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Inside the Room of Requirement, a bright light shone like a small sun.
It wasn't coming from a lamp.
It was the intense flame Ian used for his alchemy experiments.
The air was thick with the scorching scent of molten metal. The walls were covered with alchemical blueprints, scribbled runes, and formulas that looked like tangled webs crawling over parchment.
At first glance, they looked like pure gibberish.
Perhaps that was the point.
After all, they doubled as a kind of anti-theft measure—his own unique style of documentation. It was just like a doctor's handwriting—useless outside the clinic and unreadable to anyone else.
"I don't mind if people steal my techniques," Ian muttered, "but I won't allow anyone to steal my ideas and make history before me!"
He was brimming with confidence that his name would one day be remembered. Immersed in his alchemical world, Ian worked surrounded by a jumble of rare magical materials—metal components gleaming coldly under the dim light and magical gemstones pulsing faintly with arcane energy.
His hands were stained with black grease, a few smudges streaked his forehead, and his hair was tousled from work. Yet his eyes blazed with fervor—two blue flames burning with inspiration.
That was passion:
A passion for alchemy.
Driven by that passion, Ian completed three alchemical creations in just one afternoon. Each one was unique in its structure and magical inscriptions, sharing only their underlying concept.
"This is practically automated cyber-manufacturing speed!"
He was delighted with his productivity.
Before him stood three brand-new Gatling wands, their bodies forged from a mysterious black metal. Complex, ancient runes were carved across their surfaces and glimmered faintly as if the magical power within were alive and flowing.
All three Gatlings succeeded on the first try, which was a testament to Ian's mastery of alchemy. He lined them up neatly. Their dark, sleek frames were engraved with ancient magical texts along the barrels, and their inlaid crystals glowed faintly like the eyes of sleeping dragons.
They were beautiful.
The perfect fusion of art and power.
Their dragon-etched muzzles gleamed with a chilling light, as though they could erupt with destructive force at any moment.
"Damn, my artistic sense is off the charts! If these were skins in a shooter game, they'd easily sell for 2,998 yuan, and you'd still need to buy the season pass!"
Ian ran his fingers over the cold metal, admiring his work like a sculptor beholding his magnum opus. His eyes swept slowly across the three weapons, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
"Now this...this is what the true Deathly Hallows should be!"
In his view, only Hallows that could bring death were worthy of the name. The so-called "three Deathly Hallows" in wizarding legend were, frankly, overrated. His creations, spinning at eight thousand rounds per second, were the real deal.
Of course, Ian did possess the Resurrection Stone, right there on his person. If the ring could speak, it would probably gasp in disbelief, realizing it had become a knockoff compared to these masterpieces.
Ian was clearly entranced by his own brilliance.
"Tell me! Don't you think so too?"
He wasn't content to admire them alone; he wanted feedback. He turned expectantly to the black-robed skeleton in the corner. But the skeleton merely stood there in silence.
"No comment?" Fine. I'll take that as jealousy."
Ian always found a way to make the logic work for him.
At his words, the skeleton remained silent. It merely raised a hand and patted its skull lightly.
To be honest—
Even though its brain wasn't exactly functional, the skeleton could still vaguely comprehend Ian's behavior. For the first time, the black-robed skeleton missed the days when it didn't have a brain.
Meanwhile, Ian had already turned back to his work—
He was making fine adjustments to the appearance of his creations.
The room was eerily quiet.
Only the sound of gurgling bubbles broke the silence. In one corner, a cauldron sat over roaring flames. Inside it, a Dementor was being boiled alive, bubbling and sputtering like soup.
Since the black-robed skeleton couldn't use Ian's potions, it had gone out to gather random flowers and herbs.
The resulting smell was horrendous.
"Are you cooking shit or something?!"
The more Ian sniffed, the more it seemed wrong—the stench was too authentic. He turned toward the skeleton and shouted angrily, but the black-robed figure just threw a few more plants into the cauldron.
"... "
Ian was speechless.
"Keh-keh-keh-keh-keh~"
Just then—
The Black Phoenix, who had apparently gone off to cause trouble somewhere, emerged from the void, cackling strangely. Its laughter was cut short when Ian grabbed it by the neck.
"From today onward, only I'm allowed to laugh like that."
Ever since he gained the ability to transform into a raven, Ian had unwillingly picked up that same eerie cry. Now, he glared at the bird out of pure irritation, threatening it.
Honestly—
The resemblance between this Black Phoenix and Ian's own raven form was uncanny. Aside from a few differences in appearance, they looked strikingly alike. Ian couldn't shake the feeling that there was a deeper connection here.
"Three corpses?"
He fell into thoughtful silence.
But happy breaks never last long.
Ian packed his newest creations into his ever-expanding money pouch. He dreamed that one day it would be as wondrous as Doraemon's four-dimensional pocket.
"That's still a long road ahead!"
After checking the time, Ian realized it was already lunchtime. He left the Room of Requirement and made his way toward the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
The place was bustling with noise and laughter, and the air was thick with the aroma of hot meals. Students chattered cheerfully; the clatter of dishes and silverware mixed with the lively hum of conversation. Ian took a deep breath, savoring the warm, vivid atmosphere, as he stepped inside.
He made his way toward the Ravenclaw table.
But after glancing around, he noticed Aurora wasn't there.
Obedient for once, Ian decided to eat at his own house table instead. Along the way, many upperclassmen turned their eyes toward him.
Well, that was just the burden of being a campus celebrity.
Wherever he went, he was the center of attention.
Ian sat down at a spot that had been cleared for him. He noticed that the house-elves had introduced a new round of innovative dishes, plates filled with curious yet enticing creations.
There were color-shifting pumpkin pasties, self-layering cream soups, and curries that adjusted their spice level to each eater's taste. The elves, who discovered their creative spark last year, had become quite skilled. It was now rare to see any of the "dark cuisine" that once haunted the Great Hall.
To be honest—
Ian didn't miss that terrible food. Still, a part of him felt a twinge of nostalgia for those wild days when every meal was a game of culinary Russian roulette.
"Ah, thrilling times gone forever."
He scooped up a spoonful of singing pudding, took a bite, and smiled as a gentle melody echoed in his mind. He had to admit, it was another brilliant culinary innovation.
Back in his day, he'd survived such horrors as "bite into a pie, breathe green fire" and "drink a soup, swallow a live magical creature."
Now, as Ian finished his meal, students began to gather around him.
"Ian! Could you demonstrate the wrist motion for the Levitation Charm?"
"Professor-to-be, may I ask you something about ancient ruins?"
"I'm graduating soon. Could you help me review for the exams?"
…
(To Be Continued…)