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First came the time loop.
Then followed several days of exhilarating mischief where Ian did whatever he wanted.
Ian relished the return to a quieter pace at Hogwarts, even though it was still the Christmas holidays. He swiftly resumed his daily routine of spellwork and study.
The atmosphere around the castle was unusually quiet; even the usual rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin had momentarily cooled. Holidays, after all, brought a certain cheer that allowed old grudges to be temporarily set aside.
Though there was the ever-irritating pile of holiday homework looming over them, young witches and wizards always found inventive ways to dodge its clutches. Take the Gryffindors, for example; many of them simply chose to forget it existed.
Some shamelessly copied off friends the night before term resumed; others had made grand plans to be punished collectively, as if it were a badge of house pride.
Anyone caught secretly doing their homework was deemed a coward.
Gryffindors were, without doubt, the bane of the professors’ existence.
In contrast, the rest of the houses were far more orderly. Ian, for instance, had already arranged for someone to take care of his assignments before the break even began. William had nobly taken on nearly all of Ian’s coursework for the term.
He even replicated Ian’s handwriting with such uncanny precision that no one could tell the difference. He’d gone as far as to intentionally add a few mistakes and alternative spell solutions in his own submissions to avoid raising suspicion.
No professor ever suspected a thing. And really, if William wasn’t destined for a future in Magical Records or Enchanted Document Crafting, then who was? That sort of cunning was perfect for helping the boss prepare official scrolls and mass communication.
Still, not everyone was fortunate enough to have a roommate like Ian. So other students found different ways to manage the workload. The Slytherins, for instance, delighted in paying Ravenclaw students handsomely to do their assignments, and the Ravenclaws rarely turned down the opportunity.
After all, what better way to solidify one’s knowledge and earn a pouch of Galleons? Most Ravenclaws had already finished their homework on the first day of the break. Professors never worried about Ravenclaws; everyone knew they were the most academically competitive lot in the castle.
But this Christmas, it was undoubtedly the Hufflepuffs who topped the charts for sheer industriousness. They’d taken on so much outsourced work that their common room practically became a scribbling sanctuary of ink and parchment.
You see, once the Ravenclaws had their fill, or simply didn’t fancy the work, they’d pass on the tasks to the Hufflepuffs at a markdown. The humble badgers, ever reliable, took them all.
Many might not realise it, but quite a number of the wizarding world’s brightest entrepreneurs came from Ravenclaw. Like Ian, they had the minds of savvy businessmen.
After all, they took a hefty commission as the middlemen, doing none of the work themselves.
And they didn’t need to worry about the professors spotting duplicated parchments either. The Hufflepuffs were too earnest to turn in copied answers. No, they insisted on crafting entirely new solutions; anything less, and they’d feel guilty accepting the few Sickles they earned.
“Yes,” Ian mused to himself, “Perhaps that’s why Hufflepuff alumni, though sometimes overlooked, rarely turn out mediocre. Even if they end up running a modest bookshop, they do it with unflinching dedication.”
“And let’s not forget, Hufflepuff has produced more than its fair share of brilliant witches and wizards.”
The thought left Ian rather moved.
He’d initially wanted to join the holiday homework racket, but after observing the Hufflepuffs’ serious work ethic and the meagre rewards that would make even the goblins at Gringotts weep, he gave up on the idea. Taking on dozens of students’ assignments simply didn’t compare to the effort it had taken him to invent the Auto-Scribing Quill.
“I even enchanted it properly… I ought to slap a ‘Slytherin Exclusive’ sticker on it and sell it for a fortune,” He muttered, setting aside the invention that had once again hit a snag and turning his attention back to holiday leisure.
Sleeping until the sun nudged him awake was the very height of comfort.
Apart from sneaking into the Restricted Section after hours to read, he hadn’t done anything particularly mischievous this break, or at least nothing that bent the rules too far.
That may have been due, in part, to Professor McGonagall keeping a rather hawkish watch on him. Ian had a sneaking suspicion she, too, had dreamt about the bizarre loops and knew precisely how reckless he’d been during them.
Even the guardian statues scattered across Hogwarts had been discreetly tucked away by the Deputy Headmistress, no doubt because, in one particular loop, Ian had teamed up with Peeves to stage a “defence drill” for the students that spiralled into absolute mayhem.
“Hide the wee ones, I’ve still got the four big ones!” Ian grinned to himself. No matter how hard Professor McGonagall tried to contain him, she’d never guess he still had control of the enchanted likenesses of the four founders in terms of large status.
Still, he figured the younger students’ shared memories didn’t warrant another round of chaos. Besides, he was starting to crave a reputation. The younger years already referred to him in hushed tones as the “Small Dark Lord.” Had he known that Slytherin House would take that moniker seriously, he might’ve thought twice before causing such havoc during the loops.
“Professor… Do you think our dreams are real prophecies?”
“Someone claimed Ian tampered with our memories; that must mean it’s something that’s already happened.”
“That blasted dark prince… Even the stars are warning us to be wary of him. I reckon our dreams are a message from above, a proper nudge from fate itself.”
…
It wasn’t difficult to guess that the last remark came from a Slytherin student. Even though they were thoroughly intimidated by Ian, it didn’t stop them from whispering about him behind closed doors.
Rumor had it there was a “Prince Resistance Alliance” within Slytherin House, made up of young witches and wizards of all ages who’d fallen victim to Ian’s various escapades.
Curious after catching wind of this, Ian asked Aurora about it, only to discover that a certain Daphne Greengrass had somehow become the group’s unofficial leader.
Apparently, most of the alliance believed she’d borne the brunt of Ian’s “oppression” and thus had the most right to lead. What Ian found mildly disappointing, though, was that Daphne herself had never actually badmouthed him in the alliance; she hardly spoke about him at all.
“That’s a remarkably shrewd strategy.”
Aurora’s perspective on it left Ian frowning in confusion.
“Is that shrewd? Shouldn’t it mean I’m just exceptionally forgiving for not holding a grudge against her?” Ian muttered, suspecting that Daphne might still harbour a touch of rebellious defiance.
But Aurora had quite the opposite take on this whole situation.
“She only joined that little group to siphon off the participation fees. Daphne and her best friend are dead broke at the moment, they’re conning the alliance with leftover pastries from the kitchen elves.”
Aurora laid out the full picture while Ian casually nicked some of the rare treats from her plate. The German girl didn’t appear to mind.
“How do you even know all this?” Ian asked, raising an eyebrow as he casually dumped his unwanted broccoli into Aurora’s bowl.
That finally earned him a sharp glare from the usually composed witch.
“If you don’t like it, don’t take it.”
Aurora picked out the offending broccoli with a look of disdain. Clearly, she wasn’t a fan of the “healthier options” either. Understandably, everyone knew the more nutritious a meal was, the less palatable it tended to be.
“The elves sneak it onto my plate,” Ian explained, sighing. “They’re worried I’ll grow up all scrawny. I’ve been forced to drink three goblets of milk a day, absolutely vile stuff, just because I complained about not being tall enough.”
Still, the results were undeniable.
Ian had grown nearly a whole centimetre over the past few days. He couldn’t help but wonder whether the elves had added something… extra to the milk.
“You are rather picky,” Aurora noted dryly, eyeing his plate stacked high with roasted meat.
“This is all protein of high quality,” Ian declared firmly. “Besides, I dip my fried chicken in loads of powdered fire pepper. Gets the heart racing and helps burn the fat, so it’s a perfectly balanced diet.”
“Back to Daphne and the others,” He continued without missing a beat. “She’s been subtly nudging others to go along with me rather than fight. I’d say Daphne and her friend are quite sharp.”
“If you were to extend a friendly hand to her, and perhaps her entire House, I doubt they’d turn it down. Hogwarts secrets rarely stay secret for long.”
Aurora’s tone was more than suggestive. Ian was fairly certain she already knew about You-Know-Who, and her words hinted that he wasn’t the only one aware of such things.
“Do they have spies in the castle? No… It must be the portraits. They’re the ones keeping watch.”
Ian recalled that there had been enchanted portraits hanging in that peculiar underground chamber.
Aurora didn’t answer directly.
“Or perhaps it’s Dumbledore, carefully stirring the waters on your behalf.” She offered her own theory without hesitation.
“Stirring what exactly?” Ian blinked.
“You’re a first-year, yet you’ve already done things most adults couldn’t dream of. Whether you like it or not, you’re bound for something extraordinary. As my grandfather always said, when fate bestows someone with talent, it often saddles them with a historical purpose, just as it did with Albus Dumbledore.” Aurora looked across the table at the young wizard seated opposite her as she spoke.
“That sort of calling doesn’t depend on your intentions or your choices. Wherever you go, great events will gravitate toward you like moths to a flame. My grandfather believed that no one understood this better than Dumbledore and he did. So if Dumbledore is stirring momentum for you, it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising.”
“You’ve powers beyond either of them, and the marvels you might achieve could far surpass theirs… You’re treading a road they can no longer walk.”
Perhaps Aurora was repeating the views of Gellert Grindelwald himself, and that would certainly explain why the greatest prophet of the last century had taken such an interest in Ian, yet allowed him to grow freely without interference.
Grindelwald must have believed, without doubt, that even if he did nothing at all, Ian would eventually step onto the path of destiny he himself had been forced to abandon.
“I’ve no interest in duelling Muggles, nor do I fancy carrying the fate of wizardkind on my shoulders,” Ian grumbled, lips curled in a sulk. He certainly didn’t appear to share the grand ambitions shown to him in the Mirror of Erised.
“The powers you hold… whether you accept them or not, they’ll guide your steps along that road. Just look at how Daphne’s changed her tune, you ought to see why.”
“Ian, the wizarding world has longed for a king,” Aurora said, her tone oddly solemn despite the occasional childish glint in her eye. In some ways, she was clearly more mature than Ian.
“Isn’t there already a Dark Lord? And two more lurking around? My uncle’s going to be the third,” Ian replied, blinking innocently as he finished off his plate.
“I mean a true king… one for all wizards, not just a tyrant pretending to wear a crown.” Aurora placed her fork down, watching as Ian cheekily swiped her remaining beef ribs.
“I fully support this grand cause,” Ian announced, grinning as he bit into the ribs. “Really, Aurora, since we’re mates, just name me the Wizarding Treasurer with the power to conjure gold, and I’ll call it even.”
He clearly thought her talk was far too lofty and abstract, hardly fitting concerns for a couple of first-years still getting used to castle life.
“My grandfather says you’re the only one with a chance. I don’t have your gift or strength,” Aurora replied quietly, shaking her head.
Ian continued munching, jaw hard at work.
“So, if I’ve got this straight, your grandfather’s saying that I’m meant to be king… simply because I’ve got power?”
His question made Aurora’s eyes glimmer slightly.
“See? You’re already awakening to it.”
The German girl’s voice was soft but earnest.
“…”
Ian nearly blurted out that she was quoting a line from a game he used to play, but stopped himself. If Aurora asked which game, he’d have to explain the whole thing, so he just coughed awkwardly and reached for his water goblet.
“Let’s talk about Miss Daphne Greengrass, you seem to know quite a lot about her… and that so-called ‘Prince Resistance Alliance.'”
Ian steered the conversation elsewhere.
What he hadn’t expected was for Aurora to hesitate, then reply with an uncharacteristically bashful expression.
“Because I’m in that alliance too,” She admitted softly.
The German girl bowed her head, eyes fixed on her empty plate.
Her voice had none of the confidence it had carried just moments before while talking about wizarding monarchs.
“???”
Ian nearly choked on his water.
“What in Merlin’s name?!”
He gawked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns.
“To try out some of those strategies you taught me, of course, I had to blend in. Make a few friends. Now they all think I’m the spy they planted to keep an eye on you.” Aurora said this in a voice laced with mock calm.
“Ugh~ Can they get any dafter?” Ian looked horrified.
“You didn’t notice that lately, the Slytherins have stopped being so openly hostile to you? In fact, they’ve warmed up a bit?” Aurora’s sudden shift in tone made him pause.
“Now that you mention it, they have been more civil. Even a touch respectful,” Ian muttered, recalling how oddly polite the Slytherins had been of late.
“That’s my doing too,” Aurora declared, puffing up just slightly with pride.
“My grandfather said if I spread this book through the common rooms, it’d help soothe tensions at school. And it really has worked wonders.”
“I’ve also made quite a few galleons from it, and I fully intend to give you half.” As she spoke, Aurora produced an old, well-bound book and a rather full-looking pouch of coins.
She opened the pouch in front of Ian, letting him see it glinting with galleons.
“What kind of book could fetch this much?” Ian asked, picking up the volume titled ‘The Weakness of Human Nature: The Prince’s Secret’, bearing a signature in Gilderoy Lockhart’s flamboyant script.
It was unmistakable: Grindelwald had published a book under a pseudonym, right within the castle.
“Is this meant to teach other young witches and wizards how to admire me?” Ian asked as he flipped through a few pages.
His smirk faltered. His cheerful demeanour vanished.
After a long, stunned pause, he slammed The Weakness of Human Nature: The Prince’s Secret shut.
“Bloody hell! Isn’t this just a Muggle parenting guide dressed up in fancy robes?!”
His face went crimson, like a beetroot or a potion gone wrong.
His voice rang out, livid and wounded.
It truly felt like he’d just suffered a personal betrayal of the highest order.
(End of Chapter)
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