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Night fell.
The twinkling stars in the sky gleamed like pieces on a wizard's enchanted chessboard. As darkness deepened, Hogwarts Castle and its grounds seemed to dissolve into the shadows, embraced by the night.
Every detail softened beneath the starlight, leaving behind a serene stillness as the world awaited the dawn to stir life and magic anew.
"Today we continue learning Jinxes!"
By the time Ian gathered his small class in the evening, the latest rumors about him had already taken on a life of their own. The most ridiculous version now claimed that he had dueled Grindelwald in the Forbidden Forest over one of Dumbledore's long-hidden secrets.
'A grand battle between a legendary dark wizard and a ten-year-old boy?'
That was utterly absurd!
Ian was certain Daphne Greengrass had a hand in these tales. He regretted not confiscating that ludicrous storybook from her when he had the chance.
"Little professor, are you really Dumbledore and Grindelwald's child?"
That question finally shattered Ian's composure. The sheer absurdity of it struck him like a Stunning Spell. These rumors were escalating to the point of lunacy.
"That blasted storybook! Anyone spreading this nonsense had better not complain when I get even with them!" Ian fumed, glaring at the Ravenclaw common room's chattering crowd.
He threatened to retaliate with ancient Dungbombs. At first, the threat was met with laughter, but when he clarified that these particular Dungbombs contained actual aged dung, the laughter abruptly ceased.
That, indeed, was a true deterrent.
At least it ensured Ian no longer had to endure the increasingly ridiculous gossip within Ravenclaw Tower. After his tutoring session concluded, he briskly exited through the common room door.
"Where's the little professor off to? Do you think he's sneaking into the Forbidden Forest again?"
"Oi! That's not something we ought to be poking our noses into. Do you fancy finding yourself on the wrong end of a Dungbomb attack? A clever witch keeps her mouth shut… like me."
"If the little professor were to sneak into the girls' dormitory and, I dunno, feed me chocolate frogs with his own hands… Well, even then, I'm not sure I'd accept it."
...
Seventeen or eighteen students were clearing up the remnants of their practice session. They had just learned a new jinx, and the evidence of several botched attempts was still scattered around the room.
Evening lessons like these not only introduced them to fresh spells but also gave the enthusiastic Ravenclaw students ample opportunities to practice their Reparo charms.
As for the older students who weren't part of Ian's lessons, the commotion had become a daily occurrence. They had quickly learned to dodge rogue spells mid-study, a skill which, they often claimed, would serve them well in future Ministry jobs.
From the way the senior students were positioned tonight, books in hand, eyes flicking cautiously around the room, it was evident that Ian's sessions had unintentionally become a valuable defensive training course.
There was little doubt that, thanks to Ian, many of these Ravenclaw graduates would go on to become promising Aurors or Ministry officials.
"Next time, no jinxing the founder's statue!" Penelope Clearwater, a seventh-year prefect, called out sternly as she assisted with the cleanup. She directed a pointed glare at a group of younger students who had clearly been up to no good.
But when it came to the younger Ravenclaws, the older students were surprisingly forgiving.
Perhaps they were simply resigned to the chaos.
After all, in comparison to the wild rumors swirling around Slytherin concerning Ian's supposed dark lineage, the gossip in Ravenclaw was far more whimsical. Some upper-years whispered conspiratorially about his so-called "Merlin bloodline," fueled by nothing more than house pride and overactive imaginations.
And, of course, for the prefects who knowingly spread such stories, it was all part of the peculiar, secret traditions of Ravenclaw Tower.
One could only say.
Ian might be the student with the most rumors swirling around him since Hogwarts was founded, particularly regarding the mystery of his background. The number of outlandish theories could be counted on one hand.
"Why has little Ian been teaching you Jinxes for several nights in a row?" After helping to tidy up the common room, Penelope curiously asked Ian's two roommates. Ravenclaw House members were renowned for their insatiable curiosity, and Ian's behavior had certainly piqued hers.
"He wants to make us stronger, to become his right and left hands!" William declared, his voice brimming with exaggerated enthusiasm. Penelope raised an eyebrow, though she didn't think too much of it.
Michael scratched his head, wearing a puzzled expression. "Honestly, I haven't asked. Ian must have his reasons for teaching us like this."
The boys' vague responses didn't satisfy Penelope. It was obvious they were deflecting. Their attempt at nonchalance wasn't even half as convincing as the clever little professor himself.
"I actually asked Ian about it too."
Cho Chang had just selected a study book for some evening reading at the common room desk when she overheard Penelope's question.
Penelope turned to her, intrigued. "And? Did he tell you anything useful?"
She knew Cho and Ian shared a good rapport.
"It seemed like a whim. He said something mysterious about 'something foul' creeping into Hogwarts. Then, before I could ask further, he nicked my Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans." Cho sighed with a resigned smile.
William and Michael immediately burst into laughter, agreeing that this sounded exactly like Ian's style. The trio quickly launched into a light-hearted discussion of Ian's increasingly mischievous tendencies.
"Is that so…"
But Penelope, unlike the younger students, wasn't so easily amused. After hearing Cho's account, she tapped her finger thoughtfully against her lips, her mind already connecting threads.
"Perhaps it's linked to the strange disturbances reported in the Forbidden Forest today."
The sharp-witted prefect enjoyed sharing gossip, but she didn't actually believe the wild tales circulating through the school. She preferred constructing her own theories, built on whatever fragments of information she could gather.
Now, with her suspicions ignited, Penelope's mind was already racing.
"Let's see… Ian is rumored to be a descendant of the House of Ambrosius, and now he's claiming something foul is at Hogwarts?" She quickly retrieved several books from the Ravenclaw shelves, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Less than ten minutes later, her face lit up with sudden revelation.
"I've got it! There must be more than one legendary house descendant at Hogwarts! This year is clearly a once-in-a-generation event! Descendants of King Arthur or even the dark enchantress Morgana must be walking among us!"
Her imagination surged wildly.
"Love and rivalry! Ancient grudges! Twists of fate!"
Penelope wore an expression of utter certainty, as though she had unraveled a great historical conspiracy. For all her Ravenclaw brilliance, sometimes even her intellect gave way to the power of a fanciful imagination.
How to put it?
Perhaps girls who indulge in magical novels and wizarding biographies are the most dangerously imaginative of all.
...
(To Be Continued…)