, similar to how a young witch or wizard finds the perfect wand—it's as if fate guides the choice.
Originally, Ted couldn’t afford an owl, but now, with Anzu by his side, he didn’t mind one bit. He had a companion, one that would grow alongside him.
Of course, it would take another couple of weeks before Anzu could fly properly, but Ted wasn’t worried. He had a plan.
Lately, he had been researching fundamental movement spells—the foundation behind levitation charms and flight magic. These weren’t typically taught until third or fourth year at Hogwarts, but Ted had never been the type to wait for the curriculum to catch up with him.
Most wizards, after all, weren’t scholars. They learned spells through repetition but often lacked an understanding of the deeper mechanics behind them. Their way of casting magic was idealistic—powerful, but uninformed.
Another week passed, bringing him even closer to the start of term. With less than two weeks left, Ted realized he needed to make more preparations.
Mainly, he needed money.
Previously, his odd jobs had been about more than just earning a few Sickles—he had been immersing himself in the magical world, gaining experience. But now, his focus shifted. With Hogwarts just around the corner, he needed funds to support himself.
August’s featured knowledge exchange offered "Chakra Refinement Techniques"—something Ted decided to pass on, so he no longer felt an urgent need for fast cash.
But still, having money never hurt.
As a first-year Hogwarts student, Ted had access to an official currency exchange program, allowing him to trade British pounds for Galleons at a favorable rate. It was far easier than trying to earn Galleons directly in Diagon Alley.
Back when he had performed as a street musician, he had earned ten to twenty pounds a day from singing—roughly four or five Galleons! That was a decent amount.
So, after disappearing for over a month, Ted—the young street performer—made his grand return!
This time, he came back with upgrades. His old guitar, now repaired with magic, sounded better than ever. His wardrobe, while still secondhand, had a certain charm to it—a vintage top hat, a small but neat tuxedo, and, of course, a tiny raven perched on his shoulder, catching the attention of passersby.
Anzu played his part well. He would tilt his head at the right moments, interact with the crowd, and even "randomly" select people for fun little games. When audience members tossed coins into the open guitar case, Anzu would flutter down and tap at them, causing delighted laughter and applause.
People in Great Britain had never seen a bird perform tricks or "predict the future" before.
With magic at his fingertips, Ted expanded his performance repertoire beyond just music. He introduced sleight-of-hand tricks, seamlessly mixing actual magic with cleverly executed illusions. For instance, he could make a card hover in midair and loop around him, passing it off as a well-practiced magician’s trick rather than real spellwork.
And because his wand had yet to be registered with the Trace, even if a wizard happened to pass by, Ted had plausible deniability.
"It’s all just magic tricks, sir! Simple sleight-of-hand! A bit of fun for the crowd!" he’d say with a wink.
Performing magic under the guise of illusions? That took guts. But Ted wasn’t reckless—just resourceful.
And business was good.
On his first day back, he made over thirty pounds. The second day, he drew an even larger crowd.
Within a week, Ted had become a minor attraction. Each performance lasted three to four hours, with forty to fifty people gathering to watch at a time. His presence in the streets of London became something of a local curiosity—a boy in a top hat and tuxedo, strumming an old guitar, with a baby raven on his shoulder and magic at his fingertips.
People stopped to stare. Some stayed to listen. Many walked away entertained, lighter in spirit—and lighter in wallet.
Ted had talent. His voice, though still youthful, carried a certain depth beyond his years. His guitar playing was skillful, and his slight-of-hand tricks left the audience murmuring in amazement. And then there was Anzu—chirping at just the right times, hopping along the edge of the guitar case, and occasionally "answering" questions as if he truly understood.
If he kept this up for another couple of weeks, he might actually become famous.
By the time he counted his earnings, Ted had raised over 300 pounds. If exchanged for Galleons, it would be more than enough to cover his student expenses, with plenty left over for himself. The only limitation was how much he could actually exchange at once.
Still, Ted knew when to quit while he was ahead.
He decided to perform for one final day before retiring his act.
Even though he had ways to avoid trouble with the Ministry of Magic, drawing too much attention was never a good idea.
"Thank you for your support, ladies and gentlemen!" Ted announced to his gathered audience, tipping his hat with a grin. "Since I’ll be heading off to school soon, today will be my last performance—at least for now. But who knows? Maybe someday, we’ll meet again on the streets."
He glanced at Anzu, who flapped his small wings as if in agreement.
"There are so many towns in the world, so many streets in each town. And yet, somehow, we crossed paths right here. So, for my final song, here’s a classic—'Casablanca.'"
This song, written in the 1970s by Bertie Higgins after watching the movie of the same name, told a story of love and loss during wartime. The film itself was a tale of refugees escaping war-torn Europe, passing through Casablanca on their way to America, entangled in bittersweet romance along the way.
A song of love, nostalgia, and longing—emotions that transcended time.
In the old streets of London, the melody carried a certain magic of its own.
Ted strummed the first chords on his guitar, his voice taking on a wistful tone beyond his years:
"I fell in love with you watching Casablanca~…
Backrow of the drive-in show in the flickering light~…
Popcorn and Coke under the stars became champagne and caviar~…
Making love on a long hot summer's night~…"
His fingers danced across the strings, each note resonating through the evening air.
People stopped. People listened. Some even wiped away a tear or two.
The final notes of Ted’s song lingered in the air, met with a wave of applause and the generous clinking of coins dropping into his guitar case.
Among the crowd, a young girl about Ted’s age eagerly tossed in a five-pound note—though, judging by her startled expression a moment later, it may not have been intentional.
Ted chuckled internally. "Ah, bless your kind and generous heart, my lady. May you always be free of worries and filled with joy."
With a flourish, he transitioned smoothly into his next act—magic tricks. Cards flipped effortlessly between his fingers, ribbons changed colors midair, roses appeared and vanished, and Anzu, his tiny raven, seemingly materialized from within his battered top hat only to disappear and reappear moments later.
The audience watched in awe, their eyes fixed on every movement, trying to catch the trick. But Ted was always a step ahead—his magic was beyond their imagination.
The little girl, now utterly enchanted, tugged at her father’s sleeve and whispered something. With a sigh, the man pulled out another bill, which she gleefully tossed into Ted’s case.
Ted grinned. He had to give her something in return. With a dramatic wave of his hand, he snapped his fingers—and a small wildflower appeared between his fingertips. He knelt slightly, offering it to her with a knowing smile.
She gasped in delight as she accepted the flower, her fingers tracing its delicate petals as if it might vanish at any moment.
Ted bowed deeply in a circle to the crowd, signaling the end of his performance. "Alas, all good things must come to an end! But fear not, for the world is vast, and we may meet again. Sayonara!"
With that, he packed up his things, slung his guitar over his back, and disappeared into the bustling streets of London.
The audience slowly dispersed, murmuring about the boy with the mysterious talent. Among them, the little girl and her father made their way to their car, ready to head home.
As they drove, the girl was still brimming with excitement.
"Dad!"
"Hmm?"
"He sings so beautifully!"
Her father nodded. "Yeah, it was… moving. There was something in his voice, something beyond his years."
The girl clenched her fists excitedly. "Dad, how do you think he did those tricks? Do you think it was real magic? But I never saw a wand! Do you think Hogwarts teaches that kind of magic?!"
Her father, keeping his eyes on the road, gave a small chuckle. "Yes, yes. Just be patient. When you get to Hogwarts, you’ll learn all sorts of things. And if you don’t like it, you can always come back to Muggle school. No pressure."
The girl scoffed, clearly unimpressed with his lack of enthusiasm. "No way, Dad! Hogwarts is going to be the best school ever!"
He sighed in amusement. "Alright, alright. Sit tight, we’re almost home, Hermione."
Hermione Granger beamed, still twirling the wildflower between her fingers, completely lost in the wonder of the evening.
Had Ted known the identity of his "kind and generous little girl," he might have sighed in relief—thank Merlin, it was Hermione.
Because while Ted considered himself resilient, if it had been an alternate reality where Hermione was some dark, miserable, and sinister version of herself…
Well, in that case, he might’ve seriously considered becoming a dark wizard himself.
"Destroy it all! This wretched wizarding world!"
