The next day.
Outside the Headmaster's Office of Hogwarts.
Ian, who just walked out of the office in the early morning, looked utterly exhausted, as if his body was severely drained. It's a sign of a wizard's magic power being extremely fatigued.
This doesn't mean a wizard is unable to cast spells, but fatigued magic power makes it extremely difficult to cast and control spells, sometimes leading wizards to become explosions experts like Seamus.
Of course, Ian wouldn't lose control to such an extent; he felt the toughest part was having to muster the energy for classes the next day, akin to pulling an all-nighter.
In the Great Hall.
The dining table was filled with a dazzling array of food, and the little wizards noticed something was off with Ian. Quite a few Ravenclaw little wizards and even older students were whispering about his situation.
"The young professor didn't give us a lesson last night, what's with this sunken cheek and low spirits?"
"Simple, he's in love. My brother was like this when he fell in love. Sometimes I feel life is unfair; my sister looked radiant when she was in love."
"I bet someone used Amortentia on him."
"Huh? Why didn't you tell me about this tactic earlier? Damn, for you to mention it, you've surely used it yourself already. You're the REAL little brat!"
"Stop talking! Eat this! It's delicious!"
"Don't take my cream cake!"
...
Everything was happening just like it did in Ian's memory, except for the rumors that had been prematurely fabricated on him; most things only differed in details from his past experiences. Maybe not vastly different, after all, not like a replay in "Happy Death Day."
"Even if the gap is as small as eating one less bite of pickle, does it belong to the part abandoned by fate at the right time?" Ian stared at the food on his plate, lost in thought.
He never thought he'd abandon his pursuit of health through wolfberries, red dates, and hot water at the tender age of eleven, turning to ponder philosophical questions of extreme depth.
As for how to break the cycle, Ian was contemplating himself. He was not the type to pin all hopes on others; relying on oneself is better than relying on the heavens, the earth, or background, after all.
"If it truly requires zero deviation, letting the right time flow again as Dumbledore said is something even Merlin returned couldn't achieve."
"After all, even just biting an apple results in cell wall damage that's unlikely to have no deviation." Ian quickly devoured an apple thoroughly.
"Of course, Teacher Morgan also mentioned that time, under the influence of fate, smooths out those not-so-dramatic ups and downs, so perhaps Dumbledore's meaning is to avoid major errors?"
Ian ate just a tiny bit of fruit and pudding before he was too full to eat more. Little wonder that worrying leads to weight loss, it genuinely affects a person's appetite severely.
"What's up with you? Eating so little?"
William took the chance to secretly grab the special hot sauce in front of Ian, spreading it onto his bread already covered in peanut butter, while expressing exaggerated concern for Ian.
As he looked sincerely and worriedly at Ian, he didn't forget to slyly slide the saucy mess towards his nearby roommate Michael. No wonder this guy is fit for the Ministry of Magic; even Hollywood might not contain such smooth performances.
"I'm troubled, and Dumbledore squeezed out my magic power," Ian's voice was weak, as he continuously fiddled with the fruit peels on his plate that he spat out after thoroughly eating the fruit flesh. Such a technique is something many upper-grade wizards want to learn but never had the chance.
"Oh my gosh! Dumbledore squeezed you dry? I…I didn't hear anything! Didn't hear anything!" Michael exclaimed, covering his ears in shock.
Sitting a seat apart from Ian, separated by two little wizards, he misheard and stuffed leftover chicken leg into his mouth, his face instantly showcasing an expression of utmost terror.
Not just that.
This guy even started muttering "Old British gentleman indeed," who knows what astounding rumors he might spread throughout Hogwarts next.
Of course.
Ian didn't care now. After all, if he can't make it to Christmas, everything happening now would reset. Even if rumors spread about him having a child with Snape, it wouldn't matter.
"Not having the idea to become a burst of patriotism already shows my restraint is indeed no weaker than Dumbledore's." Ian mentally patted himself on the back.
Next.
"Cough cough cough!!"
William, beside him, turned beet red, coughing violently, clutching a fragmented sandwich while urgently spitting out food bits.
"This hot sauce is poison!!"
Even three cups of water couldn't alleviate the burning in his mouth.
"Not poison, just contains extracted essence from Carlo's Reaper Pepper." Ian didn't turn his head, continuing to fiddle with the fruit peel on his plate while pushing his milk toward William.