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  Snape, of course, was not mad.

  He simply had no desire to witness Ian mishandling his reward again. With a dramatic sweep of his cloak, he turned and took the longer route back to his quarters, ensuring he would not cross paths with any more foolishness for the day.

  Along the way.

  Many students caught sight of the grim-faced Potions Master so no one dared approach him, let alone provoke him or prank him in any way. The old bat was in a foul enough mood to hex a toad if one so much as hopped in his way.

  Some students said that day, Snape disappeared entirely.

  Others whispered that he had seized a few misbehaving students, reinstated medieval punishments in the dungeons, and ducted unspeakable experiments in his office for hours on end.

  However absurd these rumors were, it didn't stop them from spreading like wildfire— especially with the Gryffindleefully embellishing the details at every opportunity.

  "Did you hear? Sually awarded points to Ravencw!"

  "What? Has he finally lost his mind?"

  "Snape's cracked! He's probably about to curse us all!"

  ...

  At first, the rumor may have started with a well-meaning student who had simply wished to point out that Snape wasn't quite as terrible as his reputation suggested. But years of deeply ingrained fear ehat the tale only grew wilder with every retelling.

  Ian might have pyed a role in this particur i, but as far as he was ed, Gryffindor's antics had nothing to do with him— a proper Ravencw.

  "Wait for my good news. I'll start w on it soon."

  After parting ways with Aurora, who wholeheartedly agreed with his alchemical aspirations, Ia off to explore Hogwarts. The first week of term was never particurly intense for students.

  One lesson in the m, another iernoon, and the rest of the time left free— perhaps a tradition to ence young wizards to uhe castle's mas.

  And as a thousand-year-old stronghold of magic. Hogwarts tained wonders even Dumbledore himself had never entered.

  Now that Ian was here, how could he resist expl every hidden passage and, of course, the legendary Room of Requirement?

  "Vera Verto!"

  As the saying goes, what's hard to obtain is precious. Ian would seize any opportunity to transfigure decorative potted pnts, though whether or not this vioted any school rules was uain.

  "Probably not."

  After all, he wasn't pulling Weasley-level pranks. He was merely enhang the school's decor, refining his transfiguration skills while adding a touch of artistic fir to Hogwarts.

  "Oh! Thank Merlin I had access to fiists in my youth!"

  The only real critics of Ian's artistic flourishes were the ented portraits.

  One particurly proper-looking wit a nearby frame gasped and covered her eyes in horror.

  "Madam, this is art."

  Not all the paintings were against him, however.

  A rge, brutish-looking troll in a distant mural— who had speuries gleefully thrashing a ballet instructor— suddenly paused to appreciate Ian's test work.

  It pressed its thick face against the edge of the frame, drooling as it stared at the transformed pnt pot.

  "Since when do trolls appreciate fi?"

  Ian found this rather amusing. Unfortunately, the troll in the painting was mute. It simply tio gawk, pletely captivated.

  "Move aside, you."

  At st, Ian reached his true goal— the entrao the Room of Requirement. He had remembered this pce vividly since childhood, mostly due to the sheer horror of seeing that same troll attempting a pirouette.

  Just as Ian was about to enter.

  A pale, floating figure emerged silently from behind a suit of armor. It was short, mischievous, and undeniably grinning.

  It eeves.

  The peist of Hogwarts, a menace sihe school's founding, and aernal thorn in the side of students and staff alike.

  Even Dumbledore barely tolerated him.

  "Watch me scare you stiff!"

  Peeves shot forward, swoopih Ian's legs before popping up directly in front of his face.

  "Ah—! Sectum—!"

  Ian, who had been deep in thought about how to access the Room of Requirement, nearly had a heart attack.

  Instinctively, he raised his wand, half-shouting a spell before catg himself at the st moment.

  A flicker of eerie green light fshed before he abruptly ged the intation, shifting to a far less dangerous spell instead— a silent, razor-thin slig charm.

  "Wow! Caught you doing naughty magic!"

  Peeves was still cag when—

  "Shwick!"

  His body suddenly split into dozens of floating fragments, scattered like fetti.

  It hurt!

  But he did not die.

  "AHHHHHH!"

  Peeves' dismembered head filed in mid-air before his form, sloainfully, began pieg itself back together.

  "Impossible! I'm a ghost! I'm a ghost!"

  "That wasn't Snape's Sectumsempra!"

  "What kind of magic was that, you little brat?!"

  For the first time in a thousand years, Peeves was truly frightened. As his body reassembled, sheer terror filled his beady little eyes.

  He had no idea what had just happened, but it was horrifying.

  "So it's you, the troublemaker."

  Ian, meanwhile, was entirely unbothered by Peeves' paate. Instead, a new realization dawned on him.

  His spell had actually worked on Peeves.

  Without hesitation, Ian lunged forward and grabbed the peist's legs mid-air.

  Yes!

  He had caught something solid!

  "Looks like you're not as untouchable as the older students cimed!"

  Ian's grip tightened, and with a swift motion, he smmed Peeves to the floor before raining down a flurry of punches.

  "I'M GOING TO DIE! I'M GOING TO DIE! YOU LITTLE BRAT, LET ME GO!"

  Peeves filed and screeched, uo vanish or slip through Ian's grasp as he normally would.

  For the first time, he was utterly defenseless.

  "Trying to scare me half to death and then calling me a brat? Let's see how you like it!"

  Ian had nearly made a terrible mistake thanks to Peeves' antics, and he wasn't about to let that slide.

  Sometimes, reasoning with a nuisance wasn't enough.

  Sometimes, a more direct approach was necessary.

  "Indio!"

  Ian raised his wand, setting Peeves' hair alight.

  "IT BURNS! IT BURNS! HELP!"

  Peeves shrieked in terror, thrashing wildly.

  The hallway was deserted— most students were already in the Great Hall for dihere was no one around to witness Peeves' humiliation.

  "Go to the Headmaster's offid beg Dumbledore to save you!"

  The peist wailed desperately at the paintings for help.

  However.

  The troll in the mural, noily resuming its decades-old battle with the ballet instructor, paid absolutely no attention to them.

  (End of Chapter)