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The Christmas holiday hadn’t lasted very long. It was already the final day before the new term began. Many young witches and wizards had returned to school, and the Hogwarts Express, remarkably punctual compared to most trains in Britain, had rolled in right on time.
After a restorative Christmas break, many of the less academically inclined students had returned full of energy, animatedly sharing tales of their holidays with friends. The school, which had grown quiet over the break, was once again brimming with youthful voices and bustling footsteps.
Naturally.
Some students were still clinging wistfully to the remnants of their holiday, feeling as though it had passed in the blink of an eye. The Gryffindor twins, for example, deeply regretted not having squeezed in a few more pranks on their younger brother.
Perhaps, for most students at Hogwarts, the holiday had flown by all too quickly. But for Ian, those two weeks had felt endlessly long, nearly two months.
He had, in fact, been caught in a time loop charm for quite a while, and by the time he saw his two familiar dormmates again, he noticed something peculiar: they both now stood just a touch shorter than him.
“How did you shoot up so much all of a sudden?” Michael, arms full of his luggage as he stepped into the dormitory, looked genuinely startled to see Ian rise to greet him.
William was no less shocked. He stood next to Ian and used exaggerated hand gestures to compare their heights, playing up the moment as usual; he had always excelled at dramatics.
In truth, Ian was barely taller by a whisper. But to his friends, it seemed as though he’d grown several centimetres in the span of just two weeks.
“I’ve always been this height, haven’t I?” Ian resisted the urge to stand on tiptoe and feigned a look of bemused innocence.
“No chance! You definitely weren’t this tall before!” Michael exclaimed, digging out a group photo from their first day at Hogwarts. In the image, Ian stood between the two of them, clearly the shortest by a noticeable margin.
Faced with undeniable evidence, Ian changed tack immediately. “Must’ve been all that studying over the holidays. Heavy knowledge piling on might’ve stretched me out a bit.”
It was such an outlandish explanation that not even the most gullible Gryffindor would buy it, never mind two sharp-minded Ravenclaws like William and Michael.
“You’ve definitely been sneaking growth potions,” Michael declared with confidence. “My mum’s Spanish wild boar hasn’t grown that fast, and she’s been stuffing it with every Muggle-approved feed under the sun.”
His comparison was just as wonderfully bizarre as always.
“…”
Ian was momentarily stunned into silence.
William, however, said nothing. The green-haired boy merely leaned closer, gazing up at Ian with pitiful eyes.
“Do you think that I could have some of that growth potion too?” He asked longingly.
“I haven’t got any,” Ian replied, lifting his hands in an expression of helplessness.
“Don’t be stingy! Please, just a little bit of it!” William now seemed genuinely agitated by Ian’s sudden height advantage.
He hadn’t cared a jot about his stature before the holidays.
“Fine.”
Ian, clearly pestered into submission, thought for a moment before producing a small bottle of leftover potion. William, never one to hesitate, seized it and downed it in one swift gulp.
“Tastes a bit odd.”
Even as the words left his mouth, the potion took hold. Before Ian and Michael’s astonished eyes, William began growing rapidly. His already loose school robes strained and stretched. He hastily pulled them off to prevent tearing.
The transformation was dramatic and immediate. It was as if someone had cast a time-acceleration charm on him, his body elongated quickly, his once-small frame now almost adult-sized. Muscles began to take shape, still with the soft awkwardness of adolescence, but now clearly outlined with strength.
His facial features sharpened considerably.
“Merlin’s beard! What is that potion? The effect’s amazing!” Michael stared up at William, who now towered at about one metre seventy-five, in absolute disbelief.
“Aging Potion,” Ian said simply, glancing down at the bottle William had discarded on the floor.
“So it was just an Aging Potion… I was hoping it’d be something with a permanent effect.” Michael’s voice dropped slightly with disappointment; he clearly understood the limitations of such potions.
“Oh no!”
William didn’t seem to care about the fine print. He dashed to the bathroom to inspect himself in the mirror, then trudged out, looking thoroughly crestfallen.
“Too short?” Ian asked, tilting his head.
“??????”
William looked entirely bewildered.
“Then… too thin?” Ian hazarded another guess.
Realizing what Ian was implying, Michael suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter, while William’s expression darkened further into tragic dismay.
“It’s because I’m too short.”
William let out a deep sigh, leaving Ian slightly confused. At that moment, Michael, who had clearly remembered something, quickly stepped in to explain William’s odd behaviour.
“He told me on the train that a gorgeous older witch moved in next door, at least one metre seventy-eight, long legs, the works.”
With Michael’s explanation, Ian instantly understood the root of William’s sudden concern about his height. It was a classic case: a teenage crush on the neighbour’s older sister.
“Don’t worry.” Ian recognised it was time to put his comforting talents to good use.
And he was quite skilled at this sort of thing.
“By the time you’re grown up, that witch next door will probably have a couple of little ones already, and if you’re still not taller than her, it won’t make much difference, you won’t be the one marrying her, anyway.”
A sincere and thoroughly logical analysis.
Ian thought this would be more than enough to console his roommate.
However,
“??????”
William’s expression stiffened, his cheeks flushing with defiant colour. Though he now looked about eighteen, with a deeper voice to match, he clearly hadn’t let go of his hope.
“In just three years, no, two, I’ll definitely be old enough to start courting someone,” He declared. Though he didn’t say her name, his words practically glowed with adoration for the older neighbour.
“That makes things easier.”
Ian walked over to the window and dragged a stool closer.
“Since you’re still not tall enough, I can enchant a chair for you, one that adjusts its height on its own. That way, if you do end up marrying her, you can still enjoy a happy post-wedding life.”
William’s face turned crimson at once.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t fully catch the implication, but seeing Michael doubled over on the bed, practically howling with laughter, made it quite clear Ian’s comment had another layer.
“Uh…”
Ian was still considering how best to phrase it.
Michael stood up, eager to assist, using both words and animated hand gestures.
“Ian means you wouldn’t even be able to reach her!”
It was honestly impressive.
His behaviour was quite typical. Whether he’d picked up these cheeky notions from dodgy wizarding periodicals at home remained uncertain. Either way, William’s face was now as red as a Hippogriff’s backside.
“That’s not what I meant at all! This is love, alright? Do you two even understand what love is?!” William said hurriedly, clearly flustered.
Even with his temporary height of around one seventy-five and an adult’s frame, there was still plenty separating him from a real eighteen-year-old.
At that moment, Ian suddenly understood why his earlier attempt at a disguise, when visiting Hogsmeade with Aurora, had been seen through by the village shopkeeper. Some things truly were obvious at a glance.
“Wait a second! I was a university student in my previous life! I was an adult!” Ian protested internally, thinking that surely his shortcomings were minimal, he had, after all, truly been a grown-up once.
He couldn’t just say he lacked social experience and hope others would take him seriously… right?
…
The dormitory gradually returned to its usual lively state.
After spending so much time alone, Ian found he’d missed this noisy, chaotic atmosphere. Of course, had Michael not brought back some so-called local delicacies, tonight might’ve been a warm, heart-warming reunion.
“Is this thing actually edible?” Ian eyed the pickled sea sparrow Michael had produced, seriously questioning whether Michael’s family was part goblin.
“Of course! Mum makes these to earn a bit extra!” Michael didn’t eat any himself. He just opened the jar, releasing a smell that instantly assaulted every corner of the dormitory.
“Is it… rotten?”
William, who’d returned to his usual younger self after the Ageing Potion wore off, was holding his nose.
“No, that’s just how it’s supposed to smell.”
Michael even demonstrated how to eat the bird, offering a full performance to Ian and William.
“Ugh~”
William was the first to start dry heaving, not because he lacked guts, but because he hadn’t progressed far enough in his magical studies to cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, unlike Ian.
“I respect any way of earning a living, but… do people actually buy this? I mean, do wizards really eat it?” Ian stared at Michael, who was happily chewing away.
He genuinely admired the lad’s ability to enjoy such… exotic fare.
“There are definitely wizards who like it, but it’s mostly sold to Muggles. These days, posh blokes in London are mad for anything exotic from abroad.”
“Remember I told you about my dad?” Michael said suddenly, growing more serious. “He gave his life in the line of duty. The Ministry gives families like mine a yearly allowance, which we can exchange into Muggle pounds. So Mum makes and sells these to help us get by.”
He pulled out another sealed tin, but Ian quickly waved him off before he could open it.
He had a sinking suspicion it was either pickled herring or something far, far worse.
“Speaking of the Ministry of Magic, have you heard about their recent visit to the school?” Ian tried to steer the conversation in another direction, quietly shoving the odd assortment of enchanted trinkets and questionable snacks Michael had brought back from home under his bed.
He gave them a firm push, making sure they were wedged in deep enough that Michael would have to get on all fours and crawl halfway under the bed to retrieve them. Ian was giving himself a generous head start, should the time come to flee.
“Of course I’ve heard! My dad told me all about it… Minister Fudge brought back a ghastly corpse, and several traces of incredibly dark magic were found clinging to it.”
Given that William’s family worked at the Ministry, it wasn’t surprising that he knew about such things. However, after blurting that out, he leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper as he spoke to his two roommates.
“Apparently, it all started because Minister Fudge received some top-secret tip-off, thinking that Headmaster Dumbledore was attempting a forbidden ritual to bring someone back from the dead. That’s why he turned up at Hogwarts, hoping to catch the Headmaster red-handed.”
“But of course, he failed. According to my dad, not only did Fudge leave empty-handed, but he’s become increasingly paranoid ever since.”
“He’s been telling everyone that if anything happens to him, anything fatal, that is, it has to be Dumbledore’s doing… I honestly don’t understand how he’s managed to convince himself that our kind, wise Headmaster could ever be behind such things.”
William’s tone clearly brimmed with frustration. After all, for most students at Hogwarts, it was impossible to imagine their ever-cheerful Headmaster with any dark intentions.
It seemed quite evident that the Minister of Magic was being hysterical, letting his own fears cloud his judgment and projecting them onto Dumbledore. Both Michael and Ian nodded in firm agreement with William’s take.
“This sounds like one of those plots that go belly-up, if the Minister really does end up dead, it’ll be someone using his words to frame Professor Dumbledore.” Ian spoke with conviction, making no effort to hide his disdain for Cornelius Fudge, regardless of whatever he might’ve experienced in the dungeons below.
“Exactly!”
William agreed wholeheartedly.
Everyone knew that despite William’s family once being loosely involved with the Acolytes, he’d recently been trying to make friendly overtures towards the newer members among the student body. That said, his true loyalties clearly lay with Albus Dumbledore.
The handful of underpants he owned with Dumbledore’s face stitched onto them rather proved the point.
“Wait, someone actually died at school, and Rebecca didn’t even write to tell me? Don’t tell me it was one of those blokes who used to mock me for going over to Slytherin just to talk to her?”
Michael’s concern for the deceased was… unorthodox, to say the least. But it wasn’t strange that he hadn’t heard, after Professor Quirrell’s death, the Hogwarts staff had nearly sealed off all information.
When Professor Snape had burst into the Great Hall that night, even though quite a few students had stayed behind over the holidays, hardly anyone had dared to eavesdrop on the tense conversation between him and the other professors, except Ian, of course.
Even after the Ministry sent representatives to investigate, Cornelius Fudge had been left red-faced and clearly wanted to keep the matter as hushed as possible.
Perhaps a few well-connected students, especially those from pure-blood families, had caught wind of what really happened, even whispering about Ian’s confrontation with You-Know-Who. But no one dared speak of it openly within the school walls.
Even the most gossip-prone among them had likely received sharp reminders from their parents. After all, the name Voldemort still made even the bravest witches and wizards flinch.
“Not really.”
William responded briefly to Michael’s question, but rather than continue, he turned to look at Ian, who seemed lost in thought. That was enough to make Ian glance up.
“I’ve only heard bits and bobs, nothing major,” Ian said slowly, debating whether to tell them that he’d seen Little Black’s sister having a moonlit walk with some fair-haired boy during the holiday break. That likely explained why Rebecca hadn’t had the time, or perhaps the heart, to write to Michael.
First-years, honestly.
The young witches and wizards these days were growing up fast. They might not have had the foggiest idea about deeper romantic matters, but a few of them were clearly dipping their toes into the world of dating, however innocent their attempts.
“Who was it, then?”
Michael’s puzzled look was genuine, he clearly hadn’t a clue.
“It was Professor Quirrell. You wouldn’t really know him; we haven’t started Muggle Studies yet,” Ian explained casually, choosing to clear up the least troublesome part of the whole affair.
“You actually know who died?!” William gasped theatrically.
“I remember Professor Quirrell! We pelted him with snowballs before Christmas, didn’t we?” Michael’s memory was surprisingly sharp for something like that.
“Yes, yes, that poor professor. He really was terribly unlucky,” William muttered, casting a glance toward the dormitory door before dropping his voice even lower. “My dad said that before he died, he was used as part of some ancient dark ritual, there was even talk of a Horcrux being made.”
“I doubt there’s been a more pitiful end for anyone at Hogwarts…” William’s voice held a rare hint of sorrow, and it was enough to make Ian pause and give him a thoughtful look.
“What is a Horcrux?”
Michael’s puzzled expression was exactly what one would expect from a young wizard. After all, Horcruxes were a dark and dangerous subject, many fully grown witches and wizards hadn’t even heard of them.
“I think it’s some sort of object that holds a soul? That’s what my dad told me, but he didn’t go into detail and gave me a proper scolding for asking too many questions.”
William’s answer was vague, hesitant.
He turned to look at Ian.
“Maybe Ian knows more about Horcruxes?”
Both young wizards turned expectant eyes toward him.
“Your dad really shouldn’t have told you even that much, and I certainly can’t tell you any more either!” Ian finally acknowledged that William’s family must care deeply for him; after all, what sort of responsible parent would discuss such terrifying things with their child?
“If your father won’t explain it, then as your trusted dormmate and guardian, I won’t either. Just know that Horcruxes are deeply dark and incredibly dangerous.” Ian had learned the value of discretion the hard way.
“Oh, so you don’t know either, do you?”
Michael raised an exaggerated brow, his tone teasing, trying to provoke Ian.
“Heh.” Ian didn’t bite. He merely let out a quiet snort, then turned to William. “Is your dad one of the Ministry officials who handled Professor Quirrell’s remains?”
To be honest, William did seem to know an awful lot.
“No.”
William shook his head.
“Huh?”
Ian hadn’t expected that. “Even the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported on it lately. The Ministry must be keeping Professor Quirrell’s cause of death strictly confidential, right?”
In truth, Ian wasn’t entirely sure whether this silence was due to Ministry policy. The recently resumed publication of the Prophet had clearly changed, it looked the same on the surface, but the placement of articles and focus of certain bylines had definitely shifted. Anyone paying attention could see it. Who knew what Grindelwald’s followers had been up to?
“Don’t forget what my family does.” William’s expression suddenly turned smug, though he lowered his voice.
“We’re usually the first to know about anything that happens at the Ministry. My grandfather has quite a few enchanted keepsakes placed in discreet corners of the Ministry by my dad.”
That was… rather chilling.
Michael’s eyes widened.
Ian’s thoughts began to whirl.
“Do the people at the Ministry not use any counter-charms or protective enchantments?” Ian found it hard to believe that the Ministry was truly that negligent with its security.
“Oh, they do, but it’s always the same outdated hexes and wards. The great Gellert Grindelwald once wrote an entire manual on how to bypass that kind of thing.”
Merlin’s beard.
Ian stared at William, a little stunned. So Grindelwald had been writing well before taking on the Lockhart persona, it seemed his obsession with authorship wasn’t a recent development.
And the subject matter had always been rather… questionable. Ian remembered the book Human Weakness: The Secret of the Prince, which Aurora had shown him. Just thinking about it made his head ache.
“You lot really are… quite the talented bunch.”
Ian gave William a sincere thumbs up, acknowledging that the so-called reserve forces were indeed loyal, and disturbingly capable. No wonder Grindelwald had surrounded himself with so many skilled followers back in the day.
“I’ll be even stronger than my dad and grandfather one day. I even dreamt that you brought me along to stir up all kinds of mischief, and I became your right-hand man!”
William puffed up proudly, as though simply sharing a bit of fanciful dreaming.
But,
Only Ian understood the implication. That dream had actually happened to him, in the loop. Clearly, William was also one of the students touched by those mysterious forces.
“…”
Ian didn’t know what to say in response. William’s dream wasn’t just some childish fantasy, it was an echo of reality.
“Why wasn’t I in your dream, then? What about me?” Michael looked genuinely put out, as if feeling left out of something important.
Unlike the others, he hadn’t experienced anything from the time loop.
Ian had investigated this thoroughly by now. He was fairly certain not all young wizards could access fragments of it in their dreams. Perhaps it was something to do with magical bloodlines?
“Of course you were in it! You were just too busy chasing after Rebecca and her little boyfriend to join us on our grand adventures!” William exclaimed, unknowingly revealing a truth hidden within the dream.
He truly believed it had been nothing more than a product of imagination.
And Michael believed that, too.
“Impossible! Absolutely impossible! Rebecca’s future boyfriend will be me! She always smiles at me! On average, she smiles at me seven times more than at anyone else!” Michael protested with complete sincerity, even supplying made-up statistics to back his claim.
Ian gave him a pitying pat on the shoulder.
He didn’t say a word.
As he made his way toward the bathroom, he could still hear William and Michael talking behind him. In some respects, perhaps William was more insightful than he let on.
“Friendship is open and honest,” William said in an exaggeratedly deep voice, clearly trying to mimic himself under the effects of an ageing potion, “but caution, my friend… that’s love. One day, you’ll understand.”
Ah, children. Still children, through and through.
…
Time flowed like water.
The more one tried to hold onto it, the faster it slipped through their fingers.
Since the start of term, life had grown busier for the more studious young witches and wizards, but the increasingly packed class schedule was starting to wear on even the most diligent.
Especially during Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Only a handful of students could remain steady without trembling through the entire lesson, and Professor Grindelwald had an uncanny ability to find endless ways to “test” the students’ nerves.
The physical danger was minimal.
But the psychological toll was staggering.
Ian was certain that if Grindelwald were permitted to complete a full seven years of teaching Defense, this generation of Hogwarts students would graduate utterly unshakable, even in the face of a rampaging troll in the common room or a rogue basilisk on the loose.
“To a certain extent, Grindelwald’s teaching methods really do produce remarkable witches and wizards,” Ian had to admit, begrudgingly.
What baffled him, however, was why Albus Dumbledore allowed Grindelwald such free rein.
Parents had written in to complain, several professors had raised concerns, and yet Dumbledore responded with nothing more than his usual calm reassurances. He never intervened to curb Grindelwald’s more… creative approaches. Ian had caught a flicker of Dumbledore’s feelings during dinner once.
They were hard to define.
A mixture of concern, weariness, guilt, above all, a sense of deep, almost resigned resolve. Ian couldn’t guess what memories weighed on the old headmaster’s heart.
Aurora seemed to share some private understanding with Dumbledore. She often went to meet with him late at night, ostensibly for advanced magical tutoring under his personal instruction.
But this hadn’t been Aurora’s decision alone. Ever since Christmas, it had been at Dumbledore’s repeated insistence. Strangely, the headmaster never seemed concerned with Ian’s academic development.
“Dumbledore must think I’m the sort who doesn’t need supervision,” Ian muttered after another lesson, seizing the chance to question Aurora as she passed.
But.
Aurora neatly sidestepped the question.
Instead, she silently raised her arm, showing him the faint, glowing trace of an Unbreakable Vow, the enchantment’s lingering magic unmistakable to Ian’s well-trained eye.
“An Unbreakable Vow?”
Ian’s eyebrows shot up.
“Merlin’s beard! Our headmaster is ruthless! Just wait till I summon our other mutual friend to give him an earful. What kind of man binds an underage girl to an Unbreakable Vow?!”
Aurora shook her head lightly.
“I chose it freely.”
“You chose that?” Ian’s curiosity flared.
He leaned in closer, and Aurora sighed, “I can’t tell you, obviously. Dumbledore made the conditions very clear.”
Ian frowned at the evasion.
“Well, never mind,” he said, puffing up a bit. “I’ll dig into it myself. I’ve already been researching vow-breaking spells, especially in the soul-binding field. If there’s a way to nullify one of these without side effects, I’ll find it.”
His tone brimmed with confidence. And truthfully, Ian had been delving into the nature of such magical contracts, not out of idle curiosity, but to prepare for the day he might need to make grand promises of his own in public.
“Honestly, it’s not as dramatic as it sounds,” Aurora replied. “Whatever agreement Dumbledore and I have, I believe the purpose is the same as what I told you before.”
She knew Ian well enough to realise that leaving him in suspense would only make him obsess over the mystery. After a brief moment of consideration, she decided it was safe to share a little of what she was allowed to say.
Because.
When most people said they were going to break a spell, it was bravado. But if Ian said it, there was a real possibility he’d pull off something absurdly clever and actually succeed.
“What goal?”
Ian blinked, struggling to remember. Life had been hectic lately, and sleep had become a rare luxury. He couldn’t recall every stray conversation.
“Why, to make you king, of course,” Aurora said casually, walking with him down the corridor. A number of younger students looked as though they wanted to greet Ian, but hesitated in the presence of Aurora. The Grindelwald name was daunting. Only the more daring Slytherins ever approached her directly.
Ian may have earned a somewhat infamous reputation around school, but most students understood he wasn’t the type to hurt his classmates.
Aurora, on the other hand, was different. Since her arrival, many had quietly reviewed their textbooks for any mention of House Grindelwald. Several tomes described Gellert Grindelwald’s legendary cruelty to fellow students during his own school days. The fear lingered that Aurora might be cut from the same cloth.
“You could say your grandfather holds those hopes,” Ian replied with a small scoff. “But wizarding kingship? That’s more folklore these days. The magical world’s become quite democratic, if you haven’t noticed.”
Aurora, however, saw it differently.
“I don’t know all the details,” she said thoughtfully, “but from what I’ve seen, it feels like Albus Dumbledore may be even more determined than my grandfather to see you crowned.”
She lowered her voice slightly, mindful of eavesdropping ears.
“Yes, really. Haven’t you noticed my grandfather lately? He’s been grinning like a Kneazle in a cream shop. He knows Dumbledore’s finally thrown his full support behind you.”
Her voice held a strange blend of admiration and unease. “What I’d really like to know is this: how in Merlin’s name did you manage to sway the most revered wizard of the century, someone who’s spent decades upholding progressive ideals, into gambling everything just to help you restore the old order of wizarding nobility?”
Faced with Aurora’s quiet but piercing question, Ian paused, thinking carefully before answering.
“What did Dumbledore tell you? Surely that’s something you can share with me?” Ian asked, uncertain how to explain the complicated relationship he had with anything, or anyone, tied to Dumbledore’s household.
“Hmm.”
Aurora stared ahead again, her expression unreadable.
“He told me he wanted to explore certain… forbidden magicks. And even with all his renown and influence, he couldn’t quiet the wizarding world’s fear and prejudice against such practices.”
The words from the German witch made Ian’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.
His thoughts immediately turned to Dumbledore’s recent strange experiments with the Time-Turner, tamperings that might result in another version of Dumbledore stepping out from some forgotten alcove at any given moment.
“Blimey~”
As if pieces of a puzzle were clicking together, the young wizard let out a breathless gasp. He’d always thought he was daring, but he hadn’t expected the seemingly cautious, old-fashioned Headmaster to be even more audacious than he was!
“Looks like you’ve figured out the reason behind Dumbledore’s recent transformations,” Aurora observed. She didn’t miss a single flicker of expression on Ian’s face.
“Maybe?”
Ian wasn’t sure if he was overthinking the matter. After all…
These were things he hardly dared to imagine, let alone attempt.
“Now, it’s your turn to explain why.” Aurora’s curiosity might not have shown on her face, but her expectant tone revealed it clearly enough.
“It’s for someone he cares about,” Ian said after a moment. “Someone he wants to see live under the open sky, free from judgment or influence… But of course, all of it hinges on whether his plans succeed.”
He stood quietly in the corridor, eyes rising to the general direction of the Headmaster’s office, his voice laced with something complex, something unspoken and wistful.
“Hmm.”
Aurora nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
She didn’t press him further.
“Still skipping Flying later?” she asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. Everyone knew that even if Professor Hooch docked house points, it wouldn’t affect Ian’s decision.
“Hooch could deduct a hundred points from me, and our house would still win this term. I’ll go do my own thing. I’ve found a very powerful artefact recently.”
Ian’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he gave a slight nod toward the enchanted hourglass that tracked the house points before waving goodbye to Aurora and dashing toward the stairs.
The treasure he referred to was, of course, the black-robed skeleton.
He had spent several sleepless days poring over the ancient contract he’d signed with it.
Unless the class was particularly crucial, he simply didn’t attend.
He had to uncover whether the skeleton posed a threat to him.
It was hardly surprising that Ian was so cautious, Salazar Slytherin himself had once taught him the bitter truth of betrayal. Who knew what hidden traps might lurk within this latest magical contract?
“If the agreement is linked to my Phoenix, then it shouldn’t be harmful… should it?”
Ian shared a deep connection with the black Phoenix. He trusted that it wouldn’t lead him astray; there had never been any tales of disloyal Phoenixes in wizarding history.
Phoenixes were, after all, renowned for their unwavering loyalty. Even if its feathers had turned black, Ian believed that such qualities wouldn’t vanish with a change in appearance.
Still…
Watching the black Phoenix flap its wings before him and then let out that oddly eerie cackling noise filled Ian with no small amount of doubt.
“Squawk squawk~”
That screeching cry hardly sounded dignified. This Phoenix was clearly unlike any other, not just in appearance, but in nature. It had an ability no Phoenix should possess: the power to seize souls.
Upon returning to Hogwarts with both the black-robed skeleton and the black Phoenix, Ian had immediately laid down ground rules for the skeleton. Its movements were restricted strictly to the Room of Requirement.
Then he buried himself in the library, combing through every dusty tome and brittle scroll.
In those first few days, he had flipped through nearly every reference to Phoenixes housed in Hogwarts’ ancient archives.
But still…
He found no record of any Phoenix possessing soul-based abilities, let alone one that devoured souls to restore its master’s magical strength.
“Maybe… this isn’t an innate power?” Ian muttered, brow furrowed with concern. The skeleton had repeatedly claimed that the black Phoenix was the result of biological alchemy, a soulless shell, created through arcane transfiguration and forbidden practices.
Yet, despite examining the Phoenix multiple times with every detection charm he knew, Ian couldn’t find any signs of artificial crafting or tampering.
If anything, all evidence pointed to the Phoenix being… natural.
Or at least alive in the traditional magical sense.
Was it truly soul-resistant because it lacked a soul?
“Biological alchemy… I must be right.” The black-robed skeleton was currently tormenting a Dementor, but it paused in its grim amusement long enough to address Ian’s doubt.
The Dementor, clearly mistreated, looked completely disheartened. It had already resigned itself to servitude under a darkly enthusiastic young wizard, and now it had to endure a skeletal creature that insisted on poking its head into its hood on a daily basis.
This world…
Was there no peace left for a humble Dementor?
“I can’t detect any signs of alchemy. Maybe… maybe my knowledge of magical transfiguration isn’t advanced enough?” Ian offered, half to himself, half to the skeleton.
The black-robed skeleton, unimpressed, gestured dismissively and tapped its own skull.
Silence answered more clearly than words ever could, it spoke with complete certainty that it had no response for Ian’s questions. The young wizard sighed, thinking that perhaps it was time he consulted Professor Nicolas Flamel about it.
Of course.
He also needed to bring up the matter of the black-robed skeleton and the peculiar contract tethered to it.
Nicolas Flamel, the most renowned alchemist of the age, alongside the greatest wizard Albus Dumbledore and the most formidable dark sorcerer Gellert Grindelwald, were all potential sources of guidance.
If not for the worry that Dumbledore or Grindelwald might seize the black-robed skeleton for themselves, taking away a servant far more efficient than even a Dementor, Ian would’ve gone to the two elder wizards well before the holiday had ended.
“You stay right here and don’t wander about, I’m off to fetch some oranges,” Ian instructed the black-robed skeleton yet again before bolting from the Room of Requirement.
Nicolas Flamel’s office was easy enough to find now that he had granted Ian permission to visit freely, unlike the last alchemy professor, Arthur, whose elusive office might as well have been protected by an Unplottable Charm.
Standing before a door that could materialise anywhere and which most couldn’t even perceive, Ian took a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking.
“Come in, little one.”
Professor Flamel’s aged voice carried through the door, clearly aware of who was on the other side. The door creaked open of its own accord.
Inside, the oval-shaped room stretched wide and tall, bathed in a warm golden glow from a suspended orb of light that mimicked the sun, keeping the chamber perpetually illuminated.
Not only that, but Ian could see fluffy clouds drifting lazily along the ceiling and what appeared to be real birds flitting through the air, the space was enchantingly transfigured to resemble a natural landscape.
Only the surrounding stone walls, the enchanted instruments scattered across the floor, and the tables laden with magical tools confirmed that this was, in fact, still indoors. Otherwise, it would’ve been easy to mistake the room for an enchanted clearing.
“Run into trouble with your alchemical studies?” Flamel didn’t lift his head. He stood over a workbench, hands busy with a contraption so intricate it looked like a cousin of a Time-Turner, only more elaborate. Ian thought he recognised the fine silvery grains shifting within it, but his attention was swiftly drawn to another magical artefact resting on the long table nearby.
It was a globe.
Roughly the size of a Quaffle, but far more intriguing. As Ian approached, he noticed hundreds of tiny specks moving across its surface. Flamel, still absorbed in his work, nudged a magnifying lens toward Ian with a knowing smile.
Ian took the lens and peered in closely, his eyes widened with astonishment. The tiny specks weren’t just dots. They were animals.
Of all kinds.
The oceans teemed with sea life, the skies bore flocks of birds, and the lands crawled with everything from lizards to lions. Magical creatures, too, pixies, puffskeins, and even what looked suspiciously like a kneazle.
“This is… incredible,” Ian murmured, utterly entranced. His growing knowledge of alchemy allowed him to recognise just how extraordinary this creation was.
“It’s not true life,” Flamel replied with a note of regret. “It merely mimics it.”
Clearly, the old alchemist mourned his inability to fully grasp what every alchemist ultimately pursued, true creation.
“But you’ve nearly captured the essence,” Ian replied, still watching as a tribe of primitive humans danced around a fire near a miniature riverbank. “There are even people. They hunt, cook, raise children…”
“Imitation is still just imitation,” Flamel said with a sigh.
He paused his tinkering, finally turning to face Ian. “This is your first visit to me directly. I assume something’s troubling you?”
“Yes.”
Ian hesitated. Beginning with a tale involving undead skeletons and a soul-siphoning black Phoenix felt a bit grim for a first approach. He opted instead to start with something less dark.
Clang, clang~
He emptied his satchel onto the table. A pile of gleaming magical stones clattered out, glittering in the bright light. Also tumbling free, quite ungracefully, was a startled Bowtruckle that Ian had instinctively stuffed into his pouch during his first encounter with the black-robed skeleton.
The creature immediately bristled and assumed a defensive posture.
But to Ian’s surprise, Professor Flamel, who’d been moving like a stiff-backed statue until now, leapt to his feet with startling speed and gently moved the panicked Bowtruckle aside.
“By Merlin’s beard! So many magic stones!”
His voice rang with disbelief.
“How many people did you rob to collect this haul, the entire European wizarding population?!”
Ian opened his mouth to explain but faltered.
“Uh…”
Flamel’s eyes narrowed as he looked Ian over, clearly trying to gauge the boy’s intentions, or sanity.
“Well… It’s a long story…”
(End Of This Chapter)
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