Rowena Ravenclaw's expression remained unchanged.
She lifted a hand.
A swirl of enchanted sand rose from the ground, forming shifting images in the air— layer upon layer of mory unfolding before Ian's eyes, as though revealing hidden truths long buried by ti.
"If you had read your textbooks before term began, you would be familiar with the story of the Quintaped," she remarked. "It is proof that transfiguration— when applied to the soul— holds untapped potential for deeper exploration."
She turned toward the cabin, the Diadem still in her grasp.
"You have ti yet— so learn, little raven." Her words carried a cryptic weight, like a riddle waiting to be solved.
Ian hesitated.
"You're leaving the Diadem here?"
It was a sha, really. But in the end, it was returning to its rightful owner.
"Indeed," She confird. "Without this key, the next ti you wish to find , you will have to cross beyond your own realm— fly across the black sea that divides all things."
Her words stirred sothing in him.
My own realm?
Ian frowned slightly.
"Fly?"
The idea perplexed him.
"Transform into a raven… surely you can manage that. If you can fly to , I will restore the Diadem and remake it into the crown it was always ant to be."
With that,
The cabin door shut.
And on the desolate island,
Only Ian remained, standing in the wind— his foot still planted on Voldemort's head.
The Dark Lord's tattered soul was sared with dirt, a pitiful remnant of what was once feared.
Above them, the images conjured from the enchanted sand continued their silent, unrelenting lesson.
[You have observed the origins of transformation— Transfiguration proficiency 16]
[You have observed the origins of transformation— Transfiguration proficiency 32]
[You have observed the origins of transformation— Transfiguration proficiency 11]
…
A flood of knowledge poured into him.
As Ian gazed at the shifting sand, he felt as though he were witnessing magic at its dawn— watching the first wizards kindle fla from nothing, grasping at the very essence of creation itself.
It was Wisdom.
Not rely learned, but absorbed in a way he had never known before.
"You're not allowed to look. This is for ," Ian muttered absently, stomping Voldemort's face deeper into the mud as he remained imrsed in his revelations.
Ti slipped by.
Whether it was fast or slow, it was impossible to tell.
It was only a feeling— asured not by the ticking of clocks but by the depth of understanding he gained.
[Transfiguration (Level 5) 32/1600]
Through this long-lost inheritance, a skill Ian had painstakingly nurtured was now being refined, shaped into sothing greater.
[Congratulations! Your skill has surpassed Level 5, and you have acquired an Extraordinary Trait.]
The notification scrolled across his vision.
A new ability had erged.
[Shaping All Things]
As the na implied—
It granted him the power to apply transfiguration to anything, be it object, soul, or even life itself. More importantly, it allowed him to circumvent the fundantal restrictions imposed by Gamp's Law of Elental Transfiguration.
"Save for the one unbreakable law— creation from nothing— the rest are aningless to now," Ian murmured, flexing his fingers as though testing the sensation of raw possibility at his fingertips.
There was just one problem.
For so reason, he had not been able to bring his wand into this world.
And he had yet to discover why.
But he didn't need a wand to manipulate a soul's form.
"My own gift allows to shape souls with my bare hands..." Ian murmured, lifting Voldemort's fractured spirit from the ground. Now, with his newfound mastery, it was ti to experint.
"This is by Lady Ravenclaw's decree— so bla your own villainy for this." Ian toyed with the pitiful wraith, which could no longer speak, kneading and twisting it at will.
The magic of concept and intent took hold.
Voldemort's essence warped beneath his touch.
Yet.
It was powerless to resist.
Even the slitted red eyes, once burning with hatred, were soon covered over— muffled, reshaped. Monts later, Ian placed his creation onto the ground: a grotesque little creature, its slimy form unmistakably bearing a noseless Riddle-like face.
It wriggled.
It tried, fruitlessly, to flee his grasp.
"Ribbit, ribbit~"
From nearby, the enchanted Chocolate Frog— imbued with Rowena Ravenclaw's ancient magic— took notice of the new abomination.
With relentless enthusiasm, it gave chase.
It had no tongue so it could not devour the wriggling Snot Bug,
But that didn't stop the frog's instincts from compelling it forward. The creature that had once been Voldemort scrambled in frantic desperation, twisting and squirming, desperate to escape its relentless pursuer.
"From now on, you shall be called Spike."
Ian nad the Chocolate Frog with amusent, watching the absurd chaos unfold.
He turned his gaze toward the cabin.
The door had long since closed.
The windows, too, were obscured, veiling whatever mysteries lay within.
"Thank you for your guidance." Ian gave a small bow and his form began to fade from the Twilight Zone.
Unbeknownst to him, beyond the misted window, Rowena Ravenclaw stood in quiet observation. She did not move, not until he had disappeared from this lonely island that had remained untouched by visitors for countless years.
"An unexpected surprise. The little raven who once sought knowledge in my halls has truly woven a miracle. And now, fate has brought him back to once more."
Rowena Ravenclaw whispered, her thoughts drifting back through the ages.
The end of all mortal life is death. Yet, before death arrives, wizards find countless ways to delay or defy it.
Still.
Only the truly wise understand—
All such efforts are re illusions of control.
Death may be postponed, but it will always find its way to your doorstep. And when that final mont cos, a wizard is left with their last and greatest choice.
Rowena Ravenclaw stepped forward.
As she did, a great raven, bound by an ancient pact, arrived as promised. It carried her across mountains, through unseen lands, and over the black sea that divides the living from the dead.
This was a long-awaited reunion.
It answered old questions.
And birthed new ones.
"Was this contract, woven across centuries, ant for the present... or for what is yet to co?"
Rowena Ravenclaw turned her gaze to the worn and tarnished Diadem at her side.
"I have unraveled much... yet I have not fully grasped fate."
She reached for a new Chocolate Frog, breaking open the packet with an unreadable expression.
Slowly, she pulled out the card within.
The figure on it moved, shifting within the enchanted fra.
"In a thousand years among mortals... where has fate led you?" Rowena Ravenclaw's lips pressed into a knowing smile.
She was unsurprised by the image before her.
On the card, a man clad in black robes stood with his arms crossed, with an arrogant smirk curving his lips.
Salazar Slytherin.
Laughing freely.
"I wish you were indifferent to us. And I hope you don't act foolishly... my friend, Salazar."
(End of this chapter)
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