Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

A vibrant energy filled Hogwarts.

Morning light filtered through the enchanted sky of the Great Hall's dome, scattering into glittering flecks upon the silver-plated dishes lining the long house tables. Ian idly prodded the fried egg on his plate with the tip of his fork.

Earlier.

The milky-white crystal orb that had dropped during Malfoy's theatrical little "incident" shimmered faintly in his other hand, casting web-like patterns of light across the tablecloth, like a softly glowing lumos charm bottled into a sphere.

"Have either of you seen a crystal ball like this before?" Ian asked, giving the orb a gentle shake as he glanced at his two roommates with a puzzled look.

His magical talents might be a few leagues ahead of theirs, especially now that he could slip into the Twilight Realm and commune with the shades of long-dead masters, but even he had limits to what one year of magical learning could offer. Certain things, he reckoned, might be better recognised by boys raised in wizarding households.

Especially William.

His family had quite the pedigree.

"My mum might know," Michael said, surprisingly focused on the object rather than his usual competition for breakfast. After a long moment of silent scrutiny, he added with confidence, "But I can say for sure, it's not one of those natural seer's crystals used for Divination."

"Doesn't look particularly valuable either."

That was his final judgment.

"You can tell just by looking at it?" Ian raised an eyebrow.

"You've got to have faith in our natural instincts," Michael replied with a cheeky grin, making light of his heritage with the sort of humour only he could get away with. He continued in a more explanatory tone, "Historically speaking, the odds of someone having the Sight have been higher among my people. You might say we've always had a stronger connection to this kind of mystical nonsense."

Clearly, Michael wasn't fond of Divination either. Like Ian, he'd scored dismally last term. It wasn't so much lack of trying, it was more a lack of... gift.

Of course.

Ian had his edge: the Twilight Realm. With its ghostly mentors and timeless wisdom, he could turn in flawless answers with ease when he wanted. But honest, no-shortcut Michael was in a different boat entirely. For a Ravenclaw, struggling in any subject, even one as flaky as Divination, stung more than he let on. It wasn't surprising he had a bit of a grudge against the whole subject.

"You've got a point, Michael, Divination does feel like a class made for the magically whimsical," Ian agreed, letting the topic of odds and bloodline pass without comment.

He was more of a fan of Muggle films than he let on, and he knew better than to trust statistics that might have been muddied by decades of storytelling and stereotypes. Hollywood had a way of rewriting history, after all.

"I think it sort of resembles a Remembrall," William said at last, squinting at the orb as he turned it in the light. "But there's definitely something off about it."

"I know what a Remembrall looks like, and this is definitely not it," Ian replied, his fingers tightening slightly around the softly glowing sphere as the scent of bacon drifted around them.

He rarely found himself stumped when it came to magical artefacts, especially not ones with enchantments. Alchemy was his forte, and this... this didn't fit the usual mould.

"Where'd you find it? Knockturn Alley?" William asked, clearly intrigued. He was referring, of course, to the tale Ian had regaled them with the previous evening, one that involved a shady antique dealer, a vanishing street vendor, and a half-whispered password to a cursed shop in Knockturn's depths.

"Actually, it was a gift from Mr. Malfoy." Ian looked up toward the Slytherin table, where that platinum-blonde head was conspicuously absent from breakfast this morning.

Who knew? Maybe he was hiding from the younger students.

Even the Boy Who Lived was missing today. Aurora must have thought Ian was looking her way, she gave a cheerful wave, and Ian returned it with a faint smile.

"Eh?"

Michael dropped his fork onto his porcelain plate with a clatter at Ian's words.

"The Malfoy family's only heir?"

He darted a quick glance toward the Slytherin table, then leaned in, lowering his voice. "That family's bloodline's been dodgy for centuries."

"Both his parents were Death Eaters, rotten through and through." Michael's voice took on an edge, his words tinged with distaste and a subtle grind of his teeth.

"If Malfoy gave you something, you can bet it's cursed, hexed, or dripping with bad intentions."

He said it like a final verdict.

William nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I wouldn't trust it either. Malfoy's probably trying to provoke you. It could be a concealed explosive hex or some dark artefact designed to leech your magic bit by bit."

Raised in a family where You-Know-Who was spoken of in hushed tones and nightmares, William had grown up associating his followers with twisted spells and terrifying power. To him, being linked to that lot meant you were bound to be vile.

"I don't think he's got the nerve," Ian replied with a soft chuckle, picturing Malfoy's trembling hands and watery eyes from last week. If it really was some convoluted scheme, well, he'd actually find that rather amusing.

"The Malfoys are all schemers, but they've never been idiots." Ian lifted his fork and shoved the now-cold fried egg into his mouth, only to immediately regret it.

With the first bite, the egg cracked open, and a fierce, bitter chili sauce spilled out, burning across his tongue.

"Cough, cough cough, !"

Completely unprepared, Ian spluttered violently, hacking and gasping until he could finally breathe again. He spat the egg, now coated in the infernal chili oil, back onto his plate in horror.

"What in Merlin's name is that combination?!"

Having been too absorbed in examining the crystal ball earlier, Ian now noticed what his classmates were quietly enduring, and at last understood why Michael had been eating with such suspicious grace.

Just look around.

Lobster-shaped dumplings wriggled their claws as if still alive.

A terrified first-year down the table screamed at her soup, which had suddenly turned to green foam and started bubbling ominously.

And just beyond her, a glass jar shimmered with icy mist, containing a dollop of blueberry jam frozen solid atop what looked disturbingly like a preserved girl's scalp, an illusion or not, it wasn't something one wanted near toast. Even a hungry lion might hesitate.

Closer still, slices of smoked salmon hovered mid-air, frozen stiff, slowly twirling as if waltzing to an unheard tune.

"Clearly, the house-elves have been experimenting again…" Ian muttered, guilt flickering across his face. He'd often encouraged the elves to be more creative with their cooking, he just hadn't expected this level of invention.

Last night's dinner had been perfectly ordinary, but it seemed the elves had taken today as an opportunity to unveil their newest culinary enchantments. Perhaps they thought the students would enjoy seeing what they'd been brewing up over the holidays.

The ever-observant William had already laid down his utensils, wisely opting out.

"I could write home and ask someone to look into it," he offered, drawing out a compact magical camera, the one Ian had gifted him some time ago. He snapped several photos of the glowing orb cradled in Ian's hand.

Ian didn't object.

Still, deep down, he had his doubts about the idea.

"It seems I'll have to wait until lunch to ask Professor Nicolas Flamel," Ian muttered, attempting to channel a bit of magical energy into the crystal orb.

The result was minimal, just a slight increase in its glow.

No more than a dim shimmer.

Just as he gave up trying,

"Pfft~ Pfft~"

The Great Hall was suddenly filled with the flutter and rustle of hundreds of wings.

The morning owl post had arrived, the owls sweeping down through the enchanted dome's illusion of drizzle, their feathers scattering droplets like falling silver.

"Oh, come on, no!"

Michael, who had just managed to select what he believed to be the only edible red date bread, was promptly flattened by a grey parcel, letting out a groan of absolute despair.

William, ever the cautious one, shielded his oatmeal like a dragon guarding its hoard.

Though it turned out…

That precaution wasn't necessary.

He didn't receive anything.

Unexpectedly, the person who hadn't expected any mail today, Ian, glanced up to see a snowy owl hovering above the Ravenclaw table.

Clutched in its beak was a letter sealed in deep crimson wax and edged in gleaming gold.

The owl released it with a practiced drop, and Ian reached out just in time, sparing it from landing in the puddle of scorched chili oil on his plate, clearly, the house-elves had gone overboard again.

(To Be Continued…)

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