Ron's right eye was swollen shut, the socket bruised a deep bluish-purple. He flailed wildly, grasping at the air as if he could catch whatever had ambushed him. The Bowtruckle had scampered up the tree trunk the moment Ron lunged, vanishing into the branches without a trace. It hadn't given him the slightest chance to fight back.
The other students watched with amused smirks, no one bothering to intervene. Only Harry and Hagrid rushed forward, worried Ron might do himself more harm.
"My eye! My bloody eye!" Ron howled, clutching his face. "That little pest—grab it!"
Hagrid's bushy brows furrowed in disapproval. Bowtruckles were among the tamest magical creatures, harmless unless you threatened them or their home tree. They never attacked without provocation. Ron had been the one who'd chucked the creature to the ground while trying to feed it, and now he was lashing out at it?
In the old days, Harry and Ron might have been top of Hagrid's favorites list. But after Ron's betrayal, they barely ranked above the creatures themselves in his eyes. Duty-bound as professor, Hagrid grabbed Harry and hustled Ron toward the castle's infirmary.
Argus didn't spare them a glance. He had bigger plans: finding a quiet spot for his first jaunt through time."Argus, where are you off to? We've got class soon!" Draco called, eyeing him curiously as he drifted from the group.
"You lot head on. I've got something to handle—I'll catch up," Argus replied.
Snape hadn't drilled him like McGonagall might have, but he'd laid out the essentials for the Time-Turner: keep it hidden from prying eyes, and never let your past and present selves cross paths. Draco shrugged it off—everyone knew the Head Boy had a packed schedule. He waved Goyle and Crabbe toward their next lesson.
Once the coast was clear, Argus slipped into a shadowed alcove. Unlike Hermione, he could wield the Disillusionment Charm with ease, cloaking himself to avoid detection. He murmured the incantation, his form blending seamlessly with the stone walls, then made for the deserted first-floor bathroom.
Ever since the Chamber of Secrets fiasco last year, the place had been a ghost town. Only Moaning Myrtle's sobs echoed from the girls' side. Argus ignored it—he had no interest in Slytherin's lair today. Under his invisibility veil, he ducked into the boys' room and fished the Time-Turner from beneath his robes.
He twisted the hourglass to just before afternoon classes and gave it a gentle turn.
The world blurred into motion. Scenery whipped past in reverse—students retraced steps, conversations rewound. Water droplets from a leaky faucet defied gravity, arcing upward in impossible loops. Argus felt detached, like a ghost adrift in the stream. He could walk, speak, but everything else rushed by in a silent frenzy.
Ten seconds later, it halted. A single drop splashed into the sink, and time snapped forward again.
"So that's time travel," Argus murmured, probing his body with a quick magical scan. No side effects, no paradoxes—just him, unchanged, with his wand and possessions intact. Satisfied, he headed for the Ancient Runes classroom.
He nearly bumped into Professor Flitwick emerging from his office, Charms book tucked under his arm.
"Professor Flitwick, good afternoon," Argus said brightly, unfazed by the temporal tweak.
The diminutive professor beamed at Hogwarts' star pupil. "Afternoon, Mr. Grindelwald! Straight from the dorms to class?"
"Yes, sir. Shame we haven't got Charms today—your lessons are always a highlight."
Flitwick chuckled. "Plenty of chances ahead, lad. Off you go, don't dawdle."
He stepped aside with a nod. Argus dipped his head in thanks and hurried past.
The classroom was already buzzing when he arrived. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass lit up in surprise as he slid into a seat nearby.
"Head Boy? I figured you'd stick with Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures," Pansy said.
Argus just smiled and cracked open his textbook, letting the question hang.
Ancient Runes was a notoriously tough subject, a web of archaic symbols that baffled most first-timers. Even Hermione had stumbled on her OWLs. But Argus had delved into ancient magics before—runes held no terror for him. Hogwarts' course was theory-heavy, short on real manuscripts, but the acolytes' vaults brimmed with untapped relics. He'd get to them soon enough.
The room hushed as Professor Bathsheba Babbling swept in, her stern face and tailored robes evoking Professor McGonagall. She rapped the blackboard sharply.
"Quiet, everyone. I'm Professor Babbling, your Ancient Runes instructor. Let's begin."
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