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The afternoon class was History of Magic so Ian chose to skip it.
It wasn't that he had any objections to a high-quality afternoon nap; he simply preferred not to draw attention to himself, especially since his two roommates had also skipped a class the previous day.
Besides, if he didn't take the chance to skive off now, when would he? Later, he'd have to endure several lessons in a row. Missing one class in the afternoon was far different from skipping two in succession. Ian knew which was the wiser choice.
Unlike most students who skipped lessons just to lounge about or cause mischief, Ian spent the entire afternoon in the Room of Requirement, experimenting with and studying Professor Morgan's potion recipe.
Love potions had an ancient history.
The completed potion would gleam with a pearlescent sheen, sending delicate spirals of steam into the air. Its scent shifted depending on the drinker, drawing out the fragrances they found most alluring. A skilled potioneer could even craft one potent enough to inspire overwhelming infatuation in its target.
However,
To this day, no one had succeeded in creating a potion capable of fostering true love. Ian had no illusions that Professor Morgan's recipe would break that limitation either.
It wasn't an aphrodisiac.
But it certainly couldn't conjure real love, which was why love potions were classified as restricted substances. They induced an obsessive attachment rather than genuine affection.
Even when their effects were prolonged, love potions were ultimately no different from the power of wealth or status… Ian despised such things, yet that didn't stop him from analyzing the potion itself.
As the saying went, one truly understood magic through practice. To uncover the knowledge he sought, Ian had to observe the precise reactions of each ingredient.
"Gurgle~ gurgle~ gurgle~"
The air was thick with the distinctive herbal aroma of simmering potion, laced with an almost bewitching fragrance, the unmistakable scent of a love potion in progress. Traditional love potions required three months to brew, but Professor Morgan's revised recipe evidently shortened the process considerably.
Of course, that came at the cost of an exorbitant increase in ingredient consumption. Even with the modifications, Ian hadn't been able to source all the necessary materials from the Potions classroom alone. A visit to his "uncle" Snape's office had helped, but it hadn't solved everything.
"Some fresh ingredients can likely only be found in that place." Ian cast a glance at the Dementor beside him, which he had outfitted in a tiny elf apron, making it look bizarrely like a spectral chef. "Keep an eye on this cauldron. Don't let the fire go out, and don't let it flicker or flare."
Faced with such a detailed instruction, the eerily obedient Dementor drifted closer. Perhaps their kind weren't inherently unintelligent but simply unfamiliar with the "language" of the living world.
At the very least, this one understood Ian's orders and carried them out with precision. It hovered by the cauldron, its hooded face dipping toward the fire.
It couldn't see the flames, but it could sense the heat perfectly.
"Do a good job, and next year I'll get you Ron's rat, Scabbers." Ian wasn't making an empty promise as he genuinely hadn't spotted Peter Pettigrew in the Gryffindor dormitory. Though Ron wouldn't receive the Animagus-disguised rodent until the following year, it was clear his older brother was already eager to be rid of the aging rat.
Perhaps he found it embarrassing in front of the girl he liked, after all, it was perfectly normal to show off a cat performing somersaults, but who had ever heard of impressing someone with a rat doing tricks?
"Blimey, if I'd known I'd end up with a magical creature, I wouldn't have taken Voldemort on that cursed voyage through a pocket dimension..." Ian muttered as he made his way to the Hogwarts kitchens.
After gathering what he could, he checked his remaining supply list. Consulting the Marauder's Map to steer clear of patrolling professors, he slipped out of the castle and sprinted towards the Forbidden Forest.
To be honest, Ian really wished he could learn Snape's uncanny, rocket-like Apparition spell. It wasn't as stylish as an Invisibility Cloak, but it certainly had its perks when it came to moving swiftly and making a clean getaway.
Crossing the grassy expanse, he soon reached the familiar wooden cabin on the forest's edge.
The place looked as old as ever, built from planks of varying hues, overgrown with ivy and weeds, blending seamlessly into the surrounding woodland. The roof was thick with moss, dotted with clusters of stubborn wildflowers.
Outside the door, alongside the usual farming tools, a few crossbows leaned against the wall, and a pair of enormous rubber boots stood nearby, they were so large that Ian reckoned he could stick his entire head inside one and still have room to spare.
"Or maybe it'd be a quick way to end it all."
Deliberately, Ian adjusted his backpack so that the fresh meat inside was partially visible, while keeping the black bread and biscuits in his arms.
After getting ready, he knocked firmly on the cabin door.
"Who's knockin' at this hour? Fang, quiet down, we're not in the Forbidden Forest!" Amid the deep, excited barking, a gruff voice grew nearer.
As the door swung open, Hagrid, his thick beard covering most of his face, loomed into view. He was Hogwarts' Keeper of Keys and Grounds, gamekeeper, and Dumbledore's most devoted friend and ally.
Though Hagrid had been expelled in his youth after being wrongfully accused by Voldemort, he had, in some ways, become one of the wealthiest individuals at Hogwarts.
After all, across the entire wizarding world, unicorn tail hairs fetched up to ten Galleons a strand on the black market. And what did Hagrid typically use them for?
Bandages.
It was safe to say that while his cabin might look like a simple wooden dwelling, its contents were worth a small fortune in rare magical materials.
"Professor Hagrid! I'm Ian Prince. Do you remember me? When I first arrived at Hogwarts, you told me by the Black Lake that I was your favourite little one."
Ian held out the biscuits and black bread. Standing in front of the towering half-giant, he felt like a tiny fledgling beneath an oak tree.
"Oh, oh! 'Course I remember yeh! Hahaha! Yeh're the only one who calls me professor." Hagrid's face split into a delighted grin as he took the offerings.
"And yeh even brought me gifts! Now that's touchin'!" His massive hand landed on Ian's head, and once again, Ian felt the very real possibility of his skull caving in.
Hagrid was clearly moved, but Ian didn't dare budge.
"I also brought extra food for Fang. He's still growing, after all, and needs plenty of meat." Ian, whose hair now resembled a bird's nest thanks to Hagrid's affectionate ruffling, seized the chance to hand over the backpack full of fresh meat while the half-giant wiped his nose.
"Yeh even thought o' Fang! Merlin's beard! Dumbledore's always tellin' me yeh're a good lad, an' I reckon he's spot on!"
Hagrid's eyes grew misty with emotion.
Ian had clearly won Hagrid's full favor.
"But I don't have anything to give you in return. Maybe you'd like a rock cake?" Hagrid hesitated, torn between stepping inside to fetch something and staying put to keep blocking the doorway.
He seemed worried that the young wizard in front of him might think he was being rude, so he explained his behavior while glancing at the "ferocious" dog that had already hidden under the bed.
"Fang's a Neapolitan Mastiff, very fierce, yes, very fierce, and he really dislikes strangers. That's right... so I'm worried he might, er, hurt you." Hagrid clearly wasn't very good at lying; his attempt at deception broke all the basic rules.
His eyes darted, his words repeated, his movements were awkward, and most tellingly, he even gave a nervous snort, making it easy for Ian to see through him.
"It's fine, I'm not going in, and I'm not hungry right now." Ian didn't want to subject his teeth to unnecessary hardship, nor did he want to make Hagrid uncomfortable. "I actually wanted to ask you for a favor. I need to gather some ingredients from the Forbidden Forest, Wort, Belladonna essence, and Unicorn saliva."
As everyone knew, the Forbidden Forest was essentially the backyard of the four founders, filled with all sorts of magical flora and fauna. Ian could certainly venture in on his own, but he wasn't nearly as familiar with the forest's layout as someone like Hagrid.
Having the gamekeeper as a guide would save him considerable time in tracking down the necessary materials.
"Listen, lad, first-years aren't allowed into the Forbidden Forest, it's far too dangerous. Even grown witches and wizards struggle in there, with all manner of creatures lurking about." At the mention of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's expression immediately grew serious.
He was particularly concerned about curious students sneaking in where they shouldn't.
While speaking, Hagrid carefully placed Ian's gifts on a shelf by the cabin door and handed back his backpack, all the while keeping his large frame firmly blocking the entrance.
"I just need some ingredients for a potions assignment." Ian quickly adopted a pitiful expression. "If I don't finish it, I might be in big trouble. You know how some potions professors really don't care for excuses."
Ian wasn't lying.
The art of persuasion lay in telling truths that sounded just deceptive enough.
(To Be Continued…)