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The Defense Against the Dark Arts examination, overseen by Albus Dumbledore, the esteemed headmaster of Hogwarts, was rather unorthodox. What made it particularly intriguing was that no other young wizard had been given anything remotely like a psychological questionnaire.
This became clear from the hushed conversations echoing through the corridors as students emerged from the classroom, each of them had undergone the more traditional trials: practical demonstrations of spellwork and defensive charms against simulated dark threats.
It was consistent across all year groups.
There had been many candidates.
Yet only Ian received a psychological questionnaire as his exam. He suspected that Dumbledore, ever the observant one, had noticed how frequently he dabbled in darker branches of magic, and feared his mind might be succumbing to the creeping influence.
This peculiar exam, then, must be the headmaster’s way of probing his mental and emotional resilience.
Ian wasn’t surprised that Dumbledore knew the extent of his magical practice, after all, the man had demonstrated an uncanny foresight more than once.
Ian assumed it had something to do with the enchanted observatory tools the headmaster had access to, or perhaps even a charm that allowed him to passively track particularly powerful magical fluctuations.
In any case, the old wizard’s concern wasn’t unfounded. Had it been anyone else experimenting with such magic so regularly, they’d have likely gone mad, or at the very least, ended up disfigured and noseless, within months.
But Ian was different.
“Dark magic doesn’t seem to affect me in the same way,” Ian explained. He didn’t understand why, but he had never experienced any backlash or negative side effects.
Aurora, never one to mince words, once quipped that Ian was probably already so shrouded in darkness there was nowhere deeper for him to fall. Ian vehemently disagreed with her cynical view.
In his mind, he was the very image of a virtuous, noble-hearted wizard, beautiful in soul, devoted to good and it was precisely his pure nature that protected him from being tainted.
As he scribbled through the pages of the psychological questionnaire, Ian candidly shared his thoughts with Dumbledore, who, unlike Aurora, seemed to genuinely consider his reasoning with due respect.
“That’s certainly a possibility,” Dumbledore replied with a serene smile that seemed meant to soothe Ian’s earnest disposition. What the old man was truly thinking, however, was impossible to determine, his expressions were an enigma even to the brightest of Hogwarts students.
“This questionnaire however, will help us find the answers we seek,” Dumbledore continued, as if wholly invested in the outcome of Ian’s responses. But even one as wise as him probably hadn’t anticipated that, in Ian’s case, the entire exam would be utterly ineffective.
With a solid Level 6 in [Psychological Insight], a mastery obtained through extensive mental training in the Twilight Realm, where Ian had conversed with the echoes of legendary wizards like Lady Morgan, he could read the intent behind every question and tailor his responses to perfection, painting the picture of an impeccably “good and noble” young wizard.
He’d seen countless such evaluations before.
Long before his first year at Hogwarts, he’d practised with similar tests to strengthen his own mind and improve his magical defenses. Though this version bore the distinct signature of wizarding logic, the core structure remained familiar, after all, whether wizard or Muggle, a mind is a mind, and their fears, dreams, and failings are not so dissimilar.
“All done!”
Ian laid down his quill with a flourish and handed the completed questionnaire back to Dumbledore. He suspected the old headmaster had overlooked one very important detail, he hadn’t accounted for Ian being what he called a “hexagonal warrior,” proficient in every direction.
A simple mental evaluation?
No way was Ian going to let that go to waste, not when he had the chance to prove to Dumbledore that he was nothing short of a once-in-a-century prodigy, perhaps even a saint among students.
“Very good.” Dumbledore gave a small nod. He didn’t glance at the paper, instead he gestured for Ian to leave the otherwise quiet exam chamber.
“You’re not going to give me my score right now?” Ian asked, not out of concern for being discovered “cheating,” but simply because he was an impatient sort, eager to know how he’d done.
“Actually, this test won’t affect your final grade. Your performance in the practical examination already provided the answer we were seeking, some time ago, in fact.”
Dumbledore’s smile didn’t falter, and it was as calm as the surface of the Black Lake.
“Eh?” Ian blinked, briefly caught off guard. “You mean the thing with Professor Quirrell?”
Thinking back, the only significant Defense Against the Dark Arts event he could recall from half a term ago was that intense duel with Tom Riddle, an encounter Dumbledore had personally witnessed from beginning to end.
“Indeed.” Albus Dumbledore confirmed with a gentle tone.
“Although very few know the truth, both Professor Nicolas and I are well aware that you bested the most dangerous dark wizard of this age. And we agree, no one else could have handled that confrontation with greater composure or skill. There’s no test that could more clearly demonstrate your mastery of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Naturally, your final grade reflects the excellence you displayed.”
Dumbledore’s voice was measured and sincere. Vanquishing You-Know-Who alone, such a feat placed Ian firmly at the top of the discipline. Barring a miraculous, instant vanishing spell that could obliterate Voldemort outright, there was likely no better outcome imaginable.
“Then why tell me this psychological test was my final exam?” Ian frowned, recalling his first few moments in the room, when Dumbledore had clearly stated the test’s purpose.
He remembered the old man’s exact words.
“Ha ha ha ha… Seems you’ve fallen for my little joke.” Dumbledore chuckled warmly, a glimmer of mischief lighting up his eyes, leaving Ian with the uncomfortable feeling of having walked straight into one of the headmaster’s infamous games, but the content of the game was unknown to him.
“So… that was a prank?” Ian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He had the nagging feeling things weren’t quite so simple.
“No, no, no. Considering how the magic you’ve been studying this term has grown increasingly perilous, I sincerely believe it’s necessary to check, from time to time, whether you’ve come under the influence of dark forces. This is part of my duty as Headmaster, wouldn’t you agree?” Dumbledore gave Ian a mischievous wink, an expression that left Ian torn between amusement and exasperation.
“Alright then.” Ian let out a long sigh, rose to his feet, and gave a courteous bow before stepping out of the near-empty examination chamber. Outside, numerous eyes were trained on him, eager to glean some hint from his expression.
These young witches and wizards were all hoping to deduce the difficulty of the test based on Ian’s reaction.
“Oi, professor-in-training! I heard the exam was to battle a full-grown Welsh Green! Is that true?”
“If it really was a Welsh Green, I’m finished! I’ve not even managed to master a proper distraction charm. Tried Avis this morning and ended up summoning a flock of featherless, squawking blobs!”
“Did none of you notice? The Headmaster himself, Albus Ruddy Dumbledore, was inside! Obviously the test is… resisting the alluring charm of a male Veela!”
…
Merlin only knew how long that last rumour about Dumbledore being a male Veela would circulate. The moment Ian exited the room, he was mobbed by a crowd of familiar faces, all clamouring for information. And truth be told, he was in a bit of a bind; he honestly didn’t know what sort of exams the others had been given.
“Honestly, there’s no need to panic. This year’s exam was rather simple.” Ian gave a vague, non-committal answer. Even if the test had been difficult for the others, no one would accuse him of lying.
Everyone knew Ian’s command of magic was leagues above that of his peers. A test that seemed easy to him could easily be gruelling for the average student.
And if it really had been simple, he could just say he was trying to view it from their perspective. Either way, his answer would pass.
“I’m brilliant, honestly.”
Having successfully fended off the barrage of nosy students, Ian, who had now completed all his exams, originally intended to return to the Room of Requirement for a well-earned rest.
But on his way towards the staircase, he spotted George and Fred Weasley, the second-year Gryffindor twins, looking thoroughly dejected after finishing their own tests. They had the look of two lads who’d just discovered all their vaults at Gringotts had been emptied.
“What’s happened? Did things not go well?”
Like many Ravenclaws, Ian couldn’t resist the guilty pleasure of pretending to care about others’ marks come end-of-term.
“It’s not that we didn’t do well… it’s more like the sky’s come crashing down. We got caught cheating by Professor McGonagall.” Fred sighed deeply, tinged with just the faintest regret.
He clearly wasn’t upset about the mark, it was the failure of their scheme that stung.
“It’s your fault, Fred! I said we should at least revise properly for three days, alright, even two! But you insisted your little cheat-device was foolproof!” George grumbled, wasting no time pointing fingers.
“Oi, don’t be ridiculous! Weren’t you the one who shouted it was ‘sheer brilliance’ and we’d be legends at Hogwarts for it?” Fred snapped back, refusing to accept the blame alone.
As usual, the twins immediately spiralled into one of their infamous squabbles.
“For Merlin’s sake! The plan looked great on parchment, but in practice, it was absolute rubbish! Not only did we fail to corner the test market, we made a pair of right wallies out of ourselves!” George was fuming.
“Didn’t your kits still sell over ten sets? That’s not bad at all, is it?” Ian, though inwardly amused, donned his usual dry, polite tone to offer what passed for “comfort.”
“Not bad, my ass!” George pulled a tiny, artificial-looking ant from his ear. On closer inspection, it wasn’t alive, but rather resembled a tiny enchanted toy made of resin and wood.
“The test assistant could only help with questions we already knew the answers to! What good is that? If I know the answers, I don’t need the blasted thing!”
“Not only did it not help me improve my grade, I had to stand in the exam hall all morning after McGonagall caught me cheating, all because of a completely worthless invention!”
“Ian, do you know what it’s like having something crawl inside your ear and not being able to scratch it because you’ve been hit with a Freezing Charm? I’d rather do ballet in Azkaban with a Dementor for a partner!”
George’s complaints were entirely justified. Clearly, Professor McGonagall’s approach to punishing cheaters differed from Professor Flitwick’s, but both left a lasting impression.
Naturally.
Both forms of discipline were the kind one didn’t soon forget.
“We just didn’t have time… I couldn’t finish calibrating the test assistants. Next year, I’ll iron out the bugs. We’ll embed them directly into our hats! That way, even McGonagall won’t catch us.” Fred’s voice carried the guilty ring of someone planning another disaster.
The mere notion of that kind of “upgrade” made Ian’s scalp tingle.
“Bloody useless test charm assistent! May it rot in the depths of the Forbidden Forest!”
George hurled the tiny enchanted ant back at Fred and declared, with fiery indignation, that he would be leading the next round of mischief-making.
“Fine, fine… Let’s just figure out how we’re going to survive the practical exam this year.”
Fred muttered, clearly recognising his blunder and retreating with unusual humility.
“Oi, Ian, any clue what the Second-Year Defense Against the Dark Arts exam looks like?” George, spotting Ian sauntering over, pounced at the chance for insider information. At Hogwarts, each subject usually had a single professor, so it stood to reason that the exam would be the same for everyone.
“I’m a First-Year. How would I know what your exam looks like?” Ian gave him a withering look, well aware that the twins were grasping at Hippogriff feathers.
“But maybe you saw something?” George pressed on stubbornly, refusing to give up the ghost so easily.
“Ian’s right, George,” Fred interjected. “He’s only just gotten here. And even if someone’s already sat the exam, it wouldn’t matter, professors make different versions each year. Could be a simple Boggart one minute and a cursed wardrobe full of Acromantulas the next.”
Fred, despite being only one year above Ian, clearly knew far more about exam schematics than most third-year students, probably thanks to the extensive “research” he’d done while plotting to cheat.
“If only they’d just ask us to blast a few Dungbombs for extra credit…” George sighed dreamily, clearly hoping for a miracle.
“Maybe we could fake dragonpox and get out of it altogether,” Fred suggested, eyes gleaming with mischief. George perked up at once, as though the heavens had parted and offered him salvation.
Neither of them, of course, had realised that the new Defence professor was none other than the old Headmaster himself.
Ian had no intention of correcting them. In fact, inspiration struck him at that very moment. He was suddenly reminded of a “product” he’d developed recently that would be perfect for situations like this.
“Need a few Instant Puking Pastilles?” Ian offered smoothly, slipping into his role as a budding prankster-salesman. “They’re part of a new line I just enchanted.”
Truth be told, Ian had grown considerably bolder since the start of term.
The invention was, in fact, a repurposed version of a prank the twins hadn’t even thought of yet, borrowed, so to speak, through certain… spectral means. After all, he had met more than one ghostly mischief-maker in the Twilight Realm who had plenty of ideas to share.
“Instant Puking Pastilles? The name alone’s a masterpiece!” George looked like he might burst with excitement as Ian pulled out a generous handful of sweets.
There were jelly beans, toffees, even chewing charms, cleverly crafted to suit every sweet tooth at Hogwarts. Ian had paid particular attention to flavour variety. Product appeal was essential, after all.
But beyond the taste, each sweet had a specific function. The defining feature of the Instant Puking Pastilles was their dual-colour design, two magically-infused sections, each with its own effect.
One colour triggered the ‘illness’, the other served as the antidote. Purple and orange-yellow for vomiting, red and grey for nosebleeds, green and blue for violent coughing, it was an elegant balance of chaos and control.
“Merlin’s beard, Ian, you’re a genius! I completely take back every sarcastic thing I said earlier, you’re the finest mind Hogwarts has seen since… since whoever invented Skiving Snackboxes!” Fred was practically worshipping the sweets in his palm.
“Look at this, Fred! Why can’t you come up with ideas like this?” George jabbed his twin sharply in the ribs.
“If Ian hadn’t nicked the idea from my future brain, how do you know I wouldn’t have come up with something even better in a few years?” Fred snapped, ever defiant. Then he glanced longingly at Ian and sighed, “Why can’t I have a brain like yours?”
Even Ian, thick-skinned and usually impervious to praise, felt his ears go a bit red.
“For high-stakes exams, this chocolate version’s your best bet,” He added quickly, plucking a green-and-blue treat from the pile.
This one was Ian’s own masterpiece, crafted after a particularly enlightening conversation with a long-dead potioneer in the Twilight Realm, who had once faked his own death using nothing but honeyed toffee and a corpse decoy.
As for the small matter of having borrowed the idea from the twins’ future repertoire… well, who could fault a seer for knowing things ahead of time?
“What’s it do?”
“Will it make us spew blood? Please say yes. Something properly dramatic.”
George and Fred leaned in, faces lit with gleeful anticipation.
“It’s called… Smallpox Outbreak.” Ian declared the name with theatrical flair.
As the name implied, the chocolate would simulate the early symptoms of a highly contagious magical ailment, high fever, faint spots, and a wheezy cough, within thirty seconds. It wouldn’t fool Madam Pomfrey forever, of course, but it could certainly earn a few hours in the Hospital Wing and a postponement of their exam.
“Wait, what kind of disease is that?” George frowned in confusion.
“I think I’ve heard Dad mention it before. Something about it being a real nuisance in the old days…” Fred looked pensive, digging through his memory.
“Either way, it’s convincing enough. Eat it just before the exam, look absolutely miserable, and you might get yourself an early holiday,” Ian said, handing each of them a chocolate with an encouraging nod.
“How much does it cost? We’re really skint, you know.” George was already attempting to haggle, looking mournful.
However—
Ian shook his head as he spoke.
“I’d rather have you pay with your skills. There’s some rather dull groundwork in my alchemical research that needs an extra set of hands.”
Ian wanted to hand off some basic shaping work on Alchemical Artifacts to the twins. It wasn’t especially advanced, and with the twins’ knack for magical crafting, well beyond what most of their age could manage, they’d breeze through it.
“You want us to work for you?! You little taskmaster!” Fred’s voice rang out with mock outrage, complete with scandalised gasp.
“But he’s not asking for Galleons, Fred, he’s giving us this stuff for free!” George was clearly swayed and gave precisely the argument needed to change Fred’s mind in a heartbeat.
“Plus, he said we’re talented! Not many people have that sort of insight!”
Clearly, being recognised for their genius meant more than gold.
“You’re right. We’ve got to support this fellow innovator. He might be the future of the prank world, a rising legend!” Fred dramatically changed tack.
“So? Do we have a deal?” Ian seized the moment with the swiftness of a Seeker diving for the Snitch.
The twins exchanged a meaningful glance…
“Deal! Ian!”
They slapped a high-five with him like they were sealing a blood pact, then dashed off towards the exam hall with Instant Puking Pastilles clutched in eager hands.
Ian watched their retreating figures vanish around the corner and quietly pulled out a stack of charmed gas masks from beneath his robes.
“Sigh… Maybe Aurora was right. Sometimes, I really am a terrible person.”
He figured Madam Pomfrey would isolate the twins as soon as the ‘symptoms’ appeared, giving him roughly three hours of chaos to shift the rest of his unsold prank stock.
Perhaps it was because Aurora had crossed his mind, but just as he passed the spiral staircase, there she was: seated with a notebook, nose buried in study notes for a “pre-exam blitz.”
“You actually get nervous before exams?” Ian strolled over curiously. He remembered her being calm and composed in all their previous assessments.
The German girl looked up and replied, “I heard the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam is being overseen by Professor Dumbledore himself. He warned me he’d make the test extra difficult, said he wanted to trip me up deliberately.”
There was a rare trace of unease in her voice. As Dumbledore’s apprentice, Aurora knew the old wizard held her to a far higher standard than her peers.
To be honest, Ian wasn’t shocked. What did surprise him was that Dumbledore would resort to outright threats.
“Wait, he threatened you? How exactly?” Ian blinked at her, clearly startled.
Aurora gave him a solemn look.
“Last night, after a chat with my grandfather, Professor Dumbledore returned to his office and began instructing me. That’s when he told me he’d be designing a separate Defense Against the Dark Arts exam just for me.”
And with that—
She returned to scanning her notes with furrowed brows.
“Hm?”
Ian waited for the rest of the story… but Aurora said nothing more. At last, he placed his hand gently on her notebook.
“And then? Where’s the threat part?” He asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Hm?” Aurora looked equally confused.
“That was the threat.”
She paused, brows knitting as she considered his reaction.
“Huh? Did I mishear something?” Ian looked completely baffled.
“I’ve prepared a different Defense Against the Dark Arts exam just for you,” Aurora recited, pressing the tip of her wand to her throat and mimicking the old headmaster’s voice in an uncanny rasp.
She even used a bit of human transfiguration to perfectly copy his tone and mannerisms.
“????????”
Ian stared, absolutely stunned, as though something profound had just been revealed to him.
Aurora sighed and added matter-of-factly: “I just realised the deeper implication behind his words. Ian, you really need to work on your reading-between-the-lines skills.”
“I could recommend a few books I’ve read.”
She offered help in earnest but considering her “interpretive style,” it was safe to assume her reading list wasn’t exactly standard Hogwarts fare.
“No need, no need! I’m quite happy the way I am.” Ian waved her off in a flurry, keen to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Still, I’d like to help you too, but my exam’s not the same as yours… And to be honest, Headmaster Dumbledore’s not really the sort to torment students for fun.” As he spoke, Ian explained the strange psychological evaluation he’d been given instead of a standard test.
Aurora listened intently.
“Same as I said before, Ian, we need to look beneath the surface. I think Dumbledore misled you. That psychological test probably holds some hidden meaning.” She leaned in, analysing: “In fact, I think your exam is directly connected to everyone else’s outcomes.”
To be fair—
Even after nearly a year of close friendship, Ian still struggled to fully grasp Aurora’s more baffling insights. He supposed this must be what it felt like when other students listened to him rambling about obscure magical theories he’d picked up in the Twilight Realm.
“How’d we go from my exam to everyone else’s?” Ian pulled a face of exaggerated interest, pretending to pay rapt attention.
Aurora paused, gathering her thoughts.
“We both know the so-called Dark Lord isn’t a true threat anymore. So for Dumbledore, his real concern now is making sure no one else rises to become the next so-called ‘third-generation Dark Lord’ and that’s the whole of it. The most effective way to guard against dark magic threats is to stop particularly gifted dark wizards before they become a danger.”
Aurora said it with calm, clinical precision, her tone eerily like that of a Hogwarts lecturer.
“????????”
Ian’s expression was a picture of disbelief.
Aurora seemed to register that Ian truly did have comprehension issues.
“Remember when I told you Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on you? This is the same principle.” She kindly summarized.
“Exactly, clear as crystal. Dumbledore believes that as long as you’re all right, everyone else’s defenses against dark magic are safe too.”
“If you pass the psychological exam, then we all pass. But if you fail… well, then we’ve got a real problem. I think he’ll subject you to what you’re always calling a ‘harmless disposal.'” Aurora spoke with a trace of dramatic flair, clearly having misinterpreted both Ian’s usual phrasing and Dumbledore’s methods.
Even though she now studied under the greatest white wizard of the age, her personal views on Albus Dumbledore’s moral compass remained… complicated.
“You think that if my mind shows any signs of instability, Headmaster Dumbledore would just get rid of me?” Ian blinked at her in stunned disbelief. With the kind of magic he wielded, able to call forth long-lost souls in the Twilight Realm, including echoes of Dumbledore’s own truth, it was hard to believe their headmaster would ever do such a thing.
Still, Aurora’s logic was a little too convincing for comfort.
“What else do you expect him to do? You really don’t understand our headmaster.” Aurora didn’t answer directly. Instead, she posed a weighty rhetorical question:
“Do you really think that, if the time came to eliminate a potential threat like you, Dumbledore would hesitate?”
“I’m fairly certain, he wouldn’t even mourn you.”
To be fair, looking from Aurora’s perspective, her reasoning wasn’t baseless. Some of Dumbledore’s early-life decisions had bordered on ruthless. It was just that Ian had seen a more… merciful side.
Aurora, however, wasn’t privy to the secret rapport Ian shared with Dumbledore—nor the things whispered to him by the phantoms in the Twilight Realm.
“You’ve over-analyzed this so thoroughly I’m starting to get nervous myself… Good thing I’m confident in my answers. If I end up losing sleep tonight, I’m blaming you.”
Ian thumped his chest dramatically, as if he’d narrowly escaped execution.
“So you really did cheat successfully.”
Aurora shut the notebook in her hands, gave Ian a parting wave, and headed off toward the exam room. She clearly had an impeccable sense of when her turn was up.
“Being able to see the future, that’s real cheating.”
Ian bid his peculiar friend farewell and climbed the staircase back to the Room of Requirement. Owing to earlier mishaps, he now had to churn out another round of limited-edition gas masks in a hurry.
The sort of decadent, thrill-seeking Slytherins just loved this kind of novelty.
And just as Ian immersed himself in production—
…
Elsewhere:
“Come in.”
The gentle voice of Albus Dumbledore echoed from behind the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam room. Aurora stepped through to begin her trial.
“Hm?”
As the door shut automatically behind her, she noticed something most young wizards would have missed: there was a glowing white pillar near the front of the room, casting a soft, steady light.
“That’s a precaution to prevent exam questions from being leaked. Time was tight, and I couldn’t devise separate trials for every year.” Albus Dumbledore explained, preempting Aurora’s unspoken question.
She nodded, already thoughtful.
“Does it wipe our memory of the exam afterward?” She voiced her suspicion with blunt honesty.
At that, Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle.
“It seems your opinion of me hasn’t improved much. I wouldn’t tamper with young minds so casually.”
“This lamp merely ensures that, for a short time after leaving, you won’t recall the exam’s contents clearly.” He didn’t hide the truth behind the spellwork, not from her.
“If it troubles you, I can turn it off. After all, your answers won’t affect anyone else’s.”
Without waiting for her reply, he gave a casual wave. The white glow faded into nothing, and the classroom reverted to how it had looked during Ian’s session.
“Are you going to test me on the Patronus Charm?” Aurora asked flatly, already trying to guess how Dumbledore might attempt to “challenge” her.
“That spell can wait. I believe you’ll master it in time, but you still need to settle yourself first.” Dumbledore’s eyes were deep and unreadable.
“Settle what? My happy memories?” Aurora’s brows knit together. She was rarely unsettled, but now she pressed him for clarity.
“What you lack isn’t memory, it’s conviction.” Dumbledore replied gently, not giving her the chance to reflect before changing the subject entirely.
“Before we begin, I’d like you to assist me with something.”
He pulled a parchment from the drawer.
Inside were several identical scrolls, clearly copies of a standard exam.
“What is it?” Aurora sat across from him, watching curiously.
“I’d like you to mark any answers that, from your perspective, don’t reflect reality, answers given by our Mr. Prince.” Under her confused gaze, Dumbledore slid the scroll toward her.
“This is the psychological assessment you gave Ian?” Aurora’s mind immediately flew back to her earlier conversation. She scanned the parchment, puzzled by the responses Ian had given.
“He’s already answered everything. What’s the point of me correcting it now?” Aurora hesitated, eyeing the quill Dumbledore handed her with a trace of reluctance.
“Of course there’s a point.” Albus Dumbledore glanced toward the corner of his desk.
There—
Several duplicates of the same test parchment lay neatly stacked, covered in notes and comments, alongside the names of those who had reviewed them.
William, Michael, Cho Chang, Zhang… All familiar names to Ian, etched in distinctive inks and varied handwriting.
“You’re the last one. Once you’ve added your observations, I can finally make a definitive evaluation.”
Dumbledore’s tone was gentle, but it made Aurora’s expression tighten slightly.
She couldn’t help but raise a wary brow—
“Once I walk out that door… will I even remember you asked me to do this?”
Let’s just say, when it came to paranoia and conspiracy theories, Ian wasn’t the only one wearing a crown at Hogwarts.
“Are you always this suspicious?” Even Albus Dumbledore rubbed his temple, visibly amused but also somewhat exasperated.
He was beginning to suspect that whatever training Grindelwald had given his apprentice, it definitely included more than just spellwork…
…
The Hogwarts exams concluded successfully.
The end-of-term feast was scheduled just before the students departed for the summer.
It would be the last time this term that all the Hogwarts houses gathered for a grand meal and naturally, the house-elves had gone all out. The scent of rich roasts and buttered vegetables filled every corner of the castle.
When the time came, students and professors poured into the Great Hall one after another.
Even some of the older students, those who usually skipped dinner in vain pursuit of a fashionable waistline turned up, unwilling to miss the grand finale. It was a proper celebration, and nearly everyone was there.
Nearly—
“Nearly” being the key word. Two Gryffindor students were notably absent: the infamous twin brothers, who had been abruptly taken away and placed in isolation earlier that afternoon.
Now, Ian’s products had always been trustworthy, top-notch enchantments, no misleading advertising, but the twins’ sudden bout of what Madam Pomfrey dramatically named ‘Truth Confused by Lies Syndrome’ had startled both her and Albus Dumbledore right out of their exam invigilation duties.
Madam Pomfrey turned positively white. To describe her panic—
Even Ian’s enchanted gas masks won her over.
And once word spread that even Madam Pomfrey had bought one, students who had heard rumours of a “truth-plague” began swarming Ian like Nifflers to galleons.
His products were sold out.
Every last enchanted gas mask was sold out.
Even the perpetually penniless Miss Daphne Greengrass, who prized her life far more than her gold, pestered Ian until he relented and sold her one at a generous 20% discount.
She’d sacrificed her own final exam scores and the meagre earnings she made by impersonating classmates with Polyjuice Potion… all of it flowed straight into Ian’s coffers.
The guilt was brief but noticeable. Ian mused to himself that he was like a magical Bruce Wayne, clearly, no galleon in Hogwarts could escape his reach.
“Hogwarts has its own Batman,” He whispered once, mostly to justify himself.
The feast hadn’t even started yet.
The Great Hall had been completely transformed, decked out in Ravenclaw’s blue and bronze. House-elves had spared no effort, from enchanted banners fluttering high in the rafters to golden goblets bearing the Ravenclaw crest, every detail had been seen to.
Whether it was because the house-elves admired Ian or simply because he’d once mentioned it while enjoying a fondue in the kitchens, no one could say.
Traditionally, the decorations didn’t change until after the House Cup was announced, so this early transformation left many of the Slytherin students fuming silently.
“It’s just the House Cup,” They muttered to themselves, trying to maintain composure.
“Looks like everyone’s here.”
Inside the bustling Great Hall, Albus Dumbledore, unusually dressed in rich crimson robes, observed the room. Once he saw that all students and professors had taken their seats, he stood and raised his hand ever so slightly.
The effect was immediate.
Silence descended over the hall like a blanket, soft and complete.
All eyes turned to the venerable headmaster, save for one pair.
Grindelwald, clearly displeased at having his exam privileges revoked, puckered his lips sourly and took a slow sip from his goblet. Dumbledore either didn’t notice or chose to ignore him. With a serene smile, he began his traditional closing remarks.
“I imagine everyone’s rather hungry after a week of stressful exams. Before we dig in, please endure this old man’s usual pre-feast ramblings.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room.
“Those who know me,” Dumbledore continued, “know I’m not especially fond of long speeches. However, Professor McGonagall reminded me that if I don’t say something now, you might forget I’m still your headmaster.”
That got a proper chuckle, even a few snorts from the Ravenclaw table.
Once the laughter subsided,
Dumbledore’s voice softened. “This has been an extraordinary year for both you and me.”
“You’ve all learned more than in any prior year; your young minds are now brimming with knowledge. May your summer break offer you peace and time to digest all that you’ve gained.”
“Next term will bring even more discoveries. For now, take joy in the holidays. These are the memories that will shine when you’re older, particularly when you reach Professor Lockhart’s age and your time is consumed by publishing memoirs or… other misadventures.”
Even Professor Lockhart, preening in his seat, gave a smug grin, apparently taking it as praise.
And so, with laughter, warmth, and magic in the air, Dumbledore transitioned into the annual tally and final announcements.
“I daresay most of you already have an inkling about this year’s House Cup results but tradition must be upheld… Let’s take a look at the final tallies, shall we?”
“Gryffindor, as expected, remains comfortably in fourth place. I do hope you’ll strive harder next year and, ideally, make fewer… colourful decisions. Let’s see if you can push that 360 score a bit higher.”
Albus Dumbledore’s voice carried a light humour, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His fondness for Gryffindor was no secret, so he offered them a few extra words of encouragement, though he was under no illusion that the lion-hearted House would abandon its habit of blunders any time soon.
Notably, the Headmaster didn’t even suggest they could climb the ranks—only that they should improve their score. A subtle nod to how well he understood Gryffindor’s unruly charm.
Professor McGonagall exhaled deeply.
She glanced around, hoping to lock eyes with her House’s usual troublemakers but with the twin terrors absent, she found no one to glare at. Resigned, she took a long sip of redcurrant wine.
“In third place: Hufflepuff, with 511 points, a strong showing, and a full 130 points higher than last year. Your diligence does not go unnoticed.”
“And in second… Slytherin. A shame about losing the Quidditch Cup, but 730 points is no small feat. It speaks volumes about your cunning and determination.”
Dumbledore paused slightly, and his gaze flicked to Professor Snape, who nodded ever so slightly in return. Both knew how… generously adjusted those Slytherin point totals had been.
Gulp~
Snape took a deliberate sip from his goblet to conceal the awkward tension. Though he and Aurora often clashed, even he had to admit she was the finest Slytherin student in years.
He had seized every opportunity to award House points in her name. Unfortunately, even with a sizable lead, Slytherin still failed to claim the crown. Snape narrowed his eyes at his nephew, unsure how they’d lost, but he was certain that Ian was somehow involved.
“And finally, we extend our congratulations to Ravenclaw House, after several years, they’ve reclaimed the House Cup! I imagine this will make for a splendid farewell gift to this year’s graduating eagles.” Dumbledore’s tone softened as he brought his summary to a close.
He tactfully avoided reading out Ravenclaw’s exact score, after all, announcing a staggering 4,680 points more than the runner-up might come across as… excessive.
“We won! We actually won!”
“Ravenclaw reigns supreme!”
“Blimey, we’ve got more points than the other three Houses combined! That’s got to be a record!”
“No, it’s Ian! Our little professor’s the real miracle!”
…
No matter how peculiar the number looked, the Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers. Over at Slytherin, feet stomped in unison, though none dared accuse anyone of foul play aloud.
They were a shrewd lot, versed in subtlety. Even if they did suspect that half the staff had bent the rules to let that half-blood Ravenclaw accumulate points like a goblin hoards gold, they didn’t voice their complaints. Instead, they sent scathing, silent glares toward the staff table.
Hoot hoot, gulp~
Hoot hoot, gulp~
Several professors, visibly uncomfortable but powerless to object, raised their goblets in silent surrender. They knew precisely what had happened, but how could they possibly explain it to the students?
“Just seven more years. Seven.”
More than one professor repeated the thought like a calming spell. Dumbledore’s lighthearted indulgence clearly meant that appealing to the headmaster’s office was a lost cause.
“Of course, we still have some traditions to follow. As always, there are a few additional points to award. Let’s see…”
Dumbledore peered down at a long roll of parchment, unrolling it with a flourish.
“To begin with, for Gryffindor House…”
This was the customary end-of-year recognition, bonus points awarded to students who had achieved something of note during the term. It wasn’t always grand heroics, even something as small as stopping a fellow student from choking on a sweet could earn a commendation.
This system was markedly different from what Ian was used to before coming to Hogwarts.
“Next, Miss Aurora Grindelwald. During the Ashwinder incident, she used remarkably deft spellwork to rescue seven rather thoughtless students. For this act of bravery and camaraderie, Slytherin is awarded an additional fifty points.”
Dumbledore’s tone was warm and encouraging.
But at the Slytherin table, Aurora sat with a faint frown. She barely acknowledged the congratulatory murmurs around her, instead focused on parsing the intent behind Dumbledore’s phrasing.
“I only helped them because I didn’t want anyone’s blood splashing onto my robes. Cleaning it out later is such a bother.”
Most students chalked it up to her being her usual frosty self, mistaking it for tsundere behaviour. In truth, she was likely just being honest.
Still, Dumbledore awarded her the points, perhaps hoping a gentle nudge would set her on a brighter path.
“And finally, Mr. Ian Prince. Through wit and valour, he risked his life to uncover and confront the dark wizard who infiltrated our school. In the face of overwhelming danger, he acted with clarity and composure, preventing a catastrophe before it could unfold.”
“This accomplishment… is one I have rarely seen in all my years at Hogwarts. He not only safeguarded us all but also brought justice for our dearly departed Professor Quirrell.”
For the first time, Ian felt Dumbledore’s mastery of rhetoric in full.
Not a single falsehood, yet every word polished his image like a well-cast Scourgify. The headmaster had even managed to frame Quirrell’s demise as a noble sacrifice, likely the official story circulated by the Ministry.
“Quirrell the traitor got off lightly,” Ian thought, speculating that the Voldemort affair had likely been swept under the rug. Perhaps the Ministry didn’t want to acknowledge the Dark Lord’s survival, instead spinning a tidy tale: a dark wizard infiltrated Hogwarts, murdered a professor, and was ultimately stopped by a courageous student. A convenient conclusion, polished and palatable.
Just as Ian was mulling over what the “higher-ups” might be scheming,
Albus Dumbledore, after a pause, raised his voice once more.
“And so, I am awarding him one hundred points. Such bravery and presence of mind merit nothing less.”
As soon as the words left his lips, the Great Hall exploded with applause and shouting.
Absolutely deafening.
“Merlin’s beard! Why didn’t you tell us?” William cried, clutching Ian’s arm as if it were a lifeline. “You vanquished a dark wizard and said nothing?!”
“A dark wizard who killed a professor, no less!” Michael shouted over the noise, ensuring the entire hall, including the other Houses, could hear him loud and clear.
“You’re brilliant!”
“The little professor has saved us all again! Why ‘again’? You lot don’t know? That gas mask of his once saved us from an outbreak!”
“Too right! Two foolhardy Gryffindors nearly unleashed some foul curse-rot! Heard it spreads only between boys and girls!”
“Oh, what a noble debt! I have only my heart to offer in return! Let’s go out, darling Ian!”
…
Cheers and shouts burst from the Ravenclaw long table, and even the Gryffindors joined in the clapping. They always admired courage and talent, regardless of House.
“Just another day, just doing my bit, no need for gifts, wait, who spilled pumpkin juice on my robes? And stop trying to undress me!” Even with his enchanted gas mask still snug on his face, Ian found himself swarmed by hands, hugs, and attempts at flirtation.
He began weaving and ducking through a barrage of senior students, especially the girls, dodging their affections like spells in a duel. From the staff table, Albus Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and the other professors looked on, oddly delighted by the chaos.
“Now, let the feast begin.”
The Great Hall buzzed like a hive.
At long last, the House Cup ceremony had concluded. Just as Ian darted through the crowd, Dumbledore’s wand flicked once, and a splendid banquet appeared on the long tables. Glorious platters and steaming dishes shimmered into view.
The irresistible scent of food diverted most of Ian’s would-be admirers—their love for the young hero could not compete with their hunger.
Ian took the chance to slip away to the Slytherin long table. When he sat beside Aurora, he was met not with sneers or jeers, but with startled respect. A younger witch swiftly wiped the table clean before vacating the seat entirely, as if sitting beside a dark wizard slayer might cause misfortune.
In their eyes, Ian had struck down a dark wizard today; by tomorrow, he might just hex their parents.
And given how many pure-blooded Slytherins had dark wizards in the family tree… who wouldn’t be nervous?
“This is all just part of your self-promotion,” Aurora said flatly, launching into her usual mix of analysis and mild disdain.
“Maybe,” Ian replied with a shrug, “but let’s not dissect it tonight. Could you pass the roast beef? Preferably, the bits you haven’t chewed on.”
“My, your little mask can handle roast beef now?” Aurora raised an eyebrow as she passed the platter. “That’s… surprisingly well-enchanted.”
“It’s my own enchantment! Actually, now that it’s made a splash, these gas masks will be available next term. They block at least five hundred known potion effects,” Ian said with the enthusiasm of a street vendor hawking charmed trinkets.
The look on his face suggested that the more people who bought them, the more he regretted not pricing them higher.
Annoying? Possibly. But the quality of his magical devices was beyond reproach; those who bought them never felt short-changed.
Aurora, though, had an uncanny ability to see through his every scheme.
“So once the five hundred known effects are surpassed, are you planning to release a newer model?” she asked dryly, as though she’d already seen the advertisement in the Daily Prophet.
“…” Silence rippled around the Slytherin table.
Only when someone exposed the truth so plainly did Ian ever find himself short for words.
“Who are you planning to scam with your sweets next term?” Aurora asked, resting her chin on one hand while absently twirling a spoon with the other.
“That’s not the right word! Scam is far too crude. My sweets are potent charms, crafted with care!” Ian corrected her, intentionally ignoring the core of her question.
“Didn’t you fool the Gryffindor twins into testing them? They’re still quarantined in the hospital wing! Madam Pomfrey won’t even let them near the feast, even after they took your antidote.”
Aurora snatched an onion ring off Ian’s plate with a flick of her fingers.
“They asked me for something to avoid exams. So tell me, did they succeed?”
Ian gave a sly smirk, and for once, Aurora found herself without a retort.
“…” She bit into the onion ring thoughtfully.
“And they gave me a glowing five-star review,” Ian added proudly.
That part was true, dozens of students had seen it. The twins had been hauled off in a transparent, spellproof containment box, while Ian sold gas masks in the corridor.
“Oh! He actually profited from our prank!” George had shouted.
“Even if he used us, I stand by what I said, he’s the future of magical mischief. My instincts were spot on!” Fred had added with a grin.
At least, that’s how Ian remembered it.
…
The joyous banquet time began and ended.
With the arrival of a new day, the young witches and wizards cleared out their wardrobes, emptied their bookshelves, and had all their belongings packed into trunks. The house-elves whisked them away in preparation for loading onto the Hogwarts Express.
At the break of dawn, the holiday began.
An entire school year had flown by, it was time for the students to return home.
The Hogwarts Express had already pulled into the station early. After the house-elves assisted with loading the luggage, the great scarlet train stood ready to carry its passengers away from the castle.
“This train really is a bit too vintage,” Ian remarked. It was his first time riding the Hogwarts Express, so the train’s charm and oddities were still a novelty to him.
The Hogwarts Express was a classic steam engine, long and sleek, with a puffing chimney and gleaming brass. From the outside, it looked nothing more than an old-fashioned Muggle contraption, certainly not something that hinted at enchantment.
But of course, one only had to step inside.
The interior held all the tell-tale signs of sophisticated wizardry: compartments that defied space, wood-panelled carriages, charm-sealed windows, and an inviting dining carriage. Extension charms had clearly been employed to expand the interiors far beyond the exterior proportions, giving each section a comfortable, even luxurious feel.
“Our youngest brother starts next year. You must prank him, just once, we’ll all pocket a little gold on the side,” George said cheerily.
He and Fred were seated on either side of Ian. Neither seemed at all bothered that they’d missed the end-of-term feast due to their brief quarantine. On the contrary, they were bubbling with ideas on how to torment Ron Weasley.
And not just that.
They had new thoughts about the fast-acting Puking Pastilles, the same ones that had caused last month’s supposed “smallpox outbreak.”
“The Black Death! We start a full-blown plague next term, a proper medieval nightmare! Ron can be patient zero!” George announced with glee.
“The Black Death? Using your own brother for a magical contagion stunt? Don’t you think your mum would hex both of you into next year?” Ian gave them a sidelong glance, half in disbelief.
Aurora had stayed behind at Hogwarts, no one quite knew why and in order to escape the constant attention from overzealous students, Ian had opted to ride in a quiet compartment with the twins.
As the students found their seats and settled in, the train gave a low rumble, the wheels clunked against the tracks, and the familiar rhythm of departure began.
Steam curled lazily from the chimney, mingling with the morning mist. The whole atmosphere felt rather dreamlike, wrapping their journey in a quiet tension, as if Hogwarts itself was watching them go.
“It’s just a prank, we’re not actually going to infect him,” George muttered with a grin. “That look on your face, hang on, you didn’t actually sneak plague essence into your Puking Pastilles, did you?”
Ian let out a long sigh.
“Simulated symptoms only. Any proper cursebreaker could tell you there’s nothing real in them.”
He privately thought the twins had quite a long way to go in the art of magical alchemy.
“Good, good. He is our little brother, after all. Can’t have him actually catching something foul…” Fred winced, remembering the unpleasant sensations from their last experimental bout.
“Yeah, yeah, and he’s still useful to us for future testing,” George nodded sagely, and Ian had to swallow the words ‘Should I be charging you for this?’ before they left his lips.
He didn’t need to ask.
The Weasley brothers had already proven how merciless they could be, even toward themselves.
“I heard you’ve also got a younger sister?” Ian asked casually, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.
The result was immediate.
“What are you plotting?!” Fred snapped, eyes narrowing. “Ian, I’m warning you, keep away from Ginny! You’ve already enchanted every witch under fourteen in the castle!”
George mirrored his expression, arms crossed in a protective stance.
“…” Ian blinked, utterly baffled by the sudden reaction. Just minutes ago, they’d been ready to offer up their brother as an alchemical guinea pig for school-wide chaos.
“I was just asking,” he said flatly, rubbing his temple.
“Even asking is dangerous. Tell you what, take Ron instead. We’ll develop a transformation sweet. Once he eats it, boom! Ron the Redhead becomes Rona the Redhead!” George proposed with a wicked glint.
Fred gave an enthusiastic clap. “Oh! Our younger brother turned younger sister! That’s brilliant!”
“…” Ian stared out the window in silence, regretting every life decision that led him to share a compartment with them. He solemnly mourned for Ron for three full seconds.
“That sweet could definitely be brewed! Market it as a limited edition, call it Gender Bender Gum! Instant bestseller!” George continued, scribbling the idea down.
Ian ignored them and quietly unwrapped a breakfast sandwich from his robes, choosing to focus instead on the passing scenery.
The legendary Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was drawing nearer by the minute. Fields sped past the windows, thick groves, winding hills, and the occasional stone cottage all drifted by, a gentle reminder that he was returning to the world he’d come from.
After a while,
“Daily Prophet…” Ian muttered, not looking up. He had no interest in the twins’ increasingly bizarre transformation talk. Instead, he turned his eyes to the fluttering newspapers now being distributed across the train.
And right on the front page, a headline too bold to miss.
“The Rising Star of Tomorrow: A Child Who Saved Hogwarts”
It had to be said, Aurora’s views weren’t entirely without foundation. Since falling under Grindelwald’s influence, The Daily Prophet had taken to widely publicizing Ian’s feat of defeating a dark wizard during the school term.
The praise was positively extravagant. Although the dark wizard’s identity wasn’t named, the article described him as a formidable and dangerous sorcerer who had slain numerous adult witches and wizards. Ian skimmed the piece and felt his ears grow warm with embarrassment, the flattery was thoroughly over the top.
“I heard about this from Dad! He reckons you might even be awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class!” George and Fred looked up from their prank schematics to lean over the paper.
“That’s your dad’s opinion?” Ian raised an eyebrow. Truth be told, receiving a Merlin Second Class for taking down a dark wizard, especially as a student, was nearly unheard of.
Let alone when the recipient was only eleven. If Ian truly were granted the Order of Merlin, Second Class, it would make him the youngest recipient in history. An eleven-year-old with that kind of honour? The magical world would be reeling.
For the sake of caution, the Order of Merlin likely wouldn’t make such a bold move lightly.
“It’s all part of a deal between the Ministry and Headmaster Dumbledore. They’re backing your nomination to the Order directly. Seems like a done deal to us,” said George, surprisingly insightful despite his usual antics. Fred nodded vigorously beside him.
“Honestly, we’re still scratching our heads about how you pulled it off,” Fred added, clearly hoping for more details.
“Erm…”
Ian began silently calculating what parts of the truth he could share and what absolutely had to stay secret.
And then—
Whoosh~
Quite suddenly, the air around them shimmered.
A black phoenix materialized beside Ian. The twins, who had been mid-discussion about joke sweets, nearly fell off their seats in shock.
“What is that magical beast!?”
“It’s a bird! And it just Apparated!”
Clearly, they’d recognised the magic behind the bird’s arrival but didn’t identify it as a phoenix, perhaps because the bird’s dark feathers and eerie aura made it seem more otherworldly.
“This is my companion,” Ian introduced it casually, careful not to go into detail about its origins.
After all, Hogwarts had more gossip-mongers than gnomes in a garden, and with George and Fred among the worst of them, saying too much would be a disaster.
“Hehehehe~”
The black phoenix gave a sharp trill, a half-hearted greeting at best. Then, with a flutter, it dropped a small object into Ian’s lap before slipping into the folds of his robes.
It was a small, enchanted suitcase.
Crafted personally by Albus Dumbledore.
The internal space wasn’t vast, but sufficient for storing the more dangerous artefacts Ian possessed, like his domesticated Dementor or the cursed skull that was far too large for a coin pouch.
“You’ve got a magical creature instead of an owl? And a powerful one at that!” George exclaimed as he exchanged wide-eyed glances with Fred.
The two immediately launched into their usual pity act.
“Mum and Dad’ve got to support us and our younger brother and sister so we’re always skint. No chance we could afford an owl,” George sighed dramatically. “That’s why we’re obsessed with making money.”
“Yeah, we just want to lift a bit of weight off our parents’ shoulders.” Fred added with perfect solemnity.
But—
“I’m an orphan. No mum. No dad. Grew up scrounging food from alley bins.” When it came to pity battles, Ian was king. One sentence, and the twins were utterly defeated.
Silence swept through the compartment.
“Want some snacks?”
Right then, a familiar presence wheeled into their carriage. The Hogwarts Express trolley-witch had arrived, her voice cheerful and practiced as she began her sales pitch.
The trolley itself was an elegant wooden cart, finished with waterproof charm-gloss and organised into neat tiers of magical sweets. Each snack shimmered faintly, enchanted to offer delight beyond simple taste.
“No, thank you.”
As usual, the twins waved her off. Most of the pocket money they’d earned at school had gone straight into their invention fund.
“I’ll have a few pumpkin pasties and a handful of sour sticks.”
Ian made a purchase and casually shared the haul with the twins. He was never tight-fisted with food, and the sweets on the Hogwarts Express weren’t too extortionate.
“Oy, you’re generous! We’ve got to team up next year, no more competition!”
Perhaps the twins’ earlier sob story had just been a prelude to bringing up this subject. Ian hadn’t bought much; just a pasty for each of them and a few sweets to pass around.
Maybe having food in their hands mellowed them, because the twins quickly switched to a more relaxed tone.
“Truthfully, your Merlin Class Medal next term will turn heads. But don’t be surprised if another young wizard steals some of your thunder,” George said in a low, teasing voice.
“You mean that one?” Fred clearly caught on at once.
“Who?” Ian asked, feigning innocence while keeping a glint of curiosity in his eye.
He had long learned the value of making others feel important through simple gestures like curiosity.
“Of course, the famous Harry… Potter!! You might not know, but Harry Potter defeated that terrifying You-Know-Who when he was just a little boy!”
“He saved the entire wizarding world. All witches and wizards call him the Boy-Who-Lived. He was barely a babe then. It’s hard to imagine the glory he’ll carry when he arrives at Hogwarts!” Fred said with genuine admiration. It was clear he held Harry Potter in very high esteem.
“His magical talent must be extraordinary as well, and he’ll probably be your chief rival in skill!” George declared, fully convinced of Harry’s potential.
However, after exchanging a glance, George and Fred stood and gently placed their hands on Ian’s shoulders, as if to reassure the young wizard who might feel somewhat ‘threatened.’
“But even though Harry Potter is brilliant and we like him, we’re definitely on your side, since you’re the first friend we made here.”
“That’s right, we’re mates with similar tastes. Not even Harry Potter can change that.” The twins’ expressions softened, showing real respect toward Ian.
Perhaps it was the pumpkin pasties Ian shared. Or maybe last night’s adventures truly convinced them Ian was destined to become the future master of mischief.
“I appreciate your loyalty, but I have no wish to compete with Harry Potter… You might not realise, but I’m not the sort to show off,” Ian replied quietly.
His earnestness was met with a chorus of disbelieving tut-tuts from the twins.
They clearly doubted his modesty.
“Anyway, next term will definitely be something to watch,” George said, as if wishing the Hogwarts Express could spin around and start the new semester immediately.
“Yeah, it will be exciting… I’m looking forward to it too.” Ian gazed out the window again. As they neared London, the drizzle blurred the view into a watery haze.
The misty landscape felt like a future Ian could no longer see clearly.
It was as if destiny had decided he must begin his magical journey a term before the famous trio. So many things were quietly shifting.
They were destined to set off unpredictable ripples.
But,
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
Ian lifted his hand and gently wiped the windowpane.
The foggy scene beyond seemed to brighten slightly beneath his touch. As the train pulled into London station, he began gathering his things with the twins and moved toward the carriage door.
“Fancy coming round ours sometime to hang out?”
George and Fred spotted their parents waiting on the platform.
They turned back to Ian and offered the invitation.
“Maybe another time.” Ian waved farewell.
After the twins trotted off to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ian carefully tucked his black phoenix back into the small enchanted case and shouldered his luggage toward the stone wall linking to the Muggle station.
One step beyond, and he crossed into a very different world.
The bustling Muggle train station was thronged with ordinary folk waiting for their trains. None noticed Ian’s arrival, nor did the station seem in any way unusual.
“See you next term.”
Ian glanced back once at the ancient stone archway that separated the magical and mundane worlds. Leaving the station, he strode toward a battered old car waiting nearby.
An elderly white-haired lady looked about anxiously beside it.
“Long time no see, dear Ian.” Ian stepped forward and embraced Helena, the director of the orphanage. A long-lost warmth stirred within him.
“You’ve grown so much, little one.” Helena helped stow Ian’s luggage in the boot.
“The food at Hogwarts is quite good.” Ian smiled, handing her a hefty bag of small cakes.
“You even brought treats for the other children, ha!” Helena carefully set the cakes on the front seat, clearly touched.
“These are for you. I also prepared gifts for the others.” Ian recalled how Helena loved cakes but seldom indulged. Generous donors supplied the orphanage, but the kind, frail lady always gave her share to the children.
“Where’s your professor? Didn’t he say he’d see you safely back to London?” Helena patted Ian’s head, showing mild disapproval of Hogwarts’ habit of sending its talented students off alone.
“He left as soon as he saw you. There were other students to escort,” Ian told a gentle untruth, wishing to spare her worry.
“I still can’t believe our little Ian is really at such a fine school. Those posh children haven’t bullied you, have they?”
Helena ushered Ian into the back seat of the car.
She slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
“The classmates are decent, and Hogwarts has no bullying. At least, I haven’t seen any,” Ian said brightly, blinking.
“That’s good! Shows the school is well run.” Helena sighed with relief.
The old car rolled steadily toward home beneath her careful guidance.
“Don’t worry about my studies. Now I just want to know if my younger siblings miss me.” Ian temporarily set aside all matters of the magical world. No matter where the future might lead, what should or shouldn’t happen has already happened.
Life must go on.
(End of chapter)
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