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"Weren't you two supposed to help me chop trees?" Ian's reminder snapped them back to the task at hand.
"Don't worry, Ian. We'd never betray you."
William physically restrained Michael from sneaking glances at a group of Hufflepuff girls, steering them toward the Forbidden Forest.
This wasn't just an ordinary chore. It was a point-granting quest from Professor Flitwick— if Ian managed to procure suitable Christmas trees for the Great Hall, Ravenclaw would earn 20 points and receive public praise.
Frankly, Ian didn't care much about points, Ravenclaw was already so far ahead that even losing the Quidditch Cup wouldn't make a difference.
"I just love helping professors!"
They passed the Black Lake, where several Hufflepuffs were marveling at fish frozen mid-leap beneath the ice.
"Look! Their heads are sticking out!"
"Merlin, what a sight! Bet this inspired Stargazy Pie!"
"Now I'm craving fish heads."
Classic Hufflepuffs, always thinking about food.
Nearby, Gryffindors and Slytherins were locked in an all-out snowball war.
"Merlin's beard, they're putting rocks in their snowballs?!"
Michael hastily stole William's self-heating enchanted hat, immediately basking in its warmth as the chaos raged on.
"Gryffindors are the real champions."
Ian spotted what Michael missed— while Slytherins used rocks, Gryffindors had upgraded to freshly produced dungbomb projectiles.
A battle of physical damage versus psychological trauma.
A few Gryffindors were bleeding, but the Slytherins were routed, fleeing with bloodcurdling screams.
As the chaos escalated, Quirrell— returning from the grounds— walked straight into the crossfire.
The stench made him pale, but he couldn't turn back— exposing his rear would be suicide.
Instead, he tried sidestepping awkwardly.
Which was too late by now.
The students surged toward him.
"STOP!"
His shrill command went ignored.
To protect his "passenger," he dropped to the ground abruptly, becoming the primary target.
Head wounds, plus unspeakable enchantments bombarded towards him.
His scalp would regret this day.
"Poor professor." William mourned for three seconds before he threw a clean snowball at Quirrell's face.
"My turn." Ian's snowball was less charitable— packed with magically frozen slush.
(Whether or not the bacteria within survived wasn't his concern.)
"Thwack!"
As the battle raged on, Ian dragged his roommates away.
"I didn't get my turn!" Michael lobbed a giant snowball in regret.
"Bastards! Absolute bastards!" Quirrell's shrieks echoed behind them.
Quirrell scrambled up from the ground, cursing the two Houses, completely unaware of Ian's covert attack. He frantically pulled out his wand to clean himself up.
"Splat!"
Michael Jordan— likely not a coincidental name— hurled a snowball from afar with uncanny precision, hitting Quirrell right in a particularly vulnerable spot.
"All Gryffindors deserve to die! Once I return, I'll purge every last one of them!" Voldemort's voice finally erupted in Quirrell's mind, seething with fury and madness.
The Dark Lord's rage was understandable, after all, he was currently sharing Quirrell's sensory experiences.
"And Ravenclaws too!" Voldemort hadn't spotted Ian earlier, but he'd already investigated the boy's background. His hatred for Ian now extended to the entire House.
"Master... we— we must find a way into that place to retrieve the hidden Philosopher's Stone..." Quirrell groveled like a bootlicker. His efforts at Hogwarts had yielded some leads, though whether they were genuine or planted remained debatable.
It was unclear. Truly unclear.
The Great Hall's Christmas Trees
The Christmas trees for the Great Hall were acquired— though Ian and his roommates barely lifted a finger.
They'd run into the ever-helpful Hagrid along the way.
Thus, Hagrid burned calories while Ian and his roommates freeloaded House points.
A win-win situation.
Their only contribution? Gathering some mistletoe.
A winter plant, also called holly, mistleto,e stood out starkly with its green leaves and red berries while other trees stood bare.
A symbol of good fortune, it was traditionally draped over Christmas trees as decorative garlands.
"You're amazing, Hagrid!"
"Yeah! This professor is incredible!"
"He's like a majestic giant!"
Ian and his roommates trailed behind Hagrid, showering him with praise while the half-giant effortlessly carried twelve Christmas trees.
His strength was monstrous.
"I've always handled this job. Stick with me, and your professors will be impressed."
Hagrid even took charge of decorating the Great Hall, his rough hands surprisingly deft. Soon, the hall was transformed into a winter wonderland.
The twelve trees were perfectly positioned, adorned with colorful magical lanterns. Ian waved his wand, conjuring countless glittering stars onto the branches.
They shimmered with an otherworldly glow, far surpassing ordinary candles or lamps. Even Hagrid, a man of simple tastes, gaped in awe.
"Your magic's brilliant! Probably just a tad weaker than Dumbledore at your age."
High praise indeed— from someone who revered Dumbledore above all else.
"I've got a long way to go before matching Dumbledore."
Ian continued decorating, piling gift boxes beneath the trees— each "inspected" (and pilfered) by "Inspector Prince."
His pockets now bulged with ill-gotten sweets, fueling his decorating fervor.
Meanwhile,
"These candles are impossible to light! They burn out instantly..." William and Michael practiced their Incendio Charm on the decorative candles.
"Maybe... they're not meant to be lit with that kind of fire?" Hagrid, softened by their earlier flattery, couldn't bring himself to scold them.
"We know." William didn't even blink.
Michael added solemnly, "Ian said we should practice and create 'accounting opportunities' for him."
It was premeditated fraud.
Hagrid froze as he recognized their scheme— but it felt too trivial to condemn.
After all, they were just some candles and sweets...
Perhaps Ian's high favorability with Hagrid helped. Or maybe Hagrid didn't realize the candles were magical ingredients.
Awkwardly scratching his nose, Hagrid changed the subject.
"You all going home for Christmas?"
A perennial holiday dilemma.
"William and I are. Ian's staying."
Michael answered for all three, watching Ian hang tiny icicles on the trees.
"Many go home, but plenty stay too." Hagrid's tone was gentle, likely assuming Ian—an orphanage kid— had nowhere to go.
But Ian, grossed in his ice sculptures (hidden in every tree) and now scaling the ceiling for impromptu artwork, showed zero melancholy.
He didn't even hear the conversation.
"Drop by during the holidays! We'll have fun!" Hagrid shouted upward, worried Ian might fall.
"Sure! After I finish my projects!" Ian replied cheerfully, secretly embedding copper Knuts into the ceiling.
Tomorrow's feast would feature a Hogwarts Santa showering coins.
Why not gold Galleons?
The atmosphere mattered more than the monetary value!
"Maybe hide one Galleon for a lucky winner?" Hagrid suggested.
"Genius!" Ian promptly hid a single Galleon above his usual seat, earning bewildered looks from his roommates.
"Brilliant Christmas idea!"
Unaware of the favoritism, Hagrid beamed.
"Santa owes us." Ian leapt down, feather-light from a [Levitation Charm].
"The house-elves can handle the rest." After weeks cooped up in his "lab," decorating had been therapeutic.
Bidding Hagrid goodbye, Ian treated himself to a day off.
…
At the Black Lake.
"Why are you just sitting around? Let's skate!"
Spotting Aurora brooding by the Black Lake, Ian transfigured her shoes into ice skates and dragged her onto the frozen lake.
"What are we doing?"
Only on the ice did Aurora process the situation.
"Living life." Ian's cheesy wisdom made her pensive.
A natural athlete, she fumbled at first but soon outskated Ian with effortless grace—a black swan gliding across the lake.
If only she weren't so blunt.
"Are you giving up? Need me to slow down?" Her "considerate" offer bruised Ian's ego.
"Just a break." Ian retreated ashore to enhance his skates with additional runes— because, of course, they were already enchanted.
"Life's lesson: If you're losing, ask yourself— am I cheating hard enough?"
His competitive streak demanded bigger advantages.
The day ended in laughter.
…
That night,
"Ian, sure you won't come home with me? My family's got tons of magical artifacts."
William's invitation mirrored Michael's earlier pleas— both eager to host their friend.
"Next year! I've got a project to finish."
Ian's real reason for not going with them?
He couldn't risk missing Voldemort's potential demise during the holidays.
If the Dark Lord attacked Grindelwald and got obliterated, Ian would lose his prime soul fuel.
"If it happens, I need to be there."
He planned to sneakily incinerate Voldemort's remnant soul.
Whether the Dark Lord consented was irrelevant.
"No objections? Then he agrees."
Confirming Quirrell's continued inaction, Ian finally slept— eager for his next Twilight Zone visit.
…
The Twilight Zone
The familiar disorientation faded as Ian awoke in Morgan's castle— but something felt off.
Morgan wasn't on her usual throne.
Seizing the chance, Ian plopped onto her chair, relishing its comfort—
Until, a deafening roar shook the castle. The tremors flung him onto the cold floor.
"Did Morgan sense me sitting here and unleash a witch's wrath?!" Rushing outside, Ian gaped at the sight:
A massive western dragon was cowering before Morgan's thunderous expression.
(End of Chapter)