The night was thick as ink.
Gentle moonlight spilled through the window, brushing softly across the quiet bedroom. Ian's long lashes fluttered open under the touch of light, and his green eyes, clear as polished emeralds, sparkled with awareness.
His gaze, unfocused at first, quickly sharpened. He instinctively turned to the wall clock—and as expected, the antique hands rested at 12:07.
It had always been this way.
Every time he returned from the Limbo Mirage, the clock read the same minute. The hour might change, but the minute was always fixed on that mysteriously magical number:
Seven.
Ian didn't know what it meant, only that every week, without fail, he had the same experience.
In the past, the people he met in the Limbo Mirage were only Ariana and the occasionally appearing Pandero. This time, however, a third figure had emerged—a mysterious noblewoman, a witch.
"She wants me to retrieve a mirror she left behind in the living world..."
Ian wasn't sure if the witch was good or evil—and perhaps reducing a soul to either category was too simplistic. Truthfully, what intrigued him most was her identity.
A witch who resided in a castle within the Mirage?
Could she once have been a famed figure in the wizarding world? That refined elegance of hers—no ordinary witch could carry themselves that way.
"Was she a witch from the last century? Or someone active during the medieval era?"
Ian's knowledge of the magical world came only from a handful of unimpressive special-effects films and some conspiracy-filled fanfics.
Which meant—
His understanding of this world's secrets was vague at best. The only mirror he could recall that might hold any significance was the Mirror of Erised, the one that concealed the Philosopher's Stone in the beginning of the story.
A gilded frame.
Said to show the viewer their deepest, most desperate desire.
If that was the mirror the witch sought—the one destined to appear at Hogwarts—then Ian might, just might, have a shot at retrieving it and bringing it into the Mirage.
"I just don't know if I can bring something that big with me the way I did that fruit."
Ian wasn't sure. He'd never tried.
To be honest—
Despite having this strange gift since childhood, Ian was still largely in the dark about how it worked. Why was he able to take things like fruit into the Mirage, but not the bed he slept in?
Still—
To be able to enter the Limbo Mirage in one's sleep had to be an exceptional ability. Just as that mysterious witch had said—
Ian was… special.
But what exactly that "special" meant, only she might know. Ian could sense it—she cared deeply about that part of him.
"Learning magic from her…"
He couldn't deny—
The offer was tempting. But he couldn't tell if her kindness was genuine, or if it was all part of some scheme—tied to whatever made him special.
If she really had once possessed the Mirror of Erised, then she was likely an ancient ghost. And the mind of an old ghost-woman might be even harder to read than that of a living one.
"She's still a very pretty ghost, though. A wise man once warned us about that kind of danger…"
"There's no need to take this risk. I can learn magic at school just the same. The professors there aren't necessarily weaker than some dream-realm witch."
Rationality triumphed over greed.
Ian suppressed his budding temptation.
Like someone born with inherited wisdom—
He understood the risks.
Britain, after all, had its long-standing traditions—aside from certain… unorthodox customs, it also had a very old and specific cultural quirk when it came to, well, certain fetishes.
What if the witch really was the type who liked to "play" with little boys?
Or worse—what if her idea of "play" wasn't what Ian was hoping it might mean?
That was a gamble Ian had no intention of making.
"Whew... Jesus, keep me steady—this is not a risk worth taking."
Having weighed the pros and cons—
Ian fluffed his pillow, closed his eyes, and drifted off into a proper dream.
In all those years without access to spellbooks or magic training, the greatest benefit of his wizard bloodline had been this: he'd easily mastered the art of lucid dreaming.
…
He dreamed.
And in the morning, Ian woke refreshed.
His every movement seemed to carry a hint more grace, a touch more flair—though no one could guess just what kind of dream he'd treated himself to the night before.
[Successfully read Roman language. Language Proficiency +1]
[Successfully read Roman language. Language Proficiency +1]
[Successfully read Roman language. Language Proficiency +1]
Before dawn even broke, Ian was already deep into his daily studies. He'd always taken his Language Proficiency skill seriously.
After all—
He held on to a hope: that the extraordinary trait of this skill might one day allow him to unlock one of the wizarding world's rarest talents—
The ability to speak with animals.
He didn't aim to be a Parselmouth, necessarily. But if he could understand the emotions and meanings behind animals' words, like Newt Scamander did, that would be enough.
"Though hey, if I could gain the Voice of All Things, I wouldn't complain either…" Ian muttered, flashing back to the night before, when he'd dreamed himself into the role of a certain pirate king.
[Successfully read Roman language. Language Proficiency +1]
[Successfully read Roman language. Language Proficiency +1]
…
As Ian absentmindedly wandered through these thoughts—gaining about ten points of language proficiency—sudden, frantic footsteps echoed down the hallway outside his room.
Clatter!Crash!
Someone had clearly knocked over something out there. Probably one of the poor kids about to get scolded.
"Ian! Ian! He's here! The… the teacher from the school's here again!"
Catherine's voice rang out at the door, breathless. Multiple tiny fists banged on the wood. It sounded like the kids were more excited about school than Ian was.
"Hogwarts sent someone already?"
Ian blinked, confused and surprised. He walked to the door and opened it—
Whoosh!
A pile of kids who'd been pressed against the door tumbled into the room in a noisy heap.
"Ian! Ian! Ms. Elena's calling you! Are you going to school today?"
"Will you come back?"
"Can you bring us a teacher too?"
"Use your charms to seduce a hot teacher!"
…
The children crowded around Ian, chattering in a whirlwind—some of them blurting out surprisingly mature thoughts. Orphanage kids always grew up a little too fast.
"Will you come back and teach us?"
Catherine, the one who knew what Hogwarts really was, looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. She clearly meant magic.
"If I get the chance—if I can—of course," Ian said, patting a few kids on the head. But he didn't dare make any promises. Catherine might have a shot at Hogwarts…
But most of the others, sadly, would not.
"I'll take you to Ms. Elena!"
Catherine beamed and grabbed Ian's hand, dragging him toward the office. The other kids, confused but excited, eagerly trailed behind.
"I don't want to go to that school anymore. I'll just wait for you to teach me fruit magic, Ian. The teacher who came today looks just like that creepy wizard you described!"
On the way—
Catherine leaned in close and whispered. Her words made Ian stiffen.
Fruit magic?
Creepy wizard?
This wasn't sounding good.
He had a bad feeling.
By the time they reached the director's office, the door was already ajar—
And Ian saw it immediately:
A figure, cloaked in shadow, sat across from Ms. Elena. Even from behind, the man's presence radiated pressure, casting a gloom across the room.
It looked a lot like…
That black-cloaked figure he'd seen before.
"…Why him?!"
Ian's eyes widened in disbelief.
Where was his glorious, bearded Dumbledore?!
Why did it have to be this damned bat?!
(End of Chapter)