Life rarely goes as daydreamed.
Ian had imagined a scenario where Ravenclaw's door or eagle knocker would test him with varied puzzles. He'd unearth the legacy of Ravenclaw's founder, rise as the "Little Emperor of Ravenclaw," and soar to wizardly prominence. Instead, he ended up dealing with a stubborn, grudge-holding alchemical artifact that had a mind of its own.
"In the broad tide of history, why did you choose Lady Ravenclaw as your teacher?"
The bronze eagle knocker was still annoyed about Ian's trick on his first evening.
"Because the fact is, I was Sorted into Ravenclaw. The moment I removed the Sorting Hat, I belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw,"
Ian tried a straightforward cause-and-effect explanation.
But the door remained shut.
"That's reasonable, but insufficient."
Clearly, the eagle was making things tough.
"She's the incarnation of wisdom, a shining beacon guiding me to the universe of knowledge."
"Not enough."
"She's fair and impartial, respecting each student's uniqueness."
"Still not enough."
"Following Lady Ravenclaw helps me know myself better, tapping hidden potential."
"Not enough."
The eagle knocker held an even longer grudge than Ian himself.
"…tch."
Ian sucked in a breath. He could almost sense Lady Ravenclaw's pettiness through a thousand years. Alchemical creations, after all, often mirrored their maker's temperament.
"Because Rowena Ravenclaw would guide me here, letting me meet you, so I could feel your warmth and care?"
Desperate, Ian spouted a cheesy line.
The eagle offered no reply—
"Clack…"
With a loud click, the door unlocked, wordlessly granting him access.
Even though he wouldn't spend the night in the corridor, Ian felt zero elation.
What a fiasco—flirting with an eagle knocker like some clown?
"Impossible—this can't be real!"
Ian cursed the strangeness of his House's eagle knocker, charging into the common room, where many Ravenclaws—upper and lower years—crowded the handful of desks, studying.
Ravenclaw's lounge featured a small in-House library mostly stocked with course-related volumes, unlike other Houses.
"Hey, Ian."
Cho Chang, browsing the shelves, noticed Ian's arrival.
He waved back.
"Interested in tomorrow's Defense Against the Dark Arts insider info?"
She approached conspiratorially, holding Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
Ian chuckled.
"It's only our first lesson—unlikely they'd pit us against a troll, right?"
Despite being newly arrived at Hogwarts, Ian had already glimpsed how unreliable "insider tips" could be.
"Of course not—it's Irish pixies. Someone spotted cages in Professor Ehrlich's office,"
Cho explained, tapping her book.
"Everyone's cramming for tomorrow, hoping to earn House points, not letting Gryffindor steal the spotlight."
She leaned in, voice lowered.
"And we all want our own glory. You've already bagged points today; the prefects praised you specially tonight."
Ian realized he'd missed a chance to shine. He sighed a bit disappointed.
"Any sign of the prefects? Next time they compliment me, I'd love to be present,"
Ian joked, scanning for them.
He did, however, catch the attention of a few first-years who'd had class with him:
"Prince! That was brilliant in Potions—Snape himself couldn't handle you. Think you could teach us to brew Boil-Cure properly?"
"Yes—yours looked better than the potions you see in shops. My sister always gets boils on her backside, so our family buys loads yearly."
"Shut it, you nitwit—don't mention your sister's butt… Even if Mom arrives, I'm still going to kill—"
…
A few who'd witnessed that day's Potions lesson approached him now, respectful. In Ravenclaw, having top-notch academic prowess inevitably gained you admiration.
Certainly, they might compete, but wise folks recognized it was best to learn from someone more skilled rather than ostracize them.
"Sure, no problem. We'll find time,"
Ian responded, clutching Snape's battered Advanced Potion-Making under his arm. All he really wanted was to slip upstairs and study in peace.
Michael and William weren't around; possibly they were off training too. Perhaps they'd soon catch up, fueling Ian's sense of urgency.
He picked up his pace for the dormitory stairs—
"At home, Mother always said real knowledge comes with a price. Could I subscribe to your potions notes with a Galleon?"
someone ventured quietly, inadvertently opening Pandora's box.
"I only have five Sickles."
"I've seven Sickles—my allowance arrives next month."
"Money won't buy knowledge, but I have five Chocolate Frogs—I only want to know the standard Boil-Cure formula…"
"I'm broke, but I can steal from my sister… Oww, sis, don't hit me! You never spend any anyway!"
…
A cluster of seven or eight first-years gathered near the stairwell. Some older Housemates also looked on with interest. Before those older students could speak up,
"We're all Housemates here—why wait? I'm free now. Let's do a tutoring session. One Sickle each. That's it!"
Ian halted, turning back into the lounge.
He should've capitalized on this earlier.
After all, tutoring was a profitable enterprise in any world. One quick glance at their coins, and he decided to do a pay-per-lesson arrangement. (Weekly pass? Monthly pass? No—straight fee each time.)
"A single Sickle? I can't believe I ever envied you!"
"You're a savior—thank you!"
"But I only have Chocolate Frogs…"
…
Ian accepted a Sickle from each, plus the box of Chocolate Frogs from one apologetic boy—he promised that boy five "class sessions" in return.
"Truth be told, my entire family's potioneers. We've got potions in our blood,"
Ian boasted, causing some older Ravenclaws, who'd been poised to join in, to quietly rethink.
"Boil-Cure is just the start. Tomorrow I can break down another recipe—still a Sickle a session!"
"Relax; you're paying me, so I'm responsible for teaching you well. Not merely aiming for a pass—I want all of us excelling in Potions!"
The fireplace glowed,
as he began explaining the fundamentals of potion-brewing. This was only the start.
On a fresh Hogwarts night, Ian Prince and his earliest band of followers gathered for the first time.
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