The weather during the rainy season was always unpredictable.
Though Ian had spent what felt like half a day in the Twilight Realm, barely any time had passed in the real world. By the time he returned to the Ravenclaw common room, the sky had opened up, drenching the castle in a relentless downpour.
Thunder and lightning tangled together, weaving a flickering net of light and shadow across the heavens. Each crackling bolt that split the night was like a furious beast baring its fangs to roar in defiance.
The wind howled through the castle’s stone corridors, while heavy raindrops lashed against the ancient leaded windows like a volley of enchanted pebbles hurled by unseen hands, creating a rhythmic clatter.
Rain fell in shimmering sheets, cascading like a spectral veil.
Droplets pooled and meandered down the glass, leaving twisting trails that painted ghostly, shifting patterns. Beyond the blurred windows, the grounds of Hogwarts appeared distant and dreamlike, distorted by the storm’s fury. The fire crackling in the hearth seemed to flicker in response, as if joining the tempest’s midnight symphony.
“I hope it keeps raining tomorrow, maybe they’ll cancel Flying class.”
Ian, now fully awake, slumped against the window ledge, where cold air seeped through the ancient stone. He gazed out at the lightning dancing between the storm clouds, not unlike a student in Muggle Studies wistfully hoping for a sudden magical mishap to cancel their afternoon lessons.
Bang. Bang.
The sound didn’t come from outside but from Ian’s own hand, where he idly turned several dark stones over his fingers. Ever since Rowena Ravenclaw had entrusted him with a volcanic rock imbued with old magic, he’d kept his pockets stuffed with similar stones, just in case anything went amiss while he attempted to replicate the Resurrection Stone.
After all, these stones were common enough around magical volcanoes. Even if he hauled back a trunkful, he doubted the goblins at Gringotts would raise an eyebrow. He hadn’t even filled his expanded coin pouch to the brim, proof that, at the very least, he had some confidence in his alchemy skills. He was only a few days away from mastering this branch of magic and taking it to the next level.
Alchemy, as a discipline, was an intricate web of theory and craft, requiring far more patience than most branches of magic.
Progress was slow, even for a natural talent. Ian’s pace was already considered impressive, helped in no small part by his unrestricted access to Hufflepuff’s legendary gold vault, where he could conduct his research undisturbed.
“By tethering the spell to a specific entity, I can manipulate an incomplete Patronus Charm… So that’s what Rowena Ravenclaw meant.”
Ian murmured to himself, eyes narrowing as he traced the logic of the enchantment in his mind.
“Before my magic attempts to manifest the Twilight Realm’s projection, I need to first anchor a soul from within it. That way, I won’t have to cast a full-fledged Patronus Charm and risk shouldering the entire burden of the Twilight Realm myself.”
Standing before the rain-streaked window, Ian withdrew one of the Twilight Realm stones and unholstered his wand. He focused, intending to alter its form.
A Snitch, perhaps?
No, he wasn’t trying to capture some rogue dream-creature flitting through the Twilight Realm.
A goblin’s circlet?
That wouldn’t do either, he had no intention of ensnaring a spirit like some ancient warlock of old.
“I remember Pandero still owes Professor Morgan a preserved dragon soul…”
With a flick of his wand, the black stone twisted and reformed into a golden hoop, though it hardly resembled something that could fit over the horns of a great beast.
“Western dragons are powerful, sure, but as Patronuses go, the bigger they are, the harder they are to control. Even Grindelwald dismissed dragon Patronuses as impractical.”
Ian smirked slightly, recalling their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s open disdain for oversized, unwieldy Patronuses. Clearly, he wasn’t alone in that opinion.
The dark stone floated before him, suspended in midair. He moved his wand in slow, deliberate motions, urging the stone to shift its form again.
Nothing.
The rock simply reverted to its original state.
It seemed he still hadn’t quite cracked the method.
“I wonder… could a Patronus take the form of a person? If that’s possible, then the best choice would be to summon Professor Morgan to stand beside me.”
His lips curled into a thoughtful smile.
“Not only that, since my Patronus is the Twilight Realm itself, surely I can anchor more than just one soul within it.”
Flowers and vines, owls and sparrows, when I was overwhelmed, I saw countless creatures in the Twilight Realm. This is undoubtedly the unique nature of my Patronus Charm.
“If I anchor multiple souls at once, could I allow more than one to manifest in the mortal world as Patronuses? Ha, wouldn’t that be a loophole on par with the Resurrection Stone’s original function?”
“The Reaper Rowena Ravenclaw spoke of would surely be livid with me.”
Ian withdraws the Resurrection Stone’s original ring from his pocket. The trace of Tom’s lingering soul had long since faded, leaving the stone bare of its former corruption.
He wasn’t sure whether this was the result of Rowena Ravenclaw’s influence or a side effect of passing through the Twilight Realm, where ordinary magic faltered and dissolved, but whatever the reason, the malevolent curse Tom had placed upon the ring was now completely gone.
Even so, Ian had no intention of slipping the ring onto his own hand.
Rowena Ravenclaw had warned him repeatedly: wielding a Deathly Hallow meant forging an unspoken contract with Death itself. And Death, as she described it, was no benevolent force. It was an entity of rules, unyielding, absolute, and unlikely to take kindly to those who tampered with its domain.
“Who knows? It could be a petty sort, watching from the shadows, waiting for me to exploit some loophole between the living and the dead before flying into a rage and exacting revenge.”
Ian’s wariness was in full force.
Perhaps this was the result of too many cautionary tales in his past life.
Ordinary objects turn deadly in the blink of an eye. Staircases shifting at the wrong moment and crumbling beneath one’s feet. A simple spell miscast triggered an irreversible magical catastrophe.
If Death wished to retaliate, it would likely be through an absurd chain of accidents, a domino effect of seemingly random misfortunes, each one more bizarre and lethal than the last.
“Still, according to Rowena, the realm of the dead isn’t exactly a peaceful place. If their deities are embroiled in conflict, perhaps I’ll slip by unnoticed so long as I don’t overstep my bounds.”
“The Patronus Charm itself is no longer a problem. The real challenge is deciphering the alchemical inscriptions on the Resurrection Stone, those that bind a soul to this world.”
Ian rolled the Resurrection Stone ring between his fingers, comparing it to the obsidian-like illusion stones he had retrieved from the Twilight Realm.
Before long, with a flick of his wand. An invisible force, like giant unseen hands, seized the seemingly unbreakable stones before him. Under the delicate touch of magic, their rigidity crumbled, and small fragments, each no larger than a fingertip, peeled away.
With practiced precision, Ian guided the loose fragments, reshaping them until they were indistinguishable from the Resurrection Stone itself.
Faint etchings surfaced across their polished black surfaces, moving like living ink before settling into place, the mark of the Resurrection Stone, ancient and foreboding.
Clink.
Ian winced slightly as he flicked several Galleons into the air like marbles. Mid-spin, the coins melted and flowed under his magic, curling around the newly shaped stones.
By the time they landed, they had solidified, seven rings, identical to the original Resurrection Stone, each gleaming with a subdued, mysterious luster.
Of course, they were nothing more than imitations. Crafted rings, empty of true enchantment. Mere forgeries, for now.
Ian’s plan was simple: if he couldn’t extract the precise alchemical formula he needed, he would replicate every known aspect of the Resurrection Stone down to its finest detail, hoping, perhaps, that in doing so, he could create an “anchor” of his own.
“After all, these counterfeits wouldn’t belong to Death. If I bypass the original’s ownership, who’s to say they won’t function the same way?”
He knew it was an ambitious idea. A fool’s gamble, even.
It was like attempting to sculpt a living being from clay; one could mold a perfect replica, but without the divine breath of life, it remained just that: a lifeless figure.
The same logic applies here. The Resurrection Stone’s engravings might not simply be an inscription of knowledge but a gift of power, one only Death itself could bestow.
If that were the case, even if Ian unraveled every one of its secrets, using them would be another matter entirely.
“Rowena Ravenclaw has certainly left me with quite the puzzle. But I have to try. This isn’t just about the Patronus Charm, it’s about my alchemy.”
Ian studied the rings in his palm. Seven false Resurrection Stones, resting in the light, their illusion of authenticity nearly perfect.
His thoughts turned to potential test subjects.
Besides seeking Professor Morgan’s approval, there was another possibility, Ariana.
Ariana Dumbledore had died young. If she was willing to return, even in this spectral form, would it not be a kindness?
To offer her a glimpse of the world she had been denied? To give her, if only briefly, a chance to walk among the living once more?
“If Ariana were my Patronus, she’d be incredibly powerful. In some ways, she might even surpass Professor Morgan. Summoning Ariana would be almost the same as summoning a fully magical Dumbledore.”
Ian mused over the idea, a smirk playing at his lips. With Ariana’s help, he could very well convince Dumbledore to summon Gubraithian Fire just to warm his foot bath.
What a luxury that would be.
“To think I’d even consider bullying an old man… Aurora was right. I really am a bit wicked.”
For the first time, Ian found himself truly acknowledging this obvious fact.
Shaking off his amusement, he tucked the seven counterfeit Resurrection Stone rings, along with the real one, into his money pouch. Then, he withdrew the Locket of Slytherin, intent on studying its alchemical structure. Given that Salazar Slytherin himself had crafted it in tandem with the Resurrection Stone, it almost certainly held valuable knowledge about anchoring.
“This… this is something humans can actually understand!”
Carefully tracing the engraved patterns, Ian uncovered the hidden alchemical mechanisms concealed within.
The locket’s enchantments were woven using the principles of ancient alchemy, fortunately, his expertise lay precisely in that field. If he could dissect and replicate the necessary methods himself, why bother trying to decipher the cryptic inscriptions of the Resurrection Stone?
“Tick-tock, tick-tock~”
Time slipped away, second by second.
In the warmth of the Ravenclaw common room, Ian sat by the fireplace, engrossed in a late-night study session. Beside him, a fragment of Professor Morgan’s enchanted robes lay unfolded, a key piece in his ongoing research. With meticulous precision, he examined its magical properties, comparing them to the notes he had gathered.
Beyond the arched windows, the temperature had plummeted below freezing.
The rain fell in sheets, the night air thick with moisture. Lightning slashed through the sky like silver blades, momentarily tearing apart the darkness. For a split second, the Forbidden Forest was illuminated in eerie detail, a massive, sleeping giant crouching beneath the misty downpour, its depths filled with unseen, watchful eyes.
Most of Hogwarts lay in peaceful slumber.
Yet with each crack of thunder, the castle was briefly set aglow, and far beyond its stone walls, hidden corners of the Forbidden Forest were likewise unveiled. Ancient trees, shrouded in secrecy for centuries, could not escape the reach of the storm’s illumination.
Somewhere deep within those woods, something stirred.
“Vanished. Just like before. I’ve lost contact with the Horcruxes again.”
The ceaseless rain did little to muffle the low, seething voices that wove through the shadows.
Dark souls clung desperately to the veil between life and death, writhing in silent torment. Their eyes, hollow and vengeful, turned toward the distant castle. Their whispered fury seeped into the night like venom, carried by the howling wind.
“Dumbledore… are you forcing my hand?!”
Holy blood.
Spilled.
Seeping into eager lips.
“Then so be it. Let the battle begin.”
Somewhere, a lingering soul, desperate to endure, had made its decision.
…
Dawn.
The sun rose, hidden behind thick rain clouds, just as Ian had hoped. The heavy downpour had continued through the night, spilling over into the morning, effectively grounding all practical Flying lessons.
Across the Great Hall, countless young witches and wizards slumped over their breakfasts, disheartened by the news. Their dreams of soaring through the sky had been replaced by the drudgery of theoretical Flying class.
Ian observes the scene with mild amusement.
With drooped shoulders and listless expressions, their enthusiasm for handling broomsticks was now about as strong as a Muggle student’s love for PE. Or, perhaps, among the older ones, their interest was closer to how Muggles felt about maths first thing in the morning.
The rain lashed against the castle’s towers and windowpanes, but it might as well have been striking the hearts of those who longed to fly.
Ian, however, was the exception.
Internally, he was rather pleased by the miserable weather. But outwardly, he played the part well, blending seamlessly into the chorus of groans and complaints.
“Oh, Merlin’s beard! This wretched weather! It has absolutely no respect for us!”
To this day, no one had figured out he was behind those absurdly difficult riddles now plaguing the bronze eagle knocker of the Ravenclaw common room. And it was all thanks to his exemplary acting skills.
Even their young Charms professor had been recruited to hunt down the so-called mastermind behind the increasingly complex questions. The irony was almost too much to bear.
Ian smirked.
At this rate, the case would go unsolved, an unspoken stain upon Hogwarts’ investigative history, forever lingering in the records. He had already imagined what he’d write in his future memoirs:
“A shocking failure in Hogwarts’ security, a cryptic perversion, left unchecked. Even my prodigious intellect failed to expose the identity of this riddle-wielding menace.”
Oh, what a tragedy it would be.
A Ravenclaw by the fireplace suddenly groaned, stretching his arms above his head.
“Why doesn’t Madam Hooch teach us how to fly in the rain? Now that would be practical knowledge.”
Ian chuckled, dragging his chair a little closer to the warmth of the fire.
Yes, very practical indeed. Although everyone had sealed the doors and windows overnight and stuffed the Weasley twins’ wickedly ingenious Portable Hearth into their blankets, that little contraption only provided a bit of warmth.
It did nothing to stop the chill from creeping into their fingers and toes the moment they crawled out of bed.
“I reckon Madam Hooch is just afraid we’ll get struck by lightning. That’d be a right nasty way to go,” William remarked, entirely unbothered by the cold as he strolled out of the dormitory, his face unusually warm and rosy.
Of course, that wasn’t surprising.
After all, William was the only person in Hogwarts who had access to Ian’s unsold self-warming undergarments, a failed product that now served as his personal enchanted electric blanket.
The glow on his face? Well, that was because he’d taken to wearing one on his head while sleeping. It kept him toasty and, in his words, prevented drool stains when he slept on his side.
“We just need to fly faster than the lightning, and then it’ll be fine!”
The Chocolate Frog boy, so named because of his unnatural ability to consume absurd amounts of sweets, was tearing into a massive strip of bacon. At this point, Ian had lost count of how many dozens of Chocolate Frog cards the boy had handed over to him.
Merlin only knew how many boxes he still had stashed in his trunk.
“You really are an idiot,” Michael muttered, swallowing a mouthful of toast with a critical shake of his head. “How exactly do you expect a wizard to fly faster than lightning? Haven’t you ever been asked about the speed of lightning by the bronze door knocker? The fastest broom in existence couldn’t hope to reach that speed.”
“If you ask me, if we’re going to fly in a storm, we should just attach one of those Muggle ‘lightning rods’ to our brooms,” Michael suggested confidently, as though he’d solved the problem entirely.
Ian, who had been deep in thought over the Resurrection Stone, glanced up in disbelief.
For a moment, he simply stared at this true menace to Hogwarts’ safety, watching in horror as even some of the pure-blood students nodded along to the suggestion.
“I’m fairly sure that’s not how lightning rods work…”
Thankfully, a Muggle-born student had the good sense to step in and gently correct Michael before Ian had to intervene.
With a sigh, Ian turned back to tidy up the books he’d borrowed from the common room the night before. Unfortunately, none of them had provided much insight into the alchemical properties of Slytherin’s Locket. Unlike Hufflepuffs, who shared their knowledge freely, or Ravenclaws, who delighted in teaching others, Ian found that Slytherin’s creations were deliberately cryptic, complex for the sake of complexity.
“Wait, so lightning rods don’t stop you from being hit by lightning?” Michael frowned, clearly puzzled.
This was, of course, a very common issue among wizarding families that avoided the Muggle world entirely.
If it weren’t for the bronze door knocker occasionally throwing in questions about physics and mathematics, half of them wouldn’t even know that lightning could travel at hundreds of thousands of meters per second.
“Obviously!” The Muggle-born student scoffed. “My dad’s an architect; he only installs lightning rods on top of buildings, never on people.”
Then, after a moment’s thought,
“Although… if we followed my dad’s logic, we could attach one to our broomsticks.”
And with that, he pulled out a bit of parchment and actually began sketching out blueprints.
“See? Right here, behind the seat, this would be the perfect place for a lightning rod.”
For someone barely a first year, his drawings were impressively detailed. He had clearly inherited his father’s talent. However, before Ian could intervene, another figure leaned over the table, peering curiously at the sketch.
“Why not just avoid flying in storms altogether?” Cho Chang asked, frowning. “Surely that’s the most practical solution. Wizards can Apparate, after all; it’s not like we need to be flying in the rain.”
It was a perfectly reasonable point.
But the moment the words left her lips, she was met with a chorus of firm, resolute head shakes.
“You don’t understand,” One of the boys declared solemnly. “It’s not about necessity… it’s about belief.”
Cho Chang blinked. ‘Belief?’
With something dangerously close to religious fervor, the boys continued their passionate discussion on broom modifications. Their enthusiasm was almost concerning.
And Cho wasn’t the only one who found it baffling; the other girls at the table exchanged glances, equally bewildered.
“I’ve invented a lightning-catching ball,” A voice declared suddenly. “If lightning strikes, we can just throw it out to absorb the energy.”
Ian sighed deeply.
The speaker was none other than the Sixth-Year Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, a well-known tinkerer whose obsession with enchanted sports equipment had reached legendary levels.
The moment he pulled out a collection of small, black spheres, the other boys gasped in admiration.
“Blimey! They even look like real magical artifacts!”
The older student beamed, clearly pleased with himself.
“It’s all thanks to the help of the Alchemy professor, of course,” He said, though his self-satisfied grin made it abundantly clear how proud he was of his entirely ridiculous invention.
Ian just shook his head.
“Utterly childish,” He muttered.
Ian, along with Cho Chang and a few other students, made his way toward the Great Hall for breakfast.
“You know,” Ian mused suddenly, “If we invented a lightning rod that could store magical energy from a storm and channel it into a broom for an explosive speed boost… do you reckon it’d sell?”
Cho blinked at him, momentarily lost for words.
“I think you should ask that lot from earlier?” She suggested dryly, glancing at the overly enthusiastic group still debating broom modifications.
At the same time, she noticed Ian eyeing the long braid of a younger student swaying in front of him, as if he had the mad impulse to tug it just to see what would happen.
She sighed.
Perhaps the broomstick fanatics were the more mature group after all.
“Daphne!”
Ian suddenly spotted a familiar face near the entrance to the Great Hall and, without a second thought, abandoned Cho to dart forward.
The instant Daphne Greengrass heard Ian’s voice, a visible shudder ran through her.
Her instincts screamed run.
But before she could so much as turn on her heel, Ian had already blocked her path.
“I’ve already praised you three times to my classmates today!” Daphne declared defensively, though her tone sounded distinctly like someone trying to ward off a curse. “You’d better not be here to cause me trouble again!”
Ian folded his arms. “And when have I ever been the one causing trouble? Honestly, have you ever met a student more unfairly persecuted than me?”
“…”
Daphne opened her mouth and then promptly closed it again.
“My family’s already dealt with it! I’ve apologized to you, haven’t I? What more do you want?” She huffed, gripping the sleeve of her friend, who was very clearly attempting to slink away unnoticed. It was as if she feared Ian might cast a Vanishing Spell on them both.
After all, that had happened once before. And the memory of it still haunted certain Slytherins.
“I just want what I’m owed,” Ian said, entirely unfazed by her reaction. “Dumbledore told me your family agreed to compensate me, but it’s been ages, and I’ve yet to see a single Knut for my mental distress.”
Ian had been keeping a close watch on whether the pure-blood families would follow through on their promises. He simply refused to pester Dumbledore about it every few days.
“I, I don’t know anything about that…”
Daphne wanted to argue that she was the real victim in this situation, but she bit her tongue. She was still terrified that Ian might report her for what happened on the boat.
This boy, shorter than her only months ago but now steadily growing, was far too dangerous. Not only was he frighteningly skilled, but he also had Snape and Dumbledore in his corner.
If she had known this was how things would turn out, she’d have gladly taken her chances offending the socially oblivious Aurora instead.
The word Mudblood had become a lifelong psychological scar for Daphne Greengrass.
“I, I only have this much,” She stammered, trembling as she pulled out her elegant little coin pouch.
For a moment, Ian almost felt like a highwayman.
“I’m not the type to go around bullying girls, you know,” He said, though he made no move to refuse the offering. Instead, he weighed the pouch in his hand, already estimating its contents.
Gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts all had distinct weights and made different sounds when clinking together. An experienced alchemist like Ian could tell the difference instantly.
Not that he cared about money, of course.
“What, is this really all your family gives you for pocket money?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Daphne hesitated for only a second before blurting out in a panic,
“It’s because of Grindelwald’s, I mean, Miss Aurora’s Slytherin relic sale! I’ve spent nearly everything on it!”
Not only did she answer Ian’s question honestly, but she hurriedly fished through her robes and yanked out a bundle of items as proof, as if terrified that if she didn’t, Ian would hex her on the spot.
Ian’s eyes widened as he took in the sheer assortment of oddities she had gathered.
Among the mess, he recognized a map, an unfamiliar locket, a quill, and, for some reason, even a single earring.
“…”
Staring at the collection of alchemical artifacts, Ian felt his entire worldview shift.
Up until this moment, he had believed himself to be Hogwarts’ greatest innovator. That only he had the true vision to push boundaries.
But clearly,
Aurora had outdone him. Twenty-six times over.
No wonder Daphne was flat broke.
Aurora had quietly taken the marketing techniques he had taught her and turned them into pure gold within Slytherin House.
She wasn’t just learning.
She was surpassing the teacher.
Look at Aurora’s results!
And then look at his unsold, dust-gathering, self-warming undergarments!
“Crafty! Too crafty!”
Ian’s astonishment comes from the heart.
However, Daphne Greengrass and her good friend looked somewhat confused, but that didn’t stop Daphne Greengrass from trying to hand everything over to Ian in exchange for his forgiveness.
“I’ve already said I’m not the kind of person who likes to bully girls.” Ian returned the pile of fakes and the money pouch back to Daphne Greengrass.
Looking at the somewhat bewildered little witch, Ian earnestly reminded her, “Remember to write to urge your family to improve their efficiency.”
“And your family too.”
Ian also looked at the little witch who was being held by Daphne Greengrass. He remembered that this person had also been trembling alongside Daphne Greengrass at that time.
“Okay… okay.”
The Slytherin witch, whom Ian was staring, immediately nodded like a chick pecking at rice. Daphne Greengrass’s expression relaxed a bit, but it still carried a hint of complexity.
This guy was clearly not bullying girls; he was just bullying the younger ones and then encouraging Dumbledore to bully the older ones. Her family was almost driven mad by Dumbledore’s threats!
“Don’t spend money recklessly; your families haven’t given you much.” Ian offered a few more words of advice as he ran into the Great Hall, not to show how caring he was for his classmates but because he hoped to get some of Merlin’s relics in a few days. These wealthy, pure-blood families still had the purchasing power.
Aurora was making too much money!
Ian felt it was time for him to earn a little, too!
“Did he really let us go?”
The two Slytherin girls, who had been watching Ian sit down at the Great Hall table and start eating, dared not step in. One of the pure-blood family girls was still feeling anxious inside.
“I don’t know… maybe? Gressa Selwyn, can you stop shaking already!”
Daphne Greengrass was pondering whether there were any roundabout hints in Ian’s previous words. As a descendant of a pure-blood family, they liked to analyze such things.
“You’re shaking too! I almost thought he would just kill us!” Even a pure-blood girl, Gressa Selwyn, who was a grade higher than Ian and Daphne, looked terrified.
“This is the Great Hall; there are so many professors inside; he wouldn’t dare… right?” Daphne Greengrass’s tone surprisingly carried a hint of uncertainty.
Gressa Selwyn, however, was very certain in her view. “I think the professors would help him bury us and cast Memory Charms on all witnesses!”
“Our parents would only receive news of our violation going to the Forbidden Forest and then being captured and cooked by Centaurs! Don’t forget what happened to Foley Carrow!”
“You must remember the Ashwinder night, right? At that time, so many people were in the Great Hall together, and after Foley Carrow went out, he just disappeared!” Gressa Selwyn’s voice was quite agitated, her emotions running high, but she still knew to lower her voice when discussing these matters.
To avoid being overheard by Ian in the Great Hall, the two girls had already distanced themselves from it, sitting by the window where the heavy rain poured down, likely to ease their trembling legs. It was no wonder the two girls reacted this way towards Ian; the things they were discussing were the biggest reasons for their fear of him.
Not only because Ian had defeated an excellent upperclassman wizard.
“The school told us that Foley Carrow withdrew due to family matters, but we know, we know that Foley Carrow just vanished at Hogwarts!”
“Their family doesn’t even dare to talk about it, nor do they dare to seek justice for their child. I bet this is definitely Dumbledore covering up the crimes of that evil Ravenclaw!”
“He must have killed Foley Carrow! Just because Foley Carrow insulted him a few times in the common room!” Gressa Selwyn seemed very convinced of her theory.
Daphne Greengrass remained silent, but from her increasingly anxious expression, it was not hard to see that she also believed Gressa Selwyn’s statement.
Dumbledore could threaten several pure-blood families for a child, even using Gringotts to establish authority. How could she not believe that Dumbledore would cover up a murder for Ian?
“He definitely isn’t from the Prince house! He must be another Dumbledore!” Gressa Selwyn spoke with certainty, feeling that only this explanation could make sense of many situations. Exceptionally talented yet with a history of evil deeds, and still not being treated as a potential dark wizard. Was this how Hogwarts normally operated?
The headmaster had seen that guy cast the Killing Curse!
And what happened next?
The next day, that guy was still alive and well at school! Wasn’t this a blatant cover-up? The death of Foley Carrow, along with the Gringotts heist.
There were already rising rumors of unrest within Slytherin.
“He should indeed be a descendant of the Prince house; don’t tell anyone else, but I overheard Snape cursing. He might also have Dumbledore’s bloodline.” Daphne Greengrass felt the most uncomfortable part was here. If Ian had laid out the cards like this on the boat, how could she have mocked him?
She would have rushed to curry favor instead!
And that Grindelwald… the two of them were simply incredible, not reminding her at all, just watching her make a fool of herself, and after making a fool of herself, she had to lie on the hard bed in the infirmary for a few days!
“My damned mouth!”
Daphne Greengrass had already lost count of how many times she regretted wanting to slap herself. Her current psychological shadow area was such that she worried that other Muggle-born little wizards would encounter another Ian Prince. Heaven knows how many times she praised Ian daily to slightly ease her worries about being called to the Head of House’s office!
“What!? No wonder! No wonder! Don’t worry, Daphne, this news is too shocking; I won’t tell anyone else. I’m really glad we survived from his hands!” Gressa Selwyn clearly did not expect the “truth” to be even scarier than she had guessed. She looked somewhat flustered, standing up and pacing back and forth in the corridor.
“No! I need to get my dad to give him more money! Otherwise, his daughter definitely won’t survive until graduation! It’s all Flint’s fault for making us watch him wet his pants!” One could only say that she was indeed a wealthy young lady from a pure-blood family, understanding at such a young age that spending money could avert disaster.
If only Ian were here.
He would definitely berserk and give Miss Gressa Selwyn a thumbs up.
This person was truly on the ball.
“I think he might start selling relics of other founders at school after a while. If we can become his loyal customers… we would definitely have value in living for him.” Daphne Greengrass, who had been pondering Ian’s thoughts, might be even more precocious.
She knew that Slytherin House couldn’t possibly have that many relics.
It was just a way to save herself.
…
Breakfast was very important for Ian.
It was the start of the day.
Also, the crucial nutritional combination for growing at his age.
Because he couldn’t bear to see his younger brothers and sisters go hungry at the Orphanage, he had entered school smaller and skinnier than his peers. Now, he was determined to seize the opportunity of a free meal to grow taller.
Although Hogwarts’ cooking methods weren’t particularly rich, the portions and variety were extremely ample, with the table laden with all sorts of food.
“I’ve been hungry for more than twelve hours!” Ian devoured his food vigorously.
Completely unaware that the two Slytherin girls were calculating how much “protection money” they should pay.
He was enjoying a hearty meal.
The silver plate was piled high with crispy fried bacon, each piece golden and sizzling, exuding an enticing, savory aroma. Beside it were plates of fried eggs, the whites as white as jade and the yolks a bright orange-yellow with a soft texture that was irresistible.
There were also freshly baked loaves of bread, including whole wheat, white bread, and croissants in various styles.
“Give me another croissant.” Ian snatched the croissant that his good roommate had just gotten.
This was truly delicious; each layer glistened with butter, and with one bite, the flaky pastry crumbled like snowflakes, accompanied by a rich milky fragrance.
“Are you going to attend the Flying class?” William looked at Ian’s empty hands, amazed at his speed.
“Indoor Flying class? Forget it; that would be more uncomfortable than History of Magic. I’m planning to go to the Forbidden Forest to collect some materials.” Ian had already confirmed Dumbledore’s location on the Marauder’s Map.
Neither he nor Snape was present.
Only Grindelwald occupied the headmaster’s office and slept comfortably in the big bed for another night.
“I’m really envious that you got Madam Hooch’s special permission to skip class.” The Chocolate Frog boy was somewhat envious as he munched on a large piece of bacon, with butter residue still clinging to the corners of his mouth.
“If your flying skills could impress Madam Hooch like Ian’s, I think she would allow you to skip the Flying class too.”
William took the opportunity to praise Ian while eating.
“Uh… I don’t think Madam Hooch allowed me to skip class; I was just managing my time effectively.” Even with Ian’s thick skin, he felt a bit embarrassed by William’s praise.
“That’s the spirit! Understand? And you have courage!”
William always found new angles to showcase his eloquence. He wasn’t suited for Hogwarts; he should have been thrown into an ancient palace to be a thousand-year-old.
Ian felt a bit helpless.
Michael’s expression was even more helpless than Ian’s. “I only regret helping you answer the roll call a few times. Now, Madam Hooch calls me Mr. Prince. Sometimes, when she calls my name, I don’t even dare to answer. She’s already deducted points from Jordan several times. I must look like a bad student in her eyes.”
This situation was clearly something Ian had not anticipated. He had always thought professors would remember every little wizard, perhaps this was also related to Ian not having attended many Flying classes seriously.
“In the Muggle world, there’s a book called ‘The Art of Seduction,’ which teaches how to date. I can bring you one next semester.” Ian just wanted to compensate Michael for the stigma he had suffered because of him.
Unexpectedly.
Michael jumped up.
“From today on, Jordan is already in a state of being dead at the start of Flying class, my friend. Only after Flying class ends will Mr. Jordan be revived.” Michael’s reaction not only startled those around him but almost made Ian spit out the milk he had just sipped.
“You are truly a hero, Michael.”
Ian quickly stood up and pressed Michael back into his seat.
He and his roommate had reached an agreement.
Naturally, they had gained the capital to skip class with a clear conscience.
The two little wizards, both happy, continued their breakfast, while the newspaper delivered by Owl brought some unexpected news to Ian.
It was news from the Daily Prophet.
“My heavens! Is this true?”
Looking at the newspaper handed to him by William.
Ian’s expression was quite remarkable.
Of course.
Whether it was Aurora at the Slytherin table or Professor “Lockhart”, who had just left the headmaster’s office and was elegantly sipping hot milk at the teacher’s table, their reactions were even more dramatic than Ian’s. Professor “Lockhart” actually sprayed the milk he had just sipped.
“Cough cough!” Choking on water, three people in Hogwarts’ Great Hall lost their composure, with “Lockhart”‘s expression being the most out of control.
Before them, the Daily Prophet had bold, large letters that read:
“Breaking! Exclusive Report! From Austria, Grindelwald has accepted an interview in prison for the first time, discussing his past with Dumbledore!”
Perhaps the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was indeed not lying.
Great seers sometimes cannot predict certain unexpected occurrences.
(End of Chapter)
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