Late into the night.
Ian's tutoring was thorough and well-structured—his strong foundation, derived from "one proof is eternal proof," plus a total mastery of every detail, convinced the dozen or so Ravenclaw first-years that their Silver had been well spent.
They gained knowledge.
Ian gained that evening's quota of silver coins, along with new revelations from revisiting old concepts. His Potions Mastery Potions Mastery advanced by a sizable seven or eight points.
"Tomorrow then—if you find it helpful, come again!"
He bid farewell to a group of grateful, enthusiastic novices, feeling the rewarding sense of having "taught for profit." Then he headed back to the dormitory.
It was dim inside.
Michael Jordan's snores rumbled. Meanwhile, William—who had cowered like a frightened quail in front of Aurora that afternoon—was not, as Ian might have expected, hunched over a desk lamp in diligent study. Instead, he was huddled under his blanket, not asleep but curled into a ball, occasionally squirming.
If Ian hadn't sensed from him only fear, unease, and… something like disbelief, he might have suspected the green-haired boy of questionable nighttime activities.
He's just eleven,
Ian mused.
Well, Americans do mature early, so maybe…
"Indeed, being from a German Auror family must produce deeper shadows,"
Ian thought. Possibly, William was still grappling with that day's Potions fiasco and could lose a good new friend. But so be it.
He could do nothing but let William work it out. Ian had never experienced Europe's chaotic past, so he couldn't begin to share in William's perspective.
"It's barely eleven, and I'm the only one still studying."
Without a personal lamp, he lifted his glowing wand and began reading by wand-light.
Originally, he'd planned to look over the library books related to the Mysterious Realm, but the Half-Blood Prince's annotated Advanced Potion-Making beckoned more strongly.
[Successfully read potion text:PotionsMastery+3]
[Successfully read potion text: Potions Mastery +3]
[Successfully read potion text: Potions Mastery+2]
[Successfully read potion text: Potions Mastery +2]
With Severus Snape's scrawled comments, the rare edition was far more valuable than normal coursework. The learning experience, immeasurably better than his lone research, quickly pushed him toward a breakthrough.
Compiled by Libatius Borage, Advanced Potion-Making was the standard for N.E.W.T.-level Potions at Hogwarts. Snape's personal notations had refined many formulas, and recent additions in fresh ink showed ongoing updates.
Clearly, a Potions Master's tireless work was on every page, letting Ian absorb knowledge at rocket speed. Soon, he underwent a genuine transformation:
[Potions Mastery (Level3)3/400]
[Potions Mastery (Level 3) 3/400]
Now his Potions skill stood beside Transfiguration.
Ian could see the flaws in his previous day's tutoring, feeling a deeper sense of finesse and control in potioneering.
"I'm stronger now, and not bald."
Besides the potions material, Ian found more surprises: empty margins filled with hints of Snape's raw talent—self-created spells.
[Locktongue Jinx (Langlock)(Level1)3/100]
[Locktongue Jinx (Langlock) (Level 1) 3/100]
[Muffliato (Level0)27/50Muffliato (Level 0) 27/50]
[Levicorpus (Level1)3/100Levicorpus (Level 1) 3/100]
These personal notes from the inventor far surpassed any standard text. Ian picked a few practical jinxes to learn.
As for Sectumsempra, which he already knew, the text provided far more detail than that slip of paper. This alone netted him around 70+ proficiency points.
"They're mostly nasty curses. My Half-Blood Prince 'uncle' apparently left them on purpose?"
He noticed some new, fresh notes. Possibly Snape wanted him to learn them—intriguing indeed. Perhaps the rumor of Voldemort's quiet return was pressing in.
Ian couldn't be certain.
Or maybe Snape wanted him on guard against the "Saints" cult. Earlier that day, in the Hogwarts kitchen, Ian had spotted a golden Snitch tattoo on DADA Professor Ronny Ehrlich's arm as he carried a basin.
An emblem of the "Saints."
"At least he's a capable teacher—everyone in that group must be formidable,"
Ian muttered, reading on until two or three in the morning.
Outside, a soft drizzle began tapping on the windows.
After reaping more skill points, he quietly washed and climbed into bed.
Before sleeping, he glanced at William's bed: the green-haired boy remained curled like a hedgehog, occasionally stirring, apparently not asleep.
Ian drifted into pleasant dreams.
****
Next morning:
"Wake up, wake up! Big trouble!"
As before, Ian awoke to someone shaking him. Opening bleary eyes, he saw Michael with a giant dark hand lifted—but not (thankfully) impacting his chest.
"What's happened—did Hogwarts Castle sprout wings and fly away?"
Still groggy, Ian rubbed his eyes; mornings were his least-focused time.
"No, the morning's Defense Against the Dark Arts is canceled."
Michael's eyes flashed unease,
"The professor who was supposed to teach us? Vanished last night. Some say he's dead!"
No lemon water needed: Michael's words jolted Ian fully awake.
"What— dead**?! Already?!"
Ian was stunned.
He knew the DADA post was cursed, but never suspected the teacher might die after just one day. That teacher was also rumored to be a "saint," presumably strong…
Ronny Ehrlich's smile from last night felt fresh in his mind.
He'd praised the man for his skill; now, not 24 hours had passed, and he was gone, faster than Gilderoy Lockhart's meltdown.
This made no sense.
"He's in Hogwarts—and a powerful wizard,"
Ian murmured, hardly believing it.
"No one's sure if he's truly dead, but he's definitely missing,"
Michael said shakily,
"Professor Flitwick just told us class was off—teachers are searching the entire school."
"I'll see what else I can learn,"
he added, dashing from the dorm.
Ian, still digesting the news, stood there stunned. Then—
"Umm… Ian."
William emerged from the bathroom. He seemed indifferent about the missing professor, shifting nervously as he approached Ian's bed.
"We're… friends, right?"
Reminiscent of yesterday's question.
"Of course,"
Ian replied, thinking maybe William had sorted things out.
"Then…"
William appeared more flustered, face anxious and voice quavering as though near tears:
"Could—could you introduce me to that new wizard-supremacist group, the Saints? Last night my grandpa said if I don't join them, Dad might kill me."
"I sense he means it."
He looked on the verge of tears.
Another outlandish moment that blindsided Ian.
Wait—William's grandpa was a German Auror, right?
He wanted William to "join the Party"?
Ian pinched his own cheeks, concluding maybe he'd woken too abruptly.
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