Of course, his mouth didn't stop moving, he was still shoveling food absentmindedly, not even looking at what he was grabbing with his fork.
"Surely, this kind of scene doesn't actually happen, right?"
The two of them continued watching in the direction Ian had indicated. As the minutes of breakfast trickled by, just as they were about to complain that Ian had tricked them—
'Slap!'
A blonde-haired girl stormed up to a Gryffindor seventh-year and smacked him hard across the face before turning on her heel and stalking off. The poor seventh-year barely had time to process what had happened before—
'Thwack!'
Another girl marched over and, just as Ian had predicted, raised her foot and kicked him square in the groin, leaving him doubled over like a crumpled Puking Pastille victim.
From across the hall, shouts of "Two-timing rat!" and "Cheating scoundrel!" echoed.
Honestly, Ian almost felt sorry for the bloke. From a certain perspective, the Gryffindor seventh-year was actually quite 'consistent' in his affections.
Blonde hair, long legs, and an oval face.
Over the next few days, every girl who would come forward to expose his misdeeds would, coincidentally, match those exact three traits. If anything, wasn't that a 'different' kind of devotion?
"Unbelievable!"
Michael and William gawked.
"How did you know?"
William immediately turned to Ian.
"My dear friend, isn't it obvious? The answer is simple— it's a prophecy! You never expected it, did you? The boy sleeping in the bed next to you is actually a Seer, hidden among the crowd." Ian smirked, deciding to take a page out of Dumbledore's book and try doing things differently this time around.
None of the younger students knew exactly what the old Headmaster was trying to accomplish, but striking a dramatic pose, standing up, and walking away with an air of mystery, leaving behind two utterly dumbfounded roommates was undeniably satisfying.
---
The greatest enemy of humanity is time. Even though Ian was trapped in a seemingly endless cycle, he still found that statement painfully true. So he decided to skip his first lesson of the morning, Flying and disappear into the Room of Requirement instead.
Since everything would reset eventually, House points no longer held any real meaning. It was better to spend time on things that actually mattered.
"It's not that I lack discipline," Ian muttered to himself, examining the raw Resurrection Stones he had gathered for processing. "It's just that Albus Dumbledore has no imagination. He told me to try things I normally wouldn't do and yet, he rejected my 'brilliant' suggestion to blow up the Department of Mysteries."
As he worked, Ian absentmindedly patted the quivering Dementor beside him. He had noticed it was becoming increasingly adept at understanding human speech.
"Relax, I'm not going to blow 'you' up. And I'm certainly not going to blow up my own Hogwarts." He chuckled, sensing that not only had the Dementor settled down, but the very atmosphere of the Room of Requirement seemed to shift in response.
"Professor Morgan only said I 'can't' handle her power yet, she never said I 'wouldn't' be able to handle it in the future. And Pandero…" Ian murmured, turning the stone over in his palm. "Well, Pandero ought to have a ring of his own."
"He might even crown me, proving my legitimacy... That greedy bugger has eaten enough of my chocolate bars and crisps, he owes me a sweet reward at the very least." Ian muttered to himself as he meticulously engraved runes of death magic onto the raw Resurrection Stones. Merlin only knew what kind of secret society the students of Hogwarts were trying to form.
Time pressed on.
The little wizards were all hard at work.
After about an hour and a half, Ian stopped his rune-carving at exactly the right moment. He checked the time, gave the Dementor instructions to clean a few more cauldrons, and then left the Room of Requirement.
Flying class had ended, and next up was Snape's Potions lesson. Even though Ian had long stopped caring about House points, he still had to attend. Otherwise, Snape would make his life unbearable.
This time, he wasn't late.
And, most importantly, he successfully partnered with Aurora.
Many little details had changed.
But one thing remained constant, Professor Snape's sharp tongue and relentless criticism.
"Your potion lacks the most essential ingredient: focus. The cockroach carapace is chopped far too coarsely, affecting both the colour and potency of your mixture."
"Mr. Prince, is your arrogance so vast that you think you can get away with this level of carelessness? Ha, I daresay even—" Snape was about to sneer that even Knockturn Alley wouldn't sell such rubbish, but—
"Here, this bottle is finely cut."
Ian promptly handed over a second vial, making Snape falter slightly. His expression flickered with surprise before he attempted to shift into a fresh round of criticism.
One round of commentary later—
Before Snape could even reach his usual brand of sarcasm, Ian handed over yet another corrected sample. Snape's face grew paler as he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation.
"Are you 'toying' with me?"
A few flecks of spit flew, but Ian smoothly dodged them.
"Of course not, Professor. Upon completing my first potion, I immediately reflected on the shortcomings you pointed out. Shouldn't that be cause for immense satisfaction on your part?"
Ian's tone was earnest, his expression completely serious. But his voice was just loud enough to catch the attention of their fellow students from Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
Snape opened his mouth.
He could sense that Ian was being insufferably cheeky, but frustratingly, he couldn't find a flaw in his reasoning.
"Redo it!"
In the end, rather than acknowledging Ian's logic or attempting a proper counter, Severus Snape resorted to the simplest, most infuriating response.
It was, in many ways, a very 'Snape' thing to do.
"Sorry, Professor. I'm out of ingredients." Ian shrugged, utterly unconcerned. His robes were unbuttoned, revealing pockets stuffed to the brim with neatly bottled potions which would be more than enough for the entire class.
"What—?! When did you even brew all this?" Snape's expression shifted dramatically as he stormed toward the ingredient cupboard, only to find—
Empty shelves.
The cupboard had been raided, and he 'hadn't even noticed.'
"I didn't break any rules, it was all done during class." Ian smirked, watching as Snape's sharp gaze landed on Aurora.
Aurora, reacting to the intensity of the moment, scuttled out from beneath the table and yanked a wooden box into view.
"A Seamless Extension Charm..."
Snape's face was priceless.
Inside the box sat more than twenty miniature cauldrons, neatly arranged, each one bubbling with an identical potion. Even more impressively, Ian had enchanted a small air-purification charm around the setup to prevent Snape from catching wind of it earlier.
"Not my doing! I had 'nothing' to do with this!" Aurora instantly raised her hands in surrender.
"..."
Snape's mood was truly complicated. Brewing so many cauldrons of potions at once, while not particularly complex formulas was still an incredibly difficult feat. Many accomplished potioneers would struggle to maintain the quality of their potions while handling multiple brews simultaneously, yet a first-year student had managed to do just that.
He ought to feel proud. Even impressed.
However.
No matter how hard he tried to school his expression, the best Snape could manage was a grimace of barely restrained irritation.
"Even if your potions aren't completely botched, Hogwarts does not need this many bottles of Skelegro!" Snape snapped, slamming his desk in frustration.
"But what if they're needed, Professor? No one can predict the future, can they?" Aurora interjected, raising her hand with a calm, innocent expression. Snape shot her a withering look but, notably, did not retort.
There are some things that wizards might not dare to say.
(To Be Continued…)
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