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Ian had certainly never met Gilderoy Lockhart before today.
However, as one of the most recognizable figures in the wizarding world, Ian had seen his face plastered across posters in bookshops along Diagon Alley more times than he cared to count.
It was almost impossible to pretend not to know him.
The wizarding world might lag behind Muggles in certain aspects, but when it came to celebrity worship, it was undoubtedly on par with them. And Gilderoy Lockhart? He was an absolute master at ensuring he remained the center of attention.
Even some wizarding confectionery brands had started using limited-edition packaging featuring his beaming smiling portrait. He was, in every sense, a marketing phenomenon decades ahead of his time.
Viewed from that perspective…
‘Wasn’t Gilderoy Lockhart something of a genius? If he weren’t a wizard, he’d probably have revolutionized the media industry in the Muggle world with his self-promotional antics.’
It was just unfortunate that, as a wizard, he had seemingly allocated his talents in all the wrong places. Ian found it difficult to fathom how an adult wizard could manage to utterly humiliate himself in front of a group of second-years.
If one were to rank the least popular professors at Hogwarts, even Severus Snape— loathed as he was by many students— might not crack the top three.
But if the contest were for the most incompetent professor in Hogwarts history, Gilderoy Lockhart would claim the title without competition.
“Merlin’s beard! You’re Master Gilderoy Lockhart! How could I be so lucky as to meet you here? I must be dreaming! It must be fate— just days ago, I was reading your book!” Ian exclaimed, feigning an almost comical level of enthusiasm.
Such theatricality might earn him a withering glare from Snape, but when dealing with a narcissist like Lockhart, it was practically the key to his heart.
Sure enough, Lockhart’s dazzling smile widened. “A devoted fan! Splendid! I do believe I have a quill with me— I’ll sign something for you, a collector’s edition autograph!”
With that, he began rummaging through the many pockets of his robes, apparently unable to recall exactly where he had stowed his quill. After a great deal of dramatic searching, he finally retrieved a flamboyant, jewel-encrusted peacock-feather quill from his inner pocket.
The quill’s handle gleamed in gold, its surface embedded with so many sparkling gems that Ian wondered if it would be uncomfortable to hold. It was the sort of quill that might cost more than Ian’s entire annual allowance.
“Aha! Found it! As expected of me!”
Lockhart brandished the quill triumphantly, his expression one of self-satisfaction. Anyone unaware of the context might have thought he had just completed an extraordinary feat.
“Oh! He’s so charming! So amazing!” A wistful sigh came from Madam Pince, who stood nearby, hands clasped over her heart as if Lockhart’s presence had erased decades from her life.
But in Ian’s eyes…
The man was nothing short of a clown.
There was no helping it.
After all, he is talking about Gilderoy Lockhart.
To the public, he was an internationally renowned author, a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, an honorary member of the Anti-Dark Magic League, and a five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award.
All of which ensured that most people saw him through a rose-tinted lens. If not for the humiliating downfall he was set to experience in just a couple of years, how could anyone fail to recognize what an absolute fraud he was? His admirers dismissed his mistakes as endearing quirks.
Only a few professors at Hogwarts sensed something was amiss. The power of celebrity adoration, Ian realized, could be even more blinding than the Confundus Charm.
And for someone who knew the truth about Lockhart, it was impossible to see him as anything but a charlatan. His books— his so-called adventures— were nothing more than stolen tales. His only true talents?
Exceptional charisma and an uncanny knack for self-promotion.
And… perhaps an ability so baffling that even Dumbledore himself might struggle to decipher how Lockhart had managed to continuously “reset” his reputation.
“I actually get to receive your autograph? Oh! This must be Merlin’s blessing!” Ian gushed, keeping up the act flawlessly.
No matter what he thought privately, maintaining this performance was essential— Gilderoy Lockhart was notoriously thin-skinned. If he decided to take offense, he could make life far more miserable than even Snape.
“Where shall I sign? This book? Excellent choice! You’re quite lucky!” Lockhart declared enthusiastically, reaching for Ian’s copy of ‘Alchemy Decrypted: The Connection Between All Things.’
Ian swiftly moved the book out of reach, narrowly preventing an ancient tome from being permanently defiled by Lockhart’s gaudy signature.
He was briefly tempted to let it happen— just to see Madam Pince’s reaction when her beloved Lockhart desecrated a book. Would she choose the integrity of the tome or her admiration for the man?
Ultimately, Ian suppressed his curiosity and pulled out a spare parchment— his well-worn Marauder’s Map.
“Sign here! This parchment is mine alone! I wouldn’t dream of sharing your signature with other students!” Ian smoothly provided an excuse for his quick maneuvering.
He was nothing if not meticulous.
Gilderoy Lockhart seemed entirely satisfied with Ian’s reasoning.
“Ha ha ha! Quite right, quite right. How could I forget this isn’t your book? If it bore my signature, even Dumbledore wouldn’t want to part with it.” Lockhart’s quill was of the highest quality; the tip only emerged upon contact with parchment, an elegant bit of enchantment to suit his ostentatious tastes.
“In fact, I’ve already gifted Dumbledore a limited-edition signed copy of a book I’ll be publishing next year. He was absolutely delighted when he received it.”
“Can you believe it? The greatest white wizard in the world is one of my admirers! I saw his collection in his office— though he’s far too modest to boast about his enthusiasm for my works.”
Once Lockhart began talking, there was no stopping him. Even as he signed, he continued his self-aggrandizing monologue. Though he attempted to sound casual, Ian had seen this sort of blatant self-promotion before.
“Our headmaster? A shy person?” Ian played along, feigning the role of an eager conversational partner.
Lockhart immediately seized on the remark.
“Yes! That’s exactly it. You’re quite the perceptive young wizard. You’ve reminded me— Hogwarts’ headmaster is, indeed, a rather reserved man, and we must forgive him for that.”
Overjoyed, Lockhart’s grin stretched so wide it seemed in danger of reaching the back of his head.
“Thank you so much!”
Ian pretended to be thrilled as he accepted the freshly signed Marauder’s Map. In its dormant state, it appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary piece of parchment.
Of course.
Now it had become a rare, one-of-a-kind Marauder’s Map, graced with the signature of Gilderoy Lockhart himself. Ian speculated that, before Lockhart’s inevitable downfall, this autograph might fetch a considerable price. Hmm… if Lockhart were to perish before his deception was exposed, the value of this piece could skyrocket.
Ian found himself momentarily lost in thought.
“I don’t bestow such kindness upon just any student, you know. Believe me, this will bring you good fortune.” Lockhart casually tucked his extravagant quill back into his robes.
“Meeting you here is already good enough,” Ian replied smoothly. Perhaps Professor Morgana’s assessment of his particular talents wasn’t entirely unfounded.
As expected, Lockhart beamed at the flattery, laughing heartily once more. “Quite right! I daresay you’ll become my favorite student during my tenure at Hogwarts.”
“If not for Dumbledore pleading with me, I wouldn’t have returned. My brilliance during my own school days made me the target of jealousy and exclusion. It was dreadful, I tell you.”
“I do hope that atmosphere is gone now. If you ever experience anything of the sort, do come to me. A professor’s influence should be used to set things right.” Lockhart winked conspiratorially at Ian, his words containing a rare kernel of sincerity.
After all, Gilderoy Lockhart had indeed been a top student of Ravenclaw, having passed several of the wizarding world’s most notoriously difficult exams with flying colors.
This was precisely why his books had managed to fool so many. It seemed that, over the years, he had simply redirected his talents elsewhere—pouring them all into mastering the Memory Charm.
How he had done so remained a mystery.
Perhaps Lockhart had always been singularly obsessed with fame. His academic achievements had been driven by a desire for recognition, and as an adult, he had merely altered his methods of attaining it.
Or maybe this was an unintended consequence of tampering too much with Memory Charms. It was said that such magic, when wielded with ill intent, could eventually rebound on the caster.
It was difficult to say.
Perhaps, on some subconscious level, Lockhart had come to rely so wholly on Memory Charms that he had willfully neglected all other magical disciplines he had once excelled in.
“If I ever find myself in such a situation, I’ll be sure to seek your guidance… You truly are an exemplary professor.” Ian continued his well-practiced flattery, playing his part in this absurd performance.
He still preferred to believe that somewhere in Lockhart’s lineage, there had been an unfortunate mingling with a magical creature capable of “resetting” its own abilities.
“I’ve heard such praise many times before, yet hearing it from you still brings me great joy. If you can maintain such exemplary conduct in tomorrow’s class, I shall consider that the finest reward.” Lockhart’s message was unmistakable.
Ian nodded in understanding.
“Tonight, the entire Hogwarts will know that we have a brilliant new professor.”
He gave his response.
Although Ian had no intention of advertising for Gilderoy Lockhart, given Lockhart’s fame, the other students would surely spread the word enthusiastically after seeing him. He just needed to enjoy the fruits of their promotion and tell Lockhart tomorrow that he had put in a great deal of effort.
“I really don’t want to be so ostentatious…”
Gilderoy Lockhart’s hair was practically trembling with joy.
“You’re such a likable young wizard. Go back and read this book carefully. You’ll definitely learn something valuable.” Lockhart patted the ancient tome he had handed to Ian.
“This book…”
After realizing who he was talking to, Ian began to doubt whether ‘Alchemy Decrypted: The Connection Between All Things’ could actually help him.
It was Gilderoy Lockhart’s recommendation! If not for the fact that Lady Ravenclaw’s name was on it, Ian would have found an excuse to put it back on the shelf.
Of course,
Such an action might offend Lockhart.
So after weighing the pros and cons, Ian could only comfort himself with the thought that Lockhart, after all, was a published author and had once been a top student. His ability to select books might not be as woeful as his spellwork.
After all, the man had correctly deduced what Ian was searching for, which at least proved there was some substance in his brain.
“I remember there’s a first-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class tomorrow morning. Don’t be late. I’ve spent a great deal of time preparing some very interesting practical exercises for you little wizards.” Lockhart reminded Ian with a pat on the shoulder as they walked to the door.
Ian found this eerily familiar.
The last Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who had said something like that had ended up dead that very night… He wondered how long Lockhart, with his remarkable luck, would last in this position.
“You told me too soon, Professor. I might be too excited to sleep tonight.” Ian’s ability to lie through his teeth was no less impressive than Lockhart’s.
“Ha ha ha ha, my bad, my bad.” Lockhart happily ruffled Ian’s hair. “If you remain my favorite student until the end of the term, you might receive a very precious gift from me— a treasure I’ve never shown to anyone.”
If another professor had said this, Ian might have felt a twinge of anticipation. But since it was Lockhart, he felt the so-called treasure wasn’t hard to guess.
It was probably some self-indulgent item like a signed photograph or a copy of one of his own books… That was just so very Lockhart. If it weren’t for that, Ian would even be willing to sit next to Hermione Granger next year when she eats her hat.
“See you tomorrow, Professor Lockhart.”
Ian politely checked out the book. Before leaving, he glanced at Madam Pince, who looked as if she had been transported back to her youth. Lockhart had already begun regaling her with exaggerated tales of his past.
He had seamlessly switched to another audience eager to flatter him. Unlike Ian’s feigned enthusiasm, Madam Pince, the librarian, seemed to genuinely believe Lockhart’s absurd stories. She must have lost her mind— otherwise, how could any sane person believe the ludicrous claim that he had slain a full-grown Welsh Green dragon ‘bare-handed’ after losing his wand?
Outside the library,
“No, I need to check this.”
Feeling uneasy, Ian flipped through the ancient book for a few pages. After confirming that it was indeed an alchemy text written by Ravenclaw, he finally exhaled in relief.
He had been genuinely worried that the inside of the book was actually ‘Magical Me’, with the precious book cover used as a disguise for yet another of Lockhart’s self-congratulatory works. After all, Lockhart was fully capable of such trickery.
“Sigh, it seems the current Defense Against the Dark Arts class can only be described as… existing.” Ian sighed slightly, then decided to stop by the kitchens for a midnight snack before starting tonight’s study session.
Perhaps having an idiot as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor wasn’t entirely a bad thing for him. At the very least, his private tutoring sessions would see no shortage of paying students.
“The only real victim here is me. As far as learning Defense Against the Dark Arts goes, I probably won’t be gaining any real benefits from the professor for quite some time.”
Ian glanced back three times.
Wondering just how long Gilderoy Lockhart could withstand the curse.
The library grew farther away.
Inside, Lockhart and Madam Pince were still chatting and laughing.
The two of them were having a marvelous time.
“You’re actually wearing black today. I always thought you preferred light purple.” Like every devoted fan, Madam Pince had memorized her idol’s preferences.
At these words, Gilderoy Lockhart’s smile grew even more dazzling. He cast a glance toward the entrance, where the young wizard had just departed. His bright blue eyes seemed to linger on the space Ian had occupied moments before.
“Purple is lovely, of course, but I’ve been rather taken with black lately.”
…
That evening, at the usual gathering, Ian found that the name had stuck. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake the ominous title the students had assigned to his little study sessions.
It was too late to fight it now. With a resigned sigh, he accepted the inevitable, collected the class fees from the gathered students, and began the lesson—covering not only the material Lockhart was meant to teach but also what was actually useful.
Since he was forced to fill in the gaps left by the so-called professor, Ian started with the fundamental principles of Defence Against the Dark Arts: its purpose, its importance, and the difference between light and dark magic.
For some of the pure-blood students, this was old news. But Ravenclaw had a fair share of half-blood and Muggle-born students, for whom this knowledge was anything but familiar.
“The distinction between white magic and dark magic isn’t solely about how dangerous a spell is. It’s also about intent— what emotions and desires fuel the magic.”
“Dark magic is said to corrupt the heart because it draws power from negative emotions. The stronger the hatred, the fear, the greed—the more potent the magic becomes.”
“That’s why wizards who chase after that power often lose control. They convince themselves they can wield it without consequence, but in reality, it’s the magic wielding them.”
“It’s like a thief. The more successfully they steal, the greater their ambitions grow. Before long, they’re not just stealing— they’re consumed by it. That’s how dark wizards fall into ruin.”
“White magic, on the other hand, is fueled by positive emotions. It is no weaker than dark magic—quite the opposite. When wielded with conviction, white magic can overcome even the foulest curses.”
…
Of course, Ian’s lesson contained his own interpretations. No professor or scholar could entirely separate personal beliefs from teaching. Everyone, in the end, added their own perspective to their understanding of magic.
As he guided the class through these concepts, Ian was preparing to move on to practical spellwork when a student raised their hand.
“Professor Ian, do you know dark magic?” The question came from the Chocolate Frog enthusiast, his wide-eyed curiosity immediately spreading to the other students, who all turned to Ian expectantly.
“…”
Ian had half a mind to tell them that such knowledge came at a separate cost, but even he knew that openly running a dark magic seminar for Galleons would be a terrible idea.
So, instead, he chose a more strategic response.
“Dumbledore once said I have one-twentieth of his talent. Tell me, do you think the greatest white wizard in the world knows dark magic?” Ian’s measured words had the desired effect. The students’ eager expressions dimmed slightly in disappointment.
After all, the unknown was endlessly fascinating to young minds.
“But your uncle is Snape, right?” Another student whispered, clearly hesitant. “I heard he knows loads of dark magic…”
Ian barely managed to keep his expression in check. He took a deep breath, then responded with a question of his own. “Whose family doesn’t have a few… eccentric relatives? At least my uncle changed his ways, didn’t he? He might know dark magic, but that doesn’t mean I do.”
This was a carefully chosen statement.
None of them caught the subtlety of Ian’s wording. Instead, the young wizards— many of whom had siblings— immediately found his reasoning relatable.
“Yeah, my older brother is the worst. He always hides my spellbooks!”
“To be fair, my uncle was a Death Eater. He got himself killed in the battle between You-Know-Who and Dumbledore. Our family said it was a relief.”
“My little brother’s a menace, too. He’s stolen three pairs of my socks to trade for chocolate.”
…
Finally, the topic had shifted.
Ian waited as the young witches and wizards chattered about whose relatives were the most unbearable. Once the debate had run its course, he signaled for quiet and prepared to teach them a charm he had only recently mastered.
“Impedimenta!”
With a deliberate flick of his wand, Ian demonstrated the jinx, allowing the dozen or so young wizards to experience the sensation of being halted mid-step, as though an invisible barrier had blocked their way.
This spell could briefly prevent an opponent from advancing in a duel or restrict their movements for a short time— an exceptionally practical bit of magic when under attack.
Of course, since wizards dominated the magical world in modern times, traditional dueling techniques had waned in importance. The Impediment Jinx, once an essential tool in magical combat, no longer had quite the same prominence it did centuries ago.
“This is impossible to learn!”
“Why is this spell so tricky?”
“Merlin’s beard! If this is beginner-level magic, I’d rather take my chances with a rogue Bludger!”
…
Once practice began, even the Ravenclaws found the Impediment Jinx far more challenging than expected. It was undoubtedly more difficult than simpler charms like Lumos or Wingardium Leviosa.
Many students attempted the incantation repeatedly, received countless corrections, and yet still struggled to perform the full enchantment properly. Ian had never encountered such difficulty in his small group lessons before.
Normally, once he broke down the spell and explained its nuances, his classmates would grasp it fairly quickly.
But today, the magic they were attempting was unfamiliar to all of them. They had barely set foot into the realm of advanced jinxes, so Ian had no clear way to guide them through the fundamentals.
“You need to move your wand in rhythm with your magic, let the energy flow naturally, and keep your focus on the target.”
Ian demonstrated again, step by step, but the Impediment Jinx remained elusive. The young witches and wizards simply couldn’t grasp its core principle.
A creeping sense of frustration settled over Ian.
“Can’t you feel the magic’s pulse at all? It’s… it’s right there! You see—no, that’s wrong! That’s completely wrong!”
He caught sight of a student making yet another mistake, but when he looked at their utterly bewildered expression, he could only sigh, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.
“Not even the slightest hint of it? Just a flicker of the rhythm?”
But Ian wasn’t ready to give up.
“What rhythm?”
Most of the students exchanged confused glances.
“My ears are moving— look!” one young wizard quipped, waggling their ears for dramatic effect. A few others gasped in admiration at the unexpected talent.
“…”
Ian merely sighed.
Clearly, they didn’t understand what he was trying to convey. Even Penelope, who had wandered over to observe, furrowed her brow as she watched Ian pacing near the fire.
“Are you talking about spectral sight?” Penelope asked, leaning over the back of the Ravenclaw common room’s couch.
“What’s that?”
Now it was Ian’s turn to be perplexed.
“You’ve never heard of it? It’s mentioned in the old Merlin legends. Supposedly, he possessed a rare gift allowing him to perceive the boundary between life and death, as well as sense the flow of magic more keenly than any ordinary wizard.” She gestured toward the common room’s bookshelf, her gaze filled with meaning.
“Ian, you can’t expect everyone to learn magic the same way you do. The rest of us are stumbling through trial and error, while you can see the path clearly.”
Penelope felt as if she had just unearthed a secret about Ian, a mystery she hadn’t even known she was trying to solve. He had been asking questions about a long-passed figure, seemingly unaware that he was treading upon one of Hogwarts’ deepest riddles— the fate of Dumbledore’s younger sister, a mystery that had haunted her thoughts for some time now.
Lately, Penelope had been dreaming of becoming an Auror.
And now, at last, she felt she was closing in on the truth.
What could explain such an anomaly? Until now, nothing had quite made sense.
Hearing Ian’s words as he instructed the younger students, a realization struck her. The coincidences, the strange abilities… it all fit together. Merlin was said to have roamed Hogwarts in disguise centuries ago, slipping between houses as he pleased. If history was repeating itself, then surely Ravenclaw had been chosen this time.
The ability to glimpse the boundary between life and death.
The ability to perceive the very rhythm of magic itself.
What other explanation could there be?
No wonder some of the professors regarded this particular student with such unusual interest! Even Dumbledore had made an Unbreakable Vow with him! The pieces were falling into place, and Penelope felt as though a long-buried secret had just surfaced before her eyes—
Perhaps this student’s surname should not have been Prince…
But Ian Ambrosius!
The heir of Merlin had returned!
Ian noticed Penelope staring at him, her mouth curling into a peculiar smile.
It reminded him a bit of Gilderoy Lockhart’s self-satisfied smirk. Had she just read a particularly grandiose biography? How could that possibly give her such confidence?
Ian was perplexed. Of course, his immediate concern wasn’t figuring out why Penelope looked so smug, but rather how to teach the younger students the Impediment Jinx without any mishaps.
“So, I need to show them the path…” Ian mused over Penelope’s earlier words, recalling his own experiences studying magic on the Isle of Twilight.
“Perhaps I can try this.”
Raising his wand, Ian pointed it toward the crackling fire in the common room’s hearth. As the flames leapt and twisted, he guided them outward, shaping vivid images before the astonished young witches and wizards.
Like a living tapestry woven from fire.
The flames flowed.
They depicted Ian’s entire understanding of the Impediment Jinx. While his mastery of the spell wasn’t particularly advanced, it was enough to illuminate the path for his students.
This was a fleeting “book of fire,” a teaching method not unlike those employed by the Hogwarts founders—something instinctively tailored to the needs of young minds.
“Such beautiful flames!”
“It’s moving… this rhythm… I think I understand!”
“What do you understand? Tell me, quickly! I need to know!”
One by one, the young witches and wizards were enchanted, slowly grasping the spell’s essence—learning in a way they had never imagined possible.
“Can magic really be taught like this?”
Penelope and several older students were speechless.
For them, the experience was even more profound.
The flames, imbued with Ian’s will and understanding, seemed to transcend mere fire, revealing the universal truth of magic— the force that binds all things, existing beyond the limits of mere material reality.
The swirling embers.
At this moment.
They were not merely flames.
They were also the key to mastering the Impediment Jinx.
“I believe it.”
The Ravenclaw Prefect, Dietrich, stood beside Penelope, watching the younger students huddled around Ian in awe. His voice carried an undeniable weight of emotion.
“Believe what?” Penelope turned, curious. Could someone else have made the same deduction as her? No, surely not. She was the only one who knew the truth about Ian and Dumbledore… wasn’t she?
“You haven’t heard?” Dietrich’s expression turned incredulous before glancing back at Ian, who was still surrounded by eager students.
“It’s the only explanation that makes sense— there’s a rumor going around Gryffindor that Ian is actually Dumbledore’s son.”
Dietrich lowered his voice, making sure no older students were eavesdropping.
Penelope’s eyes widened instantly.
“What are you talking about?!”
This was absolutely not the conversation she had expected. She had been prepared to feign ignorance if anyone mentioned Merlin’s descendant.
But this?
This was an entirely different kind of scandal!
“I wouldn’t believe it if it were just a Gryffindor rumor, but even some Slytherins are whispering about it. They say that when a few of them went looking for Professor Snape, they stumbled into his office unannounced and found him absolutely livid.”
“The whole room reeked of something foul, and Snape was hunched over a cauldron, stirring furiously. He didn’t even acknowledge them, just kept muttering under his breath—”
“That Dumbledore was a two-faced, self-righteous coward… a hypocrite…”
“Apparently, Snape had just discovered Ian’s true parentage. And he was furious— furious that Dumbledore had kept a secret affair hidden, furious that Ian might be the son of some forgotten member of the Prince family.”
“He cursed for ages. It was ugly. And Slytherins are pretty good at sniffing out the truth.” Dietrich glanced around nervously, as though fearing he might be overheard.
After saying this,
He clasped his hands together in mock prayer.
It was unclear whether he was asking for Dumbledore’s forgiveness for repeating Snape’s words—or hoping that Merlin himself would protect him from the wrath of those who despised gossipmongers.
“Sigh…”
Penelope gasped in shock. She mentally replayed everything she knew. If Ian Prince were to change his last name to Ian Dumbledore…
Hmm?
It seemed plausible. His extraordinary talent, Dumbledore’s attitude, and the attention given to him by various professors all formed a very reasonable explanation.
Penelope was gradually beginning to piece everything together.
She stroked her chin, transforming into Hogwarts’ very own detective.
“Not bad! This is truly wonderful!”
Ian, however, was completely unaware that he had already gained a third surname in the senior’s imagination. At the moment, he was simply delighted that all the little wizards in his class had successfully learned the Impediment Jinx.
Seeing his own growing proficiency, Ian turned to encourage the remaining few struggling students by discussing the practical applications of the jinx.
“When being pursued by magical creatures, this spell can buy us some time,” Ian explained, describing possible scenarios in which the Impediment Jinx could be useful.
Among the gathered students, William, who had come to join the class, raised his hand— he was a typical underdog, and his payment to Ian for these lessons was to help him complete all his class assignments.
That was certainly a hard bargain for Ian to refuse.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Smith?” Ian tried to maintain a formal tone, acting as though he and William weren’t familiar, despite everyone knowing he was practically his shadow.
This was, at the very least, a way to avoid suspicion.
“Don’t I just need to run faster than everyone else?” Sure enough, William had a certain survival instinct—perhaps there was a reason his family had managed to stay intact all these years.
“Uh… that’s not entirely incorrect,” Ian admitted, though he privately thought William might be more suited for the darker corners of wizarding society. It seemed like such traditions ran deep.
At that moment, Michael also raised his hand.
“I have a better idea!”
His dark face was alight with excitement, and in the firelight, his grin gleamed brilliantly, his teeth standing out even more than those of the fair-skinned students around him.
Perhaps, whether wizard or Muggle, there was always a secret to dazzlingly white teeth.
“Everyone knows how much we hate Snape mocking us. What if we conjured up a Snape to taunt our enemies instead? Maybe they’d focus their firepower on the Snape we created! After all, most wizards in Britain graduated from Hogwarts!”
A truly inspired idea—of course, the priority would always be to attack the one who mocked. Michael, as ever, had a unique perspective that even left Ian momentarily in awe.
“Brilliant! You really are a genius!” Ian led the applause enthusiastically. He didn’t actually believe that simply conjuring a Snape would be enough to distract an enemy. But what if a spectral Tom Riddle stepped out from the shadows? Or a noseless Voldemort cackling madly?
Who wouldn’t be unsettled by such a sight?
There was definitely potential in this concept.
“Professor Ian, since you just called Michael a genius, why can’t Ravenclaw get a point for it?” A younger student piped up, eager to join in the fun.
Their thoughts were simple— gathering together like this brought them joy. Perhaps, years later, when they looked back, they would all remember this night with fondness.
“Alright, alright! Ravenclaw gets a point!” Ian laughed, feeling pleased. After all, everyone had learned the Impediment Jinx, and he truly felt a sense of accomplishment.
Hearing Ian jokingly award house points, the group burst into cheers. The atmosphere was bright, a true gathering of knowledge seekers.
It had started with a bit of selfish ambition, a thirst for knowledge, and a shared sense of achievement.
It had begun quietly.
But it certainly wouldn’t end that way.
Fate had led Ian to choose fire as his method of teaching.
And thus, a spark was ignited. It would spread, grow, and embrace everything in its path, until it became a blaze too vast to be contained. Such was the nature of history itself.
…
In the entrance hall of Hogwarts.
A quiet night.
A soft chime rang out from the great hourglass where the bronze eagle perched, as a single pearl drifted down from the top to the bottom, unnoticed by anyone.
Ravenclaw had gained a point.
(End of this chapter)