The night deepened.
Stars twinkled in the velvety expanse above, their silver light casting a faint shimmer over the castle’s towers.
The evening gathering had long since dispersed.
In the Ravenclaw common room, only the occasional rustle of turning pages broke the silence. As the clock on the wall chimed midnight, the last lingering students finally packed away their books and drifted off to their dormitories.
Only the flames in the fireplace remained, flickering merrily in their hearth, their warm glow and crackling embers standing watch over the hall that had nurtured generations of Ravenclaw intellects.
The firelight played across the stone walls, casting shifting shadows as a lone figure slipped through the common room. Holding a parchment he had painstakingly enchanted himself, he stepped quietly into the corridor of the eighth floor.
“Ian’s Enchanted Atlas Navigation at your service,” Ian smirked as he looked at the parchment in his hand. His creation was proving to be far more useful than he had expected.
Unlike ordinary enchanted maps, his version displayed not just the locations of people within the castle but even those at a distance, marking them with their names in precise detail.
More importantly, even if someone who had obtained his map tried to disguise themselves with an alias or nickname, Ian’s version would still reveal their true name in parentheses.
It was a small privilege. One granted solely to the creator of the map.
“This thing is brilliant,” Ian muttered.
Just as Muggle navigational charms kept one from getting lost in a sprawling city, his map ensured he could wander the castle without accidentally bumping into trouble— or rather, those who would make trouble for him.
Every presence was marked, including the usual mischief-makers— tonight, the Weasley twins were sneaking around near Snape’s office, there was no doubt that they were up to their usual antics.
As for Snape himself, who ought to have been in his office brewing potions, he was instead in the headmaster’s office with Dumbledore. The two moved about in confined patterns, meaning Ian didn’t have to worry about either of them emerging to catch stray students.
“Are they playing wizard’s chess up there?”
Ian was mildly curious about what was unfolding in the headmaster’s office, but his attention quickly shifted to a more pressing matter— Filch, the ever-dedicated caretaker and sworn nemesis of all nighttime wanderers.
Tonight, however, Filch had abandoned his usual patrols, his dot overlapping with that of Madam Pince’s.
“!!!”
Ian felt he had just uncovered a significant secret.
This was prime intelligence. Perhaps he ought to adjust the version of the map he planned to sell, ensuring that whenever two dots overlapped for a suspiciously long period, they would either disappear or become obscured.
“I’ll tweak that when I get back.”
Of course, his own map would retain all its unrestricted functions, but for commercially available versions, precautions were necessary. After all, the wizarding world wasn’t exactly known for its discretion, and the last thing Ian wanted was for Hogwarts to become a den of wailing heartbreaks because of his handiwork.
He’d rather not be responsible for a sudden population decline among future witches and wizards.
“Lockhart is still in the library? At this hour?” Ian mused. “No wonder Madam Pince idolizes him. She gets to spend time with her favorite author while conveniently granting him overnight access.”
Checking on the newest professor’s movements, Ian saw that Gilderoy Lockhart’s name was still fixed in the library. He wouldn’t have put it past Lockhart to be swapping out books in the Restricted Section for his own far-fetched autobiographies, passing off others’ experiences as his own. That seemed exactly like something Lockhart would do.
“I need a slaughterhouse.” “I need a slaughterhouse.” “I need a slaughterhouse.”
Standing before the Room of Requirement, Ian focused his thoughts. A door materialized before him, appearing silently against the stone wall beneath the watchful gaze of Barnabas the Barmy’s portrait, where the hapless wizard was once again being pummeled by trolls.
Ian’s reason for staying up so late was simple— after finishing his study session earlier, he revisited ‘Alchemy Unveiled’ and, in doing so, stumbled upon an alternative solution to his current problem. This revelation had forced him to reconsider his opinion of Lockhart, if only slightly.
After all, if one could sift through Lockhart’s books and extract actual useful knowledge, then perhaps his understanding of alchemy wasn’t entirely superficial. Maybe he had simply… forgotten most of his magic?
Looking mildly intrigued, Ian applied what he had learned to complete his latest invention that night.
The Bone and Ash Box.
A self-proclaimed masterpiece unlike any seen before.
For any alchemist, the agony of creating something new and not immediately testing it was akin to holding a fully loaded wand with a newly mastered spell but being forbidden to cast it.
Who could resist?
No one!
Merlin knew Ian had stared at the dots on his map for what felt like hours after completing the Bone and Ash Box, their names practically burned into his mind. He had no doubt he’d be seeing them in his dreams tonight.
Luckily, there wasn’t some tireless scholar burning the midnight oil tonight.
Feeling secretly relieved, Ian eagerly turned the doorknob and stepped into the Room of Requirement… What greeted him was the slaughterhouse he had envisioned.
And it was much larger than he had imagined.
A faint metallic tang lingered in the air, reminiscent of freshly sharpened blades. Rows of neatly arranged butchery tools and enchanted implements stood silently, their surfaces gleaming coldly under the dim light. Razor-sharp knives, sturdy iron hooks, enchanted ropes that could bind even the most unruly creatures, and precision-cutting charms etched into the workbenches— all were in place.
Yet, Ian’s excitement quickly faded. His expectant expression froze almost instantly. What use was a slaughterhouse without anything to actually slaughter?
“It can’t create living things? What about carcasses? A plucked pheasant! A gutted fish! Even a freshly dressed hare would do! Without anything to work on, this is just a glorified tool shed!”
“Don’t mess with me like this. Alright, let’s try again.” Ian scolded the Room of Requirement as he stepped back outside and made his wish anew before turning the doorknob.
Everything was the same.
Nothing had changed.
Not only were there no animals, living or dead, but there wasn’t even a single scrap of leftover meat. The spotless workspace lacked any real purpose, aside from the ever-present metallic tang in the air.
“This isn’t funny at all. Reset, reset.” Ian shut the door once more, adjusted his phrasing, but the miracle he was hoping for didn’t happen.
The scene shifted.
But only in small details— the placement of the tools, the arrangement of the floor tiles, the angles of the drainage channels. The Room of Requirement seemed to be doing its best to fulfill Ian’s request… just not quite getting it right.
“Liar! What happened to ‘as required’?” Ian muttered, his frustration making the very walls of the room tremble slightly, as if it were protesting its own limitations.
“…”
Ian sighed, still unwilling to give up, and decided to try a different approach. “Alright then, let’s start small. Give me some meat. Just meat, alright? I want to go somewhere with lots of meat.”
It was a reasonable request.
When Ian opened the door again, it was no longer an empty slaughterhouse.
The air was thick with the rich aroma of roasting meats, and there was an unmistakable hum of activity. More than a dozen wide-eyed figures turned to look at him in unison.
“!!!”
Ian’s eyes widened.
It seemed he had accidentally stumbled upon yet another function of the Room of Requirement.
“It’s Mr. Prince! The knowledgeable and wise Mr. Prince! He must be famished!”
“He barely had a proper meal tonight! Rabby knew he’d be hungry! Young wizards need to eat well to grow strong!”
“Does Mr. Prince want hotpot again? Habby even found some fresh fire-roasted salamander tails just for him!”
…
The house-elves bustled around excitedly, their voices overlapping in eager anticipation. Ian stepped inside, still processing what had just happened, and stomped his foot against the flagstone floor, confirming that this was indeed the Hogwarts kitchens.
“A direct portal?”
Ian turned around, and the door behind him shut automatically. When he opened the kitchen’s main exit, he found himself not in the Room of Requirement, but in the familiar corridor outside the Hogwarts kitchens.
“I need a sheep, over a hundred pounds.”
While pondering the mechanics of the Room of Requirement, Ian turned back to the kitchen hall, where the elves had gathered as though awaiting a royal proclamation.
“Mr. Prince isn’t having beef tonight?” The house-elves blinked up at him in surprise. One of them suddenly looked stricken with guilt.
“It must be because Sibby’s beef stew last night wasn’t good! That’s why Mr. Prince doesn’t want beef anymore!” The little elf wailed, then, in an act of self-punishment, raised its tiny hands and started slapping itself wildly.
The sharp smacking noises were distressing to witness.
Ian quickly stepped forward to stop the self-flagellating elf. “No, no! That’s not it. I’m not here to eat—I need a whole sheep for an experiment.”
“Dead or alive, either is fine.” He noted that both sides of the elf’s face were already red and swollen. House-elves were truly something else— their sense of duty was relentless.
“Mr. Prince needs a sheep for an experiment?” The house-elf Rabby tilted his head in deep thought before nodding in sudden understanding.
“Rabby can take Mr. Prince to find live creatures!” Clearly misunderstanding Ian’s true intent, the elf wasted no time grabbing his hand.
The world spun.
The surroundings warped and twisted in an indescribable way.
This wasn’t just a trick of the eyes— it was as though space itself was folding and stretching at will, losing all sense of normal geometry.
Similar to the sensation of Apparition, but more primal and raw, Ian felt an immense force tugging at him, as if he were being yanked through the very fabric of reality itself.
It was a very clear experience.
“Ugh~”
As Ian fought the overwhelming urge to retch, he realized what the house-elf Rabby had done.
Sure enough, when the disorienting sensation finally subsided, Ian, still clutching his stomach, found himself standing in the middle of a dense forest.
The trees loomed high above, their gnarled branches twisting together, forming a nearly impenetrable canopy. The ground beneath him was damp, covered in tangled undergrowth and patches of moss.
Moonlight barely pierced through the thick foliage, casting eerie shadows across the uneven terrain. The rustling of countless ancient leaves whispered unsettling secrets through the darkness.
“Mr. Prince, are you… are you alright? Did Rabby’s magic go wrong?” Rabby asked, his large, round eyes filled with concern.
As a house-elf accustomed to zipping through Hogwarts at a moment’s notice, he likely had no idea how unpleasant such a method of travel could be for a young wizard.
Ian, still leaning heavily against a tree for support, quickly waved a hand before the little creature could start punishing itself again. “I sincerely hope we’re not in the Amazon jungle.”
Without Snape’s potion to settle his stomach and having just endured what felt like the most primitive, unrefined form of Apparition, Ian needed a moment to steady himself.
“This is the Forbidden Forest, Mr. Prince,” Rabby replied timidly, his ears drooping. “Rabby is just a simple house-elf, not like the great Headmaster Dumbledore. Rabby cannot perform long-distance Apparition.”
It seemed the little elf had misunderstood, thinking Ian had actually wanted to go to the Amazon. He now looked positively crestfallen at his own limitations.
“Apparition? But not quite Apparition?” Ian muttered, glancing around. Though the Forbidden Forest was unnervingly quiet at night, distant sounds still reached his ears.
The faint murmur of a stream. The soft hoot of an owl. But beneath that quiet hum of the forest, something else lurked. A whisper of movement. The rustle of unseen creatures prowling between the trees. Perhaps the soft tread of something much larger, watching from the shadows.
“Our magic is different from wizard magic,” Rabby admitted. It was true— house-elves were capable of things even the most accomplished wizards struggled with.
Like Apparating within Hogwarts.
“If we have time in the future, would you teach me?” Ian asked, intrigued. House-elf magic was clearly something unique, perhaps tied to ancient magical traditions or bloodlines.
Rabby’s large eyes widened with excitement, and he nodded so vigorously that his ears flapped.
“Rabby would be honored!” he squeaked, then hesitated, his voice dropping to a nervous whisper. “But wizards cannot learn house-elf magic. Still, that does not mean Rabby wouldn’t gladly help Mr. Prince experiment!”
Wow.
This level of dedication was a bit much.
“You misunderstand, I am not asking you to be a test subject— more like partners in magical exploration,” Ian corrected, raising a fist in an attempt at a gesture of camaraderie. Rabby, however, gasped and recoiled, clutching his face in horror.
“Rabby is not worthy of exploring magic alongside Mr. Prince! Rabby is just a simple elf! Helping Mr. Prince with magic is the greatest joy Rabby could ever have!”
Such absolute conviction.
For once, Ian found himself at a loss for words.
“Are there sheep here? Do you ever keep live animals in the Forbidden Forest?” he asked instead, glancing ahead. The dim patches of moonlight shifting through the trees did little to improve visibility.
Slivers of silver light filtered through the branches, breaking into flickering pools on the forest floor. The deeper they went, the darker it became.
“The food at Hogwarts comes from special farms. We only receive it once it’s prepared. So Rabby brought Mr. Prince here instead.”
“Other students aren’t allowed in the Forbidden Forest, but Mr. Prince is different…” Rabby said, scurrying ahead on his spindly legs.
Ian raised an eyebrow. He had been about to ask whether this little elf had some talent for divination— realizing he was both Dumbledore’s and Snape’s favored pupil— but before he could, Rabby’s next words caught his attention.
“The Forbidden Forest has many creatures you won’t find outside. Pukwudgies, Erumpents, Occamies, Fwoopers, Ashwinders, warthogs, and there are even rumours that a Hungarian Horntail live here.”
At that last name, Rabby’s expression twisted into a look of genuine fear.
Ian had to say that a House Elf’s range of facial expressions was truly impressive.
“But Rabby will not take Mr. Prince to dangerous places. Rabby must ensure Mr. Prince’s safety! We will only search the outer edges of the forest for the Kneazle-footed goat.”
Ian frowned.
“Kneazle-footed goat?”
That was a new one.
He was certain he hadn’t seen any mention of such a creature in ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’.
“Yes! They come from Japan, a timid little creature rated XXX by the Ministry. But honestly, Rabby thinks even the Bowtruckles here could frighten them!”
The house-elf Rabby’s tone was full of disdain. This was the first time Ian had encountered a creature even house-elves looked down upon.
Naturally, his curiosity about the Kneazle-footed goat grew.
“Honestly, anything will do. I’d even take raw beef at this point.” He hadn’t had the chance to make such a request in the Hogwarts kitchens.
Trailing after the much shorter house-elf Rabby, Ian spotted a few Bowtruckles dozing peacefully. The moment they sensed his presence, their twig-like bodies stiffened, their beady eyes snapping open in wary vigilance.
Skirting around their guarded tree, Ian soon came across a patch of earth slick with fresh blood.
A trail extended outward and a long, crimson smear dragged across the damp forest floor.
“It’s wild deer blood,” Rabby noted, dipping a small hand into the stain and giving it a sniff. “Likely the Centaurs. They cross the boundary sometimes when hunting for food.”
The elf’s certainty piqued Ian’s curiosity.
“Centaurs, huh? I’d quite like to see them,” Ian mused, observing the bloodstain. Rabby’s reasoning made sense— most magical creatures wouldn’t haul an entire carcass back to their den. Intelligent beings, however, would.
“They’re an unreasonable lot, cruel and savage. Rabby and the other elves don’t like them,” The house-elf sniffed, ears twitching in distaste.
Then, with a hint of pride, Rabby added, “Centaurs eat their food half-raw, unlike us elves, who enjoy properly prepared meals— like civilized wizards.”
The comment was laced with an almost comical sense of superiority, as though Rabby found great satisfaction in being one rung higher than beasts on the culinary hierarchy.
It made Ian wonder what kind of conditioning house-elves had undergone over the centuries to develop such peculiar perspectives.
“I’m more interested in their divination abilities,” Ian admitted. He wasn’t reckless enough to approach a Centaur tribe just yet— he knew his own limits.
“Hogwarts has excellent Divination professors, too. Rabby delivers their meals often. If Mr. Prince wishes, Rabby can arrange a meeting!”
Divination Professors? Professors? As in there being more than one?
“We’ll see.”
Ian’s schedule was packed enough as it was. Taking on another discipline without careful consideration would be unwise. Practicality was key.
Divination, while undoubtedly mysterious and powerful, wasn’t something he found immediately useful. Besides, he only vaguely recalled Hogwarts’ Divination professor— a woman known more for her wild predictions and tendency to terrify students than for any actual talent in prophecy.
“Understood! Rabby is always ready to serve Mr. Prince!”
The elf remained on high alert as they ventured deeper into the forest. At this hour, a thin mist curled between the trees, drifting in silver tendrils beneath the pale moonlight.
It made the already-limited visibility even worse— perhaps worsened by the evening’s particularly damp air.
“Something’s moving ahead,” Ian muttered.
He drew his wand, listening intently. Rustling noises came from beyond the trees, interwoven with the sharp cries of magical creatures.
Then—
“Bloody hell! Get back!”
It was a voice that Ian immediately recognized and his body tensed.
While Rabby remained hidden, cautiously peering around the tree line, Ian bolted toward the source of the shout.
Sure enough, he found himself face-to-face with a familiar figure— the girl he’d met earlier that day.
Aurora Grindelwald.
The petite, sharp-eyed German girl was struggling against a green-scaled creature, her wand flung aside. The beast— a grotesque hybrid of Lion, reptile, and giant butterfly— shrieked in rage, its iridescent wings glinting in the dim light.
A Manticore.
“Boom!”
Before Ian could lift his wand to help Aurora— who, for some reason, had decided to wander the Forbidden Forest at night and was now on the verge of being mauled—
Rabby acted first.
With a sharp flick of its fingers, the house-elf unleashed a powerful burst of magic. The Manticore was blasted backward, tumbling through the undergrowth.
“Rabby saved a student!”
The elf’s voice trembled between nervousness and triumph.
Then, seemingly emboldened, Rabby raised its fingers again, summoning another pulse of energy, ready to strike the Manticore as it recovered and lunged for them.
But—
Ian’s spell was faster.
A jagged arc of white light sliced through the air— a variation of Sectumsempra, a charm he had refined to strip magical creatures of their camouflage.
The attack itself wasn’t particularly strong.
But it looked impressive.
With a sharp hiss, the Manticore’s shimmering illusion shattered— leaving it fully exposed beneath the moon’s eerie glow.
“Whoosh~”
The diving Manticore sensed danger and instinctively tried to evade the oncoming spells, but the German girl, having retrieved her wand, had already cut off its retreat.
Blue fire.
White light.
The battered Manticore found itself caught in a pincer attack. It didn’t even have time to let out a final cry before its broken form was engulfed by the searing blue flames, crumbling to ash.
“Pant, Pant, Pant~”
Aurora lowered her wand and collapsed onto the damp forest floor, gasping for breath.
“Merlin’s beard! Mr. Prince and the rule-breaking student— teaming up to take down a Manticore! They’re even more impressive than many grown wizards Rabby knows!”
The house-elf, still clutching the remnants of the light it had conjured, stared at the scene in awe.
“This spell is called Eight-Point Nimbus. Pretty neat, isn’t it?” Ian, who hadn’t had the chance to name his magic mid-battle, now took the liberty of introducing it. The house-elf Rabby immediately nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if witnessing a grand wizarding duel rather than a near-death skirmish in the Forbidden Forest.
“In fact, I can also perform the Severing Charm, and— if we’re being theoretical— the Green Light of the Killing Curse…” Ian trailed off as he approached Aurora, who was still lying on the ground. He noticed a gash on her hand where the Manticore’s spined wings had struck her, fresh blood seeping into the damp earth.
“Looks like I’ll need to take you to the hospital wing.” He rummaged through his robes and pulled out a handful of Dittany— an ingredient he had “accidentally” slipped into his pocket during Potions class.
He scanned the area for a suitable rock to Transfigure into a grinding tool.
“It’s Dittany; Rabby will help you.” The house-elf stepped forward and, with a wave of its small hand, crushed the leaves into fine powder before gently sprinkling it over Aurora’s wound.
‘House-elves likely assisted Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing often’, Ian mused to himself.
“Thank you, Ian. You saved me again.” Aurora watched as the bleeding slowed, a flicker of unease in her expression. “Perhaps this is what my grandfather meant by the whims of fate. The price we pay for glimpsing the future through prophecy.”
Her cryptic words caught Ian’s attention.
“What prophecy?” He asked, recalling her earlier mention of the Grindelwald family’s abilities. It made him wonder what foresight had led her into the depths of the Forbidden Forest at this hour.
Aurora hesitated, glancing at Rabby, who was still tending to her wound. After a pause, she finally said, “Tonight, I foresaw someone attempting to hunt a Unicorn in the forest. At first, I thought it was nothing, but before I went to sleep, I saw flashes— shadows moving, bodies scattered across the ground…”
“I don’t know when it will happen, but I’m certain it’s connected to whoever was after the Unicorn.” She exhaled slowly, reluctant yet resigned to sharing her reason for venturing into the Forbidden Forest alone.
Ian’s brows furrowed as he spoke. “I didn’t take you for a reckless fool. I thought you were as clever as I am.”
He studied her carefully. If there were truly dark forces at play here, then what made her believe she could stand against them alone?
Aurora conceded with a weary nod. “Yes, I realize that now. If I had brought you with me, perhaps this wouldn’t have turned into such a disaster. I was too proud— too arrogant. I failed to find the dark wizard, and instead, I nearly got myself killed by a Manticore left behind by Professor Ronnie.”
The name caught Rabby’s attention, the house-elf pausing in its work to glance up in confusion.
A child couldn’t handle such dangers alone.
But could two children manage?
Rabby turned toward Ian, who seemed rather pleased with himself.
“Exactly. Let this be a lesson to you. Adventuring alone is reckless. Even the most powerful witches and wizards don’t charge into danger unaccompanied— let alone an overconfident schoolgirl.”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Even Merlin himself wouldn’t have wandered off into the unknown without backup.”
Aurora fell into contemplation at his words.
“If you had brought me along, we might have already uncovered whoever’s behind this and dealt with them accordingly.” Ian wasn’t entirely convinced her vision was of the near future. Any dark wizard desperate enough to hunt a Unicorn would know the risks involved.
Unicorns were sacred creatures, their blood imbued with immense healing power— but at the cost of a terrible curse.
“Rabby thinks… the right course of action would be to inform Professor Dumbledore. The professors will know how to handle this,” the house-elf murmured hesitantly.
Rabby wasn’t entirely convinced by the wisdom of Ian and Aurora’s decision-making skills.
But— oh dear! What a disrespectful thought! The elf would have to punish itself later for doubting the great Mr. Prince.
“You don’t understand, Rabby. Young wizards only need to concern themselves with protecting Hogwarts. The professors have far too many responsibilities on their plates. You’ll see when you’re as tall as I am.”
Ian patted the house-elf reassuringly on the shoulder.
Of course, if he actually stumbled upon Voldemort himself, he would run straight to Dumbledore faster than Harry Potter ever had.
“…”
The house-elf Rabby wanted to protest that it had been serving at Hogwarts for sixty years, and even if it served for another hundred, it would never grow as tall as Ian or any other young wizard.
Such things were simply beyond a house-elf’s nature!
“Our former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor… I never expected him to keep a creature as dangerous as a Manticore.” Ian glanced down at the pile of ashes, feeling a twinge of regret.
A Manticore’s entire body was valuable in potioneering and enchantment work.
“He was an Acolyte,” Aurora spoke quietly as she steadied herself.
“That explains it. Acolytes have an even deeper history of dark magic than Death Eaters.” Ian watched in admiration as the house-elf’s magic worked to mend Aurora’s wounds.
Wizards would typically need potions for such injuries, but house-elf magic often defied conventional spellcraft.
“Some of my grandfather’s Acolytes even keep Western Dragons, claiming they’ll be useful when they eventually attack the Ministry of Magic.” Aurora allowed Ian to examine her injured hand, speaking as if revealing a trivial family secret.
“They need dragons to attack the Ministry? I have a much better idea. You should tell those old Acolytes to slay the dragons instead— then send the meat to me.”
Ian’s mind wandered to the thought of dragon meat.
He wondered if it would taste good in a cauldron stew.
“Ugh~”
Rabby’s large eyes widened in horror. It stared at Ian and Aurora, glancing between them as if trying to decide which one was more dangerous. Then, as if deciding it was best not to know, the house-elf ducked behind a tree, covering its long ears.
It mumbled frantically, insisting it had seen and heard nothing at all.
“I have no intention of attacking the Ministry of Magic.” Aurora gave Ian a peculiar look, pausing as if she had just realized something. “Wait… you’re in your first year, and you’ve already started plotting how to attack the Ministry?”
What an astonishing mind.
Ian blinked.
“Shouldn’t we be heading back?” Aurora asked, glancing into the darkened depths of the Forbidden Forest. There was a newfound gravity in her gaze, a quiet reverence for what they had just encountered.
“I still want to test my latest creation. Oh, and you’ll be the first to see it.” Ian pulled out an enchanted artifact, no bigger than a cigarette case.
“What’s this?”
Aurora’s curiosity was instantly piqued as she eyed the peculiar, tooth-lined box.
“The Bone and Ash Box!”
Ian introduced his invention with pride. Spotting the remains of a Motlar rat— likely a casualty of the Manticore— he walked over and placed the small box beside it.
Poor thing.
Its brain had been completely devoured.
Half of its body was missing.
“I like the name,” Aurora said approvingly, watching as Ian placed the odd little box onto the rat’s remains.
“Kā Kā Kā Kā~”
The box whirred to life, its jagged teeth grinding through flesh and bone, swallowing the remains into its enchanted core. Moments later, a fine stream of dirt trickled from the other end, dispersing onto the forest floor.
“A must-have for any aspiring wizard on the go!” Ian held up a handful of the transformed soil, comparing it to the surrounding dirt.
Aside from a slight color variation, there was no difference— it even smelled like ordinary earth. This would certainly make disposal a far less troublesome task.
“You’ll make a fortune selling these, Ian… assuming the Aurors don’t arrest you first.” Aurora turned the Bone and Ash Box over in her hands, seeming to genuinely admire the invention despite her pointed warning.
“????”
Ian’s triumphant smile faltered.
“I was only trying to create something that could contribute to wizarding agriculture,” He said, though even he wasn’t entirely convinced by his own reasoning.
“Really?” Aurora gave the box a shake, her heterochromatic eyes gleaming mischievously. “Then why did you call it the Bone and Ash Box?”
Ian scowled.
“Who doesn’t have a few dead cows and sheep lying about?”
Ian made a valiant attempt to justify himself.
“There’ll come a time when they’ll be useful— really, really useful.”
He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Aurora or himself.
“I’ll be preparing a Christmas gift for you. Can you get one for me as well?” Aurora clutched the Bone and Ash Box tightly in her hands.
She looked at Ian with a cautious yet expectant gaze.
“Of course.” Ian detected something subtle in her demeanor— anxiety, uncertainty… Without hesitation, he nodded, and the German girl visibly relaxed.
“I nicked something from my grandfather. I think you’ll love it.” Aurora lowered her voice conspiratorially, as if savoring the act of building anticipation.
“!!!!!!”
Ian stiffened.
For some reason, an inexplicable sense of guilt crept up on him.
“Mr. Prince, and Mr. Prince’s friend who enjoys breaking school rules, perhaps we should leave. The noise just now has drawn the attention of the Centaurs, and those distrustful brutes will surely kill us to keep us quiet.”
The house-elf Rabby, who had been standing nearby, suddenly spoke in a nervous whisper. Ian turned to look, but in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, his vision barely reached beyond the nearest trees.
Still, the rustling in the undergrowth was growing steadily louder.
“Maybe we should take these.” Aurora darted over to a tree, reached into a hollow, and pulled out several eggs, shoving them all into Ian’s hands.
With the Centaurs approaching, Ian had no time to inspect them. He hurriedly stuffed the eggs into his robes.
“Let’s go!”
Ian signaled for Aurora to move closer to the house-elf, who promptly grabbed hold of both of them.
That same stomach-twisting sensation returned— like being yanked into a whirlpool, the world around them warping and blurring.
The distinct rhythm of elf magic was unmistakable, but Ian was in no state to analyze it, nor did he have the ability to.
This time, the dizziness hit even harder.
“Ugh~”
Ian had planned to put on a composed front and quip, You still need more practice, but the repeated teleportations had left him no chance.
Aurora, however, seemed entirely unfazed.
“…”
They reappeared inside a Hogwarts corridor, and before either of them could react, Rabby had already vanished— house-elves preferred not to linger in places where students might catch them.
“That’s house-elf magic for you.” Aurora glanced at Ian, who was leaning against the wall, looking a little worse for wear as she spoke.
“I just ate too much tonight.” Ian stubbornly shook his head as he spoke while trying to steady himself.
“Before term started, you promised to treat me to a proper meal made by the house-elves…” Aurora suddenly recalled their previous conversation, likely prompted by Ian’s comment.
She had an uncanny ability to remember such details.
“Of course, let’s go tomorrow night?” Ian had no intention of breaking his word.
Now that the Hogwarts kitchens were well-stocked and the elves had perfected their hot pot recipes, he figured it’d be even more enjoyable with a few extra friends.
“Sounds good.”
Aurora nodded.
She hesitated for a moment, furrowing her brow slightly.
“But… can we not eat that one? It saved my life, and I don’t want to eat it…” Her tone was laced with sincere gratitude toward Rabby.
However.
Upon hearing this, Ian’s head snapped up.
He stared at Aurora with an expression of sheer horror.
(End of this chapter)