Gilderoy Grindelwald— cloaked in the borrowed guise of a self-absorbed writer— paused in his stride. He turned back toward Ian, his tone no longer sharp or dismissive, but measured and deliberate.
"As I said before, real dangers won't wait for you to grow up. Defense Against the Dark Arts should prepare you to face them— not lull you into a false sense of security."
"At the very least, here at Hogwarts, no one will actually die. But when these children step into the cruel, unforgiving world beyond these walls, most of them will look back and thank me."
"Including you."
His voice carried a quiet force, something that seemed to settle deep in the bones, as if compelling the soul to listen.
"Snape will likely be the first to express his gratitude," Ian muttered with a sigh, already moving toward his unconscious roommates. "You're bound to terrify the students far more than he ever has."
"Mr. Prince, one day, you'll understand the need for this." Grindelwald resumed his departure.
"To see flowers bloom, one must first wade through the blood of those who pluck them. Reality is cruel — it does not care for your opinions. All that matters is the brilliance of the bloom."
His rich, resonant voice lingered in the empty classroom.
"Class dismissed."
As the last syllable faded into the air, the man had already disappeared around the corridor.
…
Setting up a cauldron, Ian melted several bars of chocolate into a thick, velvety liquid. He then filled a large bucket with the warm confection and carried it back to the classroom— the battlefield— where his fallen classmates lay in disarray.
Though it wasn't the most elegant approach, he had little choice but to resort to the most rudimentary method: force-feeding them chocolate while rousing them from unconsciousness. Even Cho Chang, delicate as she was, received a sharp slap on the cheek to stir her awake.
"What… what happened?"
"Weren't we eaten by the Dementor?"
"Merlin's beard! I had a nightmare… No, wait— bloody hell, it wasn't a nightmare! It was this classroom!"
…
As the students gradually regained consciousness, their instincts took over. They reached for the chocolate, gulping it down as if it were the only thing tethering them to sanity.
Watching this unfold, Ian realized something: for all of Grindelwald's ruthlessness, the man had exercised some restraint.
The Dementors' presence had left no permanent damage.
The students would recover. Their happiness, though momentarily drained, would return in time.
Still, for the next few days…
The entire class was bound to be in very low spirits.
"So scary."
Michael, a young black wizard who had developed quickly and was one of the larger first-years, now resembled a quail, shivering in fear.
Ian considered going over to comfort him but overheard Michael muttering, "I… I feel like Rebecca might not like me… Oh! This illusion is too terrifying!"
A simpering fool wasn't worth comforting.
Ian halted in his tracks.
Instead, he decided to offer solace to his own personal support— William. In contrast, William seemed far more grounded. Upon waking, he had been muttering about some brat taking over his room at home and how he wanted to make soup for Ian… Well, perhaps loyal William wasn't that normal after all.
Ian never imagined that, just one night later, he would genuinely wish that the "brat" in William's life was some non-human creature in his family, though that idea would still be quite unsettling.
"What kind of friends are these!" Ian began to question his social circle. He glanced around, relieved to see that most of the little wizards' nightmares were bizarre, even morally questionable.
It was the lingering effect of the Dementors.
After an encounter with a Dementor, even if the victim narrowly escaped, they often felt physically drained, weak, and plagued by nightmares for several nights.
There were potions that could bring happiness and speed up recovery, but such potions were costly. Even with Snape absent from the school, Ian wouldn't dare rummage through Snape's office in search of them.
Several students were still lying in the classroom.
None of them were named Lily Potter or Harry Snape... The classmates would have to endure. Ian quickly roused each student who had been Stupefied.
Everyone felt a bit cold.
They eagerly clutched the chocolate concoction Ian had given them and drank it down.
"Lockhart is mad! I'll tell my dad! My dad will expel him!" To Ian's surprise, there was a child of a prominent school leader in the Ravenclaw group, much like Malfoy.
"That was a Dementor! Waaah! I never want to take Defense Against the Dark Arts again!" Some young wizards, tearfully, developed a fear of the subject.
Everyone was clearly shaken.
Even when Ian dangled the hope of "the professor promised he'd bring in a Veela for us to practice Defense Against the Dark Arts," it only led to a hesitant question from one young wizard, who looked up with teary eyes and asked,
"One for each of us?"
Even this question was filled with hesitation, a clear sign of how deeply the students had been affected. Fortunately, Ian had already thoughtfully and warmly considered their concerns.
"Where's the Dementor? Did that Lockhart take it away?" William asked, still shaken.
"Who knows…" Ian's feigned confusion was tinged with guilt.
His gaze flickered nervously.
But neither of his roommates noticed— the teacher's desk had disappeared, and after catching their breath, everyone began to leave the classroom on unsteady legs.
Many of them made their way toward the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey would undoubtedly have a busy afternoon. How the counterfeit professor would handle the situation with a colleague so devoted to the students remained uncertain.
"That's not something I need to worry about!"
After lunch, as Ian returned to the dormitory with his two tired roommates, he found himself wondering where the real Gilderoy Lockhart had gone and whether he might encounter him in the Twilight Zone. Probably not; the Polyjuice Potion required a living person, and Gilderoy Lockhart might well be imprisoned somewhere by the false professor.
Of course.
Ian had no sympathy for the real Gilderoy Lockhart.
For someone like him, being locked away and used for hair extraction by a pig might be a fitting fate. Those who had been harmed by Lockhart would surely take a certain satisfaction in such an outcome.
If they even remembered... The only thing that left Ian somewhat incredulous was that Dumbledore had allowed Aurora's grandfather to impersonate Gilderoy Lockhart.
From the memories Dumbledore had shared, it seemed that the two had already fallen out, and Aurora's grandfather was imprisoned in Nurmengard Castle in Austria.
Did they let him go?
The Ministry of Magic certainly lacked the ability to properly oversee things, and a private prison didn't seem to be an issue. After all, from Dumbledore's memories, it appeared Grindelwald was serving his sentence of his own accord.
If he didn't wish to remain there... Who could stop him, aside from Dumbledore himself?
"Perhaps it's because the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was killed. It seems this curse isn't just a simple one; there must be something far darker behind it than I'd thought."
"Voldemort, or something else?" Ian wondered. He had a feeling the Dark Lord might have been drawn to protect Aurora, and couldn't help but regret that such an opportunity hadn't arisen next year.
The noseless Tom would surely regret missing this chance.
"Maybe the curse won't take effect?"
As Ian considered the seven years of suffering that he and his classmates might face, he truly wished for the option of self-sacrifice to be the answer.
(To Be Continued…)
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