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"You're really quite the remarkable assistant!" Ian praised, climbing up a ladder to pat the Dementor's shoulder.
"If I ever get the chance to bring back a few more Dementors from Azkaban, I'll have them all help me with potion brewing. When that time comes, I'll make you their commander."
He paused, then smirked.
"No— I'll make you the King of the Dementors!"
Perhaps it was Ian's frequent words of encouragement, but the Dementor practically trembled with pride at the title. It seemed as if he had successfully brainwashed the creature.
"Keep the heat steady on these cauldrons; I'm off to restock supplies."
As midnight approached, Ian set his plan into motion, determined to take full advantage of the time loop.
His money bag, now carrying two barrels of wax oil, had sparked an idea. Whether his good uncle realized it or not, he seemed to be leading Ian in a very particular direction.
"Potion ingredients here are practically free!"
Ian reached the door of Snape's office but quickly discovered that the protective charms on it far exceeded what his unlocking spells could handle.
However.
Not being able to open a lock doesn't mean there aren't other ways inside.
With a resounding boom, the door blasted open. Ian was already long gone before Snape came storming into the wreckage.
"Who? Which infernal brat is it?!"
Snape's furious roar went unheard by Ian, who had already returned to the Room of Requirement, making full use of his unique position within the time loop to continue refining potions.
With the assistance of an enchanted ventilation charm— one of the more advanced versions, Ian had no concerns about Snape detecting his activities. Besides, the meticulous brewing techniques Snape had drilled into him ensured he left no evidence behind.
Learning, after all, was a process of growth.
Snape rampaged through Hogwarts for an entire night, ultimately seizing the unfortunate Quirrell, who had been secretly brewing healing potions. Seeing an opportunity, Snape promptly extorted him as the primary suspect.
Quirrell had little choice. The moment Snape threatened to involve the Ministry of Magic, his guilty conscience kicked in. Left with no alternative, he grit his teeth and handed over his entire savings— money originally meant to support the Dark Lord's concealment.
Despite his daily frugality, Quirrell had amassed a considerable sum. Snape, quite pleased with his unexpected windfall, promptly replenished his stores with fresh potion ingredients.
Days passed, and aside from Quirrell's private misfortune, everything else remained largely unchanged from Ian's recollections.
Meanwhile, Gryffindor's resident Casanova had unwittingly triggered a wave of relationship suspicions across the school, while Ian's demonstration of Fiendfyre in Charms left Ravenclaw's Head of House in awe— until he realized his Finite Incantatem wasn't quite as effective as anticipated. In the ensuing chaos, he hastily evacuated the classroom along with the students.
No harm came to anyone, of course.
Ian's control was impeccable. Still, the sight of an entirely scorched classroom certainly put an unexpected strain on Hogwarts' financial reserves.
In the grand scheme of things, though, it hardly mattered.
After all, everything would reset.
"Something has to burn to showcase the beauty of this magic, doesn't it?" Ian mused, thoroughly enjoying himself. Seizing an opportunity, he privately approached Professor McGonagall with questions about Transfiguration.
Or rather, the opportunity found him.
After trailing Professor McGonagall and uncovering yet another of Hogwarts' hidden secrets, Ian had taken to selecting a particularly grandiose statue as his mobile cover during his nighttime escapades.
"Time to move out!"
But the night he cast his usual concealment charm and the statue failed to respond was the night fate caught up with him. The statue he had chosen suddenly crumbled apart, revealing none other than an unimpressed Professor McGonagall.
"Finally caught you…"
The older witch, seemingly unbothered by the late hour, had executed the perfect ambush, lying in wait for the mysterious mischief-maker she had been tracking. But upon seeing Ian, she found herself facing quite a different culprit than she had imagined.
"Professor McGonagall! Why are you so… unscrupulous?" Ian muttered, a touch nervous. But to his surprise, the scolding he braced for never came.
"I knew someone had been meddling with these statues," McGonagall said, her expression complex. "I just didn't expect it to be you, Mr. Prince. I must say, this is rather unexpected."
Her sharp gaze swept over him, though the tension she had been carrying for days seemed to ease. "There are no explicit rules against what you've been doing, but given your repeated nocturnal excursions, I believe a suitable punishment is in order. You'll be serving detention— one that should ensure you think twice next time."
Ian followed her gaze to the nearby enchanted hourglass, which was behaving rather erratically, its sand shifting in odd, unnatural patterns. Her expression grew even more unreadable as she looked back at him.
"What kind of detention?" He asked, tilting his head in an attempt to look like the picture of innocence.
"You'll be devoting a portion of your free time each day to studying additional material with me," She informed him crisply. "This will form part of your final exams, separate from those of your peers."
She met his gaze, her tone firm yet not unkind. "I expect you to take this seriously. After all, Mr. Prince, you must strive to be exceptional— far beyond the rest of the students."
And thus, Ian found himself with an unexpected opportunity for extra tutoring.
To be honest, Professor McGonagall was not particularly inclined to teach young witches and wizards more than necessary. She firmly believed that mastering Transfiguration required a steady, methodical approach, rushing ahead too quickly often led to disaster.
However, after discovering some rather astonishing things about Ian, coupled with his evident natural talent, she had become noticeably stricter in her instruction over the past few days.
For Ian, this was both a blessing and a curse.
He lost precious time he could have spent refining potions, but his proficiency in Transfiguration advanced by leaps and bounds. While Professor McGonagall might not have possessed the sheer power of Albus Dumbledore, she was without a doubt a true master of her craft. Her teaching experience was extensive, even surpassing Snape's ability to identify and correct a student's weaknesses.
With such a meticulous and patient mentor guiding him, Ian— who was already gifted improved at an astonishing rate. Even the other students in his vicinity seemed to benefit from the heightened level of instruction.
"I've made progress!"
After several weeks of detention-based learning, Ian's grasp of Transfiguration had expanded significantly, pushing his already impressive skill level even further.
[Transfiguration (Level 7) 13/6400]
The surge of magical understanding that came with his newfound proficiency startled even Professor McGonagall. It was then that she became increasingly aware of Ian's immense potential.
"Hogwarts never chooses its students incorrectly," She murmured, watching Ian with a mixture of pride and contemplation. Nostalgia flickered in her eyes as she made a solemn promise— to personally help Ian complete his Animagus transformation studies. She had already recognized the talent necessary for such an advanced skill in him.
"Thank you, Professor!"
Ian expressed his sincere gratitude. It did not go unnoticed that Professor McGonagall had not withheld any knowledge simply because he wasn't a Gryffindor. These past few weeks of learning had been invaluable.
Of course, when it came to Animagus transformation, Ian doubted he would be able to seek her guidance for long— especially since he was about to enter another time loop.
That night.
Christmas Eve.
The threshold between the present and an uncertain future.
(To Be Continued…)