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It remains a pay-to-learn system.
One silver Sickle, two silver Sickles, three silver Sickles… and a box of Chocolate Frogs. Ian gives a knowing glance to the classmate whose family clearly has ties to the Chocolate Frog factory.
"Do you have any other flavors?"
Ian prefers treats with a balance of sweet and sour.
"I'll ask my mum tomorrow."
The student looks slightly nervous. Perhaps rumors of Ian's activities have already spread. Ian notes that even a second-year student is interested in attending.
Faced with eager faces and a growing pile of silver Sickles, Ian sees no reason to refuse.
"You were brilliant this afternoon!"
"Merlin's beard! What did I miss? I wasn't there, but William said Marcus Flint was so terrified he nearly flooded the corridor like a Welsh Green marking its territory!"
"I want to learn the spell you used to best Marcus Flint at the end!"
...
Faced with the eager young witches and wizards, Ian calmly counts his earnings and begins the lesson.
Even those who had left last night when they realized it wasn't a Potions class return, curiosity overcoming their previous hesitation. Ian welcomes them back without a word as if nothing had happened.
Time slips by in the midst of learning.
...
Soon.
After teaching everyone more refined control over the Lumos Charm, Ian, amidst murmurs of gratitude, heads back to his dormitory with a box of Chocolate Frogs and a pouch jingling with silver Sickles.
If it weren't for the fact that the Marauder's Map still needed a few final touches, he might have started selling it tonight, claiming he'd found it tucked away in a dusty old trunk once belonging to James Potter.
After all, maps like this were considered contraband at Hogwarts.
Certain risks needed to be accounted for. As Michael's soft snoring fills the dormitory, Ian, unsurprisingly, loses to William once again, conceding the title of "All-Nighter Study Champion."
When he wakes up the next morning, William is still at his desk. Whether he woke up early or never went to bed remains a mystery. Either way, his face shows no signs of exhaustion.
"What are you working on?" Ian asks, noting that William seems to be communicating in some coded way again. He's not even bothering to hide beneath his blankets anymore, openly fiddling with a peculiar potion vial at his desk.
"Reporting my progress as a reserve Acolyte. Receiving instructions from the house."
Of course.
Loyalty needs no explanation.
The morning lesson is the dullest but also the most informative for first-years: History of Magic. Ian and his dormmates, like most of their classmates, fall into a deep sleep.
Upon waking, Ian realizes just how meticulous William's time management is. The all-nighter had been entirely compensated for by Professor Binns' legendary ability to lull students into an almost enchanted slumber.
"You're unbelievable."
After shaking off the last remnants of sleep, Ian gives William a thumbs-up. Then, unsurprisingly, he bids farewell to his roommates and heads straight for the library— the very one he failed to enter the previous evening.
Even Ravenclaws rarely frequent the library during meal times, and even fewer show up after evening lessons. The vast space is eerily empty, save for the occasional rustle of Madam Pince, the ever-diligent caretaker, sweeping between the towering bookshelves.
She cleans the library religiously— once before opening, again before closing, and sometimes, on a whim, at midday as well.
Even in areas untouched by student hands, Madam Pince maintains her fervent devotion to cleanliness. Perhaps it stems from a deep love for books, an unwavering commitment to keeping them free of dust. Or perhaps, her life outside of Hogwarts is even duller than cleaning.
"That area is off-limits!"
Noticing Ian striding toward the Restricted Section, Madam Pince suddenly appears, brandishing a feather duster as if it were a weapon.
"I always thought you were one of the well-behaved ones!" She scolds, blocking his path with a glare of disapproval.
"Madam Pince, I am a well-behaved student. A well-behaved student with permission, not some rule-breaking sneak," Ian replies smoothly, already anticipating this encounter.
He retrieves the permission slip that Snape had handed him, its edges crisp with Dumbledore's unmistakable signature.
"See for yourself."
Ian waves the slip before Madam Pince, about to tuck it back into his pocket when she snatches his wrist, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Let me take a proper look. Don't think you can fool me. I may like the sweets you bring me, but that doesn't mean I'll turn a blind eye to rule-breaking."
With an expression of utmost skepticism, Madam Pince inspects the signature. Having safeguarded the library for years, she knows full well that Dumbledore rarely grants such privileges to students.
At Hogwarts, from the most esteemed professors to the lowliest caretaker, everyone knows the headmaster does not lightly permit young wizards access to restricted books.
"Here—"
Ian pulls the slip back slightly, intending to tease her by flashing it before quickly pocketing it again. But Madam Pince catches his hand.
"It really is Dumbledore's permission!" She exclaims with a rare note of disbelief in her voice. "The Headmaster actually allowed a first-year into the Restricted Section? That doesn't sound like something he'd do— not with how cautious he is."
Her grip loosens as she speaks, allowing Ian to slip the parchment safely back into his robes.
"Madam, Dumbledore is a wise headmaster. He can recognize those who are virtuous, courageous, and just... young wizards who will never stray toward the dark and dangerous."
Ian showers himself in a cascade of exaggerated compliments, his voice sweet as honey.
He even raises both hands before Madam Pince, palms up. "If you don't believe me, have a sniff. Even the Sorting Hat agreed I possess the noble qualities of a true Gryffindor!"
Madam Pince, of course, has no intention of smelling Ian's hands. Instead, she stares at him with an unreadable expression, clearly debating whether to let him pass into the Restricted Section.
Although Madam Pince still feels uneasy about allowing a first-year student access to the Restricted Section, she is merely the caretaker of the library and has no authority over school policies.
"Don't go poking about in anything dealing with the Dark Arts. I'll assume Dumbledore believes you're responsible enough to handle knowledge far beyond your years." Madam Pince, who has always had a good impression of Ian, issues this stern reminder.
"Don't worry, I've no interest in the Dark Arts," Ian assures her, though his reasoning is rather unconventional— he prefers a real challenge. Dark magic that is easily learned simply lacks the complexity he seeks.
"Well, if that's the case..." Madam Pince nods, though it is clear she doesn't entirely grasp Ian's true meaning. What she does recognize, however, is his sincerity— one of the perks of telling the truth. Watching Ian dart into the Restricted Section, she resumes her cleaning.
"I must hurry and finish up. I've yet to unwrap Gilderoy Lockhart's latest book..." Today's workload is particularly heavy. Earlier, Dumbledore had her relocate a number of tomes, and a significant portion requires reorganization in the Restricted Section.
It is a daunting task.
Especially for Madam Pince, who, despite being a witch, prefers handling books manually rather than relying on magic. To her, the act of organizing is a joy— unless, of course, she must find shelf space for yet another copy of 'A Year with the Yeti' from Filch's collection.
"There truly is a student who can suppress their curiosity about the Dark Arts!" While rearranging the shelves, Madam Pince observes Ian, noting with some relief that he does not linger before the tomes dedicated to the Cruciatus Curse, the Ear-Biting Hex, or the infamous Flaying Curse.
Meanwhile, Ian browses the shelves, muttering under his breath. "Rubbish, rubbish, all rubbish..." He can hear the books whispering to him, their insidious voices slithering into his ears like serpents.
"Study my pages, and you will wield unparalleled power!"
(To Be Continued…)