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Interacting with a legendary witch was always a fascinating experience, but it also required Ian to tread carefully; after all, the mind of a woman who had lived for millennia could shift as unpredictably as a Vanishing Cabinet.
Like now.
Moments ago, the witch had indulged Ian’s request to ride a colossal bone dragon, prompting him to shower her with a stream of effusive praise. Yet, in the blink of an eye, she had pivoted to scrutinizing his progress in alchemy with the sternness of a Hogwarts examiner.
Even though Ian had successfully restored the enchanted iron guardians at the entrance, enhanced their enchantments, and even managed to replicate certain properties of the fabled Deathly Hallows, the legendary Lady Morgan remained unimpressed with his alchemical advancement.
“At this sluggish pace, it will take you no less than three full years to fully grasp the knowledge I’ve imparted.”
Morgan is perhaps the first witch to express dissatisfaction with Ian’s rate of learning. It wasn’t that she doubted his aptitude; on the contrary, she criticized his insistence on maintaining normal sleeping habits.
“If I’d had such an optimal environment for study, I would have allowed myself to sleep only once a month. Wizards have many ways to evade the nuisance of exhaustion.” To Morgan, whose entrepreneurial spirit rivaled that of the most ambitious goblins, Ian’s preference for studying only during the day was a woeful display of inefficiency.
However.
Ian, determined to reach a height of at least six feet, chose to avoid the argument through self-reflection. Sleep deprivation was hardly a price he was willing to pay if it meant risking stunted growth.
Staying up late now and then was acceptable.
But if he pushed himself every night, he’d probably have to resort to Growth Potions to compensate— and that felt far too artificial, no better than the wizarding equivalent of a poorly transfigured nose job.
“Professor, the final answer to your alchemy assignment should be a Time-Turner, correct?” Seizing the opportunity to redirect the conversation, Ian quickly shifted topics.
It was the logical conclusion he had reached after carefully analyzing Morgan’s alchemical framework. However, the deeper he delved into her assignment, the more he realized that the process she had outlined was far more intricate than he had initially assumed.
Of course.
His understanding of Time-Turners was still relatively shallow. Even after conducting extensive research, he discovered that detailed references to them were scarce— nearly as rare as books discussing the Deathly Hallows.
Not every question can be answered through books. Some authors simply hadn’t possessed the necessary knowledge, while others had been cautious enough to withhold it. Over the centuries, many texts had quietly vanished from history.
Some had been hidden deliberately.
Others had simply been lost to time.
Despite the vastness of Hogwarts’ library, the current Restricted Section was little more than a fragmented collection of once-banned tomes. Naturally, it contained no precise documentation on the construction or inner workings of Time-Turners.
The books he had managed to find mostly described their usage—how one would appear to be flying backward through time, clouds and scenery blurring past while a deafening knocking sound filled the air, making it impossible to hear one’s own voice.
A Time-Turner itself resembled a small, glowing golden hourglass suspended on a delicate chain, and each full turn sent the user one hour into the past.
“You should call it the Hourglass of Fate,” Lady Morgan corrected, her tone firm. It was clear she wasn’t simply debating terminology. This was about the sheer magnitude of power the object possessed.
“Can it defy fate and rewrite the past?” Ian’s eyes lit up at once.
The name Hourglass of Fate naturally made him think deeper. After all, one of the fundamental rules governing Time-Turners was that they allowed one to witness history, not alter it.
No matter how powerful the wizard, not even Dumbledore himself, could change what had already come to pass. The Time-Turner’s purpose was, at best, to uncover hidden truths.
And… for students to take extra classes.
Back in her third year, Hermione had been entrusted with one by Professor McGonagall, granting her the ability to attend multiple lessons at the same time.
Acquiring a Time Turner required a professor to submit extensive documentation to the Ministry of Magic, attesting that the student was responsible and would only use it for academic purposes.
Of course, the very fact that such a powerful artifact could be entrusted to a student showed just how strictly its use was regulated.
“It holds the power of both time and fate,” Morgan remarked as she stepped into the castle with Ian. She reclined in her chair, nibbling at the treats Ian had conjured and answered in an almost casual tone. “But if you seek to reclaim lost love or restore a departed family member, you will only meet with disappointment.”
“So… it’s not much different from a Time Turner, then?”
Ian couldn’t hide his disappointment.
But he wasn’t discouraged.
After all, even replicating the creation of a Time Turner was an extraordinary feat— one that Hogwarts certainly did not teach, nor was it recorded anywhere else.
Even Nicolas Flamel, the famed master alchemist, had never succeeded in crafting one.
“A Time Turner does not hold the power of fate,” Morgan corrected him once again. She knew well that much of the ancient knowledge had been lost to Ian’s era.
And as for the reason…
Ian had little doubt that the Department of Mysteries played a significant role in that.
The Restricted Section had likely once contained records on their construction, but when the Department of Mysteries took control of all Time Turners, they systematically confiscated or destroyed any literature on the subject. According to Hogwarts’ ghosts, the Department had removed many books from the library over the years.
It was likely that among them were those detailing the secrets of Time Turners. After all, it was only after that period that Hogwarts was granted permission to apply for Time Turners from the Ministry of Magic.
A trade-off, perhaps, a compromise between the school and the Department of Mysteries.
As a result, Ian, who had enrolled much later, never had the opportunity to even see a real Time Turner, let alone study one firsthand.
His only option was to piece together theories from the scant materials available. Creating one from scratch was an impossible task.
“So, what exactly can your hourglass do with the power of fate?” Ian asked as he moved behind Morgan, pressing his fingers into her shoulders. The dark witch, pleased by the gesture, allowed him to continue.
“Throughout history, very few wizards have been able to so much as touch the domain of fate,” She said with a note of satisfaction in her voice. “This artifact is the culmination of my tireless research— a true masterpiece of alchemy.”
The legendary witch took a moment to bask in her own brilliance before continuing, this time with a cryptic air.
“It cannot rewrite an outcome… but it allows those in the past to pluck the strings of fate.”
Ian sighed inwardly.
Old witches and old wizards alike seemed to share a fondness for riddles, always speaking in veiled words and leaving others to puzzle out their meaning.
“Pluck the strings of fate?”
Ian mulled over the words carefully.
For once, the witch’s cryptic remark wasn’t too difficult to decipher.
“When you provide a satisfactory answer, you’ll have the chance to witness its extraordinary magic for yourself,” Morgan said, casting a sidelong glance at the young wizard behind her with a knowing smile.
“So, as long as the final outcome remains unchanged, the path leading to it can be altered?” Ian voiced his understanding aloud. If that were truly the case, then the so-called Hourglass of Fate was indeed an astonishing creation.
“What do you think?”
Morgan arched an eyebrow.
“If you ask me… Professor, you’re absolutely brilliant! The greatest witch to ever live!” Ian declared at once, piling on an exaggerated wave of flattery.
And, as expected, Morgan lapped it up.
“When using an artifact like this, there is one rule you must never forget: when you pluck the strings of fate, fate, in turn, will pluck at you. Never attempt to shift a destiny greater than your own.”
“That would not end well,” She added, as if it were an afterthought.
Ian had long since learned that dealing with a dark witch required extreme caution. If he hadn’t buttered her up so quickly, who knew whether she would have conveniently forgotten to mention such a crucial detail, one that could very well have led him into a trap later on.
Just like a cunning queen outmaneuvered by a wicked enchantress, Morgan had a habit of weaving hidden pitfalls into her lessons, always watching to see if her students were clever enough to avoid them.
Of course—
If you proved yourself truly capable, the dark witch would genuinely impart her wisdom.
It was rather like the old saying: serving a king is like living among dragons, you never know when one might devour you.
“Professor, is there truly no way for a wizard to undo death once it has come?” Ian asked.
This particular limitation clashed with his personal belief that wizards, in their own way, were akin to gods.
“Are you thinking of your parents? Or that poor girl in the village?” Morgan’s tone was unreadable. Whether or not she possessed Legilimency, she could see right through Ian’s question.
“Perhaps both.”
Ian had never had the chance to meet his parents in this lifetime, and that was certainly a regret. But more than that, what haunted him most was the loss of Ariana, his dearest friend, whose life had been cut tragically short.
Of course, when considered rationally, the rule that time would not permit the past to be rewritten made a certain kind of sense. If such a thing could be changed, the future would spiral into chaos. Entire histories could be rewritten, lives reshaped beyond recognition.
At the very least—
Dumbledore would no longer be the man he was today.
And that alone would be enough to unravel so much of history.
“I regret to inform you that plucking at fate’s strings does not mean severing them,” Morgan said, her voice carrying a note of sorrow, perhaps the remnants of her own futile attempts to mend the past.
“Even if you were to pay the price to alter the course of events, their fates would still unfold as intended. They would still meet their end at the moment they were meant to.”
For the first time, the great witch seemed burdened by the very knowledge she possessed.
“Such is fate,” She murmured. “It reigns above all beings… even the gods.”
Ian let out a slow breath, disappointment settling in.
“What if,” He mused, “Instead of trying to undo the past… I simply went back to a time when a powerful figure was still a child, before they had grown strong, and strangled them in their cradle? That wouldn’t be ‘undoing’ anything, would it?”
Ian couldn’t resist pressing further about fate, even miming the act of strangling an invisible figure in front of Morgan— as though wringing the life out of a small, helpless creature.
…
Morgan blinked, clearly taken aback by the boy’s morbid imagination.
But.
After a long moment of silence.
She finally spoke, her voice quiet yet unwavering.
“Then, you would never be able to return to your own time. Fate would claim you in place of the one you killed, binding you to a life that was never meant to be yours.”
How the dark witch knew this, Ian had no idea.
She didn’t sound as if she were speculating.
Perhaps, once upon a time, she too had been curious. It was possible that this sinister sorceress and Ian had become master and apprentice precisely because they were alike in ways neither of them had spoken aloud.
“Shit.”
A shiver ran down Ian’s spine at her words.
“Alright, then.”
He swiftly abandoned certain reckless ideas. The more powerful a wizard became, the more they seemed to fear and respect fate— and with good reason. He had no desire to end up like a certain noseless Dark Lord, cackling as he hurled Killing Curses at everything.
In fact, given the current pitiful state of said noseless Dark Lord, Ian hardly needed to bother going back in time to deal with him. His question had been born purely from curiosity about fate’s peculiar workings.
“Has something like this ever actually happened?” He asked, unable to resist. Morgan’s cryptic tone all but invited speculation.
To Ian’s surprise, the witch didn’t seem irritated by his endless questioning.
“If it hadn’t, do you think I’d have an answer for you?” She replied coolly. “Everything I know comes from real experience.”
Ian’s eyes lit up. “Could it be someone I’ve heard of?”
The moment the words left his mouth, the witch smacked him on the head.
“Too much curiosity can be dangerous, boy. Simply knowing certain truths can bring about fate’s backlash.” Morgan’s gaze darkened, and her voice carried a weight that silenced even Ian’s enthusiasm. “All you need to know is that it has happened.”
“And it happened in an age before you or I were ever born.”
There was something almost nostalgic in her tone.
Her vague answer didn’t quench Ian’s curiosity, but the sharp smack to his head made it clear that he shouldn’t press further.
“Now this is the kind of magical history I want to learn,” Ian declared with exaggerated admiration. Sensing her impatience, he wisely switched tactics, enthusiastically kneading her shoulders in an effort to restore her good mood.
After all, she was right here.
There would be plenty of chances to extract more secrets in the future.
So long as he didn’t end up like the ill-fated Queen, his senior sister, who had learned a little too much.
—
The Twilight Zone’s limited-time experience was already half used up, and Ian planned to visit his friends in the village before it expired.
The legendary witch had no objections.
“Tell your friend you took the dragon. That means he still owes me…” She added, lazily delegating him as her messenger.
What kind of grudge existed between Morgan and Pandero, Ian could only guess. Asking was out of the question— especially after that near-death encounter with the dragon, whose head had been half-ripped off in what had clearly been someone’s handiwork.
And if a soul could be torn in half and somehow pieced back together— then Ian, as a living person, had no doubt that losing half his head would leave him permanently stuck as Morgan’s apprentice.
“Of course, don’t worry, Professor. I’ll even give him a good kick up the backside for you,” Ian promised, sacrificing his friend’s dignity in favor of keeping the witch in a good mood.
“Make sure it’s a hard one!”
Morgan’s smile was dazzling. She raised her hand, and in an instant, Ian felt something shift around his feet.
Thorny vines twisted up around his boots, their tips gleaming with a faint greenish glow.
Ian, with all his knowledge of potions, couldn’t identify what venomous enchantment laced those thorns—
And he certainly wasn’t about to ask.
If the answer turned out to be something truly terrifying, how was he supposed to kick his good friend?
As the old saying went, ignorance is bliss— what you didn’t know couldn’t haunt you.
“Well, a soul can’t die twice anyway.”
Ian steeled himself.
The moment he stepped out of the castle—
“Will you take me back to the wizarding world?”
The dragon lying outside lifted its massive head and regarded him curiously.
It had no choice but to accept Morgan’s decree that it now belonged to Ian, even allowing the boy to carve a few binding runes into its scales. Yet, strangely enough, it wasn’t particularly resentful or resistant.
“The wizarding world has changed a lot. You could visit Hogwarts, help me deal with a few enemies. Nothing too drastic— just stand behind me and look intimidating most of the time,” Ian suggested. He preferred to establish a partnership with the last of the ancient dragons rather than enslave it, even if he could.
“Of course! I can back you up… or bite your enemies to death,” The massive dragon offered, startlingly cooperative.
Its personality was an amusing contrast to its fearsome appearance, more of a talker than a tyrant. The detailed expressions on its reptilian face, more pronounced than even Snape’s, hinted at a wistful sort of nostalgia.
“My skeleton must be spectacular. If you like, I could even help teach young wizards. You know, back when I was alive, I rather fancied becoming Hogwarts’ first Dragon professor.”
Far from the lazy creature Morgan had made it out to be, the dragon had ambitions.
“I was the one who regularly cleared the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest. Gryffindor called me a caretaker, while Slytherin reckoned I had the makings of a proper professor.”
“But in the end, he was just stringing me along. By the time I died, he still hadn’t granted me the title. Honestly, who would’ve thought a human could outlive a dragon?”
Ian’s ears perked up at that.
“Wait— Slytherin lived a long time?”
That certainly wasn’t mentioned in Hogwarts: A History or Hogwarts: Hidden Secrets, both of which detailed the later years of the Founders.
“Oh, absolutely. He must have brewed some kind of elixir for longevity. I was quite the potioneer myself, and I knew such things existed even back then.”
The dragon didn’t seem to notice the way Ian’s eyes gleamed with interest. It probably had never encountered a Dementor before, so it spoke with a certain pride, boasting about its expertise in potion-making.
“A potion made from golden apples to grant eternal youth…” Ian murmured, intrigued not only by the dragon’s wealth of knowledge but also by this unexpected revelation about Salazar Slytherin.
Could it be that Voldemort’s use of Horcruxes was merely an imitation of some far older practice?
Morgan had once mentioned that she had destroyed every golden apple tree she could find in her time.
“He didn’t exactly live well for long,” the dragon added with a derisive snort. “By the end, his teeth had fallen out, and he could barely walk. Honestly, if I’d tried a little harder, I think I could’ve outlasted him.”
“How long did he outlive you?” Ian pressed.
“Oh, only by about ten days.” The dragon’s voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. It had, apparently, seen Slytherin one last time before its own death.
“You weren’t hatched at Hogwarts, were you?” Ian finally voiced something that had been nagging at him. By all logic, the lifespan of a pureblooded ancient dragon should have been staggeringly long. And even today, the hybrid dragons in the wizarding world often lived as long as, if not longer than, wizards.
“Of course not. Otherwise, Slytherin certainly wouldn’t have outlived me…”
The ancient dragon, perhaps having had no one to converse with for centuries, seemed more than willing to share the story of its capture.
“I had already lived for a very long time before I came to Hogwarts. Unlike my more troublesome kin, I had always been fond of learning, even before I ever saw a wizarding school.”
“Other dragons would steal away human princesses and hoard treasures, but I? I loved reading. That’s probably one of the reasons I became the last pureblood dragon.”
“I still remember— it was a warm and pleasant afternoon. I was reading, as usual. The books were all borrowed, and my saliva served as payment for the lending fee.”
Ian’s eyebrows twitched. ‘Saliva?’
“As a law-abiding dragon, I never expected to be the target of adventurers looking for glory. But one day, the four founders of Hogwarts came for me— like the heroes from those tales, and I? I was the beast in their legend. It was terrifying. I had read The Causes of Death for dragons, you know.”
The dragon lying on the ground shuddered at the memory, its massive features betraying a look of genuine fear.
“I thought I was about to become yet another statistic in that book. But fortunately, Miss Hufflepuff was a remarkably kind and reasonable witch.”
“She listened to my story and chose to accept me. Miss Ravenclaw, too, thought I would make a fine guardian beast, and so I became Hogwarts’ very first student.”
“As a token of gratitude, I led them to challenge another dragon— helping them complete the adventure they were so determined to undertake. That dragon was a wretched brute, always tormenting me, and it made its lair in Anglia…”
The ancient dragon’s voice carried a wistful note, and Ian’s eyes widened slightly.
That sounded suspiciously like betrayal.
“Wait. You mean to say… they slaughtered another dragon?”
Ian knew he was hearing about Hogwarts: Unrecorded Secrets. If he ever managed to write it all down, he might just become a best-selling author and make a fortune.
“Well, after that, I became the last dragon in the world,” The dragon muttered, shifting its enormous eye slightly to the side— a movement impossible for Ian to miss, given that the eyeball was larger than him.
“You’re… rather clever, aren’t you?”
Ian couldn’t help but admire its survival instincts.
The idea of better them than me had never been more evident. Realizing it had let something slip, the ancient dragon immediately tried to justify itself.
“It wasn’t my fault! That dragon was evil, truly! It had done unspeakable things, and worse yet— it tried to force me into a mating bond!”
The dragon’s voice rose indignantly, its great nostrils flaring. Even after all these centuries, its emotions on the matter were still raw— and not without reason.
“We were both male dragons!”
A cry of anguish that could stir sympathy from even the most stone-hearted wizard.
It seemed that the lands of Anglia had their own… peculiar traditions— ones that had endured across the ages and, apparently, transcended species.
“Did it ever succeed?”
Ian’s sharp and unconventional focus never failed. His question made the ancient dragon’s eyes bulge, and its next breath was so forceful that Ian was nearly sent tumbling backward.
“OF COURSE NOT!”
Perhaps that was the truth. But it didn’t stop Ian’s imagination from running rampant. After all, only the dragon itself knew what had truly happened.
“Regardless, that despicable creature got what it deserved, and I remained at Hogwarts…” The dragon, after reasserting the righteousness of its actions, sighed as it reflected on its past. “I was the last dragon. And after my time ended, my four professors became the last legends of their era.”
The confidence in that statement made Ian arch an eyebrow.
“How do you know there won’t be any more legends in the future?”
Ian had a suspicion, but he needed confirmation from someone who had seen the rise and fall of ages.
“Becoming a legend isn’t just about fame. It’s a realm beyond human reach which is far more difficult to attain than mere greatness. And slaying a dragon is a necessary step on that path.”
“Bathing in our blood, absorbing the innate magic within— it allows a wizard to break past their limits. Only then does the path to legend truly appear,” The ancient dragon explained.
Its words confirmed Ian’s suspicions and explained why human wizards had always sought to hunt dragons together.
“This is… truly rare knowledge.”
Ian absorbed the information, piecing together its implications. The essence of a pureblood dragon aiding human advancement reminded him of how Demiguise fur could be woven into an Invisibility Cloak, granting its wearer extraordinary abilities.
As the saying went, “A treasure draws trouble.”
Perhaps their extinction had stemmed from this very truth.
Of course, the ancient dragons had been far beyond the reach of ordinary wizards. But for humans, no matter how daunting the challenge, the promise of power would always drive them to act.
The proof was undeniable.
The ancient dragons were gone.
The mixed-blood dragons that roamed today were little more than remnants— diluted echoes of the past. The thought left Ian with a strange, indescribable feeling.
“It always comes down to the terrifying upright apes.”
As he reflected on this, another thought struck him.
“The last true dragon in England was killed by the four founders, and you… well, you died of old age. If you add it all up, doesn’t that mean the esteemed founders cut off my only path to becoming a legend?”
As previously established, young wizards had a tendency to focus on rather peculiar details.
In a way, it was just the latest in a long list of revelations about the founders’ far-reaching impact on the wizarding world.
…
After uncovering these ancient secrets—
And discussing the legends of Hogwarts—
Ian temporarily parted ways with what would likely become his future number one mount. He made his way along the winding, moss-covered path that led from the shadowy castle toward the enchanting woodland beyond.
The contrast between the witch’s eternally dark domain and the picturesque town beyond was stark, as if some unseen force had carved a boundary between gloom and light, between history’s weight and nature’s whimsy.
Before long—
Ian reached that invisible threshold.
On one side, the castle loomed with its ancient, oppressive air. On the other, the forest stretched out like something from a fairy tale, bathed in the golden light of day.
With a single step—
He crossed into the world of Ariana.
The fragment of warm, tattered fabric that Professor Morgan had torn for him was still clutched in his hand. He had used the journey to continue his studies.
The advanced form of the Soul-Sucking Charm was called Spirit Binding and Soul Dispatch— a magic that really delved into the essence of the soul. It was no wonder that his senior sister had struggled her entire life to grasp its deeper mysteries.
“I bet there’s more to this than it seems.”
Ian couldn’t help but take it out for further study as he walked.
The witch Morgan had given her apprentice yet another formidable assignment. And even before he began delving into its secrets, Ian had a strong feeling that this lesson contained far more than just the means to resurrect a bone dragon with a dragon’s soul.
“Could it be the ultimate secret of biological alchemy— the creation of true life?”
Ian pondered this thought as he approached the familiar town. He knew that simply learning the spell to resurrect the bone dragon wouldn’t be enough. If he failed to grasp deeper magic- true, profound knowledge, Morgan might not grant him another fragment of her robe next time.
This was a lesson.
It was also a test.
It had always been this way.
“Does this mean that as long as the body is still warm, I could bring the dead back to life?”
Ian mused as he walked along the narrow forest path, drawing closer to the town. The towering trees stretched toward the sky, their leaves filtering sunlight into scattered golden flecks that dappled the mossy ground.
The air was thick with the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers, and birdsong filled the woods— a stark contrast to the eerie silence of the castle he had left behind.
“Why aren’t you in town?”
Looking up, Ian spotted Pandero perched in a tree, plucking fruit while Ariana counted their harvest below. The afternoon sun bathed them both in a golden glow, painting a scene that could have belonged to a medieval tapestry.
It had an almost dreamlike beauty.
“Pandero wants to brew some wine— says it’ll come in handy next year, but he won’t tell me why,” Ariana explained, glancing up at Ian with mild exasperation.
“Old folk love their secrets,” Ian quipped, sprinting toward the tree just as Pandero prepared to slide down.
Perhaps spurred by mischief— or just impulse— Ian extended a foot covered in green thorny vines right into Pandero’s path.
“Unfair! Sneak attack!”
Pandero landed squarely on Ian’s outstretched boot, the enchanted thorns digging into his backside. His yelp of pain was immediate, his face turning crimson— though not for long.
In mere moments, the red hue faded, replaced by a creeping wave of green, spreading over his skin like ink dissolving in water.
The fair-skinned Celtic boy was suddenly green from head to toe, a shade eerily reminiscent of a cursed goblin or a poorly brewed Polyjuice mishap.
“Are you alright? Merlin’s beard, Morgan really doesn’t hold back!”
Ian hurriedly grabbed Pandero, who was now clutching his backside with a mixture of pain and wounded dignity.
“I won’t die, that’s for sure. But you betrayed me, and now I’ll need some rare, aged wine to recover from this grave injury,” Pandero lamented dramatically.
His measured tone and steady breath made it clear he was in no real danger, so Ian promptly released him, unwilling to entertain his theatrics.
“That’s not going to wash off, is it?”
Ariana, now beside them, experimentally rubbed Pandero’s arm. The green tint remained stubbornly in place.
“This is what happens when you follow orders,” Ian sighed, stepping back as Pandero turned to glare at him, thoroughly unimpressed.
“Now I need two bottles of fine wine to make up for this!”
With such an abrupt inflation of price, Ian could only surrender.
“Fine, fine, I was in the wrong.”
Making a mental note, he decided to pick up six bottles the next time he ventured into the Twilight Zone. Two seemed stingy— six was more generous, and, after all, fine wines were always best bought by the case.
Besides, shipping costs were outrageous.
“Very good, very nice, very reasonable,” Pandero declared with satisfaction, tossing the fruit he’d gathered into Ariana’s basket.
“Are you coming back to town with us?”
He cast a glance at Ian, gauging how much longer he had before needing to return to the real world.
“Of course! Professor said you caught a dragon, and I saw it— it was massive.”
Ian fell into step beside them, heading toward the town.
“I only helped a little. It was Pandero who pulled off the real feat— he leapt onto the dragon’s head and drove his blade straight into its skull. The poor beast dropped like a stone.”
Ariana smiled modestly, but the excitement in her voice betrayed her enthusiasm. It was clear she found the whole experience thrilling, as though it were some grand adventure from a legendary tale.
“You were just as impressive, you severed all four of its legs! If not for that, I’d have never been able to climb up there,” Pandero shot back, offering her due credit. His green-hued face, however, gave the whole scene an oddly eerie effect, lacking its usual warmth.
“Shame I couldn’t join in,” Ian muttered wistfully. He had always been drawn to the romanticized battles of the Middle Ages— the kind he had only ever read about in histories and heroic ballads.
“You’ll get your chance soon!”
Pandero eyed him appraisingly, his tone filled with certainty. “Next time, I’ll take you with me, we’ll cause some proper chaos, and you can cover me while I go in for the final strike.”
The dragon in question wasn’t one of the mixed-blood wyverns Ian had encountered before, but a true dragon— ancient and mighty, like those he had seen lurking in the castle’s shadows. It seemed that while such creatures had long suffered in the mortal realm, they faced their own share of troubles in the Twilight Zone as well.
“Why do dragons linger in the Twilight Zone? Aren’t they like other magical creatures…”
Ian had just begun voicing his thoughts when, suddenly—
“It’s Father Christmas!”
Ariana’s delighted exclamation cut through the moment. A soft jingling, like the chime of enchanted bells, echoed through the sky.
The sound grew nearer.
Ian followed her gaze upward and spotted a sleigh soaring through the air, pulled by two flying reindeer. They had no wings, yet they glided effortlessly, their antlers shimmering gold in the fading sunlight. The entire scene was like something out of a dream.
“You see him every year, yet he never leaves us gifts,” Ian remarked, unimpressed. He had witnessed this same spectacle every Christmas upon entering the Twilight Zone.
The figure driving the sleigh was barely taller than a goblin, his thick, ankle-length beard swaying as he rode. Every year, without fail, he would pass over the entire Twilight Zone.
“I keep telling you, he’s just some old wizard who’s gone completely barmy,” Pandero scoffed. “His mind’s so far gone, even his soul’s probably forgotten he’s supposed to be handing out presents.”
Without hesitation, Pandero snatched up a stone from the ground and hurled it skyward. “If we want gifts from Father Christmas, we’ll have to help ourselves!”
His aim was flawless. The stone struck the sleigh with pinpoint accuracy, knocking loose a brightly wrapped present that tumbled to the ground. The precision of the throw was almost unnerving— like something out of a well-practiced dueling spell.
Ariana let out a gasp of surprise.
“You must have been an absolute menace as a child,” Ian muttered, already dashing forward to snatch up the fallen present. Above, the old man in the sleigh seemed utterly oblivious, continuing his journey as though nothing had happened.
“Oi! That was mine!” Pandero protested, storming over a second too late. Frustrated, he gave a nearby tree a hard kick but made no move to demand the gift back.
There was an unspoken rule among boys, after all.
“It won’t open!” Ian scowled, tugging at the tightly bound ribbon. Try as he might, the present refused to yield.
Pandero, who had been fuming just moments before, now grinned with newfound amusement.
“Ha! Beg me! Go on, beg, and I might tell you how to open it!”
His triumph was short-lived. Without a word, Ian stuffed the present into his enchanted money pouch, deciding he’d rather take it home and study it properly than give in to Pandero’s smugness.
“This is your Christmas present,” Ian added, pulling out a set of armor he had crafted himself— a patchwork of various designs, inspired by different magical traditions. Aside from its self-fastening enchantment, it didn’t have any real abilities.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a fine gift.
However, its eye-catching appearance immediately drew Pandero’s attention. His flamboyant nature shone through as he grinned broadly.
“Will I be getting a Christmas gift too?”
Ariana stepped forward, eyes bright with expectation.
“Of course!” Ian said, producing a neatly wrapped parcel.
“Why is hers wrapped?” Pandero grumbled, still fiddling with the armor Ian had given him.
“Do you have any idea how expensive boxes are these days? If I tried to fit your armor into one, I’d be bankrupt!” Ian wasn’t even exaggerating.
Just like how apples on Christmas Eve were absurdly overpriced, the shopkeepers in Hogsmeade never missed a chance to capitalize on the season.
“I could always trade you this present instead,” He added with a teasing grin.
Ariana eagerly unwrapped her gift.
Inside was a small enchanted train— one of Ian’s latest alchemical creations. He called it the Story Train, a device that spun original tales based on a few chosen words, ensuring that no two stories were ever the same. Even better, it allowed the listener to save their favorites for future retellings.
“This is brilliant!”
Ariana wasted no time in figuring out how it worked, delight evident on her face.
Seeing her so pleased, Ian pulled out the Patronus Ring and stepped closer. “Want to take a peek at the real world? I found a rather unique method…”
But Ariana merely gave him a puzzled look.
“Oh, right— while I was buried in my research, you lot were off wrestling dragons,” Ian muttered, launching into an explanation about the Resurrection Stone and the discoveries he had made.
Of course, he didn’t leave out Lady Ravenclaw’s contributions. Ariana listened intently, while Pandero, stunned, could only gape.
“Merlin’s beard! You actually got your hands on the Resurrection Stone?”
His eyes went impossibly wide.
“…”
Ian promptly shoved him aside and turned back to Ariana.
“So, you want me to be… a Christmas present for your elder brothers?”
Having grown up with Ian, Ariana was naturally quick to catch onto things, even the ones Ian himself sometimes missed.
“???????”
Something about her phrasing felt off, but Ian couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Before he could dwell on it, Ariana raised her hand, prompting him to slip the ring onto her finger.
“Does this really work?”
Ariana’s cheeks flushed slightly.
“Only one way to find out!”
Ian retrieved the wand that Morgan had transformed— still not reverted to its original form— and immediately cast Expecto Patronum.
Silvery threads spilled from the ring, weaving themselves around Ariana.
At the same time, his wand flared with an intense silver glow. The two magical forces intertwined, wrapping Ariana in shimmering light. She gasped as the enchantment took hold.
“This is… remarkable.”
She still stood in the Twilight Zone, yet, above Ian’s wand, her head appeared— her entire form glimmering like a Patronus, her expression filled with awe.
Moments later, her “Patronus Self” took full shape, creating an extraordinary sight— two versions of Ariana standing on the grass.
One was her solid, physical body. The other was a luminous spirit-like form, shimmering faintly.
Ariana noticed something peculiar: in this new state, a sword hung at her waist.
She didn’t unsheathe it, merely reaching out to touch the nearby trees, testing the limits of this strange new existence.
“This magic of yours is going to make you legendary,” Pandero declared. For once, there was no exaggerated dramatics in his voice— just quiet conviction.
“I’m aiming for much more than this…” Ian admitted, his gaze sharpening.
He was genuinely curious about Pandero’s secrets. Somewhere inside his friend’s chaotic mind, he was certain there was knowledge to be extracted— perhaps even the natural magic script of the dragon.
The path to legend, who could refuse?
“Oi, what’s with that look?!” Pandero shivered, sensing something ominous. “Whatever you’re plotting, stop it! Now!”
He lunged forward, grabbing Ian’s head and shaking it furiously, as if trying to rattle any sinister ideas right out of his skull.
“Alright, alright— I’ll shelve it for now. Anyway, I think it’s about time to head back,” Ian remarked, realizing that using magic in the Twilight Zone always seemed to hasten his return to the waking world.
As he spoke, his form began to flicker.
Once again, he was crossing the threshold between life and death.
The moment his eyes snapped open, Ian shot upright, eager to share his discoveries with Dumbledore, only to realize he wasn’t in the dormitory.
“The Room of Requirement?”
For a moment, he was disoriented.
Pushing open the door, he stepped out into the corridor.
Silence.
The seventh-floor hallway was eerily empty in the dead of night.
“Oi, kid, did you scrub the toilets? Snape was joking, but if you didn’t do what he asked, he’s bound to come up with something even worse,” The Fat Lady’s voice rang out from her portrait.
Her tone carried a hint of concern, as if she were genuinely looking out for him.
“What are you talking about? Why would I need to clean a toilet?”
Ian frowned.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten? It’s the punishment Snape gave you,” The Fat Lady replied, peering at him with suspicion. “Surely you remember, it was only just assigned.”
Ian’s stomach twisted.
“That was days ago,” He said slowly.
The Fat Lady gave him a look that suggested he might’ve been hit over the head by a troll.
But when Ian turned his gaze to the corridor’s clock—
His breath caught.
A cold dread curled around his spine.
Instinctively, he raised his hand.
The Ouroboros mark on his skin was glowing softly.
(End of Chapter)
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