Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter) Chapter 202 110 Like a Dream and Illusion Part 3

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"You seem… unwell," Snape murmured, his voice dripping with suspicion.

Quirrell swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "I, perhaps I didn't sleep well last night," he stamred, though his excuse sounded as flimsy as a tattered invisibility cloak.

Snape's lips curled in sothing that wasn't quite a smile. "If you struggle with sleepless nights, might I suggest patrolling the corridors more? The castle has been attracting… unwanted pests lately."

His dark eyes bore into Quirrell, unblinking, unreadable.

"So of my personal stores seem to have gone missing overnight. A mystery, really. I do wonder which little rodent scurried off with them."

Quirrell's grip on the edge of his robes tightened.

"I, I wouldn't know anything about that, Professor," he managed weakly, the sweat on his brow defying the chill of winter. "But I, I'd be happy to, ah, keep an eye out."

Snape held his gaze for a mont longer before finally turning away. With a slow, deliberate stride, he disappeared into the departing crowd.

Quirrell watched him go, a nervous tremor running through his hands.

"How? How does he always know?"

He had been so careful, taking only what was necessary, yet sohow, Snape had noticed. It was unnerving. There was sothing unnatural about the man's ability to track the slightest disturbances in his domain.

…

The Great Hall – Lunchti

By the ti lunch was served, the excitent from the Quidditch match had not yet faded. Players and spectators alike buzzed with animated discussions, analyzing plays, speculating on tactics, and, curiously, not one person seed to question the absurd nature of the Snitch's role in the ga. Ian found the collective obliviousness rather fascinating.

"Quidditch is brilliant! One day, I'll be a Seeker! If I'd been out there just now, we'd have won for sure. Our Seeker was just too slow!"

"It's not just that," William interjected. "Broom quality matters too. Ours only just got broken in, probably didn't sync up properly with the rider yet."

Michael nodded in agreent, though he still looked slightly disgruntled.

Seizing the mont, Ian casually pulled the platter of steak closer, finishing it off with a contented sigh. With a practiced flick of his fingers, he raised his hand, and monts later, a goblet of fresh lemonade, laden with at least five lemon slices, appeared before him.

This was, of course, the result of a carefully negotiated arrangent with the house-elves the night before. Ever since he had sampled a particularly abysmal drink, he had managed to convince them to grant him a silent, unlimited refills policy.

He lifted the goblet in silent appreciation. "I do love house elves."

With that, he leaned back, thoroughly satisfied.

After lunch, Ian returned to the Room of Requirent to fine-tune the intricate potions he was brewing. He disposed of leftover ingredients and daily waste into the enchanted Maw of Dentor.

The Maw of Dentor, an eerie, gaping void that seed to lead to an unknown dinsion, was astonishingly effective for waste disposal, almost like an endlessly hungry chasm that devoured everything without a trace.

"Go on, eat up," Ian muttered, pressing down on the writhing, shadowy entity that ford the Dentor and prising its jagged mouth open. He dumped the rubbish inside. Though it squird in protest, Ian was unbothered. The old to had been quite clear, Dentor had no sense of taste. This one was simply a skittish specin.

"No spitting it out, mind you."

Ian watched as the entity hesitated, its wispy, clawed fingers hovering near its mouth as if contemplating a rebellion.

"Don't do that," Ian reminded it gently. Imdiately, it withdrew its hands, obedient as ever. That was what Ian liked about this enchanted construct, it was more biddable than a Kneazle and never repeated a mistake once corrected.

"I… I want… to leave…" The Dentor's fragnted voice rasped from the void, its words fractured and halting.

"Now, now, none of that," Ian said, stirring his cauldron. "You stay here and mind the flas."

Satisfied that the Dentor would obey, he turned his attention back to the alchemical wonders the Room of Requirent had conjured for him.

"Gurgle… gurgle… gurgle…"

Several great cauldrons bubbled in harmony.

The Dentor tended to the fire without question.

It had no eyes.

And yet, if it did, Ian could have sworn they might have glistened.

"Such remarkable alchemy… It makes ti vanish." Ian barely noticed the hours slipping by, only dashing out of the Room of Requirent when he realized his next class, Charms, was about to begin.

The first-year syllabus was practically second nature to him by now. He wasn't the only one aware of this; Ravenclaw's esteed Head of House, Professor Filius Flitwick, certainly knew it too.

Throughout the lesson, Flitwick seized every opportunity to call on Ian, having him demonstrate charms to the class. It served a dual purpose, both to challenge Ian and to grant the professor a well-earned breather. It also, conveniently, earned Ravenclaw a steady stream of House points.

Whoever said Heads of House didn't have their own little tricks?

Professor Flitwick's thods were far subtler than McGonagall's asured fairness or Snape's notorious favoritism toward Slytherin. Unlike his colleagues, he made no effort to conceal his preference for a promising Ravenclaw student.

After all, compared to so of his pupils who could turn the classroom into a foggy disaster with a single flick of their wands, Ian was a breath of fresh air.

He even endorsed Ian's impromptu after-class tutoring sessions, as they spurred Ravenclaw's collective improvent and, consequently, lightened his own teaching workload.

"You have all the makings of a Master of Magic, Mr. Prince," Flitwick declared before dismissing the class. "For your diligence and talent, 5 Points to Ravenclaw!"

It was no wonder Ravenclaw held a commanding lead in the House Cup this term.

Most Heads of House were known to show a degree of partiality, of course, provided they had students worthy of their favor. It was an unspoken rule among the four Heads.

"I expect you all to continue practicing the Summoning Charm," Flitwick reminded them as students began gathering their books. "Charms like Accio require persistence. If you neglect it, you may find it unreliable when you need it most."

As the class emptied, Ian deliberately lingered behind.

He had a question for his Head of House, one concerning the Patronus Charm, a spell he had been struggling to master.

Perhaps Grindelwald had been unable to offer an answer, but that didn't an all his professors were at a loss. If anyone could shed light on the matter, aside from the elusive Dumbledore, it was the diminutive dueling master standing before him.

When it ca to the fundantal principles of magic, Ian suspected that even Dumbledore and Grindelwald might not match Flitwick's expertise.

Professor Flitwick was the embodint of dedication.

Unlike Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and perhaps even Ian, who seed to follow an effortless pattern of "See it, learn it, master it", Professor Flitwick's journey to magical prowess had been one of relentless dedication rather than sheer talent.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Prince?" Professor Flitwick had just finished gathering his notes and carefully climbed down from the raised teacher's desk when he noticed Ian still lingering by the door.

He offered Ian a wry smile, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Your mastery of the Summoning Charm is truly impressive, but I must advise against further attempts like 'Accio Dumbledore' in the future."

Professor Flitwick referenced the rather unorthodox experint Ian had attempted while the rest of the class diligently practiced. Naturally, Ian had completed the standard exercises far ahead of schedule.

"Is it impossible to use Accio on a living being?" Ian asked, more out of curiosity than expectation.

"Most often, we only use the Summoning Charm on inanimate objects. That isn't because it cannot work on living creatures, but because the magical strain is exponentially greater." Professor Flitwick's tone was patient as he elaborated beyond what the standard textbooks covered.

"As you know, the farther the distance, the more magic is required. But if you were to summon the Headmaster himself, you'd not only bear the imnse magical burden of the Summoning Charm but would also need to possess magic far surpassing Headmaster Dumbledore's own."

"Which… is rather difficult to achieve," he finished with deliberate understatent.

Ian, however, understood the gravity of it better than most. In his view, both Dumbledore and Grindelwald had likely reached the pinnacle of magical ability, a level beyond what was realistically attainable.

"Thank you for the explanation, Professor Flitwick," Ian said, setting the topic aside. What truly preoccupied his mind was sothing else entirely. "Actually, the reason I stayed behind isn't about Accio. I wanted to ask for your help with a spell I've been struggling with for quite so ti."

He hesitated before adding, "I don't suppose failing to cast a proper Patronus would get labeled as a natural Dark wizard?"

(To Be Continued…)