The afternoon class was Magic History Class.
Ian decided to skip class.
It's not that he had any objections to a whole afternoon of high-quality sleep; he just didn't want to look out of place in the dorm, especially seeing as both his roommates had skipped one afternoon class yesterday too.
And if he didn't experience the joy of skipping class now, it would be totally not worth it to try later, when there'd be several classes a day. After all, skipping for a whole afternoon only counts as one absence, while skipping twice in one afternoon means two absences—Ian could tell the difference.
Unlike most little wizards who skip class just for rest or fun, Ian spent the entire afternoon holed up in the Room of Requirement, fiddling with and researching Morgan the Witch's magic potion recipes.
The legacy of Amortentia is extremely old.
The finished potion shimmers with a pearly sheen, sending up a distinctive, spiraling steam. Its scent differs for everyone, depending on personal preference, conjuring up a unique fragrance in each person's mind. Skilled pharmacists can even trigger dizzyingly strong feelings of infatuation in the user.
But.
To this day, no one has been able to create the kind of truly unbreakable emotion worthy of being called love, and Ian doubted Teacher Morgan's recipe would solve that flaw either.
Maybe it's not an aphrodisiac.
But it definitely can't bring real love—that's why Amortentia is listed as a forbidden potion. Amortentia only makes the drinker intensely obsessed with someone.
Even if the effects of Amortentia lasted a really long time, it'd probably be about as effective as the Almighty Power of Money... Ian despised this stuff, but that didn't stop him from breaking down some of the potion's secrets. As they say, practice brings real understanding. If he wanted to get the knowledge he was after, Ian had to pay attention to all the changes each magic potion material caused.
"Gulu~ gulu~ gulu~"
The classroom was thick with a distinctive herbal aroma, mixed with some kind of mysterious scent that made your heart race—that was the unique fragrance Amortentia released as it brewed. Compared to the current popular traditional methods, Teacher Morgan's recipe clearly didn't require a three-month brew time.
Of course.
The price was that the cost of the materials used during brewing shot up dramatically. This version had already been revised by Morgan the Witch, but Ian still hadn't been able to find all the materials in the Potion Classroom; so he'd had to make another trip to good ol' Uncle Snape's office, which only solved most of the ingredient problems.
"Some fresh ingredients can only be found in that one place." Ian glanced at the dementor beside him, now fitted with a little elf apron and standing like a chef, "You watch this cauldron for me. Don't let the fire go out, get any smaller, or get any bigger."
Faced with such a complicated order,
The dementor, exuding a sort of hellish cuteness, floated right over—maybe their species isn't low on brains, just not too familiar with the "foreign" way people talk in the real world.
At least the dementor could understand Ian's orders just fine, and even executed them precisely, its face hidden under the cloak pushed right up close to the fire.
It couldn't see the flames.
But it could clearly sense the heat.
"Do a good job and next year I'll catch Ron's Scabbers for you." Ian wasn't deliberately making empty promises; mainly, he really hadn't seen Peter the Dwarf in Gryffindor's dormitory. Though this Animagus wouldn't be gifted to Ron until next year, apparently Ron's big brother already disliked his own aging rat this year.
No idea if it was because he felt embarrassed around the girl he liked—after all, taking a girl to watch a cat do somersaults is normal, but who's ever heard of taking a girl to watch a rat do somersaults?
"Sigh, if I'd known I could pick up a Pocket Monster, I wouldn't have taken Voldemort on a trip to the Misty Illusion Realm..." First, Ian headed to the house-elves' kitchen.
Then he took stock of the ingredients he was still missing, used the Living Map to dodge the professors' patrol routes, and after leaving the castle, took off at a run toward the Forbidden Forest.
To be honest,
Ian really wanted to learn that rocket-blasting spell of Snape's; it might not be as stylish as a Magic Cloak, but for hurrying along or making a getaway, it'd definitely have unique advantages.
Crossing grassy fields all the way,
He quickly arrived at the little wooden hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The hut looked pretty old and battered, its boards running light and dark, overgrown with weeds, almost blending in with the lush woods around it, the roof thickly covered in moss and a few stubborn wildflowers flourishing here and there.
In addition to the usual farming tools at the door, there were a couple of long crossbows, and those extra-large rubber Wellington boots made Ian feel like he could stick his whole head in there and go exploring.
"Might as well call it an attempt at ending it all."
First, Ian purposely unzipped his backpack halfway, showing off the fresh meat inside, then hugged the big loaf of bread and some biscuits to his chest.
Ready now.
He knocked on the hut's door.
"Who'd be looking for me at this hour? Yaya, quiet down, this isn't the Forbidden Forest." With a bout of fierce barking, a gruff voice drew closer and closer to the door.
As the door swung open,
Hagrid's bearded, kindly face filled Ian's view. He was Hogwarts' Keeper of Keys, gamekeeper, and also Dumbledore's most loyal assistant and friend.