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In the corridors of Hogwarts Castle, the winter sun was not particularly warm.
It shone through the castle’s windows, casting dappled light on the cold stone floor, but it couldn’t disperse the faint white mist that accompanied Ian’s every breath.
“It’s really frustrating; my souL form is actually from the Twilight Zone…” Ian grumbled, passing by groups of cheerful young wizards, their laughter a sharp contrast to his dejected expression.
Setting aside the fearsome dark arts, the spell Ian had most eagerly anticipated after arriving in the magical world was the Patronus Charm. Alongside Animagus transformation, it was one of the most fascinating branches of magic in his eyes.
Before, Ian had suspected he might not have a Soul Form at all, a consequence of his rather unconventional origins. He had even considered researching the magical theory and venturing into the Twilight Zone to capture a suitable spirit. After all, it was teeming with mystical creatures. Yet, the cruel truth hit him harder than a Bludger.
Indeed.
The concept of a Patronus bound to a distant, mystical realm might sound poetic, even awe-inspiring. But when that realm was nearly inaccessible, the brilliance of the idea became nothing short of tragic.
Ian had all but accepted that his Patronus Charm might remain stuck at its current progress for the rest of his life.
”Name:” Ian Prince
”Occupation:” Bloodline Sorcerer
”Magic Power:” Level 8 (Undergoing Transitional Surge)
”Skills:”
– [Wisdom’s Insight (This skill cannot be upgraded)]
– [Patronus Charm (Level 0) 49/50]
…
Professor Flitwick’s astonishment was entirely understandable.
A magic power level of 8 already surpassed most adult wizards in the world, verging on the pinnacle of human capability. Ian’s strength was considerable, his abilities nearly unrivaled among his peers. Yet, even with such profound reserves of power, the mutated nature of his Patronus Charm presented a seemingly insurmountable obstacle.
“It’s not that I can’t cast it,” Ian muttered to himself. “But according to Professor Flitwick’s theory, the anomalous nature of my Patronus Charm is so absurd that even a wizard with a level 9 magical core would struggle to sustain it.”
Ian could hardly summon a simple object with a Summoning Charm without some level of effort. Expecting his enhanced magic to bridge the vast gulf between realms was nothing short of delusional.
The sheer difference between life and death, the physical and the spiritual, demanded a magical force far beyond anything Hogwarts had ever taught.
“Even Merlin himself would probably struggle with this!”
With a resigned sigh, Ian pushed aside his fixation on the Patronus Charm. Worrying wouldn’t change the reality that his magic remained powerless against the challenge.
“I’ll deal with it later. For now, it’s class time. I’ll save my brooding for tonight’s emo session.” Ian broke into a jog, hurrying toward the next classroom. First-years had now entered the dreaded four-class-a-day schedule, and punctuality was important.
After Charms, a brief forty-minute break awaited, followed by the ever-intimidating Potions class, a subject where tardiness was met with an immediate reprimand. Fortunately, Aurora had already claimed a seat in Ravenclaw’s section.
“Here, something good for you.” Ian grinned, dropping a small glass vial into Aurora’s hands. He took delight in sharing his experiments, and this bottle contained one of his latest potion innovations.
“What is this?” Aurora asked, staring curiously at the grayish liquid swirling inside.
“If you encounter an enemy you can’t defeat, toss this at them; it can temporarily render an ordinary wizard as powerless as a Squib, and it even weakens the strength of more formidable ones.”
“I call it the Forbidden Potions Agent. Reasonably priced, though the ingredients are a bit tricky to come by,” Ian said, beaming with excitement. After the success of his Infinite Firepower Potion, he had once again outdone himself.
Crafting such a potion was, of course, partly thanks to Professor Morgan’s experimental love potion. But Ian couldn’t deny that his knack for unconventional thinking had also played a pivotal role.
It was a practical creation, though regrettably, not something he could patent.
“I could help you gather the materials,” Aurora offered, slipping the potion into her robes. After a pause, she added, “Would you like some Veritaserum? I can brew a few bottles once I’m done with my current project.”
“Legilimency is far more useful than Veritaserum. I’m a Legilimency Master, after all!” Ian declared proudly, lapsing into the enthusiastic bravado that boys often displayed in front of their friends.
“Then can you Legilimize my grandfather for me?” Aurora asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.
Ian faltered.
“I’m not quite a Master at ‘that’ level…”
Swiftly steering the conversation away, Ian avoided further embarrassment.
Just then, Snape finally arrived. After missing several days of class, the Potions Master walked in with an air of restless distraction. Ian noticed him casting frequent glances toward the window, undoubtedly concerned about Quirrell and whatever trouble he might be stirring within the castle.
“If he knew your grandfather was at Hogwarts, I doubt he’d get a wink of sleep tonight,” Ian murmured to Aurora, noting the ever-darkening circles beneath Snape’s eyes.
“I remember your uncle’s a Death Eater,” Aurora remarked knowingly. She had an impressive grasp of Hogwarts’ complex web of alliances and rivalries.
“There’s competition even among Death Eaters,” Ian replied, purposefully avoiding any mention of Snape’s double-agent status. He knew when to hold his tongue.
“So you’re watching the Muggle Studies professor because you want to help your uncle get rid of his rival and climb the ranks?” Aurora’s vivid imagination leapt to the most dramatic scenario possible.
However.
Ian wasn’t about to lose this battle of absurdity. “A Death Eater who doesn’t aspire to become the Dark Lord isn’t much of a Death Eater. Once Voldemort falls, I fully intend to become the nephew of the third-generation Dark Lord.”
“My dear uncle has an excellent sense of style, he does love black, after all. Perfect Dark Lord material,” Ian continued with mock sincerity, clearly enjoying the ridiculous notion.
Aurora, on the other hand, seemed to take his words quite seriously. Her gaze shifted thoughtfully to Snape, who was preparing ingredients at the teacher’s desk, oblivious to their conversation.
Snape eventually noticed Ian and Aurora’s whispering. After several unsuccessful attempts to silence them with his infamous glare, he chose to redirect his frustration.
“Mr. Cherv, kindly refrain from mining your nose for potion ingredients. One Point from Ravenclaw for your utter lack of decorum.”
The chastised student shrank in embarrassment as muffled snickers spread through the classroom. Ian and Aurora, however, carried on with their hushed conversation, seemingly immune to Snape’s wrath.
“Now, we begin the practical portion of the lesson,” Snape announced coldly. “A moment where fools proudly display their incompetence.”
Despite his ominous tone, Snape’s eyes remained glued to the Slytherin side of the room. The notorious duo, Sinjid and Giggs, had once again taken their places. With their penchant for bizarre experimentation, they frequently managed to turn even the simplest potions into hazardous concoctions.
Their notes appeared to hail from some forgotten era, and no one, not even Snape, could predict what disastrous results awaited today.
“Bang~”
Sure enough.
Even with Snape’s vigilant supervision, they still managed to cause a burst of green smoke from the cauldron when Snape’s gaze was diverted.
“Merlin’s beard! Who told you to add so many frog skins? Are you trying to turn us all into toads?” Snape’s reflexes were no doubt sharpened by years of enduring catastrophes in the potions classroom.
It was a close call
The two Slytherin students were promptly thrown out of the classroom. But even after removing the infamous troublemakers, Snape’s temper remained far from soothed.
“The order was wrong! Dunderheads! Weren’t you paying attention to my instructions?”
“I wanted a green potion! Are you colourblind? I should make you drink this entire cauldron of blue sludge!”
“Get your filthy hands out of it! This is not bathwater for scrubbing a Hippogriff’s hooves!”
…
The dungeon bat was on the warpath.
While the other students quivered and tried not to add to his wrath, Ian noticed Snape slyly pulling a bit of parchment from his robes, the Marauder’s Map. His eyes scanned it quickly, no doubt tracking Quirrell’s movements within the castle.
“I’ll wager he hasn’t paid us,” Ian muttered as he and Aurora steadily brewed their potions. While their progress was smooth, Ian’s recent attempts at using advanced fire charms for his personal experiments had resulted in a few minor explosions. He was now on Snape’s particular watchlist.
“He confiscated several maps,” Aurora whispered as she sorted through her ingredients. “Some of the first-years in Slytherin are practically in tears.”
“Tell them not to worry. The second map is 20% off,” Ian quipped, stirring the bubbling contents of his cauldron with a bit too much enthusiasm.
He stirred Aurora’s cauldron too, helping her keep pace.
“Snape’s already warned me,” Aurora continued, her voice dipping into an eerily perfect imitation of Snape’s drawl. “If I catch you peddling illicit goods in Slytherin House again, I will personally recommend your immediate transfer to Ravenclaw.”
Her mimicry was spot-on, right down to the lingering sneer. Clearly, she had practiced human transfiguration spells, including voice alteration.
“He’s bluffing. There’s no such thing as house transfers,” Ian scoffed. “He’s just trying to block my side hustle. And what am I supposed to do? Summon the ghosts of my ancestors to scold him? That’d be a bit much, even for me.”
“Well, I called his bluff.” Aurora smirked. “Sold two more maps right in front of him. No transfer notice arrived.”
Ian snickered, though his laughter faded quickly. “Wait, he didn’t confiscate your map, did he?”
Aurora’s map wasn’t like the others. It lacked a concealment charm for her own location, a security risk if it had fallen into Snape’s hands.
“Of course not. He tried, but I had a little backup.” Aurora grinned, satisfied. “The Acolytes gathered some rather compelling information for me. After I showed him the evidence, he turned on his heel and stormed off.”
“Though,” She added with a wicked glint in her eye, “He did growl something about detention. But when I hinted that I might investigate the grave of someone named Lily Evans, he decided against it.”
Ian’s eyes widened.
Indeed.
The title of Hogwarts’ biggest coward did not belong to Ian.
“I didn’t; don’t talk nonsense. You’ve been spending too much time with the Slytherins and picked up some of their bad habits,” Ian retorted, suddenly concerned that Snape might hold him accountable after Cho Chang’s incident.
No wonder Snape’s disdain for him and Aurora had been so apparent during class.
“My grandfather said you dug up the graves of Voldemort’s whole family.” Aurora casually poured the completed potion into a vial, tilting her head and giving a knowing look to the nearby students.
“…”
Ian hadn’t expected Grindelwald to have such a loose tongue.
“What exactly do you want those bones for?” Aurora asked, her curiosity piqued.
Ian hesitated, casting a glance toward Snape, who was fortunately preoccupied, and then lowered his voice. “One of Voldemort’s uncles is currently in your hands.”
Aurora froze, staring blankly at him. Then, with a flash of realization, she hastily pulled the potion Ian had given her from her robes. The grayish liquid inside swirled like aged broth with an unsettling thickness.
“This is possible?” Aurora whispered, her grasp of potion-making struggling to accept what Ian was suggesting.
“I’ve also uncovered something even bigger,” Ian murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t tell you just yet.” He couldn’t help but picture Snape’s reaction if he ever caught wind of Ian’s discoveries.
If the Infinite Firepower Potion had earned Snape’s fury, the revelation Ian was withholding would surely make the man cast a hundred Memory Charms on him.
And Ian wouldn’t even blame him.
What he’d uncovered was connected to the very origin of wizardkind. He had finally grasped the underlying thesis woven into Professor Morgan’s love potion formula. To hide a topic so profound within a concoction that symbolized reproduction was just the sort of dark humor Professor Morgan enjoyed.
“A dangerous secret? From this potion?” Aurora’s brows furrowed as her fingers twitched toward the Forbidden Potions Agent. But Ian quickly reached out, pushing her hand away.
“That’s for emergencies only. We can’t always rely on Dumbledore and your grandfather to swoop in and save us when things go wrong.” Ian’s concern was palpable. He couldn’t shake the memory of that morning, Hagrid lumbering to the headmaster’s office with something in tow. If Ian’s guess was right, the Mirror of Erised and the Philosopher’s Stone were now in Hogwarts.
That would surely draw Voldemort like a moth to a flame.
And considering her lineage, Ian feared Aurora might become a primary target of the Dark Lord’s curiosity. Voldemort was nothing if not obsessed with bloodlines.
“I have my own ways to stay safe,” Aurora said, the slightest note of defiance in her voice. “But if this thing puts you in danger, maybe you should keep it hidden.”
She tried to return the Forbidden Potions Agent, sliding it under the table toward Ian.
“It won’t bring me trouble,” Ian said calmly, firmly pressing the vial back into her robes. “Without the exact potion formula and the rituals I’ve mastered, no potioneer would guess its true potential.”
“Besides, it has a unique effect against Voldemort. Trust me, it’s far better than most so-called ‘life-saving’ methods.” Ian’s curiosity burned with the desire to see what would happen if Voldemort ever encountered the potion. Not just Voldemort’s visible reaction, but the reaction within him on a fundamental level.
A test of nature versus nurture.
Because Ian’s theory, as audacious as it was, involved something as intricate as blood itself. Dominant and recessive traits are the building blocks of magic.
Professor Morgan had once mused that the bloodlines of wizards flowed through everyone. The so-called ‘choice of the beyond,’ as she called it, could awaken recessive traits, transforming them into dominant ones.
The origin of wizards wasn’t a myth, it was embedded in their very bones.
Of course, this is simply a more accessible explanation; a more accurate description would be that humans are encased in a thin magical “membrane.” When this membrane is stripped away, their magical power is unleashed.
Ian’s Forbidden Potions Agent, however, does the opposite; it reinstates that magical membrane, sealing a wizard’s powers temporarily.
While the effect doesn’t last long, when the membrane is derived from the remains of Muggle relatives, its compatibility with wizards becomes unnervingly perfect. This results in a much stronger suppression of their magic.
Ian had gradually come to grasp the complexities of this shocking field, though even his conclusions couldn’t account for the existence of Squibs. There was clearly more he had yet to uncover.
“You seem quite certain the Dark Lord will enter our school,” Aurora remarked, tucking her hands into her robe pockets for warmth. She hadn’t resisted Ian slipping the vial into her pocket, but curiosity glinted in her eyes.
“I don’t know Voldemort personally, but I do know our headmaster…” Ian’s thoughts drifted to the objects Grindelwald had led him to find. Dumbledore’s recent disappearances were no coincidence.
Two Horcruxes were already in Ian’s possession. Fortunately, by tonight, he’d be sending those fragments of Voldemort on a little excursion of their own. There was no risk of the Dark Lord noticing their absence just yet.
“I think you’re just trying to cover up the fact that you’re a seer.” Aurora gave a playful grin as she shook the last sealed potion bottle and handed one of the vials to Ian.
“Then you ought to teach me how to roll my eyes back like your grandfather did. It was so dramatic!” Ian joked, raising his hand to signal that their potion work was complete.
As Snape swept toward their table, Aurora said nothing more. Both potions were virtually identical in quality, they’d brewed them in tandem, but Snape’s gaze lingered only on Ian’s. With a curt flick of his wand, the potions master lifted Ian’s bottle as though it were a standard for the rest of the class.
“5 Points to Ravenclaw.”
He didn’t bother to acknowledge Aurora’s work. Clearly, her infamous Evans Dance Warning stunt in the Slytherin common room had left quite an impression.
Aurora remained unbothered. She knew Snape had never been fond of her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have needed to use the Evans Dance Warning to torment him in the first place.
“Well, at least there are only about twenty more fools in this class than I expected,” Snape sneered after inspecting the remaining potions. The classroom buzzed with relief as students gathered their belongings, eager to escape the tension.
But Ian, preparing to leave, paused when he noticed Snape lingering. The professor, instead of retreating to his office, had begun methodically sealing the classroom’s potion ingredient cabinets with layers of locks and spells.
“Who’s he guarding against?” Ian muttered under his breath, his brows furrowing.
He could only assume that Snape would be even more cautious with the ingredients in his private storeroom, most likely using charms as advanced as those protecting the restricted section of the library. Ian’s level three Unlocking Charm would be useless there.
“It’s all Quirrell’s fault!” Ian huffed, shifting the blame onto the Muggle Studies professor. It wasn’t entirely unjustified, Snape hadn’t been this paranoid before Quirrell’s suspicious return.
Until now, Snape hadn’t even bothered to guard against Ian. In fact, he rarely hindered talented students who dared to swipe a few potion ingredients. Much like the time-honored traditions of Hogwarts, if you weren’t caught, it was tacitly approved.
This unspoken rule remained alive even among the professors. After all, Snape himself had used it in his student days, particularly with Hagrid, who never could resist passing along an ‘extra’ supply of forbidden ingredients.
“Another charming relic of the Middle Ages, no doubt,” Ian thought wryly.
Outside, the chill in the air had grown sharper. Snow seemed inevitable.
“The weather’s turning,” Aurora remarked. “It’ll be snowing soon.”
“The portable hearths are brilliant, though,” another student chimed in. “Only five Sickles each! I bought eight. Keep one under my bed at night, proper toasty.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “You keep one under your bed? You’re not worried about waking up in the middle of a bonfire?”
“Nah,” The boy grinned. “Charms keep it contained. And besides, I sleep like a dragon, through storms, explosions, you name it. No fire’s waking me up.”
“I do too, but I stick it right inside my robes!”
The latest gossip was already making its way through the sixth-year study group.
…
Seeing so many students clutching the Weasley twins’ portable hearth bottles, Ian’s mood darkened further. The failure of his enchanted thermal undergarments to sell well weighed heavily on him.
He had no doubt that his alchemy skills were far superior to the twins’, but listening to the misplaced confidence of his roommate had cost him the perfect opportunity to dominate Hogwarts’ winter market.
“At least the sales of the Marauder’s Map are doing well.” That was Ian’s only solace. However, Hogwarts was simply too small a market. With so few students compared to the Muggle world, Ian couldn’t help but fantasize. If thousands of new students enrolled each year, the regular version of the Marauder’s Map alone would make him a fortune.
He even entertained the thought of opening a shop within Hogwarts itself, considering his relatively good relationship with Dumbledore. Anyone with sense would realize that such a venture would outshine even Diagon Alley.
“Oh well. Time to eat. Food’s the best cure for a sour mood.” Dinner was its usual lavish affair, though Ian noticed an attempt at a ginseng chicken soup, one that he had once jokingly suggested to the house-elves.
“Bah! That’s turkey!”
The elves’ culinary expertise still had room for improvement.
Dumbledore made a rare appearance at the meal, clad in his iconic purple robes and chatting animatedly with the other professors. However, Professor Quirrell’s strained smile stood out in stark contrast. Unable to stomach even a bite of his food, Quirrell’s nervous expression was painfully obvious to those seated nearby.
“Professor Quirrell, are you alright? You’re looking rather pale,” Professor McGonagall inquired with genuine concern, resting a hand on his shoulder.
The gesture startled him so much that he spilled his goblet of water. With Dumbledore’s twinkling gaze now upon him, Quirrell hastily mumbled an excuse about feeling unwell and stumbled away from the Great Hall.
“Our dear Professor Quirrell must have picked up something nasty during his travels,” Dumbledore remarked airily, though his tone carried unmistakable meaning.
“I’ll accompany Madam Pomfrey to check on him later,” Snape declared unexpectedly. Even McGonagall raised an eyebrow at the surprising offer.
“Severus, I trust you’ll take good care of our Professor Quirrell.” Dumbledore’s words, though polite, bore a distinct undertone.
From his seat, Ian quietly “overheard” the professors’ exchange. He couldn’t help but notice the brief but deliberate glance Dumbledore sent his way, accompanied by a subtle wink.
“A nigh undetectable eavesdropping spell, courtesy of the Restricted Section. The creator must’ve thought rather highly of themselves!” Ian quickly took a large gulp of his turkey soup, trying to mask his embarrassment.
Though not particularly appetizing, the soup still had a trace of ginseng’s earthy bitterness. Ian gnawed at the dry turkey, half-listening to the idle chatter of the professors. Discussion soon turned to Dumbledore’s supposed losses.
The Gringotts break-in had been kept under wraps for a time, but the Ministry of Magic could no longer conceal the incident. Somehow, the narrative had twisted, painting Dumbledore as the unfortunate victim of a daring theft. In response, Gringotts had even offered him an absurdly generous compensation.
“Only in the wizarding world,” Ian mused, marveling at the sheer audacity of the whole affair.
“Is he trying to teach me that even the so-called ‘great’ white wizard has a dark side? Perhaps he’s showing me what true power means.”
“Good thing I’m not ambitious,” Ian thought. “Otherwise, I might just end up as the fourth-generation Dark Lord.”
After dinner, Ian headed straight to the library and then returned to the Ravenclaw common room. He approached the enchanted bronze eagle knocker, prepared for the inevitable challenge.
“Prove the Riemann Hypothesis.”
The eagle’s voice rang out with smug satisfaction. After an entire night of stubbornly presenting impossible riddles, it showed no signs of relenting.
Thankfully, this time Ian was in luck. Just as a younger student stepped out, Ian seized the opportunity to slip inside. The eagle’s beady bronze eyes gleamed with resentment, but it had no choice but to let him through.
“Ian, I want to learn the steak spell!”
Before Ian could even catch his breath, Michael Corner bounded over, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“What steak spell?”
He thought Michael had somehow stumbled upon the secret of the house-elves.
“Today, a Gryffindor student flubbed a syllable while casting the Levitation Charm and ended up summoning a wild bull right into the Gryffindor common room!”
“Blimey! Now that’s the kind of magic we should be learning! Just think, endless steak for life!” Michael’s eyes gleamed with exaggerated longing.
“!!!!!!!”
Ian had heard of accidental spellcasting incidents before, but he hadn’t expected to witness such a ridiculous one at Hogwarts.
“Give me a bit of time to look into it. I’ve been thinking about something like this for a while now,” Ian mused.
“Didn’t you ask that Gryffindor student how he did it?” Ian was even tempted to investigate himself, but Michael sighed.
“He has no clue how he managed it. Now, the whole Gryffindor common room is trying to recreate it. Even Professor McGonagall couldn’t get things under control.”
Michael’s words made Ian silently bemoan his bad luck.
“I’m confident I can figure it out eventually, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m planning to teach you lot a harmless little Jinx instead.” Ian’s words instantly sparked Michael’s interest.
“Ian’s teaching us dark magic! Quick! Everyone come here!”
Michael’s excited shouting quickly gathered a crowd.
Jinxes did technically fall under the category of dark magic, but they were minor spells at most. Many were even part of the standard Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum.
Of course, Michael’s phrasing could lead people to believe Ian was about to teach the Unforgivable Curses, and the Ravenclaws were certainly eager enough to learn. Upper-year students soon gathered around, jokingly debating which curse Ian would demonstrate first.
“I’m teaching the Leg-Locker Curse,” Ian announced.
Groans of disappointment echoed through the common room, but the prospect of learning something new quickly softened their complaints. Ian slipped naturally into the role of a professor, even awarding a few imaginary house points to the most enthusiastic participants.
The atmosphere soon grew lively as the students practiced the spell, laughter ringing out as legs stiffened and bodies toppled over. Ian watched with amusement as his fellow students struggled. Some even tried to crawl across the floor, much to the delight of the others.
“Finite Incantatem!”
Ian flicked his wand, releasing the spells in a single, practiced motion. Seeing everyone flailing about like overturned tortoises, he had seized the opportunity to perfect his counter-spell.
By the time anyone grew suspicious of his spell mastery, Ian would already be confident enough to brush aside any doubts.
“That was brilliant!”
“Merlin’s beard, Ian! That looked cooler than my brother’s dueling practice!”
“Even the way he holds his wand is impressive!”
Amidst the chorus of admiration, Ian concluded the impromptu lesson with satisfaction. Rather than retreating to his dormitory, he wandered to the small bookshelf in the common room.
”The Legend of Merlin”
It was a biographical tale, more a fantastical retelling than an accurate historical account. Still, the adventure-filled pages held a certain charm, offering Ian a pleasant escape.
“Some people’s lives really are more fantastical than fiction,” he murmured, turning another page.
The crackling fireplace kept him warm as he read, the common room gradually emptying as his fellow students retired to their dormitories. Lost in the twisting tales of Merlin, Ian hardly noticed the passing of time.
The night deepened, and the silver light spilled in. The Ravenclaw common room appeared particularly tranquil and mysterious under the gentle caress of the moonlight, with the warm fireplace shielding Ian from the biting cold outside. Sitting on the sofa by the hearth, he could clearly feel the warmth rising from his feet and gradually spreading throughout his body.
The fireplace certainly had enchantments woven into it, making it comparable to a six-wizard heating charm, and it was marvelously efficient.
“Morgan… and King Arthur…” Ian’s whispers echoed softly in the common room, carrying a hint of unexplainable nostalgia and sentiment.
Time passed, second by second.
When midnight arrived, Helena Ravenclaw appeared as promised, looking rather unaccustomed to this clandestine rendezvous. She glanced around as she floated through the wall into the common room, resembling a thief caught in the act.
“I never thought I would come to find a little wizard in the middle of the night, especially a boy,” Helena Ravenclaw remarked, observing Ian, who was reading by the fireplace.
Ian looked up at her, his expression amused.
“Does it make you feel guilty?” Ian teased lightly.
“To be honest, a little.” Helena Ravenclaw’s response was surprisingly candid. “If it weren’t for my mother asking me, I would never do such a thing; I was raised traditionally.”
She might possess a romantic spirit, but her upbringing had been strict, often the hallmark of those with a longing for something more.
“We still have plenty of time. Perhaps you should say goodbye to your friends after all these years. As long as you don’t mention me, it won’t matter.” Ian’s face was illuminated by the flickering firelight, his voice calm and steady.
“I don’t think I should trouble you,” Helena said, floating closer. The wood in the fireplace crackled softly, the orange glow dancing on her ghostly form.
“And if you truly can… if you can accomplish the impossible, as I imagine, perhaps I will have the chance to reunite with them.”
Helena’s gaze shifted to the table in front of Ian, where only a single book rested.
“Ian, what do we need to do? Perform a magical ritual to send me to that place?”
Her voice carried a mix of anxiety and hope, accompanied by unmistakable uncertainty. After all, rituals were rarely simple. Powerful magic often required intricate procedures, abundant magical energy, and rare ingredients.
And a spell capable of sending a ghost to another world? It was unheard of. Helena was certain such magic would demand extraordinary preparations.
“Ritual magic can’t accomplish this.” Ian shook his head.
His words only deepened Helena’s confusion.
“Tonight, you shall call me Little Merlin.” Ian stood up, stepping closer as he extended his hand toward her, causing her to falter in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
Helena asked curiously, hesitating before her pale, translucent hand cautiously met his. Though ethereal, Ian clasped it firmly.
“It means tonight, I’m taking you on a journey.” Ian searched his pocket and withdrew a length of cloth, wrapping it securely around their joined hands.
“What are you doing?”
Helena watched, bewildered, as the events unfolded.
“We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” Ian smiled gently. From within his robes, he produced a small vial of shimmering potion. Under Helena’s wide-eyed gaze, he drank it in a single gulp.
“Is that the potion you brewed in the Room of Requirement?”
But Ian had no chance to respond.
The moment the potion coursed through his veins, he collapsed without a sound, sinking into a deep slumber right before the astonished Helena Ravenclaw.
“This…”
Helena’s eyes widened in disbelief. She tried to speak, but a strange sensation enveloped her. The edges of the common room began to blur, the world distorting as a distinct boundary of existence trembled and shifted.
”Draught of Living Death.”
Tonight, in Ian’s hands, the legendary potion carried a ghost… across the realms of life and death.
(End of Chapter)
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