Weeks Later, as the sun rose and set, Ian settled into a rigorous routine. Time flew when one was engrossed in work.
In what felt like a blink, weeks had passed.
Occasionally, Ian used Marauder's Map to monitor Quirrell's movements, but the man showed no signs of making a move against Grindelwald.
A pity. Ian would've loved to witness a clash between the first and second Dark Lords.
"Maybe he's still searching for the Philosopher's Stone?"
Quirrell's post-class wanderings suggested as much.
"I just want that mirror… Though studying the Stone wouldn't hurt. Wonder if it's as complex as the Resurrection Stone."
Aside from classes, Ian spent most of his time on replication. Progress was slower than expected.
Engraving the prototype had taken days, but that was just the beginning. Adjusting the runic connections was an even more delicate task— especially with his limited understanding of Necro-Script.
A single misstep could drastically alter the outcome. Until activation, no one could predict the effects of errors.
During these weeks, Ian had visited the Twilight Zone several times, but couldn't snap more photos for Dumbledore. Pandero had taken Ariana on a swordsmanship expedition.
This, Ian learned from his mentor, Morgan le Fay.
Despite Pandero and Morgan's mutual disdain, Ariana had won the legendary dark witch's affection. Perhaps Morgan cherished the girl's innocence, something she herself had lost long ago.
(Not that Ian would dare voice that theory to her face.)
Ian had also inquired about the Deathly Hallows, but Morgan seemed unimpressed.
"They once belonged to one wizard. And I could've killed him with a thought. So whether they're the Death God's creations or not, they mean nothing to me."
Her words were dripped with disdain.
At her level, true power came from within, not fromartifacts.
Ian agreed.
Even Grindelwald and Dumbledore had reached similar conclusions. The truly powerful never relied on external enhancements.
"Voldemort never grasped that."
As Morgan had emphasized after their Hallows discussion, "The height of one's thinking determines the ceiling of their achievements."
His subsequent visits yielded little excitement.
The legendary witch mostly assessed Ian's progress and corrected his spellcasting habits.
Unlike Grindelwald— who spoon-fed knowledge— Morgan preferred letting Ian learn independently before refining his understanding.
Two teaching styles. Two masters.
However, the effects were equally tremendous, Ian's magical proficiency improved significantly.
Compared to Grindelwald, though, Morgan was far more demanding. She never lavished Ian with praise, instead constantly pushing him with remarks like, "Not bad, but still not enough."
The emotional support was lacking, but Ian didn't dare complain. While helping Morgan repair her guardians, he sometimes felt like an indentured servant.
"I wonder if the magical inscriptions inside Hogwarts' statues are similarly structured."
Seizing the opportunity while Morgan was in a rare good mood after regaining her gatekeeper guardian, Ian attempted to ask her to verify whether the mysterious note's runes were authentic.
However, the legendary witch's knowledge of Necro-Script was even shallower than the Grey Lady's. Perhaps it was because she had never encountered such knowledge in life or death.
Or maybe she knew but simply refused to tell Ian.
This ancient witch was, without a doubt, the most enigmatic figure Ian had ever met.
"Master… are you even capable?" Ian's attempt at reverse psychology was crude, but Morgan took the bait, just not in the way he expected.
Instead of confirming the note's runes, she inscribed another set of runes onto the parchment— ones designed to help Ian track down its original sender.
According to Morgan, when the note approached its creator, it would emit a faint glow, regardless of any concealment magic they might have used.
This was a ruthlessly effective method.
Thrilled and fully trusting in Morgan's abilities, Ian spent the next day running around the school with the note, approaching every possible suspect.
Grindelwald.
Voldemort-Quirrell.
Professor Arthur King.
McGonagall.
Dumbledore.
Flitwick.
Even Sprout and Snape.
Yet, to his utter shock, the note remained inert near every suspect. Ian began suspecting this was just another one of Morgan's cruel jokes.
"Will you light up or not?!"
Desperate, he even approached Aurora Sinistra and various students, wondering if one of them might be a disguised prodigy or a rejuvenated elder.
Unsurprisingly, this reckless approach only led to misunderstandings— over a dozen girls and one senior thought he was trying to confess.
"That wicked woman ruined me!"
Defeated, Ian retreated to the Room of Requirement. Regardless of whether the mysterious figure was still at Hogwarts, he couldn't abandon his half-finished replica.
Adjusting the magical circuits between the runes had consumed weeks of his time.
For magic to take effect, the structure formed by these runes was crucial. The process required tens of thousands of adjustments, highlighting why Ancient Alchemy was so inefficient.
But if successful, the result would be something modern alchemy could never replicate— because these runes originated from the Death God itself.
This was also why Ian struggled so much.
Days of intense manual labor left him exhausted, proving that excessive concentration was detrimental to one's health.
"I'll need reading glasses at this rate!"
His vision blurred from staring at the Resurrection Stone's minuscule inscriptions. Each adjustment required cross-referencing the original, a process more torturous than counting grains of sand.
"Isn't this just… assembly line labor?"
Ian was physically and mentally drained, and his daily classroom demeanor became sluggish.
William suspected he'd gotten into banned potions, while Michael was convinced he was secretly dating someone.
"Who started that rumor?!"
Dark circles framed Ian's swollen eyes as he chugged restorative potions between bites of steak— a taste only those who'd tried foul-tasting potions could understand.
"You haven't hosted any evening gatherings lately. The younger students say love's made you lazy. Even Penelope says only lovestruck people act this lethargic." Michael's explanation was delivered with grave seriousness.
William chimed in. "Yeah! I don't get why dating would make you tired, but our Prefect wouldn't lie!"
Ian seriously considered introducing them to his Dementor for a romantic encounter.
"Eat up. We've got work to do." He shoved baguettes into their mouths before dragging them outside.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Hogwarts had already begun its holiday— some schools certainly knew how to prioritize breaks.
The joy on the students' faces was infectious. Holidays truly nourished the soul—even their complexions seemed brighter, as though a bit of magic had worked its way into their skin.
In stark contrast, Ian's dark circles stood out painfully.
"This snow is relentless."
December had brought a bitter chill, and days of snowfall had transformed the once-green grounds into a pristine white expanse.
"Prince! Come build a snowman with us!"
Fred and George bounded over, grinning mischievously. Ever since sharing their encounter with the "dirty thing" disguised as Ian, they'd treated him like an old friend— conveniently ignoring how his pale face that night had nearly matched Michael's.
"Is that… a snowman?" Michael gawked at the twins' creation in horror.
"I feel mentally violated." William clutched his head, struggling to find words.
"This is art! You just don't understand!" One twin declared proudly.
The other nodded with fervor. "This is an ultra-advanced art! Look at these five heads and dozen legs— don't the lines just sing?"
Their grotesque snowman abomination left William and Michael shivering, and not from the cold.
"Will we end up like this if we keep studying magic?"
They exchanged worried glances.
Unlike his unappreciative roommates, Ian approved wholeheartedly.
"You're right! This is art! But I bet you nicked the idea!" The twins gasped dramatically.
"He knows we plagiarized! He must've seen the Centaur specimen in the Defense Professor's office!" George clutched his chest.
Fred wailed, "Then we'll add five more heads! Twenty legs! And twenty eyes per leg!"
"George! If we're adding legs, why not some… er, extra anatomy?"
Fred, mid-modification, earnestly explained to Ian: "The professor's specimen was a failed Animagus Centaur— but ours is the ultimate evolution!"
He invited Ian to contribute to their masterpiece.
"..."
Ian now knew where his "art piece" had ended up.
He liked to think of himself as open-minded, but the twins were on an entirely different level.
"Such a grand masterpiece deserves your exclusive touch! We're unworthy!"
Ian fled, dragging his bewildered roommates behind him.
Compared to the twins' nightmarish creation, most other snowmen— crafted by younger witches— were far more charming.
Magical creatures were the theme of choice: giant Puffskeins, oversized round-faced Scottish chickens, and even an enormous toad.
"Should we build a dragon?" William's fascination with Western dragons flared up once more, and Michael's interest quickly followed.
"Weren't you two supposed to help me chop trees?" Ian's reminder snapped them back to the task at hand.
(To Be Continued…)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395