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Ian clutched his troublesome enchanted parchment, his eyes tracking Snape’s movements. He watched as the Potions Master returned to his office, prowling about but never leaving Hogwarts’ grounds.
“That was clearly my idea! Mine! Don’t you agree?” Once Snape had departed, Ian pulled out his miniature Dementor once more, using it as a silent confidant, after all, it couldn’t argue back. The creature merely hovered indifferently, emitting faint, unsettling sucking noises like a ghoul’s whisper.
It sounded like the gurgling of a drowning man, or at least that’s how it seemed to Ian, though he wasn’t sure if it was actually trying to siphon off stray emotions or the souls of unsuspecting young wizards.
“That greasy git, Snape! He’s probably plotting to steal my formula, claim the credit, and register it with the Wizarding Patent Office himself. I never should’ve mentioned that it would outsell the Potter family’s hair tonic!” Ian fumed, feeling deeply wronged.
He was convinced Snape was envious of the prodigious talent he had inherited from Professor Morgan.
The Infinite Firepower Potion, undoubtedly ahead of its time and with a new and better name, was an alchemical marvel that could make a fortune for anyone who controlled it. But, of course, that meant its creator had to be clever enough to safeguard the formula.
In Ian’s mind, Snape’s earlier threats likely stemmed from fear, fear of the pure-blood families who monopolized the wizarding market. These old houses, which had hoarded their influence for centuries, had no doubt engaged in more than their fair share of dubious dealings behind closed doors.
Although their pampered offspring often seemed dim-witted at Hogwarts, when it came to ruthless ambition, they could be more cutthroat than Tom Riddle himself, even in his noseless form. Remembering Snape’s slight flicker of unease earlier, Ian reckoned those families might be even more treacherous than he had imagined.
“Even a Potions Master like Snape dreads them. That just proves it, no matter how skilled one is in potioneering or alchemy, it’s no match for the kind of power that can send a Killing Curse as a warning.” Ian had no intention of letting go of the wealth that his potion would bring.
But it wasn’t just about the Galleons; it was about cementing his name in history, immortalized on a Chocolate Frog Famous Wizards and Witches Card.
As an ambitious young wizard, Ian’s ultimate dream was to see his own face on those collectible cards, ensuring he could spend his days lounging at home while collecting royalties until his fingers ached from counting them.
Between licensing deals, merchandise spin-offs, and the occasional autobiography… well, wealth certainly had a way of elevating a wizard. But keeping it? That required real power. Gilderoy Lockhart, wherever he had vanished to, had, in a twisted way, served as an instructive cautionary tale.
Lockhart had shown Ian that fame and fortune alone turned a wizard into an easy mark, ripe for replacement by some obscure, ancient figure stepping out of the shadows.
Glancing at the extravagant furnishings in Grindelwald’s office, the rare enchanted black tea, the imported, tailor-made wizarding confections, Ian highly doubted the old dark wizard was funding such luxuries out of his own pocket.
Having once been drafted into one of Grindelwald’s schemes himself, Ian had since made it a point to keep a wary eye on him.
He wasn’t sure what peculiar magic the old man had used, but on the Marauder’s Map, his name always appeared as ‘Gilderoy Lockhart’ rather than ‘Gellert Grindelwald.’
Ian suspected that during a past book-signing in the library, Grindelwald, disguised as Lockhart, had tampered with his map using some sophisticated enchantment that eluded even Ian’s best detection spells.
It was the only reasonable explanation. Surely, Grindelwald hadn’t meddled with the actual ‘server’ of the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance… had he?
“In Grindelwald’s office, he really has captured a herd of Centaurs…” Ian muttered, observing the Marauder’s Map. Seven or eight small dots clustered inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
How he had managed to cram that many Centaurs into such a small space was beyond Ian’s understanding. His gaze flickered back to Snape, ensuring that the Potions Master hadn’t slipped away to register the Infinite Firepower Potion as his own. No, Snape was still rooted in the same spot, unmoving.
Judging by the location, he was likely slumped asleep in his chair.
“Perhaps I’ve misjudged the Half-Blood Prince,” Ian murmured, scratching his chin. “I see it now, he wasn’t trying to steal my work. He just wanted to push me to work harder, to study magic with more diligence.”
With a thoughtful nod, he gave the miniature Dementor a light pat on the head, as though it had somehow contributed to his newfound revelation.
As a professor and Head of House at Hogwarts, Snape had little regard for the notion that the library’s contents were communal property. In fact, he even encouraged Ian to locate the original formula and destroy it. How could this not be a calculated move to ensure a future monopoly over the industry?
The Infinite Firepower Potion had clear benefits for Aurors and battle-ready wizards, with a multitude of practical applications. Ian found it hard to believe that Snape would genuinely dismiss such a lucrative and influential creation.
It was evident that Snape’s concerns weren’t about the potion itself but about Ian’s lack of power, he simply didn’t think Ian, even with his help, would be able to withstand the pure-blood families who would inevitably attempt to seize it. Ian kept replaying Snape’s warning in his mind, turning it over like a puzzle.
The more he thought about it, the more it rang true.
“Gold tempts even the strongest. Snape’s words carried hidden meanings. He said he didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want to die, but what he really meant was that neither of us was strong enough to protect this formula.” Realization flickered in Ian’s eyes.
Without hesitation, he concealed the ever-twitching miniature Dementor and strode swiftly towards the Room of Requirement.
It was already late at night so the Seventh Floor corridor was deserted.
There was no sign of movement or light from the direction of the Headmaster’s office. Ian hadn’t seen Albus Dumbledore’s name appear on his Marauder’s Map in two days. That, perhaps, was one of the perks of being Headmaster, you could disappear whenever you pleased, and no one would dare question where you had gone.
In his efforts to deliver Ariana’s letter, Ian had asked passing professors and ghosts about Dumbledore’s whereabouts more than once. Perhaps Grindelwald knew, but Ian had no desire to be alone with him.
The man’s lessons in magic were undeniably valuable, but who could predict when he might decide to enlist Ian’s help for another scheme?
Moving boxes was one thing. But what if Grindelwald made him shovel Thestral dung?
“I need a room to practice Dark magic. I need a room to practice Dark magic. I need a room to practice Dark magic…” Ian whispered his intent as he paced the Seventh Floor corridor.
Snape’s warnings were not without merit, but Ian was convinced that if he trained hard enough and proved himself capable of safeguarding the wealth and influence that the Infinite Firepower Potion would bring, Snape would no longer stand in his way.
“Where is my Dark magic practice room?”
Ian twisted the doorknob of the Room of Requirement, only to find that it had failed to heed his request. The space before him remained unchanged, a simple potions classroom.
Refusing to accept this, Ian tried again.
The Room of Requirement remained as unmoving as the foundations of Hogwarts itself, unyielding to his plea. Perhaps he had unknowingly violated some unspoken rule of its magic, causing it to ignore his request entirely.
“Fine then. Give me a room where I can study Defense Against the Dark Arts in depth, where I can critically examine Dark magic from a professor’s perspective, to better understand its dangers and instruct others accordingly.”
Ian, unwilling to admit defeat, tried this revised approach on a whim, and to his astonishment, the Room of Requirement responded.
Its ability to interpret intent exceeded Ian’s expectations, for it granted him not just a space for study but an immense training hall, one that bore a striking resemblance to the lair of a formidable Dark wizard.
The interior was shrouded in an ominous, unsettling atmosphere. Beyond the gloom, Ian took note of the many alchemically enhanced training dummies scattered throughout the space, perfect for spellcasting practice.
As Ian stepped forward, curiosity urging him to examine the runes inscribed upon the dummies’ surfaces, several of them sprang to life.
They did not wield wands.
But they possessed the speed of a Cheetah and the strength of a Troll… From the intricate carvings and sigils embedded in their forms, Ian quickly deduced that these constructs had been imbued with the abilities of various magical creatures.
“The enchanted dueling puppet feels almost like a real wizard!”
Faced with the sudden attack, Ian didn’t flinch. He raised his wand and cast a composite spell, [Eight-Part Nimbus], which sliced the oncoming alchemical construct into eight precise sections.
Snape’s earlier menacing words seemed to Ian like a unique teaching method, a way to push him towards growth. If that were the case, he couldn’t let Snape’s ‘encouragement’ go to waste.
He had to rise to the challenge, honing his skills in magic Snape would approve of, spells as reliable as the Avada Kedavra Lightning Chain and the Sectumsempra Storm.
Mastery would bring security.
[Sectumsempra Proficiency +5]
[Lumos Proficiency +3]
…
Though the glowing Sectumsempra lost its element of stealth, it granted an accelerated increase in proficiency. Ian relished experimenting with composite magic, and for good reason.
[Sectumsempra Proficiency +5]
[Lumos Proficiency +3]
[Sectumsempra Proficiency +5]
[Lumos Proficiency +3]
After being shattered, the alchemical puppets slowly sank into the ground as if caught in quicksand. Moments later, new constructs emerged from their original positions, fully intact.
“Avada Kedavra!”
This time, Ian truly indulged in the thrill. The flash of green light shot forth, striking one of the puppets squarely in the chest. It collapsed, but rather than immediately sinking into the floor, its surface became veined with eerie green sigils.
The shifting patterns revealed the Killing Curse’s effect, dismantling the artificial life essence imbued in the construct. Ian suspected the Room of Requirement was momentarily lagging in its response, as if adjusting to his intent. What an incredible training chamber, one that even repaired itself after destruction.
[Killing Curse Proficiency +13]
[Killing Curse Proficiency +21]
[Killing Curse Proficiency +11]
Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the Room of Requirement’s origins. What mattered was the puppets. With each ‘resurrection,’ they seemed to gain greater resistance to magic. A discovery like this was no small matter, perhaps he had truly stumbled upon a hidden treasure trove.
“Since they don’t fear destruction, let’s try this…”
A gleam of excitement flickered in Ian’s eyes as his wand flared with power. Ever since his near-failure in Hogsmeade, he had hesitated to further explore the deeper potential of [Incendio]. His first attempt at original magic had been nearly complete before he even started at Hogwarts.
Now, with greater understanding, it was time to perfect it. Magic surged through him as he channeled all his knowledge and intuition into the spell.
“Come on!”
With Ian’s incantation, golden flames erupted.
The fire blazed with the intensity of the sun, swallowing over a dozen alchemical puppets in a single instant, along with every surrounding barrier and Dark magic restraint.
Magic Level Eight created an intensity nearing the absolute limit of human ability.
Amidst the flames, a new magical inscription flickered into existence within Ian’s mental registry.
“I can’t believe I perfected it in one try… Now, what should I name it?”
With a casual wave of his wand, he dismissed the inferno. The room, once a structured battlefield, was now a scorched wasteland. Charred puppets littered the space, and the walls bore deep blackened scars.
“Flame Journey.”
As if in response to his command, the Room of Requirement began to rebuild itself, restoring the practice field. At the same time, Ian imprinted the name of his new magic onto his personal registry. But when the name solidified, something unexpected appeared.
[Flame Journey (Level 7) 1/6400]
Unlike spells learned from others, this self-created magic had started at full Level Seven proficiency.
It had already surpassed his other mastered spells, standing closest to the realm of [Legendary Traits]. More than that, from its very inception, it possessed an [Extraordinary Trait].
[Soul Furnace]
It was a simple name with a deceptively simple description: Ignite the soul, absorb magical energy.
“Blimey…”
Ian stared at the inscription of [Flame Journey], inhaling sharply. The description was brief, but the power he sensed within it was anything but.
“Turning living beings into Magical Energy in an instant?!”
Ian had always known that the [Extraordinary Traits] awakened by magic were remarkable, but he had still underestimated the true weight of that term.
Even at level five, the effect was already astonishing.
If it ever reached level ten and gained [Legendary Traits]… Ian didn’t even dare to imagine how far it could go. It felt as though these awakenings defied the very laws of the wizarding world.
“Unfortunately, this magic consumes an enormous amount of magical energy. If my power weakens beyond a certain point, it could spiral out of control.” Ian sighed, reluctantly stepping out of the Room of Requirement.
Without hesitation, he twisted the doorknob and reentered the familiar, dimly lit old classroom.
“Gū lū gū lū~”
The fire burned and the potion bubbled.
The cauldron stood steady once more. This was Ian’s way of making up for his disappointment.
Since Snape had destroyed a large portion of his potion stock, Ian had to act quickly. The following day, during Snape’s lesson, he cleverly skipped Flying class and slipped into the Potions Master’s office to replenish his supply.
This time, he was smarter, he didn’t leave behind any payment and also took a variety of other ingredients to obscure what was actually missing.
At first glance, Snape would assume he’d been outright robbed.
Ian had spent the entire day searching for Dumbledore to no avail. Finally, he gathered enough courage to ask Aurora for help in inquiring about Dumbledore from Grindelwald.
“My grandfather said Dumbledore is off visiting some of his outstanding former students and should return before Halloween. So, it should only be a few days now. Is it something urgent?” Aurora, ever dependable, provided him with a clear answer.
“Nothing major,” Ian replied.
A headmaster gallivanting off with his graduates in the middle of term? Even parcels left at the Owl Post were subject to storage fees.
In truth, he carried two letters from Ariana with him every day. He wished Dumbledore would be a bit more diligent. A headmaster gallivanting off with his graduates in the middle of term? Even parcels left at the Owl Post were subject to storage fees.
The more Ian dwelled on it, the more annoyed he became, especially considering he had yet to receive any compensation from those pure-blood families.
“My grandfather said that if you need help, Dumbledore can assist you. But so can he.” Aurora seemed to pick up on Ian’s frustration as she casually adjusted a few of the instruments beside her.
“He can’t help me with this,” Ian said, still tinkering with the delicate astronomical devices. He was intent on capturing Dumbledore’s reaction upon reading the letter. Grindelwald wouldn’t give him the response he was looking for.
“Can you help me calibrate this?”
Aurora looked thoughtful for a moment before, like any good friend, stepping in to assist him with the adjustments.
First-year students at Hogwarts had Astronomy class once a week at night, requiring them to climb to the tallest tower in the castle. No specific textbooks were needed, just a quill and parchment. Although Astronomy seemed like a niche subject, it was a core requirement for all students until their O.W.L. years.
Slytherin attended Astronomy alongside Ravenclaw, which was different from Ian’s previous classes. Their professor was Aurora Sinistra, a distinguished black witch who coincidentally shared the same first name as Aurora Grindelwald.
Professor Sinistra was renowned for her contributions to astronomy, though her expertise in divination and prophecy did not quite compare to that of the famed Grindelwald lineage. This was evident from her first lesson, in which she openly praised the prophetic abilities of the Grindelwald family.
She made no attempt to conceal her admiration, and under her passionate teaching, Ian and his classmates gained insights into aspects of wizarding astronomy they had never encountered before.
After all, Grindelwald’s family was not British, and even among the children of pure-blood families, most only knew fragments of the infamous Gellert Grindelwald’s history.
“This professor actually put your family in the same category as the Trelawneys? Merlin’s beard, did your ancestors serve some ancient Seer or act as high priests for a revered magical order?” Ian had, of course, heard of Hogwarts’ Divination professor, Sibyll Trelawney, an eccentric woman, no doubt, but one who undeniably carried the gift of prophecy in her blood.
The entire course of the Harry Potter story seemed to have been set in motion by one of her prophecies. If even Voldemort had taken her words seriously enough to act upon them, then there was no denying their significance.
“Honestly, I don’t really know. I only know that there have been a few Seers in my family’s history,” Aurora replied, blinking as if she were only now considering the implications of that fact.
“That must be a bloodline gift,” Ian mused. He had studied The Origins of Bloodlines and understood that certain magical talents, like Parseltongue or Metamorphmagus abilities, were traits passed down through wizarding ancestry.
“Do you want to study it?” Aurora extended her pale arm toward Ian, her expression open and unbothered, as if offering him the chance to examine her hereditary magical trait was no different from passing over a quill.
“Let’s talk about it later,” Ian said, slightly thrown by her casual attitude.
While they whispered, Professor Sinistra had begun the astronomy lesson.
“Our class does not require wands, only patience and keen observation,” She announced. “Over the next five years, I will teach you to track the movements of celestial bodies and understand their significance in the wizarding world.”
“The paths of the planets are not merely cosmic happenstance. Their alignments influence magical phenomena, and if you observe carefully, you may begin to uncover the greater mysteries of the universe. Once you do, I believe you will find it hard not to be captivated by the study of the stars.”
For their first lesson, Professor Sinistra used an enormous enchanted model of the night sky to introduce them to the major planets, then had each student use their telescopes to locate them in the real sky.
To be honest, if there was any Hogwarts class that most closely resembled a Muggle school subject, it had to be Astronomy, even more so than Muggle Studies. There were no spells involved, no prophetic revelations, no complex magical theories, just a class full of students peering through ancient telescopes at distant celestial bodies.
Of course, in a few years, it would become an essential foundation for Divination, but for now, Ian found it mind-numbingly dull, making this easily his second least favorite subject after History of Magic.
Aurora, on the other hand, seemed completely absorbed in it, while the rest of the students dutifully followed Professor Sinistra’s instructions, adjusting their instruments to track the stars.
“Some of you come from Muggle families,” The professor continued, “While others were raised in wizarding families. I must caution you, do not make the mistake of equating Muggle astronomy with our own. Their knowledge is… incomplete.”
“For instance, Muggles believe the solar system has nine planets,” She said with an amused lilt in her voice, “But wizards recognize only eight. I think it is safe to say the error does not lie with us.”
Her words carried the quiet confidence of a witch who had spent a lifetime studying the stars.
However, given the late hour, her voice was beginning to take on a rhythmic, almost hypnotic quality. Many students, Ian included, were stifling yawns and fighting to keep their eyes open.
It was an exhausting class.
The moment Professor Sinistra dismissed them, Ian was one of the first to bolt for the stairs, not because he was eager for bed, but because he still had ingredients to gather for his potions.
After all, what self-respecting wizard wouldn’t keep a few vials of Infinite Firepower Potion on hand? Even if Snape had forbidden him from selling it, Ian still intended to brew some for himself. A well-prepared wizard needed an ace up his sleeve.
Of course, he had to be careful not to attract Snape’s attention. To that end, Ian had devised an air-purifying charm to mask the distinct fumes of the potion’s brewing process, replacing them with the harmless scent of a mild invigorating draught.
His original plan had been to create a spell that rendered the fumes entirely odorless and invisible, but given the rushed nature of the potion’s production, and his current skill level, this was the best he could manage on short notice.
Just like when crafting an Ashes-to-Ashes Casket, the simplest method was to transfigure one substance into another without significantly altering its mass.
“I hope Hagrid’s not asleep!”
Ian bid farewell to Aurora and made his way toward the hidden passage, slipping out of the castle with practiced ease before sprinting toward Hagrid’s hut. Unfortunately, luck didn’t seem to be on his side tonight, Hagrid’s windows were dark, making it impossible to tell whether he was asleep or off patrolling the Forbidden Forest.
“I hope he’s not in a foul mood.”
Ian hesitated at the threshold, hand hovering in preparation to knock. If Hagrid wasn’t in, he could always try again tomorrow. But just as he steeled himself to rap on the wooden door,
“Prince! Breaking school rules again, are we?” A familiar, wrathful voice rang out.
Before Ian could react, a shadow loomed behind him, and he was promptly hoisted into the air by the collar of his robes.
“This is the edge of the Forbidden Forest! Have you lost your mind, sneaking into such a perilous place?” Snape’s fury was so intense that he all but sprayed spittle with every syllable.
“I only came to see Hagrid!” Ian protested while dangling indignantly. He hadn’t planned to venture into the forest itself, he’d merely hoped to acquire a few ingredients from Hagrid, like preserved frog brains and other goods sourced from the wild.
“I knew that oaf was behind this! Expelled for breaking school rules, and yet he insists on corrupting the students still in attendance!”
Snape’s sneer was practically audible as he gritted his teeth.
“Keep your voice down! If Hagrid hears you, he’ll be upset,” Ian whispered hastily, attempting to clap a hand over Snape’s mouth. Snape, still holding Ian aloft, effortlessly leaned away.
“That half-Giant isn’t here,” Snape stated coldly, his certainty unwavering.
Ian couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.
Snape, of course, noticed immediately.
“I won’t have you fraternizing with a Giant,” He snapped. “You do realize that Giants are among the most lethal of all magical creatures?”
“Not just Hagrid, anything in that forest could tear you apart in an instant,” Snape added ominously, clearly intending to terrify Ian into compliance.
Instead, Ian’s eyes lit up.
Aha!
His good uncle wasn’t forbidding him outright, he simply thought Ian wasn’t strong enough yet!
Just like with Potions!
“I can protect myself!” Ian declared, eager to prove his point. He swiftly drew his wand and aimed at a nearby tree.
“Sectumsempra!”
Naturally, he wasn’t reckless enough to use his modified version in front of the original caster. Still, an invisible blade sliced through the air like a wraith, and in an instant, the ancient tree split apart, reduced to a cascade of splinters.
“????”
Snape visibly stiffened.
“Merlin’s bloody beard, how much time do you spend dabbling in Dark magic every day?” His voice carried an edge of disbelief, the sheer power behind the spell making his pulse quicken.
“I just really admire your magic!” Ian beamed, attempting to flatter him.
Snape, however, looked utterly unimpressed. Without another word, he turned on his heel and began dragging Ian back toward the castle.
“That blasted Sorting Hat ought to be flung into a dung heap! Prince, you infernal menace!” Snape seethed, seemingly directing his ire at Ian’s House itself.
Ian opened his mouth to protest, until he noticed something peculiar.
Snape’s cloak bulged slightly at the waist, revealing an overstuffed satchel, its seams straining under the weight of numerous odd-shaped packages, potion ingredients.
“Hiss~”
Ian’s eyes gleamed with realization.
No wonder Snape was so quick to accuse others of pilfering his ingredients. It turned out he was the biggest culprit of all!
Leading by example indeed and teaching by one too!
…
The weather had turned colder in recent days, and the young wizards’ robes had steadily grown thicker. Even over in Gryffindor, a few enterprising students had begun selling portable heating charms.
It wasn’t exactly an advanced piece of alchemy, just a simple Ever-Warm Flask, a small enchanted bottle containing a flickering blue flame, capable of providing a bit of warmth and, more importantly, a dash of student fashion to whoever held it.
For just a few silver Sickles, one could stay cozy all winter, making it a rather cost-effective alternative that swiftly undercut the heated undergarments Ian had developed under William’s encouragement.
Though William managed to sell about fifteen or sixteen pairs, their combined profit didn’t even come close to what Ian had made selling his charmed maps.
“This is cutthroat competition from the Weasley twins! A classic case of a price war, disgraceful tactics worthy of goblin-led markets!”
The battle between two Galleons and five Sickles perfectly showcased the financial struggles of Hogwarts’ students, and highlighted the fact that William was definitely not the right person to be Ian’s business consultant in matters of alchemy.
Ian, shameless as ever, even roped Aurora into persuading Slytherin students to invest in his product. But despite Aurora’s influence, only four or five pairs were sold within her House.
In fact, her efforts performed even worse than Ian’s advertisements in his private study group. It became painfully clear that even Slytherins, often seen as well-off and extravagant, weren’t foolish enough to throw money at impractical purchases.
Perhaps the real problem was that Ian’s heated undergarments weren’t exactly a visible status symbol?
Among the Ravenclaws, the product received decent feedback, but many were wary that their warming runes might malfunction and set fire to their actual wands, an unfortunate misconception caused by a lack of understanding of alchemy.
“This is all your fault! This is your Christmas present!” Furious over his commercial defeat at the hands of the twins, Ian angrily hurled the remaining heated undergarments at William.
William, however, took this as nothing short of a gift from Merlin himself. Overjoyed, he even began experimenting with printing custom designs on them. His family had, for some reason, sent him a collection of bizarre objects, including an ancient printing press capable of producing animated patterns.
“Aren’t you worried that William will end up poisoned?”
Ian eyed the ink suspiciously, highly doubtful about its quality. Based on his own studies of Professor Morgan’s alchemy, and the level-four refinement techniques he had developed using enchanted constructs from the Room of Requirement, he’d wager that ink had been sitting in that old press for decades.
“This is far more useful than Gryffindor’s Portable Hearth,” William declared earnestly, his devotion to the heated undergarments already well-known within Ravenclaw. He had, in fact, taken to wearing a pair on his head during lessons for several consecutive days.
Naturally, to avoid ridicule, he concealed them beneath a knitted hat, but while this trick may have fooled students from other Houses, it did nothing to deceive his fellow Ravenclaws. Michael and the others frequently speculated in hushed conversations whether William’s big head or his little head was warmer.
After all, the weather wasn’t quite cold enough yet to justify wearing a hat indoors.
“Definitely the head is warmer!”
The confident response came from a freckled boy who consistently paid his tuition in assorted snacks. Though the others dismissed his claim, Ian found it utterly credible, after all, besides William (who was essentially a walking advertisement), this boy, fondly known as the Chocolate Frog Collector, was the only student who had bought two pairs of heated undergarments.
Niche products might have their loyalists, but they couldn’t disguise Ian’s commercial failure. His brooding over the matter became so obvious that even the enchanted bronze eagle guarding Ravenclaw Tower took notice.
“Why haven’t you come to chat with me these past few days?” The eagle’s voice, reminiscent of a polished, ethereal melody, rarely initiated conversation outside of its usual riddles.
“I’ve been busy,” Ian replied cautiously, well aware of the statue’s peculiarities. “I am a student, after all. I do have studying to do.”
However, a thousand-year-old enchanted artifact and a thousand-year-old witch likely weren’t all that different, were they?
“I’ve noticed you chatting away with other students. Just last night, you spoke with twenty-three people in the common room and smiled at eleven witches.”
“You said precisely four thousand seven hundred and eighty-six words to them. If you had saved a few, you could have spent half an hour talking to me instead.”
The enchanted bronze eagle’s arithmetic skills were, evidently, quite impressive.
Perhaps Ian was to blame for that.
But in the end, he had only outwitted himself. There was no avoiding it, if he wanted to sneak back into the dormitory after a late-night excursion, he had to sit cross-legged before the door and endure the interrogation.
“I’d rather make sure no one’s coming to catch me,” Ian muttered, casting a wary glance around the common room. In winter, most students preferred to lounge by the fireplace, reluctant to leave its comforting warmth before classes.
The Weasley twins’ Ever-Warm Flasks might have been useful, but they were no match for a roaring fire.
“So, what do you want to talk about today?”
Ian asked the bronze eagle while keeping an eye on the entrance. It wasn’t that he particularly enjoyed these conversations, but lately, even older students had started getting locked out.
There was now a bounty in Ravenclaw for anyone who could successfully befuddle the eagle knocker. Ian had considered turning himself in just to pocket the reward, but in the end, he decided his good reputation in Ravenclaw wasn’t worth the price.
“I can talk about anything,” The eagle trilled proudly. “In fact, ever since we started chatting, I feel as though I’ve been getting smarter. Clearly, you’re bestowing wisdom upon me.”
The bronze eagle’s voice carried an unmistakable note of self-satisfaction.
“Alright then, let’s talk about theoretical enchantments,” Ian suggested.
It wasn’t a subject he knew much about, but, fortunately, neither did the bronze eagle. So whenever he stumbled over a question, he could simply wave it away, claiming that it wasn’t necessary to discuss yet. He could, of course, conjure up some convincing nonsense, but it felt wrong to tamper with knowledge too much.
Time passed slowly.
Since Ian wasn’t particularly eager to sit through another tedious afternoon of History of Magic, he had taken the opportunity to collect the potion ingredients he needed from Hagrid before slipping back into the Room of Requirement to work on his latest batch of brews.
Feeling restless, Ian decided to study his assistant.
The Dementor, whom Ian had, through questionable methods, coerced into helping him with various tasks, still seemed deeply confused about its situation. Now that it hadn’t received any new orders, it reverted to its instincts, extending its withered hands toward the young wizard in front of it, driven by hunger.
“You need a manicure?” Ian raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid the only thing I can offer you is a hand replacement, how do you feel about dragon claws?”
He frowned, mentally calculating the difficulty of applying biological alchemy to something like a Dementor, while still watching its skeletal fingers with mild disgust.
The Dementor, of course, gave no response. It merely leaned in closer, its tattered hood shifting back on its own, revealing the ghastly thing beneath. Its face was hardly better than that of a Faceless Ghoul, smooth and eyeless, covered by a thin, veined membrane, like a cicada’s wing stretched over hollow sockets.
“Ha ha ha~”
Its skeletal hands grasped Ian’s shoulders, but it found itself trembling, its grip weak, its efforts futile.
It couldn’t lift him. It couldn’t pull him closer.
“You know, you’ve got just the right sort of space for a pair of eyes… I wonder if a kindly old wizard might have a spare set lying around. Or maybe I could fit two golden Snitches in there?”
Ian let the Dementor rest its skeletal hands on his shoulders, feeling rather confident that this particular one was unusually docile.
Even the way it draped its arm around him seemed careful, almost polite. Of course, the occasional twitch of its lipless mouth still caused the surrounding air to plummet several degrees. Without hesitation, Ian gave it a sharp slap.
“Ugh!”
The Dementor froze, stunned. Its mouth stopped twitching.
“Stand still. Don’t interfere with my research,” Ian ordered.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the Dementor went as stiff as a statue, allowing Ian to pry open the empty hollows where its eyes should have been and reach inside.
At twelve feet tall, the creature towered over the young wizard like a looming mountain, it was taller even than Hagrid. The sockets where its eyes should have been were so deep that Ian could shove his entire hand inside without meeting any resistance.
“I still can’t find its brain,” He muttered.
His fingers probed through the void, left and right, but he encountered nothing but an eerie mist, cold and dense, shifting like sentient fog.
The sensation was unnatural as it was more magical than magic itself.
“Hold on.” Ian jogged to the worktable where he processed potion ingredients, grabbed a sharp silver knife, and returned.
The sightless Dementor shivered.
Unfortunately for it, movement was no longer an option.
“Let’s try this, then.” Ian carefully slid the blade into the empty socket, feeling for something solid. But when he reached in again, he found nothing, just the same ghostly mist.
Not one to give up easily, he tossed in a few other objects: a brass knob, a dried beetle wing, even a shrunken gobstone. Each one vanished into the abyss as if swallowed whole.
“A shame. I could’ve turned you into a portable storage vault,” Ian mused, regretting that he hadn’t discovered a way to repurpose the creature’s unusual anatomy.
“Still, if I could fix a proper set of eyes in there…” He eyed the empty sockets thoughtfully. Surely, a few well-placed screws wouldn’t raise any complaints from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?
“If the left one could fire Avada Kedavra beams,” he added wistfully, “we’d finally have our own version of the Uchiha Clan…”
But, regrettably, he lacked the necessary materials to attempt any serious modifications.
After a few more moments of prodding, during which the Dementor trembled pitifully, Ian finally turned his attention back to his real task.
Several failed attempts later, he successfully brewed the potion he had been working on. The mysterious blue liquid shimmered in the cauldron, radiating an almost hypnotic glow.
Satisfied, he cleaned up his workstation, checked the time, and realized there were still hours before dinner.
His gaze swept across the vast, ever-shifting Room of Requirement, and he recalled something an old alchemy professor had once said.
“I need a space to study the very essence you contain.”
He murmured the words, half-expecting nothing to happen.
But when he reached for the doorknob and twisted,
The Room of Requirement answered.
The door creaked open to reveal a chamber unlike any he had seen before. Ancient and grand, it bore the weight of a millennium’s worth of secrets.
Countless inscriptions covered the walls, glowing softly with untold wisdom.
And there, gleaming amidst the arcane script, was a name, one that had been long forgotten.
Hufflepuff’s Golden House.
(End of Chapter.)