Charms with Gryffindor was hardly the most thrilling class.
The two houses had no real rivalry, and with the "new student charm" still in effect at the start of the term, the first-year Gryffindors weren't nearly as rowdy as their older counterparts.
"Is everyone present? I'm taking attendance," Professor Flitwick announced, his squeaky voice carrying easily across the room.
It was a habit of his— every lesson began with roll call, making it nearly impossible to skip class unnoticed. Not that first-years had developed such habits yet.
During their first Charms lesson a few days prior, the diminutive head of Ravenclaw had sparked an imdiate fascination with the subject. Much like Professor McGonagall, Flitwick knew how to make an entrance.
His grand display— making every chair, desk, and book in the classroom dance in perfect harmony— had been t with thunderous applause. It had even outshone Professor McGonagall's impressive transfiguration of a cheetah.
By contrast, not a single student had clapped after Professor Snape's Potions lecture.
Perhaps Snape thought his ominous speech about brewing fa and bottling glory was captivating, but all the students seed to recall was the word "fool" echoing in his monologue.
"In our last lesson, we covered the basics of Charms theory. I trust you all practiced the proper pronunciation as I instructed?"
Unlike most professors, Professor Flitwick had to stand on a precarious stack of books just to reach his lectern.
"The Lumos Charm is one of the most significant magical innovations of the last century. It's simple, practical, and even effective against certain magical creatures."
"Lumos!"
His high-pitched voice rang out as his wand tip flared to life. After briefly explaining the history of the charm, he demonstrated it for the class.
Each syllable was crisp, his enunciation precise—he might as well have been teaching toddlers their first words.
"Rember, proper pronunciation and wand movent are crucial. During your Sorting, I noticed so of you already had a strong grasp of Lumos."
At this, Professor Flitwick's gaze flicked to his own house, his expression brimming with pride.
"Especially you, Mr. Prince. Your Lumos that night lit up half the Black Lake. And in the recent inter-house duels, your spellwork demonstrated exceptional control."
For all his impartiality, Flitwick was still fiercely loyal to Ravenclaw. The way he said "duels" was a masterpiece of linguistic finesse— elegantly sidestepping the chaos that had unfolded.
"You flatter . I'm only decent," Ian replied, a little embarrassed. Thanks to the Weasley twins' exaggerated storytelling, half the school had already heard about Marcus Flint Wetting Himself in the Corridor and Wizards Trapped in Holy Fire.
"That's excessive modesty."
Professor Flitwick, eager to showcase Ravenclaw's talent, gestured toward Ian. "Perhaps you'd assist in demonstrating a standard application of the Lumos Charm?"
A reasonable request.
Ian slled extra house points.
"Lumos!"
Raising his elder wood wand, he cast the spell he used most frequently. The light bursting from his wand was brighter than the midday sun outside.
It was deliberate showmanship. Students squinted, shielding their eyes from the glow, which shimred and shifted as Ian wove subtle patterns through the air. If anyone had known about Ultraman, they might have sworn he had just transford.
"Amazing!"
"My eyes! I can't see anything!"
Excited voices erupted around the room.
Satisfied, Ian finally extinguished the light.
"Wasn't Marcus Flint scared by the green light? Rumor has it you invented the Wetting Charm— they say the Hogwarts plumbing backed up thanks to Flint's 'accident,'" a Gryffindor student called out, grinning. The legend of Marcus had taken on a life of its own.
"That was still Lumos," Ian corrected smoothly. "Confusing your opponent is a perfectly valid dueling strategy, though that's not quite today's lesson."
"You'll eventually learn how to master silent casting," Flitwick added, "so that spoken spells don't interfere with your intent. It's an advanced skill, but one you'll need in proper spellwork."
He likely expected the first-years to be overwheld, but he had underestimated their enthusiasm.
"I want to learn it!"
"I have a Slytherin enemy… I want to make him wet himself!"
"Can we just watch?"
…
Faced with eager, wide-eyed students, Flitwick hesitated. He didn't want to stifle their curiosity. So, instead, he glanced at Ian— his star pupil.
Ian, perceptive as ever, understood the look imdiately.
Without hesitation, he lifted his wand.
Silent casting.
A flash of green light burst forth.
Like a magical Gatling gun, beams of eerie light zipped across the room, striking each student's forehead in rapid succession. Most barely had ti to register what had happened.
"So cool!"
"That was incredible!"
"I could do this all day!"
...
The erald glow that filled the classroom earned Ian a round of applause.
But amid the excited students, no one seed to notice that the mont Ian's wand had flared to life, Professor Flitwick had nearly toppled off his stack of books in fright.
"Five points to Ravenclaw. That was an... impressive magical demonstration?"
It took a mont for Flitwick to compose himself, but upon closer inspection, he confird that it was, indeed, just the Lumos Charm—albeit a rather unnerving variation.
His heart still hamring, he discreetly wiped his forehead. The shade of green had been disturbingly realistic.
For the rest of the lesson, Professor Flitwick's gaze flickered toward Ian more often than usual, his expression unreadable.
Strange.
Even after class ended, as Ian exited the room surrounded by a chorus of chattering students, Flitwick hesitated, as though about to call him back. But in the end, he remained silent.
"Severus... Yes, Severus must have seen it too..." He muttered to himself, heading back to his office.
The thought seed to put him at ease.
"I need to study! Tonight is for alchemy!"
Ian had no idea he had spooked his Charms professor.
Earlier, he hadn't managed to squeeze in his usual language studies, but he had spent a pleasant break conversing with the bronze eagle of Ravenclaw Tower. A fair trade.
After all, he didn't need to make up the lost ti— languages were just a ans of relaxation.
Compared to a language he might not even use anyti soon, there were far greater obstacles awaiting him— such as perfecting his latest alchemical artifact.
He needed more advanced knowledge to refine his techniques, broaden his understanding, and push his skills to the next level. So, the mont class was over, Ian made a beeline for the library.
"Finally open."
He let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the doors ajar. Madam Pince, despite abandoning her post at noon, at least hadn't taken the entire day off.
The library was well-lit but eerily empty, quieter than usual. It seed that after the midday incident, most students assud it would remain closed.
No matter. That just ant fewer distractions.
"I need a way to reduce the residue left behind by the alchemical process," Ian muttered to himself as he began pulling books from the shelves, searching both the standard collection and the Restricted Section.
The issue he faced was, in essence, a problem any aspiring alchemist might encounter: how to discreetly dispose of an inconveniently large quantity of remains?
Ian's personal solution was his latest creation—an artifact he called the Ashes-to-Ashes Box.
In his mind, it was a brilliant gift idea for Aurora. A compact, enchanted box that could consu at, crush bones, and fold neatly into a pocket when not in use.
Who wouldn't love that?
"The residual ash has to be even finer than what Fiendfyre leaves behind," Ian mused, flipping through to after to. "Otherwise, the Ashes-to-Ashes Box will be useless."
His fingers traced the spines of various books, scanning for anything relevant.
The Fifth Elent
The Divine Realm: Creation from Nothing
Exploring Alchemy with the Master
...
Nothing.
Perhaps his idea was simply ahead of its ti. None of the existing research addressed such a thod. Just as he was about to resign himself to asking Professor Morgan for guidance during their next lesson—
"I've been watching you for a while," A deep voice suddenly interrupted. "You've flipped through dozens of books, all circling around the sa question. If I'm not mistaken, you're looking for a way to turn matter into nothing?"
Ian froze, fingers still resting on the worn edge of a book.
"Honestly," the voice continued, "that's even harder than the so-called 'creation from nothing' that certain charlatans like to claim. You might have better luck converting matter into sothing else— sothing common, like air or soil..."
A hand extended a book toward him.
Ian turned.
The Secrets of Alchemy: The Connection Between All Things.
An ancient text.
A book authored by none other than Rowena Ravenclaw herself—the very witch whose writings had taught him so much already.
"Thank you," Ian murmured, taking the book and finally looking up.
The man in front of him had golden, wavy hair and a grin so wide it seed to stretch his entire face.
It was…
Gilderoy Lockhart.
(End of Chapter)
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