Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

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In the underground chamber that spanned hundreds of square metres, the once-raging flames had finally died out, leaving charred scorch marks across nearly every surface. Even the twelve stone pillars encircling the hall had not escaped unscathed.

After all, Ian had cast Fiendfyre.

The ornate metalwork that once adorned the ceiling had been reduced to ashes. The fact that the scorched stone columns still retained their fractured forms was a testament to the superb enchantments worked into the original Hogwarts construction.

It was fortunate, too, that during his duel with Voldemort, Ian had managed to preserve just enough magical focus to shield the area where the Mirror of Erised stood. Had he not, that ancient alchemical relic might have met the same fate as the rest of the chamber, nothing but cinders.

And then how would he have explained it to Professor Morgan? He hadn't forgotten his promise to her, which was why, even amidst a duel teetering on the edge of life and death, he had diverted a portion of his strength to protect the mirror.

One could only say Voldemort had been unlucky to have been weakened by the Forbidden Draught. Had they faced each other at full strength, two wizards so closely matched in magical power, Ian's odds of prevailing wouldn't have been particularly high.

Even with his unique magical attributes and his precise control, far beyond that of most wizards, Voldemort's title as the Dark Lord still carried weight, and not undeservedly so.

"Reading is a fine habit," Murmured Nicolas Flamel, nodding thoughtfully, "And it's certainly in keeping with what I'd expect from a student of Ravenclaw." He paused, puzzling over the book Ian had been reading. "The Journey to the West... Hm. I don't believe I've ever come across it."

He began to wonder if it might be one of those peculiar bestsellers from the Muggle world. Judging by the title, it sounded Eastern in origin. That would explain it; he had lived a long time, but his ventures into the wizarding cultures of the Far East had been brief at best.

And frankly, Eastern wizarding societies had always been... rather resistant to outside influence.

"Indeed," Ian replied quickly, "Continually learning new knowledge brings me a certain happiness." It wasn't a lie, either.

The young wizard had not, however, revealed the full truth; he didn't actually understand why the Mirror of Erised had shown him such a peculiar image. The book he'd been reading in the reflection was unusually prominent.

It was clear the Mirror had already activated its enchantments. Unlike Grindelwald's Boggart, which Ian had managed to influence through subtle mental trickery, this was entirely unfiltered.

But this desire...

It wasn't what Ian had expected to see at all. 

'Do I not even understand myself?' He wondered, casting more than one puzzled glance at the vision in the mirror.

The Black Phoenix perched on his shoulder, and the reflected version of himself, deep in the pages of the book, looked up and pointed to a classic line in The Journey to the West:

"Why not take over Azkaban and establish a Galleon-minting workshop where you don't need to pay wages, feed the workers, or even provide beds? Isn't my true dream to have my face printed on the Galleons themselves?" Ian was still muttering under his breath.

And at that moment, 

"Ian has always had a keen appetite for learning. If memory serves, he's borrowed 254 books from the library in just one term." Albus Dumbledore, with no reason to doubt Ian's words, offered the explanation to Nicolas Flamel on his behalf, even if his statistics were a touch exaggerated.

Clearly.

The old headmaster paid a great deal of attention to Ian. The young wizard turned to Dumbledore in mild shock, even wondering whether the headmaster might also know how many slices of toast he had for breakfast, or Merlin forbid, how many pounds of waste he'd produced that term.

"As eager for knowledge as I was in my youth," Flamel said warmly, "With an extraordinary talent, tireless diligence, sharp wit... and truly astonishing fortune. These are all signs that your name is destined to be etched in magical history, brighter and louder than most of ours."

Nicolas Flamel spoke with sincere admiration.

"I am not that impressive," Ian replied, scratching the back of his head with an air of embarrassment, though the grin threatening to split his face told a different story.

He peered curiously at the wizened alchemist before him. "So... will you be our new Alchemy professor at Hogwarts?"

Of course, Ian already knew about the former professor, Arthur King, who had long since vanished. After the loop, Ian had searched every corner of the castle for him but hadn't found the slightest trace.

"Indeed, I shall be taking up the post in the twilight of my years," Flamel replied with a twinkle. "All thanks to your headmaster, who's been pleading with me to return every single year."

He tactfully left out the real reason: that he was, truth be told, looking for a bit of amusement. After all, he was about to become a Hogwarts professor, he had to maintain some dignity.

"Many aspiring alchemists have longed to learn from our newest professor," Said Dumbledore, clearly delighted. "I suspect our students in the coming years will benefit greatly."

"Ian, I daresay you should seize this opportunity as well."

Albus Dumbledore was clearly offering more than just advice.

If it had been a Gryffindor, they might've laughed and clapped him on the back in agreement. But Ian was a Ravenclaw, his mind worked quickly and analytically. He instantly grasped the meaning behind Dumbledore's subtle nudge, and with a flicker of anxiety, turned to Nicolas Flamel.

"Professor, I may only be a first-year student and technically not old enough to select Alchemy as an elective, but I believe I'm more than capable of studying it under your tutelage." Ian's tone brimmed with confidence as he spoke.

Nicolas Flamel's interest was piqued.

He understood the implication in Dumbledore's words, but he hadn't been properly introduced to this young wizard who, it seemed, had taken on the mantle of some legendary quest usually reserved for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Strong magic and dazzling spells didn't automatically equate to talent in alchemy. Magic was a demanding discipline, and even the most gifted wizards had their blind spots.

"Your name is Ian Prince, isn't it?" Nicolas asked first.

The boy gave a small nod.

Flamel studied him with narrowed eyes. "I can tell you've a knack for Potions as well, not just through inheritance, but from the concoction you hurled earlier at that dark fellow."

As someone who'd been refining the Elixir of Life for centuries, Flamel immediately recognised the intricacy of the potion Ian had used against Voldemort. Its principles were far from basic, and its sheer inventiveness had caught his eye.

For an alchemist, imagination was more vital than any wand or cauldron.

"Potions are more of a pastime for me. Alchemy's where my heart lies," Ian replied with a smile, offering the sort of praise that would endear him to any alchemist worth their wand.

And it worked, Nicolas Flamel chuckled, clearly pleased.

"You've taken quite a shine to alchemy, haven't you? Good lad."

And just like that, his tone softened.

"Of course, Professor. I've been teaching myself since before I arrived at Hogwarts." Ian began rummaging in his enchanted money pouch to show one of his creations.

However, the only item he retrieved was an Enhanced Bone-Ash Box.

If he presented that, wouldn't it give off the wrong impression?

Ian faltered.

Just then, Nicolas Flamel continued kindly, "Judging by what we've witnessed, your magical prowess is… well, not merely extraordinary. You've already accomplished feats most grown wizards can't dream of. I dare say, not even Albus or any other wizard I've known began at such a terrifying level. Your brilliance may already rival that of Merlin himself."

"Still, even with such power, alchemy will present you with fresh challenges. It is magic, yes, but of an entirely different breed."

"Before diving into Alchemy, you'll need to master the basics. The 'Magical Syllable Table' and 'Beginner's Guide to Ancient Magic Script' are both foundational texts." Nicolas Flamel spoke with the calm certainty of a man who'd guided hundreds of aspiring minds. 

The two books he recommended corresponded perfectly with the twin roots of alchemy, modern techniques linked to charms and spellcraft, and ancient ones founded in forgotten magical languages and rune lore.

It had to be said that Nicolas's advice was sound, especially for someone just starting out.

However, 

"Er…"

Ian hesitated, unsure of how to tactfully explain that he had already designed self-operating alchemical guardians capable of thrashing most students in a duel.

(To Be Continued…)