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June, the season when the weather begins to turn hot.
As the end of term quietly approached, the skies themselves seemed to resonate with the occasion. For several days, Hogwarts had been held captive beneath the scorching sun, and the air shimmered with a kind of ineffable tension and restless anticipation.
One might say that everyone’s feelings were complicated and finely balanced.
Outside the castle walls, the scenery grew more breathtaking with each passing day, yet within the grounds, gently warmed by the summer heat, the younger witches and wizards found it difficult to enjoy the usual delights and freshness of the season.
After all, everyone knew that June meant the arrival of final exams, a prospect few young witches or wizards truly welcomed.
Of course, there were exceptions.
For those diligent students who had toiled tirelessly through the year, mastering spells and reading books, exam week was akin to a long-awaited feast finally set before them. Their eyes gleamed with quiet confidence; the countless days and nights spent studying were about to bear fruit in the form of excellent results. This was the moment they had been eagerly awaiting all term.
Yet, not everyone met this challenge so calmly. Some, perhaps having left their studies until the last possible moment, found themselves overwhelmed by the towering pile of revision notes and the tangled web of magical theory. Anxiety etched itself deeply into their faces. A slightly higher number of such students could be found in Gryffindor House.
There were even a few who resorted to more dubious means, such as coaxing their families to pry for whispers of the exam questions. But for many, this would be the first time they tasted the bitter disappointment of discovering that even the most influential pure-blood connections were powerless here.
No one, not even the heirs of ancient wizarding families, could gain advance knowledge of the exam contents. Many in Slytherin wore grim, sour expressions over this fact, and some even found themselves the subject of sharp, sarcastic remarks from their Head of House, Professor Snape.
Meanwhile, Hufflepuff students prepared steadily but were known to spend the least average time in the library. Few realized that, in truth, Hufflepuffs were the most restless bunch of all.
Moreover, they lacked the ravenous hunger for top marks that drove others. Passing was their foremost goal, any better grades were unexpected blessings rather than necessities.
Their refreshingly uncompetitive attitude was unique across Hogwarts. That said, it did not mean they performed poorly. On the contrary, Hufflepuffs sometimes surpassed Slytherins and consistently boasted the fewest failing students in the entire school.
Ian had always suspected that alongside their steady exam approach, another reason for Hufflepuff victory lay in the fact that much of the holiday homework was quietly delegated to this diligent group of little badgers.
As the old wizarding saying went, “Repetition is the mother of success.” The repeated tackling of professors’ assignments from multiple perspectives helped lay a firm foundation beneath the Hufflepuffs’ success.
Perhaps not even the Hufflepuffs themselves realized this truth. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw students had ascended to new heights of academic rigor in the final month.
For them, there were no merely “good” scores, only perfect ones. Every subject examined demanded flawlessness. This obsession was nearly universal among the blue and bronze.
Those cunning students who knew they could not achieve perfection employed all manner of stratagems, from subtle mental gambits to tactics reminiscent of the ancient wizarding treatise The Art of Magical Warfare, feigning “just taking a stroll” or “stepping outside for fresh air” to mislead and confound their peers.
It was not underhandedness so much as standard study warfare.
“What on earth are these lot doing? A few hours before the exams, and they’re still skulking about revising? Are they trying to star in some ‘late-bloomer prodigy’ story at the last minute?”
Thanks to Grindelwald’s fearsome predictions, Ian had spent a sleepless night. Rising early the following morning to prepare, the sky was still dark and hushed as he stepped out from the Room of Requirement.
Yet,
On his way back to the dormitory to change robes, he kept encountering classmates furtively studying in shadowy corners, being so stealthy that he thought they might be even more elusive than Professor Dumbledore himself.
One student concealed inside a grand chandelier greeted him with a cheery, “Morning, Little Professor!” and startled Ian thoroughly, especially because the student wore a cleverly painted cardboard mask that blended almost seamlessly into the chandelier’s crystals.
The triangular shape, worn upside down, made Ian briefly wonder if he’d slipped into some twisted, haunted version of Hogwarts.
“What are you all doing?! Don’t tell me you’ve started gambling on the final exams too?” Ian grumbled as he finally reached his dorm and noticed William’s dark circles were worse than those of a boggart in full fright.
William’s desk was buried beneath a mountain of books covering the entire semester.
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, A Detailed History of Magic, Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration, Dark Arts: A Self-Defense Manual, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi… Though William had long since memorised these volumes inside and out, he still worried every few hours that some crucial detail might have slipped his mind.
“Oh… right, we have an exam today.” Ian muttered to himself.
And then there was Michael, who still looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed, his entire manner radiating a calm, unbothered air.
Not only had he not pulled an all-nighter, he hadn’t even stirred until Ian strode over and gave him a firm nudge awake. This black-haired lad was probably the least anxious student in all of Ravenclaw.
“Aren’t you going to launch a surprise attack before the battle?” Ian teased.
Michael slowly slid out of bed, casting a quick glance under the blankets, and seeing no books hidden there, confirmed that this roommate was indeed unlike the other scheming lads in their House.
“It’s just an exam, no need to treat it like a duel to the death,” Michael said with a relaxed shrug.
His attitude was remarkably calm. He truly hadn’t been sneaking in secret study sessions, he’d simply paid more attention during the last few weeks of lessons.
In fact, as the term drew to a close, professors had ceased introducing new material altogether. Instead, they used class time to help students review and solidify everything they’d learned, preparing them for their final trials. In this regard, Hogwarts was not unlike many Muggle schools.
“Exams are the real battlefield,” William finally closed his book and spoke seriously. “To make sure nothing goes awry, we must control every variable that might affect our grades.”
As he said this, William took a deep breath and gently patted the stack of textbooks spread across his desk.
“I really think I can get all Os (Outsatnding). I’ve combed through these books over and over this past month. Surely the professors won’t test us on anything beyond what’s covered, right?”
He tried to sound confident, but anxiety still wove through his voice. Honestly, William resembled those Gryffindor students gripped by pre-exam nerves.
The difference was Gryffindors fretted over failing, whereas William was tense about not achieving the highest honours.
At Hogwarts, the grading scale ran as follows:
Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A), Poor (P), Dreadful (D), Troll (T).
“Relax. If you can’t get all Os with that much effort, I doubt anyone else can,” Ian said kindly, trying to reassure his roommate.
Yet, William let out a heavy sigh, sounding even more worried than before.
“It’s not the same. Everyone has different talents. Even if I don’t compare myself to someone as ridiculously gifted as you, I still fall short. Take Michael, he doesn’t bother studying when he returns at night, yet last evening he caught several errors in my notes.”
“That’s the gap in talent. And I’m sure there are plenty like him at Hogwarts.”
Truth be told, William’s late nights and anxiety were hardly surprising. It was already hard enough having a monstrously gifted classmate like Ian; but to have another roommate who spent his days smiling, chasing after girls, and yet still learned faster? That would unsettle anyone’s confidence.
“I am studying properly, you know,” Michael mumbled as he brushed his teeth, clearly unmoved by William’s stress. Just because he disliked revisiting lessons he already mastered didn’t mean he wasn’t preparing.
“Have you considered,” Ian added, “that aside from me, Michael might be the only one in our year with grades better than yours?”
Ian had long recognised Michael’s prodigious academic talents.
As someone often dubbed the “little professor” who discreetly tutored first-years, Ian was certain no other Ravenclaw first-year matched Michael’s abilities.
William was too inexperienced to see this clearly. He assumed situations like this were common across other dormitories. What he didn’t know was that he himself was already regarded as a rare talent.
“You can be sure Ravenclaw is like this, but the other Houses aren’t necessarily the same. I’ve asked around, there are top students in other years from different Houses. Can you believe the top second-year is apparently a Quidditch star who spends all day practicing on the pitch?”
“There’ve always been talented witches and wizards, loads of them. Honestly, I dread thinking about how I’ll be judged when I return home…”
At this point, William was caught in a spiral of self-doubt and anxiety, a textbook case of mental self-consumption, as the Muggles call it.
And “Healer Ian” swiftly diagnosed the ailment, and devised a cure.
“Don’t move.”
He dashed over to his desk, pulled open a drawer, grabbed a quill, dipped it in ink, and under William’s puzzled gaze, approached and firmly pressed his forehead.
“What are you doing?” William watched as Ian wrote arcane runes carefully on his skin.
“I’m casting a calming charm, a ritual to ease your inner turmoil and restore your confidence.” Ian finished quickly, then dramatically intoned the spell:
“Ba-ba-li-bo, Ba-bo-li-bo~”
He twirled his wand three times above William’s head.
Ian’s theatrics instantly lightened William’s mood.
“Thanks, Ian.”
He was genuinely grateful and even attempted a grateful hug around Ian’s waist. But Ian swiftly dodged the embrace. After all, William’s odd fondness for undergarments made it difficult for Ian to judge whether his character was truly pure.
“Can this charm make someone luckier?” Michael, having just finished freshening up, stepped out of the washroom and leaned over curiously to ask.
“Of course not.” Ian shook his head firmly.
“Then does it boost intelligence?” Michael pressed on, his eyes bright with interest.
Ian shook his head again. “It’s merely a confidence charm, a simple enchantment to ease inner anxiety. It is already a blessing if it doesn’t dull your wit, how could you expect it to sharpen your mind?”
His answer caught Michael off guard.
“This is really some kind of magic? It looked a bit like runes from the old world to me,” Michael said, reaching out to touch the markings on William’s forehead, only to have William snatch his hand away quickly and warily.
“Don’t you dare mess up the charm Ian cast on me. I feel miles better now, proper confident,” William said, clearly buoyed by the power of suggestion.
Ian hadn’t actually performed any real enchantment.
“Yes, it’s an ancient magical script, overflowing with terrifying and tremendous power,” Ian declared, clapping his hands proudly as he returned the quill to its drawer.
“Can I have one too?” Michael, eager for a taste of the magic, pulled out his own quill. Ian hesitated briefly, then generously drew a few cryptic strokes on Michael’s forehead as well.
“But didn’t you say you’re not bothered by exams?” Ian asked, baffled.
“I just don’t fuss over revision, because that’s time I could spend writing love letters to Rebecca,” Michael grinned, utterly sincere.
“Well, you asked for it.”
Just as Ian set down the quill,
“What about the ritual part of the charm?”
Michael remembered the entire process better than Ian, the “creator” of the enchantment. With no choice, Ian had to raise his wand once more and perform the ritual.
“Ba-ba-li-bo, Ba-bo-li-bo~”
Though absolutely nothing happened, Michael was overjoyed.
“Brilliant! I already feel more confident!”
Psychological suggestion works wonders on any innocent student. Michael’s loud excitement reminded Ian of his own childhood obsession with mystical energy techniques before he crossed into this world.
Back then, Ian genuinely believed he’d unlocked a secret power. He even felt lighter on his feet simply by vaulting fences. In truth, it turned out he’d just been bloated with gas, no one could explain why he felt so nimble, which only proved how powerful the mind could be.
“Aren’t you going to mark yourself?” William, inspecting the mysterious markings on his own forehead in the mirror, asked with curiosity. Surely Ian would use such a useful charm too.
“No, no, I’m already far too confident and cheerful. If I marked myself with this charm, I’d become so full of pride I’d float away,” Ian joked, quickly declining and tossing the quill aside.
His response raised no suspicion from his roommates. The two admired their marks in the mirror for a while before Ian finally urged them to leave for the exam hall together.
On the way, William and Michael held their heads high, looking every bit like they had truly been “blessed” by a magical ritual. At that moment, they were probably the most confident first-years heading into exams.
This would surely help them perform better than usual, as long as they didn’t grow overconfident, they’d at least do somewhat better than normal.
Ian wasn’t just blowing smoke.
He was trying to rescue his good friend and faithful academic ally William’s state of mind.
And it worked.
William didn’t keep muttering facts he’d already memorised, nor did he freeze in panic and forget the answers. Ian reckoned, at the very least, he’d helped William secure a decent grade in one subject.
“I really am a good bloke.”
While waiting outside the exam hall, Ian gave himself a thumbs up. Another day, another win, not only had he earned good karma, but also the gratitude of his roommates.
Oh no, perhaps it was a triple victory. He’d also enjoyed the fun of being a cheeky prankster.
“What’s up with your two mates? They’ve both got something scribbled on their foreheads.” Aurora arrived at the exam hall, looking puzzled as William and Michael walked in first when the doors opened.
“I don’t know either.” Ian put on his best innocent expression as he answered.
“What does it say and why is it in chinese?”
He looked so bewildered he deserved an Oscar for Best Actor. Honestly, the moment Aurora mentioned the markings were in Chinese characters, Ian immediately realised this German girl had definitely studied a little of the language.
Sure enough.
Aurora frowned in response.
“The people you keep company with are really odd. If you’re going to believe in some gimmick like that, at least write something like ‘Victory’ or ‘Guaranteed Pass,’ right?”
“If I’m not mistaken, what’s written on their foreheads is… ‘No coriander’? I don’t think those characters carry any luck or exam blessings in the East, do they?”
Gotta admit, Aurora was a sensible girl in many ways. She questioned her own knowledge rather than assuming Ian and his roommates were simply mad.
“Oh, I see,” Ian said, his expression suddenly brightening with understanding.
“You totally knew from the start,” Aurora said with a teasing smile, watching the young wizard perform his little act with amused eyes.
“No, I didn’t,” Ian blinked his wide, innocent eyes.
“I get it now, you’re the one who wrote those marks on them.” Aurora didn’t need legilimency; she just knew her partner-in-mischief far too well. “Do those four runes mean anything positive? If so, would you care to explain what?”
The diligent German witch tilted her head, genuinely curious.
“Hmm?” Ian remained silent for a long moment, prompting Aurora to raise an eyebrow in suspicion.
“You said, ‘If it means something good, tell me,’ so I’m simply replying to your request,” Ian finally explained, making his meaning perfectly clear.
His silence was an answer in itself.
No words = no positive meaning.
“…”
Aurora was stunned for several long moments before shaking herself back to reality.
“To be honest, when it comes to pranks, I think the Weasley twins put you to shame,” She said with a half-exasperated, half-amused tone.
“I was just trying to help William gain some confidence. Look how calm and collected he seems now,” Ian said, glancing over at William, who indeed looked far steadier than usual as they entered the exam hall alongside Aurora.
Maybe, those four-character ‘mantras’ really did carry some mysterious power of assurance after all.
…
The first exam was purely written, a parchment and quill test. First-years from all four Houses had been rearranged and divided between two classrooms.
To prevent cheating with enchanted quills, students were forbidden from bringing their own writing implements. Only the quills and ink provided by the school could be used.
This rule had been drilled into every student by the professors repeatedly. Even outside the exam hall, pictograms bearing a large “No” symbol warned against bringing personal quills, one of the designs actually came from Ian himself.
Answer Quills.
These were a creation Ian had tweaked and begun selling about a month before exams started. When the prohibition was announced, many Gryffindors nearly howled in despair.
Ian, however, remained utterly unfazed. He had never intended to cheat himself, and by the time the rule came down, he’d already sold most of his stock.
Refunds? Not a chance. Ian planned to sell the remaining batch at the start of the next term, aiming to unload them to wealthy Harry and the new Slytherins.
“I’m just too devious!”
As Ian breezed through the exam, he chuckled quietly to himself. By the time he finished reflecting on his own cunning, he had completed every question on the test.
Since early submission wasn’t permitted, Ian was left with nothing to do. He began spinning his school-issued quill between his fingers out of sheer boredom. The quill and ink had been standardized by Professor Flitwick himself, designed specifically to prevent cheating, and far less smooth than regular writing tools.
Luckily, Hogwarts allowed ample time for exams, so generous that any student from his previous life’s rigid Eastern examinations would have cried tears of joy.
“What a splendid sight.”
Watching his classmates scribble diligently, Ian spun his quill at an engine-like pace, soon catching Professor Flitwick’s sharp eye.
“Put away your distractions, Mr. Prince. If you’ve finished, please review your answers carefully. Do not disturb your classmates.”
What can you say? Different world, but the same sort of proctor. And the students? Equally inventive. No matter how strict the anti-cheating rules, there were always daring souls ready to test their luck.
Some hid tiny parchment strips in their robes. Others wrote answers on the backs of their hands. One even inscribed something inside his mouth, a method Ian guessed was worthy of Braille-level ingenuity.
Ian watched in amazement as a Gryffindor student answered questions while wildly moving his tongue inside his mouth. Gryffindor was truly a house of creative geniuses.
There was always someone devising some unexpected scheme. Having finished early, Ian witnessed a carnival of chaotic ingenuity, though Professor Flitwick only intervened to stop Ian’s quill-spinning.
As for the cheating students…
Professor Flitwick chose to turn a blind eye. Instead, he sat at the teachers’ desk, holding a small mirror and spending the entire morning trimming his nose hair. Ian half suspected the professor was sculpting miniature reliefs in the strands.
As exam time drew to a close, everyone handed in their parchments in surprisingly orderly fashion. Their expressions ranged from excitement to smugness, and some clearly braced for disappointment.
“Very good, everyone did quite well,”
Professor Flitwick chirped in his usual high-pitched voice. While collecting the papers, he gently waved his wand over the stack. With a flick, seventeen or eighteen parchments floated out.
“I must remind you all, true cheating is only cheating if it goes undetected. If you’re caught, then you’re simply being foolish,” Professor Flitwick said without even glancing at the subjects of the papers he held.
With a dramatic flourish of his wand, he stamped each of the confiscated exam parchments with a bold “T”, the lowest possible mark.
“Especially you, Miss Ariel. I may not be your Transfiguration professor, but I would appreciate it if you showed some respect for my eyesight. Next year, if you intend to cheat again, please don’t be so glaringly obvious.”
“Turning your crib notes into a charm-enchanted wristband and tying it around your arm? Clever, I’ll admit, but we weren’t sitting a practical Transfiguration exam.”
“And as for Miss Daphne Greengrass, although you remained focused and diligent throughout the test, I sincerely hope next time you’ll take your own exam, in your own classroom.”
“Honestly, sacrificing your own grade to sit the exam for Roger Skylant using Polyjuice Potion, hardly the wisest or most ethical choice.”
“Consider this: after you repay the potion debts to certain… mysterious benefactors at Hogwarts, how much of the reward Roger Skylant offered will you really keep?”
…
It was clear Professor Flitwick not only saw through every instance of cheating but also possessed a rather comprehensive knowledge of the recent under-the-table dealings within the castle.
When he referenced the potion suppliers, he shot a helpless glance in Ian’s direction. Ian paid it no mind, his attention fixed instead on the flushed, embarrassed expression spreading across Roger Skylant’s face.
To be honest,
Even Ian hadn’t quite understood Daphne Greengrass’s scheme. He’d assumed she was trying to steal a test paper. Who would have guessed she was orchestrating some intricate grade-trading gambit?
All Ian could think was: true to form for a pure-blood heiress, even her schemes for profit operated on a far more sophisticated level. It left a business-minded wizard like Ian genuinely impressed.
“Blasted Professor Flitwick!”
“Why didn’t he catch us red-handed while we were still cheating?!”
“Now I see why that little monster picked Ravenclaw, Ravenclaws really do have the most twisted minds! I bet Flitwick enjoyed watching us struggle for nothing!”
“Sigh… what a harsh lesson to learn…”
…
After the theory exam,
Many young witches and wizards were as despondent as Daphne Greengrass. After all, it was their first-year finals, and quite a few had been relying on cheating to secure good grades.
The older students who witnessed this spectacle couldn’t stop laughing. They had all been there themselves once and now took twisted pleasure in watching the next generation stumble, there’s a peculiar joy in thinking, “I’ve weathered that storm; seeing others soaked too somehow eases the memory.”
Of course, even such twisted amusement was not entirely without merit.
“This really is… magic,” Ian muttered, watching an upper-year senior, fueled by exactly that twisted joy, successfully cast a shimmering Patronus Charm.
Sometimes, magic born purely from deep emotion was truly remarkable.
By coincidence, or perhaps not, when Ian entered his one-on-one Charms practical exam with Professor Flitwick, his assigned spell just happened to be… the Patronus Charm.
It was certainly no standard test question, likely not even common among his year group. It was a special challenge Professor Flitwick had prepared just for Ian.
“Come on, show me, show me!” Flitwick rubbed his hands together eagerly. It was hard not to suspect he was indulging his own curiosity under the guise of authority.
Ravenclaws were famous for their insatiable curiosity. Considering Flitwick had been studying Ian’s Patronus for some time, his eagerness was at least somewhat understandable.
“This really is the question?” Ian sighed with resignation.
“Well, you know, a wizard’s Patronus should generally be kept secret… but I am your Head of House, so of course I wouldn’t betray your confidence!” Flitwick chuckled, rubbing his hands again.
Ian knew exactly what Flitwick was implying: I’m abandoning my usual principles, just show me already.
“Expecto Patronum.”
Ian felt no need to hide it, nor did he suspect Professor Flitwick would ever use it against him. So, he cast the spell calmly.
Countless threads of silver light burst from his wand like shooting stars across a midnight sky. They twisted, spun, and danced in the air, radiating a gentle yet resolute glow, illuminating everything around Ian.
As the silver strands continued to weave together, an astonishing sight unfolded before Professor Flitwick’s eyes. The once-flickering light gradually took shape…
…into the form of a young girl.
The girl had long, flowing silver hair, and her eyes shone like the brightest stars in the midnight sky. Her skin was crystal-clear, as if sculpted from moonlight and morning dew.
“Merlin’s underpants! A corporeal human Patronus! Now I understand why you kept stammering every time I asked about it! This is truly a marvel beyond belief!”
Professor Flitwick stared, wide-eyed, at the figure floating before him. He had long harbored vague suspicions, but never imagined Ian’s condition would be even more extraordinary, no, utterly unprecedented, than any of the many theories he had entertained.
A Patronus of this nature could rewrite fundamental principles within the wizarding world!
“Can she speak and communicate? Is she a living witch somewhere? No, this feels more like a ghost! Incredible! Absolutely incredible!”
“Perhaps through your Patronus, we may reshape our entire understanding of magic and its limits!” Professor Flitwick’s knowledge was formidable. He paced around Ariana more than ten times, only stopping when he became dizzy.
“I believe she can communicate… her name is Ariana, she’s my…” Ian began hesitantly.
He still hadn’t found the right words to explain Ariana properly.
“Oh! Good gracious! A dwarf from a fairy tale!” Ariana, who had just opened her eyes, suddenly exclaimed, interrupting Ian’s carefully arranged explanation. The girl wore a gown woven from silver threads, its hem fluttering like feathers caught in a gentle breeze, delicate yet dignified.
Her outburst was at odds with her graceful appearance.
“I’m not a dwarf; I merely have some goblin ancestry,” Professor Flitwick corrected her gently, clearly unoffended.
“I’m sorry, sir. I mistook you,” Ariana bowed quickly, clearly embarrassed, mostly from her limited experience in the living world.
“Oh, no harm done. I understand the confusion. After all, you thought I was a figure from a story, hahaha, perhaps I do possess a bit of dwarfish charm.”
Then, Flitwick resumed his dizzying circles around Ariana.
After becoming dizzy once more,
He approached her cheerfully, reached out to touch her gown, then turned to Ian with evident awe:
“She possesses a sentient soul! This is a form of Patronus unseen throughout all of wizarding history! Little Ian, you are making history, and I am privileged to witness it!”
Though his voice retained its usual shrillness, the excitement was unmistakable. From just a brief observation, Flitwick had already made several profound deductions.
“I can’t maintain her form for long, Professor.”
Ian stepped forward and discreetly slipped a few sweets into Ariana’s hand, whispering that this was part of his exam. Ariana nodded slightly, as if she roughly understood.
“All right, all right, no problem. That’s more than enough. I didn’t expect such magic to endure for long, even with your remarkable talent.”
With that,
Without hesitation,
Professor Flitwick hurried to his desk and inscribed a large “O” on Ian’s exam parchment. Just as Ian and Ariana prepared to end the magic, Ariana glanced toward the wall behind Flitwick. She seemed to smile at a portrait hanging there before fading gently back into Ian’s wand.
“Whew~”
Ian exhaled deeply in relief.
“You must possess an extraordinary bloodline! This bond transcends life and death itself! You will be the first wizard to explore this path through the Patronus Charm!”
“This holds far more promise than those dangerous magics you stubbornly pursue!” Flitwick clearly wanted to discuss further, but many students still awaited their exams, including those from other years.
So, even as Ian finished and prepared to leave, Professor Flitwick reminded him once more. It was clear the professor had not yet abandoned the idea of Ian inventing a new branch of magic, one perhaps less perilous.
He even suggested a fresh line of inquiry he believed safer. After Ian left, Flitwick did not immediately admit the next student.
“Thank you.”
A voice spoke quietly from behind Professor Flitwick.
“You’re welcome. In fact, you solved a dilemma I’d been wrestling with, what exam question to set for little Ian. It had kept me awake for several nights.”
He turned his gaze toward the mural on the wall, where the figure was gradually becoming clearer from its once ghostly transparency.
“Albus, there must be some history between you and that little girl of Ian’s,” said Professor Flitwick, glancing at the old headmaster in his customary purple robes, who appeared unusually composed.
“What makes you think that?” Albus Dumbledore did not answer directly.
“Of course, I used my eyes to see it,” Flitwick replied with a wink, indicating he was no fool. He could plainly read the complex expression on Dumbledore’s face, and the tears quietly shimmering in his eyes.
…
Compared to Professor Flitwick’s examination, Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration test was far more straightforward, even though Transfiguration was typically the most challenging subject each year.
But that did not apply to the young wizard before her, who possessed not only advanced Transfiguration mastery but also the extraordinary gift known as [Shaping All Things].
Before the exam began,
Professor McGonagall decided to put a little pressure on Ian.
“Mr. Prince, I hope by next year you’ll have matured enough to stop causing us professors such embarrassment,” said the stern Deputy Headmistress, whose reputation alone made every student sit up straight.
Ian was no exception.
He immediately adopted his most respectful posture.
“I apologise for the trouble I’ve caused. I promise to govern my behaviour with stricter discipline next year,” he said quietly, thinking that the next year should be calm, no noseless troublemakers stirring up chaos.
His promise was sincere and confident enough to soften McGonagall’s usual sternness just a touch.
“Good. Remember, fairness is paramount!” She said, raising her voice slightly. It was clear she was exasperated by the current House points predicament.
“Yes, Professor.”
Ian didn’t waste time wondering exactly what she meant, he stuck to his strategy of humility and respect. From the moment he entered the exam room, his back remained straight and his demeanour composed.
“Let us begin the exam, then.”
McGonagall did not intend to make things unduly difficult for the young wizard. She glanced down at a small button resting on her desk. “For the other students, the task is to transfigure this button into a mouse. Of course, that’s already a step up from previous years, thanks in no small part to your influence. The first-years are showing far greater overall skill than before.”
“But for you, naturally, I have a different request. Your exam must be somewhat… unique. After all, we all know how exceptional you are.”
She tapped the desk lightly.
“What would you like me to transfigure it into?” Ian blinked, silently accepting the challenge.
After a brief pause, McGonagall’s gaze softened as she spoke quietly, “A flying broomstick. And remember, I want a broom that truly flies, not just any old broom.”
It was clearly a pointed test.
This was not merely an exam.
It was a challenge to the very foundations of Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. As a professor often disturbed late at night by restless students, McGonagall had already sensed something unusual about Ian’s Transfiguration talents. Now, she intended to confirm her suspicions.
Much like Professor Flitwick’s approach earlier.
“Very well, Professor.”
Ian had long awaited this moment to “reveal his marvels before the cat.” Without hesitation, he cast his Protean Charm, his intent clear: to show, not hide, his remarkable gifts.
What followed,
As Ian spoke a simple, unadorned Transfiguration incantation, an unseen, formless force radiated quietly from his wand, spreading like a gentle tide.
The button began to change.
Its once-smooth surface began to ripple like water disturbed by a gentle breeze, the waves converging into slender streams that traced the button’s edge before flowing outward. The colour shifted from silvery-white to a radiant gold, glowing softly as if a gentle fire burned within, though no heat was given off.
As the enchantment unfolded, the button’s shape changed rapidly. No longer round, it lengthened and twisted, as though countless invisible hands were reshaping it from the inside. Its texture transformed completely, from firm and solid to supple and springy.
“As I expected…”
Professor McGonagall observed the metamorphosis with a mixture of awe and contemplation.
Within the golden shimmer, the outline of a broomstick took form, first a slender handle, then the broad sweeping bristles. Each individual “strand” gleamed distinctly, shimmering with latent magic.
There it hovered, suspended quietly in midair. The once humble button had become a delicate broomstick, etched with faintly glowing runes pulsing with magical energy. The bristles at the tail were soft and lustrous, as if ready at any moment to carry its rider through the skies.
“You possess extraordinary talent, Mr Prince. This will lead you down a path every Transfiguration scholar dreams of, toward becoming a truly unparalleled Master of Transfiguration.”
“Your name is destined to be etched into the annals of Transfiguration history.”
Professor McGonagall’s hand traced every inch of the broomstick, attuned to the powerful magic flowing within. Her voice carried genuine admiration and high hopes for Ian’s future.
“Truly, I find no flaw in this kind of magic.”
She then awarded Ian a large ‘O’ for Outstanding and handed him a somewhat yellowed notebook.
“I’ve recently revised these notes on Animagus transformation. I trust you’ll find time during the holidays to study them.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Professor McGonagall would not offer such personal instruction, but clearly, Ian was an exceptional case. Hogwarts’ philosophy of “teaching according to aptitude” fit perfectly here.
Hogwarts’ philosophy of “teaching according to aptitude” fit perfectly here.
“By Merlin’s beard! These are your notes?” Ian accepted the book, surprise and excitement shining in his eyes.
“I will oversee your Animagus training next term. But mark my words, do not let your recklessness lead you into attempts over the holidays.”
Her gaze softened, but the warning was clear. She did not wish him to suffer any lasting harm from impetuous actions.
“Thank you, Professor. Rest assured, I’ll wait for your guidance before tackling such dangerous magic,” Ian said firmly. He valued his life, and there were many other magics still to master. No need to rush headlong into Animagus trials.
“If you can truly keep that in mind, all the better.”
With a wave of dismissal, Professor McGonagall sent him on his way.
Ian left promptly.
The next student began their standard first-year assessment, and judging by the number of young wizards leaving the room looking quite glum, Transfiguration was no easy feat for them.
Ian did not tarry.
He still had the Potions practical exam ahead, with his dear uncle, Professor Snape.
To be honest…
Both Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had awarded Ian exceptionally high marks, and Uncle Snape was no different, though he expressed it in his own, unique fashion.
“This is bloody insane!”
Snape’s eyes widened in disbelief as he inspected the potion Ian had brewed using the [Extreme Fusion] technique. In his own brusque way, he was praising Ian.
“Something’s very odd about your hands.”
Snape examined Ian’s hands repeatedly but found nothing unusual. Yet he had clearly seen Ian use ingredients that ought never to have produced such a flawless potion… and somehow, the impossible had been accomplished. Snape fixed Ian with a piercing glare, only to be met by Ian’s completely innocent, bewildered expression.
“Isn’t this how you brew potions?”
That maddeningly naive look.
Worse still, it was delivered with genuine, unshakable confidence. Were it not for the queue of students still waiting to be tested, Snape might have spent the entire day interrogating him.
“Get out of my sight, you slippery little imp!”
Despite it all, Snape still awarded Ian an ‘O’, though it came with his trademark, ear-splitting bellow.
Ian was finally free.
But those who suffered were the students following him.
“With only those ingredients, that little runt just managed to brew it. Why can’t you? Don’t you sneak out of Slytherin every night to attend that absurd extra tutoring he gives? Or do you think he’s too snobbish to teach Ravenclaws Potions?”
To be fair…
When it came to taking out his frustrations on others, Snape was Hogwarts’ undisputed champion.
After several more exams…
By the time Ian reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical exam, nerves had begun to gnaw at him again. He still remembered Grindelwald’s warning, that he would give Ian an exam he’d never forget.
Ian hadn’t worried about any of his other subjects all year, but DADA had been weighing on his mind for some time. Who knew what fiendish challenge the eternally unpredictable professor might conjure?
“Professor? What are you doing out here?”
As Ian approached the exam hall…
He spotted “Professor Lockhart” crouching near the entrance, scowling and muttering under his breath. Ian approached, confused, unwittingly lighting a fuse.
“You might have dodged it this year, kid, but you won’t next time. Sooner or later, you’ll face my exam, or all my preparations will have been for nothing!”
Grindelwald snarled viciously before storming off.
Still puzzled, Ian turned toward the exam room door.
Soon enough…
The student before him emerged beaming. Then, when the Sorting Hat called Ian’s name, he stepped inside, and immediately understood why Grindelwald had looked so furious.
“Dumbles… Headmaster.”
Ian saw who awaited inside.
It was Albus Dumbledore, clad in robes of pure white.
“Good afternoon, Ian.”
Albus Dumbledore sat upright behind a centuries-old oak table, its surface worn smooth by time and history. Outside the window, the sunset’s afterglow streamed through stained glass, casting a soft, almost sacred light onto his silver hair and flowing beard, giving the legendary wizard an aura both gentle and divine.
“Is this the you of this time?” Ian asked tentatively.
Ever since Dumbledore began his studies into time magic, Ian had never quite worked out the truth. Each encounter left him questioning which timeline’s Dumbledore he was facing.
“Actually, you only need to know that the Dumbledore you meet is always me, always someone you can trust. That way, you need not be so troubled by confusion.”
Dumbledore chuckled softly, offering a rare and comforting answer.
“Today, the one you see can indeed be considered the ‘time-correct’ me.”
Dumbledore’s eyes were deep and warm, like two endless pools, brimming with wisdom and carrying a profound meaning Ian found difficult to grasp.
“You haven’t become muddled yet, have you? Or perhaps you’ve simply lost the ability to tell?”
Ian stepped closer, concern flickering in his eyes. He waved his hands gently before Dumbledore’s eyes, trying to test his clarity.
The gesture left Dumbledore looking somewhat helpless.
“Of course, I’m not confused. In fact, I’m clearer-headed now than ever before. Rest assured, I won’t lose myself in the labyrinth of time.”
Dumbledore lightly folded his hands on the table, the faint sound of his fingers rubbing together accompanying his calm yet warm tone.
“What exactly are you studying?”
Ian fixed a steady gaze on the venerable headmaster before him.
“To truly understand the past, one must also peer into the future. Quite simply, I am studying the past, the present, and the future alike.”
There was something deeper implied in Dumbledore’s words.
“Can the Time-Turner reach the future?”
Ian’s surprise showed plainly.
His question seemed to touch upon a gap in conventional magical knowledge.
“Precisely because it remains unclear that I must investigate it further. When I have results, I shall share them with you.”
Dumbledore smiled kindly, but before Ian could press further, the old wizard interrupted his curiosity.
“I think today, right here, you need not ask about me.”
With that, Dumbledore opened a drawer built into the ancient oak table.
“I was about to inquire about the disturbance. I saw our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor storm off cursing, though you have no idea how fiercely he was cursing at you.”
Ian wasn’t sure if the headmaster’s words were a touch exaggerated.
“Don’t mind him. The exams he concocted are far too perilous, both for you and the others. I worry they might leave lasting psychological scars.”
“So, for the time being, I have temporarily relieved him of his duties as examiner.”
Dumbledore’s expression remained steady as he withdrew a test paper from the drawer and handed it to Ian.
“Wasn’t the theory exam already this morning?” Ian asked, perplexed.
He took the paper with suspicion. Even before glancing at the questions, he had a bad feeling. Upon reading them, his confusion only grew.
The questions were not only unrelated to Defence Against the Dark Arts, they were remarkably simple. Had Dumbledore arranged this to guarantee Ian’s top marks?
No need for that!
Ian thought firmly, I’m no simpleton!
Still, he accepted the quill the headmaster handed him and began to answer.
“This is your final exam in Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
Dumbledore watched with a gentle smile as Ian worked through the questions.
“But none of these relate to Defence Against the Dark Arts at all?”
Ian looked up, baffled after completing a series of seemingly random multiple-choice questions.
“Trust me,” Dumbledore said, “compared to other forms of examination, this is the truest test of your Defence Against the Dark Arts skills.”
Seeing Ian’s scepticism, Dumbledore paused, then reluctantly admitted:
“It’s a psychological test.”
To be honest…
Ian had suspected as much.
Now Dumbledore’s words confirmed it beyond doubt.
“Hiss, this counts as a Defence Against the Dark Arts exam?!”
Ian’s expression was riddled with question marks, yet he continued filling in the answers. He was a well-rounded young wizard, skilled in virtue, intelligence, physical endurance, aesthetics, and hard work, and was certainly not afraid of a psychological challenge.
Mastery of mind?
Understanding its value?
“We all know that using Dark Magic inflicts subtle, almost imperceptible but irreversible harm upon a wizard’s mind, this kind of mental erosion is hidden, and difficult for anyone to detect.”
“So many who practise Dark Magic regularly check their mental state using various methods.”
Albus Dumbledore explained patiently.
“Precisely for that reason, I asked you to take this psychological test.”
His gaze settled on the form Ian was completing.
“If you can maintain a sound mind after casting Dark Magic hundreds of times, then you already possess the finest form of defence against it.”
How to put it…
Ian could only admit that the old headmaster truly lived up to his reputation. The reasoning seemed odd but left him with no ready objection.
“Are you saying I can fight Dark Magic with Dark Magic?”
Ian scratched his head, still answering the questions.
“As headmaster, I wouldn’t teach a young wizard that.”
Dumbledore winked.
“I would only say that magic can only be overcome by magic.”
His voice carried a teasing warmth.
(End of this Chapter)
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