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Perhaps it was Madam Hooch’s relentless prodding that finally spurred Michael and William into action. As they spotted Ian making a break for the castle, they each grabbed him firmly under the arms and hauled him unceremoniously back to the lawn.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
Michael eyed Ian suspiciously, convinced he was attempting to skip class.
“That’s nonsense! Ian must have some grand mission we simply aren’t privy to— something truly extraordinary!” William, as ever, maintained his peculiar blend of childlike awe and effective flattery toward Ian.
“I just wanted to preserve my reputation and innocence while I still had the chance!” Ian groaned, casting a forlorn glance at Snape’s retreating figure, inwardly cursing himself for not reacting quicker.
Still, he secretly vowed that if Snape ever dared to use his hair in a Polyjuice Potion to infiltrate the girls’ bathroom— or, Merlin forbid, Professor McGonagall’s quarters for some improper snooping— then Ian would brew his own batch, transform into Snape, and put on a rousing performance of ‘The Weird Sisters” greatest hits in the middle of the Great Hall.
“That evil Snape!”
Ian fumed as he was dragged back into the crowd. He reached up, running a hand over the top of his head. As someone of British heritage, he was particularly concerned about the precarious state of his crown.
Admittedly, he was still just a child, but his hair wasn’t especially thick. If he didn’t start taking precautions now, who knew what sort of catastrophe awaited him in adulthood?
“Just you wait! I learned to ride a broom long before Hogwarts. My dad flew me all the way from Austria to the skies over London.”
“That time, we even encountered a Muggle’s rogue enchanted iron soaring through the air. It hurled a Bludger at us, inviting us to play, but my dad Disapparated us home in an instant.”
“I bet if he hadn’t been in such a rush to use the loo, I could’ve sent that Muggle’s flying iron straight into the Thames!” The boastful young Slytherin, who had already placed an order for a Nimbus 2000, continued to spin his tale with great flourish.
Ian admired the sheer audacity of this wizard’s storytelling. He was even more impressed by how many first-years listened with rapt attention, utterly unaware of the absurdity woven into the tale.
William, meanwhile, was boasting to Michael and the others— though not as extravagantly as the Slytherin. He simply bragged about owning a full set of Montrose Magpies boxer shorts.
They were animated, of course. Just like Dumbledore’s socks…
Ian quietly edged away, suddenly worried that William might return from the holidays with a custom-made pair featuring his own face.
“Whoosh!”
A sharp whistle cut through the chatter, silencing the students at once.
Madam Hooch stood before them, a middle-aged witch with closely cropped silver hair, a few strands ruffled by the wind. Her piercing yellow eyes surveyed the gathered first-years with keen scrutiny.
She wasn’t quite as formidable as Professor McGonagall, but she had a commanding presence nonetheless— enough to keep even the most skittish students in check.
Except, of course, for the Gryffindors.
“Flying is no laughing matter. Before you ever leave the ground, you must establish a connection with your broom.”
Her voice carried the weight of experience. “Now, listen carefully. If I catch anyone being careless, they will be removed from my class.”
The students straightened at once, their earlier mirth evaporating as Madam Hooch’s warning settled over them. Satisfied, she began explaining the fundamentals of flying and the necessary safety precautions.
After all, it was flesh wrapped around wood.
And there were no safety ropes.
Broomstick flying truly was a perilous endeavor. Ian couldn’t fathom why, in this modern age of magical innovation, no one had yet invented a flying contraption that allowed for a leisurely cup of tea mid-air.
They had to fly on brooms just for Quidditch?
“I must become Hogwarts’ very own Nicolas Flamel,” Ian mused, staring at the basic school broom he had been assigned. His desire to master alchemy burned even brighter.
Lost in thought, he barely avoided Madam Hooch’s sharp gaze.
“Say Up!”
Madam Hooch demonstrated how to summon their brooms, explaining that young wizards, still unfamiliar with harnessing their innate magical energy, could often activate it instinctively through spoken command.
Across the lawn, students shouted the incantation in unison. Most brooms merely twitched or rolled halfheartedly on the grass.
“Up.”
Ian’s broom shot neatly into his grasp at once. He wasn’t surprised. The more he interacted with other wizards, the clearer his understanding of magic’s rhythm became.
It was a flow.
One that few could perceive.
“One point to Ravenclaw. Well done, Mr. Prince.” Madam Hooch cast him a brief look of approval before giving him a rare thumbs-up.
William, the second to succeed, received only a nod. Second place had a way of fading into obscurity, but William didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
“Look, look! I was only a fraction slower than Ian!” He boasted gleefully to Michael.
“This is impossible,” Michael grumbled, wrinkling his nose. He nudged his broom with his foot before giving it a determined tug. The slightly battered broom hesitated, then leaped into his grasp with surprising steadiness.
It was not quite perfect, but magic had its ways. Where there was a will, there was a way.
Michael became the third student to successfully summon his broom.
Ian nodded. Michael was indeed a clever younger student. From the past few days of classes, it was clear that although Michael liked to cut corners, he always managed to meet the professors’ requirements. In this regard, William, who had been studying diligently, was slightly less efficient.
Who knew how long William had secretly practiced for this class?
“Focus!”
“You must really want it; strive to make the broom land in your hand!”
“Merlin’s beard! What are you doing!?”
…
Ian and his roommates waited for the other young wizards to familiarize themselves with the process. They didn’t see anyone taking off without permission, but they did see a young witch attempting to take a bite out of the flying broom.
‘Hmm.’
It was Michael’s favorite little sister. She muttered something about it looking like sugarcane, was caught red-handed by Madam Hooch, and was severely scolded.
Michael’s expression clearly showed he was heartbroken.
“Rebecca was just hungry; what’s wrong with that…”
Such is the life of a lovesick fool.
Ian and William couldn’t bear to watch. Fortunately, biting the broom a few times wasn’t a big deal, and Madam Hooch soon moved on to the next step of teaching takeoff.
“I’ll only demonstrate once. Remember, you must grip here tightly.” After demonstrating, Madam Hooch began inspecting and correcting the young wizards’ mistakes.
Ian had been comfortably straddling the broomstick, but after being corrected to the proper posture by Madam Hooch, his expression became less cheerful.
This thing is a bit uncomfortable… ouch.
The Cushioning Charm didn’t seem very effective on these old brooms.
“It’s fine as long as you don’t rise more than a few feet. Don’t let me see you flying over ten feet. So far, I still want to maintain my record of no injuries in my class.”
Madam Hooch’s tone clearly suggested that she was proud, but Ian knew she could only be proud for this year. Next year, Madam Hooch will truly face a major challenge in her career.
“Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh~”
Learning to fly wasn’t particularly difficult, not even as hard as Ian found the discomfort of the broom. Fortunately, he could secretly conjure a small cushion for his broom.
Everyone followed Madam Hooch’s instructions to practice. Ian also felt the joy of flying in the air, so free and relaxed… with an indescribable sense of familiarity.
“Turn into a raven and fly over!”
The request from the Rowena Ravenclaw seemed to echo in his ears. If he could learn the Animagus transformation, Ian really wanted to become a free-spirited raven.
“The preparatory work alone takes a long time, and it’s truly dangerous magic. A slight mistake could lead to the accidental creation of a new species.”
He felt a sense of anticipation.
However, Ian didn’t want to rush into learning Animagus transformation just yet; he had already piled up quite a few classes, and it wouldn’t be too late to learn after he had a solid understanding of alchemy.
“Flying cloak…”
After landing from his broom, aside from a few young wizards afraid of heights, most of the students felt a bit unsatisfied. Ian only felt that the experience of flying on a broom was really not comfortable.
When the Flying class ended, he immediately shook off his two gluttonous roommates and planned to return to the dormitory to study. He had read through the borrowed books, and Ian had made good progress in his study of alchemy.
Thanks to the fabric fragments given by Professor Mara and the numerous works of the great sages in the Hogwarts library, Ian’s alchemy skills had already broken through to level three last night.
This was already quite a good level.
Although wizards’ lives were inseparable from alchemy in every aspect— from wizard chess, broomsticks, and Remembralls to candles and enchanted fireplaces— the influence of alchemy was everywhere.
However.
As a subject that involves material changes, potions, ancient runes, charms, and transfiguration, even senior students found it difficult to master and learn.
So-called geniuses.
They were merely the ticket to enter this subject. As the most challenging discipline in the entire wizarding world, even among Hogwarts’ senior students, only a few prodigies chose it as an elective. Some of them might be able to grasp this skill, but reaching a level of true mastery was still quite difficult.
It wasn’t merely about being able to make a living with this skill after graduation; becoming a respected master of alchemy was almost impossible.
Alchemy required not only meticulousness and a rigorous attitude like well-oiled gears but also a comprehensive knowledge of various fields. To become a master, one also needed boundless imagination and creativity.
“Fortunately, I’m not just a genius; I’m also a bit of a show-off.” Ian didn’t find alchemy that difficult; it was merely a process of learning to control and innovate.
Seeing it, learning it, and starting to apply it— such was the way of it. When Ian hurried back to the Ravenclaw common room, he saw a Dementor standing guard on the Seventh Floor.
Many wizards avoided the Seventh Floor.
With faces full of fear.
Most people in the wizarding world were like this; they grew up hearing about the horrors of Dementors. Dementors were truly comparable to the various ghost stories Muggle families used to scare their children into obedience.
The difference was that Dementors actually existed, while ghost stories might have been tales made up by parents to frighten their children.
Dementors were not living beings but malevolent entities; they had no facial features, and where a mouth should be, there was a gaping void capable of draining a person’s soul and happiest memories.
The dreaded “Dementor’s Kiss” could plunge a person into eternal despair. It wasn’t just first-years who feared them— many grown witches and wizards did their best to avoid such creatures as well.
“What’s going on? Why is a Dementor at the school?”
Ian inquired with a senior student. It seemed that someone from the Ministry of Magic had arrived to investigate the mysterious circumstances surrounding Professor Ronnie Ehrlich’s death, and the Dementor had been brought along as an assistant.
“Stupid Dementors can assist in what investigation? This is definitely just the Ministry’s way of intimidating us. Cornelius Fudge loves to make others fear him!”
It appeared this senior had family in the Ministry of Magic and wasn’t shy about voicing their discontent; opinions from parents often had a way of seeping into their children’s views.
“Although they’re mindless, don’t you think they look impressive? I thought the school was going to issue Dementors… sigh, what a disappointment. I wanted to keep one.” Ian stood gazing at the Dementor stationed in the eighth-floor corridor, and the shadowy figure seemed to sense his stare.
Their eyes met— if one could call it that.
The Dementor hovered in mid-air, its hood concealing whatever lay beneath.
“Ah!”
Ian was affected by the Dementor’s presence, but instead of fear or dread… he only thought it looked even more fascinating. There was no chilling numbness, only a strange admiration for how ominously magnificent it was.
Perhaps…
Dementors, like basilisks, could make excellent pets!
“The Ministry of Magic is using Dementors all wrong.” Ian had some strong opinions about this; such an eerie yet intriguing creature should be studied, not relegated to mere prison guards.
What a waste!
“???????”
The third-year senior stared at Ian in utter disbelief.
She had planned to invite the younger student to lunch, hoping to build a casual friendship that might grow into something deeper over time.
However.
“Oh no, I left my wand in the classroom— how dreadful.” The senior, thoroughly unnerved by Ian’s enthusiasm, quickly feigned urgency and retreated toward the staircase.
She felt an immediate need to inform her friends— who had been discussing this charming younger student since the start of term— that some things were simply not meant to be in this lifetime.
“How brilliant!”
Ian had no idea what the senior was thinking. He sighed wistfully, gave a friendly wave to the dazed Dementor, and ascended the stairs to the Ravenclaw common room with an unusually lighthearted step.
“I heard someone got caught sneaking around last night.”
“Yes, a couple from Gryffindor. They were caught starkers (nude)!”
“Heavens! That’s bad luck. I bet it was Filch— people say he nicks students’ clothes to try and absorb a bit of magical residue!”
…
The common rooms at Hogwarts were always abuzz with gossip, and Ravenclaw’s was no exception. However, Ian wasn’t particularly interested in idle chatter unless it involved firsthand experience.
A group of younger students gathered around, eager to share the latest scandal with him. But Ian, far more interested in his alchemy research, deftly brushed them off. Before they could finish their excited storytelling, Ian had already slipped away.
Watching him disappear into the dormitory corridor, the younger students exchanged glances, looking somewhat dejected. They huddled together to analyze why Ian had been so dismissive.
In the end, they reached a unanimous conclusion— they must have fallen out of Ian’s favor. Thus, a new discussion began: how to regain the little professor’s good graces.
“Time to be disciplined!”
Ian had no idea he had sparked such a dramatic misunderstanding. As soon as he returned to his dorm, he eagerly dove into his books. He had already absorbed a wealth of knowledge on alchemy.
To be honest.
The wizarding world and the Muggle world had been separated for too long. Perhaps only alchemy still preserved the remnants of the once-thriving relationship between magical theory and Muggle science.
“If the enchantments used in broomsticks could be applied to build flying carriages or airships, we’d be looking at a whole new age of magical transportation! Even Muggle environmental groups would have to reconsider their stance.” Ian mused, feeling more convinced than ever that Muggle innovations held untapped potential for wizardkind.
He might not have been the most imaginative wizard himself, but in a world teeming with magical minds, there was no shortage of genius and boundless creativity.
Beyond drawing inspiration from Muggle’s ingenuity, Ian had an idea— what if he could set up a magical notice board, using Galleons to solicit inventive suggestions from others?
Standing atop the shoulders of many, he might just have a chance to carve his name into history as one of the great alchemists of the wizarding world.
Muggles could dream up fantastical concepts.
He would bring them to life with magic.
Wasn’t that the very essence of an alchemy master’s wisdom? The wizarding world had seen few true alchemical innovators over the centuries, and their creativity, while remarkable, surely couldn’t outmatch the collective imagination of an entire populace.
Just look at the contrast between the wizarding and Muggle worlds. With the combined efforts of countless individuals, Muggles had devised hundreds of methods to wage war.
And wizards?
They are still stuck on the same curses and the Killing Curse.
What a waste of the boundless potential magic offered by innovation! The fact that no one had developed a long-range cursing projectile was, in Ian’s mind, a testament to the magical world’s resistance to progress.
“Take the Marauder’s Map, for example. It’s been around for ages, yet only next year will Harry Potter finally get his hands on it. Keeping such things locked away for personal use? That’s outdated thinking.”
Ian voiced his thoughts aloud.
He pulled open the drawer of his desk, rummaging through a stack of parchment before selecting one. Today, he would begin his alchemy experiment: the creation of a low-cost, mass-produced alternative to the Marauder’s Map— so that every student at Hogwarts could have one.
Could he ask the Weasley twins for theirs?
Or keep it for himself?
Absolutely not.
Ian’s aim was to line his pockets while also arming Hogwarts students with a map of their own. After all, wouldn’t this help refine the night-wandering skills of young wizards?
“That’s how progress is made!”
Ian began scrawling furiously, inscribing the enchanted parchment with magical circuits linked to the appropriate runic texts. Despite it being his first practical attempt, his hand was steady and confident.
[Ancient Alchemy (Level 3) 76/400]
After all, he had already mastered the theory. This kind of meticulous crafting process only served to deepen his understanding, increasing his proficiency even more than simply reading alchemical tomes.
Of course.
Practice inevitably led to refinement, and the knowledge he gained in the process added layers to his skill, albeit more gradually than absorbing wisdom from the great alchemists of history.
[You are crafting an Alchemical Artifact, Proficiency +1]
[You are crafting an Alchemical Artifact, Proficiency +1.5]
[You are crafting an Alchemical Artifact, Proficiency +1]
…
At one point, he even gained 0.5 proficiency— a sign that his thought process had momentarily stalled. This was a new experience for Ian, but one he quickly overcame, completing the fundamental engravings on the first parchment.
“On to the second one!”
He pulled out another sheet.
This was part of a stash he had discovered in the Room of Requirement, along with various rare writing materials for magical inscriptions. The hidden chamber truly was a treasure trove of forgotten artifacts.
Ian had already considered moving his little classroom there once he no longer needed to keep it a secret. There was no reason for the Room of Requirement to remain untouched for seven years when it could serve a greater purpose.
It existed, yet it was left unused.
What difference was there between that and a miser hoarding Galleons in a Gringotts vault, letting them gather dust? Ian believed that the students who consistently attended his little study sessions deserved to know about and make use of such an invaluable space.
Of course.
Even if they weren’t prodigies, Ian was confident he could mold them into something more.
The only question was how much they were willing to pay.
“Everyone’s progress fuels the progress of the era. I’ve already been blessed with knowledge— why should I fear others catching up to me on the road to discovery?”
Ian had never been one to hoard knowledge in his private lessons.
That said, he wasn’t entirely selfless.
For instance, he had no intention of mass-producing his enchanted flying cloak. While the others soared through the air on brooms, he would glide effortlessly in style.
After all, there can only be one Doctor Strange at Hogwarts.
“Third one!”
“Fourth one!”
…
The initial creation of the Marauder’s Map wasn’t particularly complicated— at least in Ian’s eyes. For most other Hogwarts students, however, replicating such an artifact would be an insurmountable challenge.
After all, even Harry Potter’s father, James Potter— whom Snape would no doubt sneeringly refer to as an Idiot— a privileged troublemaker, had to collaborate with other talented individuals and dedicate significant effort to producing the original Marauder’s Map.
In other words—
Most wizards without a deep family legacy in magical craftsmanship would struggle to accomplish such a feat alone. Ian hadn’t seen the version the Weasley twins possessed, but he had his own methods of constructing a new Marauder’s Map.
“The most crucial element is the real-time display of names and locations. I’ll have to finish that part tonight— it’s far too crowded to work on it properly during the day.”
Ian planned to create only fifty copies in the first batch, and then make adjustments based on user feedback. He wasn’t concerned about completing the most intricate and labor-intensive enchantments.
Not long ago, he had discovered a fascinating detail in Hogwarts: A Secret History. The book described an ancient alchemical artifact hidden within the castle— the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance.
These enchanted objects determined Hogwarts’ incoming students, recording their names the moment they exhibited magic, and they operated with unparalleled accuracy.
This, Ian realized, was the key and inspiration for his own Marauder’s Map!
“Thank you, great ancestors. Thank you, Hogwarts founders. Thank you, Hogwarts itself… and, of course, thank you, my brilliant little brain.”
He had no idea how the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance worked, nor why their magic extended across all of Britain.
Even modern alchemists had failed to unravel their secrets. It was said that no human hand had turned their pages since the four founders placed them within the highest tower of the castle.
But—
Did that really matter?
Ian didn’t need to understand their inner workings completely—only how to borrow their principles to bind similar magic to the enchanted parchment he was crafting.
Success wasn’t guaranteed.
But he was at least 80 to 90 percent confident.
“Ah, I almost forgot— thank you, Professor Mara, for your excellent teachings!” Ian added, feeling that his former alchemy professor deserved some credit as well.
He continued inspecting the fragment of Professor Mara’s old robe, a piece he had salvaged for study.
Finishing the map would require some night-time exploration— he needed to find the tower where the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance were kept. Fortunately, there was still a fair bit of time before his afternoon classes.
His two roommates, William and Michael, still hadn’t returned.
One was probably holed up somewhere, deeply immersed in study. The other? Most likely running around trying to procure some sweets for the latest girl he was hopelessly infatuated with. Ian felt he understood both of them all too well by now.
“Whoosh!”
Just as Ian was scribbling down notes, a small figure suddenly appeared in front of him.
“Micky brings lunch for the learned Mr. Prince!”
It was Micky, the house-elf Ian had met in the Hogwarts kitchens, balancing a plate of sizzling steak.
Unlike the usual black-pepper-seasoned fare served at dinner, this steak was coated in a rich, red sauce filled with fiery chilies—likely just plucked from the castle’s greenhouses.
“Much appreciated, my hardworking elf friend.” Ian was momentarily startled but quickly recovered, flashing a warm smile as he accepted the plate from Micky’s hands.
The recent passing of Professor Ronnie Ehrlich, their former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, had certainly cast a shadow over the school. But if there was one silver lining, it was that Ian had gained an unexpected connection with Hogwarts’ house-elves.
The elves who had been responsible for clearing out Professor Ronnie’s shattered remains had been surprisingly easy to befriend. A few well-placed compliments and kind words, and Ian had secured their assistance in bringing meals straight to his dormitory.
Just because he didn’t go to the Great Hall for lunch didn’t mean he intended to skip lunch.
Seeing Ian dig into his meal, Micky’s ears perked up happily.
“Micky is most pleased to serve the learned Mr. Prince! And about the matter Mr. Prince asked Micky earlier— Micky’s friend, Rinky, has already gone to gather the special ingredients and seasonings!”
It wasn’t just food deliveries.
Ian had, of course, made additional requests of the house-elves.
“Brilliant! You’re absolutely wonderful! This Christmas, I will gift you a set of enchanted kitchen tools— my very own, specially crafted, super multifunctional utensils!”
“Oh! Oh! Great heavens! The learned Mr. Prince wishes to give Micky a gift. No, no, no! Micky cannot accept! It is an honor simply to serve you, young wizards!”
Micky flailed his arms in a panic, his large eyes welling up with emotion.
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s settled!”
Ian polished off the last bite of his steak and handed the empty plate back to the overwhelmed house elf.
“The learned Mr. Prince is truly the kindest wizard!” Micky’s voice wobbled, and his eyes brimmed with tears.
Honestly, house-elves were remarkably easy to move.
“Micky and Rinky will be sure to prepare the most delicious dishes for the learned Mr. Prince!”
With that, as if hearing something outside the dormitory, Micky quickly bowed, then vanished with a soft pop!—
Ian’s two roommates still hadn’t returned.
Only a few younger students were running about in the hallway, chattering away as they played.
“Beef hot pot must be tastier than steak!”
Ian’s request to Micky and Rinky, of course, stemmed from a desire for something different from the standard fare of the Great Hall.
However, his culinary skills— limited in his past life to little more than fried rice— were hardly enough to instruct the house elves in crafting a proper meal.
Best to leave such matters to the true experts.
They would figure it out on their own.
All a young wizard needed to do was enjoy the feast.
“This time, I truly owe my ancestors.”
With that, Ian returned his focus to his studies.
Professor Mara’s post-lesson instructions were methodical, almost an extension of homework. The intricate and esoteric properties of the enchanted fabric fragments hinted at advanced alchemical craftsmanship.
Even now, Ian still struggled to grasp the fundamentals of many of the alchemical formulas before him. However, compared to when he first started, he had improved significantly.
At the very least, he could analyze the material using reference texts and logical deductions, piecing together what might be possible if he fully mastered the knowledge hidden within the enchanted dress.
A Time-Turner.
Yes.
The artifact the witch had assigned him to study was none other than a time manipulation device— one no longer produced in the present day, making each existing one an irreplaceable treasure.
“However, this sequence of runes and structural framework doesn’t quite match the alchemical blueprints described by modern scholars.”
“More intricate?”
Ian cross-referenced the diagrams with introductory texts.
He frowned slightly in puzzlement.
…
The afternoon brought Herbology class.
William and Michael had dashed back to retrieve their textbooks— One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi— before heading to the greenhouses outside the castle for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff’s first lesson.
“Today’s topic is Chomping Cabbages,” William muttered as he flipped through the book while walking as if cramming at the last moment to impress the professor. Ian wouldn’t have been surprised if he had snuck into the greenhouses earlier for a preview. He was all too familiar with this type of studious overachiever.
“Can you eat it? Does it taste good? Can I bring some back to the dorm?”
Michael, as always, remained true to himself. His trio of soul-searching questions would be difficult for anyone to answer— perhaps even the Herbology professor herself.
Professor Pomona Sprout.
Hogwarts’ esteemed Herbology professor and the head of Hufflepuff House.
She was a stout, cheerful witch with graying hair tucked beneath a patched hat, her robes perpetually dusted with soil. She looked more like a kindly gardener than a formidable academic who managed an entire House and wielded considerable magical expertise.
“Welcome to Herbology, children! I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time.” Professor Sprout beamed warmly, radiating the energy of a friendly neighbor.
Ian had heard stories about her kindness— how she lived modestly despite having access to valuable magical plants, often providing meals for struggling Hufflepuff students.
Beyond the biting cabbages, Ian spotted several spiky Dittany plants in the greenhouse. Their limited number explained why supplies were expected to dwindle in the coming year.
“Help! Help! The cabbage bit my backside!”
A reckless student had dared to provoke the Chomping Cabbages.
And he had paid the price.
“Ouch! That bite is brutal! Maybe I should make a whole batch of Chomping Cabbages and have them challenge a Hungarian Horntail?”
The remark came from a Hufflepuff girl.
Ian glanced over.
Ah, it was her— the same small witch who had made an equally outrageous comment in Transfiguration class.
“Quick, apply some Dittany before the bleeding worsens!”
Professor Sprout hurried to the injured student’s aid, issuing a firm but somewhat redundant warning to the rest of the class.
After all, the unfortunate student had already provided an excellent cautionary tale. Sprout swiftly sent him off to the hospital wing before resuming the lesson.
“You’ve all now seen firsthand how effective Dittany is in treating wounds. That leads us to today’s topic…”
She wasted no time turning the mishap into a teaching moment, making full use of her student’s suffering. Perhaps she had even chosen to apply Dittany first with this exact lecture in mind.
“Well, she’s certainly not Snape— I shouldn’t be so suspicious of her motives.”
Ian flipped open his textbook alongside the rest of the class, ready to absorb whatever knowledge awaited.
No further incidents disrupted the lesson.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff generally got along well, and as expected, William— having done his extra preparation— earned five points for their House.
Hufflepuff gained three points as well…
Just as the lesson was wrapping up, Ian noticed the small Hufflepuff witch subtly pocketing a few Chomping Cabbage seeds, each the size of a broad bean.
Should he report her?
If she was truly planning to train an army of Chomping Cabbages to take on a dragon, his report might alter the course of what could become a legendary tale.
“I really am too softhearted.”
In the end, Ian said nothing.
After class, he trailed behind his two roommates toward the Great Hall for dinner— though his true goal was to intercept Snape and reclaim his stolen hair.
Even if you couldn’t forget something, it didn’t mean you would get an answer. During the feast in the Great Hall, not only was Professor Snape absent, but so was Headmaster Dumbledore.
Several seats at the staff table were empty.
“They’re probably having a private meeting.”
Ian turned his gaze toward the Slytherin table. Aurora was still missing, but to his surprise, Daphne Greengrass and Marcus Flint had returned.
“They’re awake.”
Ian regretted not bringing his gift.
They had all been in the same boat, so he couldn’t understand why Daphne Greengrass, upon meeting his eyes, immediately shrank behind a group of younger students.
Yet, despite her retreat, she dared to reach out from behind them to grab food.
Marcus Flint, on the other hand, was much bolder. Even while shoveling food into his mouth, he kept his gaze locked on Ian at the Ravenclaw table.
That look.
It truly baffled Ian.
This was the same bloke who had framed him out of nowhere, yet now he was staring at Ian as if he wanted to hex him into oblivion. Were pure-blood families always this unreasonable?
Just as Ian was feeling indignant, a flurry of owls swooped into the Great Hall, carrying letters and parcels from afar.
“My mum sent me sweets!”
Michael received greetings from his family as well. William got a large package but didn’t open it. Instead, he clutched it tightly and bolted out of the hall.
When he returned a short while later, his hands were empty.
“What were you doing?”
Michael was sharing his sweets with Ian.
“Just went back to the dorm to put something away.” William resumed eating dessert as if making up for lost time, given that the feast was nearly over.
“Why not just take it back later?”
Michael’s question went unanswered. Ian, however, was lost in thought, absently twirling a feather on his plate. If he slipped some fast-acting Puking Pastilles into the owl treats on Halloween, would everyone experience his idea of festive cheer?
The feast ended.
Ian still hadn’t received a reply from the orphanage.
“You! Stop right there!”
As Ian and his dormmates made their way back to Ravenclaw Tower, Marcus Flint and a group of Slytherins blocked their path in the corridor.
Several students of varying ages stood with him.
Daphne Greengrass was among them, though she seemed reluctant to be there. She attempted to slip away with her friend.
When Ian’s gaze landed on her, she immediately shrank back, as if silently pleading with her companion not to leave her behind. However, her friend firmly held her arm, seemingly eager for her to witness whatever was about to unfold.
“It wasn’t my fault!”
Daphne suddenly blurted out, panic creeping into her voice. Perhaps she had skipped Flying class that morning to avoid running into any Ravenclaws.
“How is it not your fault? You spent ages in the hospital wing because of him! Don’t be scared, Greengrass. Our House doesn’t produce cowards!”
“Little Grindelwald is gone. It’s just Snape. My family has friends in the Ministry who can settle old scores with him at any time. Everyone knows our Head of House’s past isn’t exactly spotless.”
Marcus Flint turned and snapped at Daphne, his tone laced with disdain.
“It was a personal health issue… Merlin’s beard, Flint! You’re mad! Don’t drag me into this mess!” Daphne wrenched her arm free from her friend’s grasp.
“Make her stay and watch.”
A third-year Slytherin stepped forward to block Daphne’s escape.
“What do you want?”
William tensed, sensing the hostility.
“I’m warning you— this is school. Don’t do anything stupid.” Michael hastily drew his wand, though the effect was somewhat diminished by his status as a first-year.
“This has nothing to do with you. Move.”
Marcus Flint pulled out his wand, ready to cast a spell on William and Michael, but Ian suddenly spoke up.
“What is this, you want to duel with first-years?”
Ian’s eyes gleamed with irritation. He found Flint utterly ridiculous.
“Tsk. You think you’re worth my time?”
Marcus Flint sneered but gripped his wand tightly, his gaze fixed on Ian with unconcealed hatred. He lowered his voice, seething.
“If you don’t want to suffer, then tell me— what did your uncle— yes, Severus Snape, our esteemed Head of House— do to me?!”
Marcus Flint’s face twisted with resentment, but his volatile emotions made Ian suspect that beneath the anger lay something else.
Fear? Unease? Humiliation?
“Why am I missing several days of memories? And why is every Gryffindor whispering that I was dragged away for killing the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?!”
Marcus Flint didn’t realize Ian had already begun piecing together his thoughts.
His voice was loud— almost a roar— but there was a note of desperation behind it.
“That’s funny, I could say the same thing,” Ian said coolly. “As far as I recall, you’re the one who framed me.”
“What a joke! How could I possibly kill a professor? It had to be you! Or your uncle! He’s a Death Eater— he’s trying to pin the crime on me!”
Finally understanding why Marcus Flint was so hysterical, Ian also realized why he showed no respect for Snape, their Head of House.
“I must have seen Snape do it— that’s why he put me under the Imperius Curse! Then, the next day, he staged a performance, dragged me off, and erased what little memory I had left!”
Marcus Flint’s voice cracked as he ranted, his paranoia feeding his panic.
And truthfully… Ian couldn’t blame him.
If he were truly “framed,” his family’s connections in the Ministry would obviously be useless against the Acolytes. His entire family might even be implicated.
Who wouldn’t be anxious in his place?
“Why don’t you ask the professors? If someone really framed you for killing the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, how could you be let go and allowed to continue attending classes?”
Ian couldn’t understand Marcus Flint’s thought process.
“Of course, I’ve asked a few professors. They’re clearly no good, telling me nothing. I think they’re trying to cover for Snape!”
“You’re all trying to lull me into a false sense of security! Hah! Do you think I can’t see it? I’m the scapegoat for driving out little Grindelwald!”
Marcus Flint seemed utterly convinced of his own theory.
It was a Pure-blooded arrogance that showed their truly ‘exceptional intelligence’.
“The professors at Hogwarts wouldn’t cover for Snape out of personal connections… You’re probably still not thinking clearly. I suggest you go to the infirmary and get checked.”
After saying this, Ian wanted to leave with his two pale-faced, frightened roommates. Unexpectedly, Marcus Flint immediately raised his wand and cast a spell at him.
“Locomotor Mortis!”
It wasn’t an Unforgivable Curse.
Marcus Flint’s skill was clearly inferior to that of the high-ranking student who seemed to be everywhere. Or perhaps it was because there were too many people around to use more malicious charms.
“Protego.”
Ian had been on guard.
He cast Protego immediately, and the spell was deflected to the side. Perhaps, by coincidence, a Slytherin wizard who had been cheering for Marcus Flint was unlucky enough to be hit.
However.
Compared to the panic of the cursed wizard whose feet were stuck together, Daphne Greengrass’s face in the group of pure-blood Slytherin students turned even paler.
“We’re doomed! We’re doomed!”
Daphne Greengrass regretted waking up too early. She thought Marcus Flint was truly insane. Didn’t he know about the relationship between Lady Grindelwald and that boy?
“You…”
Ian turned around with a cold expression.
“Is this the etiquette of your pure-blood nobility? Attacking without warning?” He held his wand, calmly looking at Marcus Flint, whose face was filled with disbelief.
“I need to use you to prove my innocence. It was your Death Eater uncle who killed the professor!” Marcus Flint raised his wand to cast another spell.
“Silencio.” Ian cast the spell first.
The spell hit and Marcus Flint’s tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, making it impossible for him to speak, let alone cast spells. He let out a furious roar from his throat.
He began to plead with his eyes.
Some of his close friends pulled out their wands, and William and Michael quickly tried to intervene, though they hadn’t learned any spells that could be used in such a situation.
“Whoosh!”
Suddenly.
A surge of fire erupted on the corridor floor, rising like an angry beast, its orange flames encircling the group of Slytherin students.
The flames roared, the heat waves distorting the air. The older students wanted to pull out their wands but found Ian staring coldly at them.
The flames were inches from their feet, as if ready to engulf them at any moment—the wise ones chose to put their wands down. Slytherins understood better than anyone when to back down.
“How is this possible!”
“Incendio? No! How could Incendio be this terrifying!”
“He’s going to kill us all!”
Everyone felt a spine-chilling horror, the heat waves threatening to burn them. They couldn’t comprehend how a little wizard could instantly overpower them all.
“I knew it!”
Among the panicked crowd, only Daphne Greengrass’s expression remained unsurprised. She didn’t make any move to pull out her wand. When her eyes met Ian’s cold gaze, she immediately raised her hands in surrender, then, as if realizing it wasn’t appropriate, crouched down and covered her head.
“Ian, you’re amazing!”
William’s eyes were filled with fervor while Michael stood beside him with a dumbfounded expression on his face.
Standing outside the circle of fire, they formed a stark contrast to Marcus Flint, whose mouth was sealed, and his eyes were filled with terror.
He held his wand but was unable to cast spells.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t produce any magic.
“I’ve tolerated you for a long time. You were under the Imperius Curse, I get it… but what does that have to do with me? I don’t expect you to respect me, but you should at least respect your professor!” Ian suddenly raised his wand and pressed it down.
Immediately.
Marcus Flint, who was still trying to cast spells non-verbally, hunched over as if a mountain was pressing down on his back, making it impossible for him to straighten up.
“Before a duel, you must bow, Mr. Flint. With your distinguished status, do I really have to teach you etiquette? Didn’t your house teach you what grace is?” Ian spoke in a gentle voice while bending down.
“See, like this.”
He demonstrated.
When he straightened up.
Marcus Flint felt the mountain on his back disappear, and his tongue, stuck to the roof of his mouth, returned to normal. Instinctively, he angrily shouted a spell.
“Expelliarmus!”
Perhaps he really hadn’t learned any powerful magic. Marcus Flint’s Disarming Charm was easily deflected by Ian’s Protego, hitting the dim wall.
“You didn’t even count to three. Tsk, it seems I can’t be polite with you either.”
Ian raised his hand.
His wand emitted a green light.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Marcus Flint, terrified to the extreme, turned pale as a ghost, his legs giving out as he knelt on the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
After a while.
He realized he wasn’t dead, and his pants were wet.
“So boring, you can’t even tell any difference between a Lumos Charm and the Unforgivable Curse, yet you are here to challenge me?” Ian flicked his wand, and the wand Marcus Flint had dropped flew back into his hand.
“Go on, believe me, the next spell won’t disappoint you.”
Marcus Flint fainted.
“Take him away and I don’t think any of you will be complaining to any professor,” Ian extinguished the raging fire on the ground and calmly looked at a group of wizards whose eyes were filled with fear and whose faces were as pale as paper and who dared not look him in the eye and his gentle words did not make people relax.
Instead, the group of young wizards who had escaped from trouble became even more nervous.
But, Ian soon discovered that these people’s eyes were not on him, but were looking in the direction behind him. Even William’s voices of flattery and praise disappeared without a trace.
Perhaps, Marcus Flint’s fainting also has some tactical significance, because.
“Mr. Prince, I don’t think they need to notify me, as I have been watching for quite some time.” It was the voice of Albus Dumbledore.
So close.
(End Of This Chapter)
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