spellbound | d:bh x hp [ currently on hold ]

nine ; know me

(if anyone’s wondering, Tine’s wand looks similar to Hermione’s)

d e t r o i t — 2 0 3 8

Now I have to think of a way to explain to Connor what that wand is.

He technically didn’t see me casting any spells with it, he just saw me impale Ralph with it and point it at the said android.

I can’t just say that it’s a random stick. Knowing Connor, he would be skeptical. He most probably noticed the intricate details on it.

While I thought of the perfect excuse, Hank invited me to have a snack somewhere for our lunch break.

“Just follow my car, Scamander, I know you’re hungry too,” He says.

“Okay, Lieutenant.”

And I was right. Connor did ask me about my wand in the car.

He was driving again, because he insists on it. I couldn’t say no, I was too tired to drive.

“So, Detective,” Connor starts. “What was that thing you pointed at Ralph earlier?”

“Oh, that? Just an old-ass paintbrush my dad gave me. I think it was from the Victorian era since it had perfectly sculpted details.”

Connor tilted his head and looked at me. “I just kept it with me all the time since it had sentimental value,” I push further.

“Don’t you have a gun?” He asks.

“Accidentally left it at the police department,” I say, which wasn’t a lie. I legit left it at the station, inside my desk’s drawer.

Connor didn’t push the subject further, the only thing resounding in the car was the CD I put in, an album from a Muggle band my mum used to play all the time at home.

Early in my life, I was exposed to Muggle culture, mostly courtesy of the Weasley side of my family.

Being a Weasley, my mum liked and was interested in Muggles, just like my great-granddad, Arthur Weasley.

He worked in the Ministry, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office when Cornelius Fudge was still the Minister for Magic.

The Weasleys were the reason why I liked Muggle music, style and just particularly everything about them.

I’ll be sure to pay them a visit once this whole case is over.

“Connor, tell me about yourself,” I asked, curiously. His eyes were trained on the road, following Hank’s car.

The android looked at me for a second. “I am an RK800 prototype android, serial number 313 248 317—”

“No, not that, Connor, uh—”

“What do you mean, Detective?”

I shook my head. “Never mind.”

What did I expect? To tell me his favorite color, favorite music genre, book preference?

Connor remained silent after that, only speaking when Hank’s car stopped in front of ours.

“We’re here, Detective.”

“All right.”

I was struggling to remove my seatbelt, I didn’t realize Connor had already opened the door for me.

“Thank you, Connor,” I say after I managed to click the seatbelt open and stepped out of the car, into the rain.

“You are welcome.”