Hogwarts Raven

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Snape, of course, was not mad.

He simply had no desire to witness Ian mishandling his reward again. With a dramatic sweep of his cloak, he turned and took the longer route back to his quarters, ensuring he would not cross paths with any more foolishness for the day.

Along the way.

Many students caught sight of the grim-faced Potions Master so no one dared approach him, let alone provoke him or prank him in any way. The old bat was in a foul enough mood to hex a toad if one so much as hopped in his way.

Some students said that day, Snape disappeared entirely.

Others whispered that he had seized a few misbehaving students, reinstated medieval punishments in the dungeons, and conducted unspeakable experiments in his office for hours on end.

However absurd these rumors were, it didn't stop them from spreading like wildfire— especially with the Gryffindors gleefully embellishing the details at every opportunity.

"Did you hear? Snape actually awarded points to Ravenclaw!"

"What? Has he finally lost his mind?"

"Snape's cracked! He's probably about to curse us all!"

...

At first, the rumor may have started with a well-meaning student who had simply wished to point out that Snape wasn't quite as terrible as his reputation suggested. But years of deeply ingrained fear ensured that the tale only grew wilder with every retelling.

Ian might have played a role in this particular incident, but as far as he was concerned, Gryffindor's antics had nothing to do with him— a proper Ravenclaw.

"Wait for my good news. I'll start working on it soon."

After parting ways with Aurora, who wholeheartedly agreed with his alchemical aspirations, Ian set off to explore Hogwarts. The first week of term was never particularly intense for students.

One lesson in the morning, another in the afternoon, and the rest of the time left free— perhaps a tradition to encourage young wizards to uncover the castle's many secrets.

And as a thousand-year-old stronghold of magic. Hogwarts contained wonders even Dumbledore himself had never encountered.

Now that Ian was here, how could he resist exploring every hidden passage and, of course, the legendary Room of Requirement?

"Vera Verto!"

As the saying goes, what's hard to obtain is precious. Ian would seize any opportunity to transfigure decorative potted plants, though whether or not this violated any school rules was uncertain.

"Probably not."

After all, he wasn't pulling Weasley-level pranks. He was merely enhancing the school's decor, refining his transfiguration skills while adding a touch of artistic flair to Hogwarts.

"Oh! Thank Merlin I had access to fine artists in my youth!"

The only real critics of Ian's artistic flourishes were the enchanted portraits.

One particularly proper-looking witch in a nearby frame gasped and covered her eyes in horror.

"Madam, this is art."

Not all the paintings were against him, however.

A large, brutish-looking troll in a distant mural— who had spent centuries gleefully thrashing a ballet instructor— suddenly paused to appreciate Ian's latest work.

It pressed its thick face against the edge of the frame, drooling as it stared at the transformed plant pot.

"Since when do trolls appreciate fine art?"

Ian found this rather amusing. Unfortunately, the troll in the painting was mute. It simply continued to gawk, completely captivated.

"Move aside, you."

At last, Ian reached his true goal— the entrance to the Room of Requirement. He had remembered this place vividly since childhood, mostly due to the sheer horror of seeing that same troll attempting a pirouette.

Just as Ian was about to enter.

A pale, floating figure emerged silently from behind a suit of armor. It was short, mischievous, and undeniably grinning.

It was Peeves.

The poltergeist of Hogwarts, a menace since the school's founding, and an eternal thorn in the side of students and staff alike.

Even Dumbledore barely tolerated him.

"Watch me scare you stiff!"

Peeves shot forward, swooping beneath Ian's legs before popping up directly in front of his face.

"Ah—! Sectum—!"

Ian, who had been deep in thought about how to access the Room of Requirement, nearly had a heart attack.

Instinctively, he raised his wand, half-shouting a spell before catching himself at the last moment.

A flicker of eerie green light flashed before he abruptly changed the incantation, shifting to a far less dangerous spell instead— a silent, razor-thin slicing charm.

"Wow! Caught you doing naughty magic!"

Peeves was still cackling when—

"Shwick!"

His body suddenly split into dozens of floating fragments, scattered like confetti.

It hurt!

But he did not die.

"AHHHHHH!"

Peeves' dismembered head flailed in mid-air before his form, slowly and painfully, began piecing itself back together.

"Impossible! I'm a ghost! I'm a ghost!"

"That wasn't Snape's Sectumsempra!"

"What kind of magic was that, you little brat?!"

For the first time in a thousand years, Peeves was truly frightened. As his body reassembled, sheer terror filled his beady little eyes.

He had no idea what had just happened, but it was horrifying.

"So it's you, the troublemaker."

Ian, meanwhile, was entirely unbothered by Peeves' panicked state. Instead, a new realization dawned on him.

His spell had actually worked on Peeves.

Without hesitation, Ian lunged forward and grabbed the poltergeist's legs mid-air.

Yes!

He had caught something solid!

"Looks like you're not as untouchable as the older students claimed!"

Ian's grip tightened, and with a swift motion, he slammed Peeves to the floor before raining down a flurry of punches.

"I'M GOING TO DIE! I'M GOING TO DIE! YOU LITTLE BRAT, LET ME GO!"

Peeves flailed and screeched, unable to vanish or slip through Ian's grasp as he normally would.

For the first time, he was utterly defenseless.

"Trying to scare me half to death and then calling me a brat? Let's see how you like it!"

Ian had nearly made a terrible mistake thanks to Peeves' antics, and he wasn't about to let that slide.

Sometimes, reasoning with a nuisance wasn't enough.

Sometimes, a more direct approach was necessary.

"Incendio!"

Ian raised his wand, setting Peeves' hair alight.

"IT BURNS! IT BURNS! HELP!"

Peeves shrieked in terror, thrashing wildly.

The hallway was deserted— most students were already in the Great Hall for dinner. There was no one around to witness Peeves' humiliation.

"Go to the Headmaster's office and beg Dumbledore to save you!"

The poltergeist wailed desperately at the paintings for help.

However.

The troll in the mural, now happily resuming its decades-old battle with the ballet instructor, paid absolutely no attention to them.

(End of Chapter)