newbobooks Chapter 247, Section 246: Harry? No! It's Harley!
Chapter 247, Section 246: Harry? No! It's Harley!
Chapter 247, Section 246: Harry? No! It's Harley!
Dinner time passed quickly.
Although Ian arrived late, he still enjoyed a good meal. The noise in the Great Hall gradually subsided as dinner ended, and students from various colleges surged towards the exit like a receding tide.
Night is about to fall.
Everyone will return to the lounge to rest.
Ian strolled leisurely at the back, pondering his next plan. As he passed through the hallway, he saw Harry emerging from Snape's office.
The boy looked even more disheveled than at dinner; his glasses were askew, his hair was more disheveled than usual, and his green eyes were filled with shame and frustration.
"Damn Snape!"
Harry was grumbling and cursing; he looked like he'd suffered some major shock, and he even nearly bumped into a wall while walking. Ian couldn't help but wonder what Snape had said or done to him.
then.
The young wizard carefully examined it with his own eyes.
Harry's robes were stained with some unidentified liquid that emitted a strange smell—thankfully it was just the smell of evening primrose; if it had smelled like heather, Ian would have felt he should have called the police.
"Is Uncle Good researching a transformation potion?"
Ian sniffed the air, trying to discern from the lingering scent of the potion what kind of experiment Harry Potter had been given. He didn't approach the disgruntled Harry to greet him, but simply watched as Harry grumbled and walked toward the Slytherin common room. Perhaps just over ten minutes ago, this savior had truly experienced what it was like to be Harry.
Yes.
Ian had already discerned from the effects of the medicine what kind of potion experiment Harry Potter was helping Snape conduct—a study that would be a boon to certain special groups.
"This uncle is terrifying!"
Ian didn't know why Snape would suddenly research such a potion.
Perhaps it was at Dumbledore's request.
It could also be due to some kind of ulterior motive or perverse psychology. In any case, the one who will suffer is definitely Harry Potter, who has been targeted by him. Ian could only silently mourn for the savior for two seconds.
When it comes to invention and innovation, I'm the real YYDS!
Ian watched Harry Potter leave.
At night, Hogwarts Castle is filled with a mysterious and tranquil atmosphere. Moonlight shines through the stained glass windows and falls on the floor of the corridor, creating patches of dim light and shadow.
The young wizard wandered around Hogwarts Castle like a street urchin after dinner, a unique way for him to digest his food, since most students had to be mindful of curfew.
This is not.
Almost an hour after dinner, there were hardly any students left in the corridor. Ian strolled around slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
It appears exceptionally clear.
"Oh, little Ian, you really look like a lion patrolling its territory." Someone in the painting couldn't help but sigh as they looked at Ian, who walked with such an arrogant and cocky demeanor.
"You're too kind, you're too kind. I was just looking at how beautiful our Hogwarts is." Ian grinned from ear to ear and politely waved to the portrait that was telling the absolute truth.
Turning a corner, suddenly, a familiar figure came into view—Filch, the grumpy administrator who was always fierce towards the students.
Now that everyone else had rested, Filch stood at the end of the corridor, intently performing some strange ritual by the dim light of a torch.
Well, calling it a ritual is really just some students joking around, doing things to prove that Filch is definitely mentally ill. Last semester, Filch did the same thing for almost half the semester.
"Today! Today I will succeed! Yes! I will definitely succeed!" Filch wore his ever-present brown coat, his gray hair tied in a small bun at the back of his head. His wrinkled face was filled with determination, his cloudy eyes were fixed on the iron bucket in front of him, and he kept muttering something.
"This time it'll work! It'll work!" he muttered excitedly to himself, his fingers trembling as he touched his forehead, his eyes resolute. "I can feel it's just a little bit more."
It definitely feels like he has some kind of mental illness.
"here we go again."
Ian cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and then walked into the corridor where Filch was, intending to bypass this persistent guy who was trying to gain magic through self-harm.
however.
Filch's actions were truly unbearable to watch. He took a few steps back, took a deep breath, and then charged suddenly towards the incredibly thick wall.
"Bang!"
This guy stopped banging on the metal barrels and started banging on something even sturdier. The dull thuds echoed down the corridor, giving Ian a headache just watching.
"It hurts even more! This is the kind of pain I'm going to get! It will definitely stimulate my magic!" Filch staggered backward, his forehead flushed red, but a look of ecstatic joy appeared on his face.
It's unclear what training institution he attended during his vacation to learn about duds, but this repeated self-harm makes it seem like he might have really gone mad.
Right.
Having witnessed the wonders of magic, losing it again might be different from never having seen it at all. Ian also realized that Filch's obsession was related to his experiment last semester.
Unexpectedly, half a year has passed, and this poor man is still persisting. He truly possesses an iron will, but his flawed character makes Ian unwilling to genuinely offer assistance.
"However, it is related to my actions after all." Seeing that Filch was about to continue banging his head against the wall, Ian sighed, took out his wand, and cast a forgetting spell on Filch.
All his memories related to suddenly gaining magic were rewritten by him.
next moment.
Filch's eyes became blank.
"How did I get here?" He touched his aching forehead, thinking he had accidentally fallen. He muttered that it was all the fault of those damned little wizards who threw things around, and walked toward his lounge. Ian looked at the wand in his hand, but he didn't feel any guilt about casting spells on people.
"I knew I had some psychological issues too." Ian wondered what the side effects of using the Oblivion Charm would be if he used a magic framework based on mythology, as he headed towards his Ravenclaw common room. Aurora's substitute teaching made him eager to continue his own little class.
This is the time to compete with your best friend in teaching skills.
The bronze eagle door knocker was dozing at the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Ian coughed lightly, and the eagle knocker immediately awoke, asking a question in a solemn voice.
What things increase the more you share?
It began with routine questions and did not make things difficult for Ian.
but.
"I love you."
Ian gave a simple and direct answer. It might have sounded like an irrelevant reply, but the door still swung open with a bang, and that was why he was no longer being targeted by the door knocker.
The young wizard mastered a simple and straightforward way to deal with door knockers.
The lounge was brightly lit and much livelier than usual at this time—it was filled not only with Ravenclaw students but also with several young people who were clearly from other houses. They sat in twos and threes on the blue and bronze sofas or around the fireplace, talking quietly; they were all students waiting for their small classes to begin.
When Ian walked in, all eyes turned to him. A red-haired Hufflepuff girl jumped up excitedly: "He's here! The little professor is here!"
The girl's voice was very excited.
Ian remembered that the little fangirl's name was Emily.
"Good evening, everyone eager to learn. It's time for extra lessons." Ian smiled and walked to the center of the lounge, taking off his robe and casually draping it over the sofa.
next moment.
A student with keen observation skills helped him move a special seat to his assigned spot.
Ian noticed several students in the corner with bruises and scrapes on their faces, clearly having just experienced a "friendly exchange." He shook his head, took a small bottle of purple ointment from his pocket, and tossed it to them.
"Apply this, and the bruise will disappear tomorrow." The little wizard liked the feeling of giving small favors to others. As he spoke, he sat down in his assigned seat.
The seat began to levitate in mid-air, so that everyone could see him. "So, tonight we're going to learn a very practical spell—the [Silence Spell]."
The young wizards gathered around the floating seats immediately became interested, and excited whispers filled the lounge. Ian waited a few seconds, then raised his hand to signal for quiet.
"This spell is useful," he continued, "because it's the best way to counter most wizards. Think about it, not being able to cast spells means even the most powerful wizard will be unable to cast magic."
talking.
Ian began today's lesson.
After teaching the students this magic, Ian also received some questions from them.
"Professor, when this magic is used, the caster can't speak, so they can't chant the spell either, right?" The person who raised this question was Qiu Zhang, a friend from the same college.
Only those Ian knew well dared to question the knowledge he imparted. Ian was actually quite uneasy about this, after all, the [Silence Spell] was just an immature, transitional product of his research on [Anti-Magic Spells].
but.
He was no longer a first-year student, and with a little thought, he could easily find an excuse for himself without making a sound. Instead, he gave a mysterious smile.
"That's the beauty of this magic," Ian said, glancing around to make sure everyone was focused on him. "My magic puts everyone on the same level. When the magic wears off, it's all about who has the strongest fist, isn't it? And our young fists are definitely stronger than the old folks'."
This is clearly a fallacy of misrepresentation.
but.
The students didn't realize that this was a fallacy.
"I understand now! No wonder the ancestors of Gryffindor practiced swordsmanship!" Some students from Gryffindor even seemed to have found the reason why the founder of the academy practiced swordsmanship.
He slapped his forehead.
That provided Ian with the perfect excuse.
"Yes, yes, that's it! Mastering both magic and swordsmanship—that's what makes a qualified wizard, a perfect wizard, a wizard who can carry on the legacy of their predecessors!"
Ian immediately took over, his voice passionate and enthusiastic, and he secretly used a little magic to liven up the atmosphere, instantly making the entire lounge lively again.
Taking advantage of the opportunity.
Ian also started promoting his "King Arthur's Swordplay Collection".
"I want to learn! I want to learn!"
There are many, many people who have a desire to learn.
No one doubted the authenticity of Ian's swordsmanship.
but.
Ian didn't give a lesson on the spot. It wasn't that he wanted to raise the price, but rather that he didn't have the book yet and needed to go somewhere else that night to swindle someone.
of course.
It wouldn't be a bad idea to have Ariana teach, but Ian was worried that if Dumbledore also came to teach every day, it would scare away his large group of loyal study group members.
……
After tonight's mini-class ends.
Ian first went back to his dorm to take a shower, gossiped with William about Michael's relationship, and then left the dorm after William started to get into a tirade and Michael started to fall fast asleep.
He went straight to the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor.
"Another time for me to be alone!"
Ian skillfully walked back and forth three times in front of the tapestry depicting the troll beating Barnabas, silently reciting the location he needed. Then, a smooth door gradually appeared on the wall.
Pushing open the door, Ian stepped into a spacious room.
In the center of the room stood a tall, black-robed skeleton, its empty eye sockets gleaming with the light of soulfire. In a corner, a Dementor floated listlessly in mid-air.
The temperature around it was noticeably a few degrees lower than the rest of the room.
"Good evening, guys," Ian greeted casually, walking to the potions workbench on the other side of the room. The black-robed skeleton responded with a clicking sound, while the Dementors drifted closer, seemingly pleased with Ian's arrival—if such creatures could truly be pleased.
No matter what.
No longer being treated like a toy by the black-robed skeleton, the Dementors finally developed emotions.
"Right, I have to give it a try."
Ian saw the black-robed skeleton pacing around the room listlessly. As if he had thought of something, he put down the potion ingredients in his hand.
"νδειξοντφσου，Στλβω!" This is the ancient Greek word for the flickering of a firefly. Ian once again invoked the power of the sun god. The little wizard did not know whether the sun had risen at night; he only saw golden light pierce through the roof and fall onto his wand.
The light carried the warmth of the sun.
The light filled the entire room, causing the Dementors to flee in all directions. It shone on the skeleton, but the skeleton stood still, without any reaction.
Only the soul fire in his eye socket flickered slightly.
"Still not working?"
Ian was somewhat disappointed, but he was still unwilling to give up. With a thought, a thin golden ray, as fine as a hair, separated from the ball of light, meandering like a stream of liquid sunlight towards the black-robed skeleton standing quietly to the side. The moment the golden ray touched the skeleton's finger bones, fine golden patterns immediately appeared on the pale bone surface.
Like countless capillaries spreading under the skin.
"it works!?"
Ian was extremely excited.
He bestowed all the golden light upon the past, and the golden light quickly spread across the entire skeleton of the black-robed skeleton, outlining ancient and mysterious patterns on every bone.
"Click click click"
The black-robed skeleton's jaw suddenly opened and closed unconsciously, and the faint soul fire in its eye sockets was completely replaced by gold. It slowly raised its bony hand, seemingly "gazing" incredulously at its own body undergoing a dramatic transformation.
The first to change was the bone marrow—a dark red, gelatinous substance suddenly gushed out of the previously dry cavities, as if life essence had been injected by an invisible hand. This substance flowed in the bone tubes, making a faint gurgling sound, and then seeped out from tiny holes at the bone ends, extending into wriggling blood vessels.
They climbed the bone surface like living things, with the main trunk extending along the long bones and the branches twining around every protrusion and depression like vines. When the main artery took shape, the entire skeleton suddenly jolted—a thick blood vessel twitched violently where the heart used to be, and then began to pulsate regularly.
"Thump. Thump."
A faint but clear heartbeat echoed in the silent room.
With each heartbeat, more tiny capillaries branch off from the main blood vessel, gradually weaving into a complex neural network covering the entire body of the black-robed skeleton.
"So what you really wanted was fatherly love!"
Ian held his breath, then realized.
He saw pink tissue begin to emerge from between the skeleton's ribs—first a thin layer of fascia, then bright red muscle fibers, like countless tiny snakes, intertwining and fusing from their attachment points. Large muscles were building up on the skeleton at a speed visible to the naked eye.
First came the small muscle groups at the knuckles, then the flexor and extensor muscles of the forearm, followed by the full biceps... The changes in the black-robed skull suddenly stopped at this moment.
The growth of flesh and blood seemed to have encountered a bottleneck.
Alive.
But it didn't fully survive.
It simply transformed from a skeleton into a more grotesque creature with no skin and only some muscles, and its bewildered expression revealed that its memories had not returned.
"That's right, it didn't even have a brain." Ian stepped forward, lifted the top of the black-robed skull, and found no beating brain, only a lump of unformed, paste-like matter.
"Sigh! It seems your father's paternal love isn't so pure after all!"
Ian sighed helplessly and canceled the spell. The next moment, the flesh and blood on the black-robed skeleton receded wildly, eventually turning back into a bare skeleton.
"Love? No love? This is love!"
Ian's initial excitement subsided, replaced by a sense of regret. He deeply regretted not asking the brute goddess for some flesh and blood when he left Pompeii. Even a single piece would have been enough to cultivate a vast amount of flesh and blood, enough to completely coat the skeleton before him with superglue.
"Never mind, we'll talk about it tomorrow." Ian put down his wand and glanced at the time on the wall. Clearly, the matter of the black-robed skeleton was far less important than his own affairs.
Nowadays.
That was his enigmatic night.
If the time travel to the past is also calculated, he should be able to enter the illusionary realm smoothly. It is precisely because he is unsure of this that he wants to rest early.
"Add a little African tree snake skin to this pot of medicine last. Keep an eye on the heat for me." Before going to bed, Ian didn't forget to brew the medicine, but he was stunned when he got to his medicine cabinet. This was a scene that truly surprised the young wizard; all the herbs he had prepared and placed there that afternoon were gone!
"Who touched my potion ingredients!?" Ian's voice suddenly rose as he turned and looked around the room. He grabbed the black-robed skeleton but couldn't shake anything out of the skeleton's robe.
Next, he pried open the Dementor's mouth, but still couldn't smell the potion it had stolen.
That's strange.
Ian frowned.
He pulled out his wand and immediately rewound the events that had occurred in the room.
next moment.
His expression immediately became quite interesting—Snape's figure appeared in the scene; he had somehow managed to sneak in here!
then.
In a swift and effortless manner, like autumn leaves being swept away, all the medicinal herbs that the little wizard had prepared were packed away, leaving the little wizard completely dumbfounded.
What kind of role reversal is this?!
"I knew it! That's why Harry Potter smelled so pure with evening primrose! Damn Snape!" Ian finally realized where the herbs he had prepared had gone.
It turned out it ended up in Harley's stomach!
(End of this chapter)