Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

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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.

"This envelope's actually gilded…" Ian murmured, turning it over in his hands with curiosity.

William's eyes widened so fast it was a wonder they didn't pop out of his head.

"Merlin's beard! That's a letter from the Knights of Merlin!" he practically shouted, his voice cutting across the hall like a spell gone sideways.

In that instant, the entire Great Hall fell into stunned silence, heads snapping to face Ian.

Then came the eruption.

Gasps, exclamations, the clatter of silverware.

"By the stars, that's from them!" One second-year stared with saucer-like eyes, his fork slipping from his fingers and clinking against his plate.

"What on earth did he do to get noticed by the Knights of Merlin?" Another student asked, half in awe, half in disbelief, clearly trying not to sound jealous and failing miserably.

"Didn't you read any of the Prophet over the holidays?"

An older student leaned in to fill them in, clearly a fan, rattling off Ian's achievements with near poetic enthusiasm. Somehow, he managed to praise Ian for five minutes straight without repeating himself, a truly heroic feat in sentence structure that would make even a Charms essay look simple.

"Oh my goodness… He actually wasn't making it all up. He was humble!" From the Gryffindor table, Hermione's jaw dropped open in visible shock, her spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.

The disbelief was almost magical in itself.

"Uhh…"

Ian felt his scalp prickle slightly under the weight of every pair of eyes on him. Even with his notoriously thick skin, the attention made him squirm just a bit. It hadn't quite reached the point of embarrassment, but it was getting close.

Dear Mr Ian Prince,

As the morning light dances for the third time upon the rippling surface of the Black Lake, we are honoured to inform you that the Special Review Committee of the Order of Merlin has, by unanimous vote, approved your nomination for the Order of Merlin, First Class.

In the early spring of 1991, you faced dark forces with exceptional wisdom and unwavering courage. In that perilous encounter, you succeeded in thwarting the advance of a group of Dark Wizards using not only remarkable magical skill but also a deep conviction in the light. Your actions prevented grievous harm to the school and averted what could have been a tragic loss of life.

In accordance with the statutes outlined in the Merlin Codex, this distinction serves as both recognition of your bravery and brilliance, and as an enduring testament to your extraordinary service to the wizarding world.

We would also have you know that your nomination was put forth personally by the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Sir Albus Dumbledore.

Furthermore, during the evaluation process, your efforts came to the attention of a highly respected figure within our Order. Though we are unable to reveal this individual's identity at present, we may confirm that their personal endorsement greatly influenced the final vote.

The Order of Merlin is not only a personal honour but also a formal recognition of your contributions to the magical world. We trust you will continue to embody the spirit of courage and justice, and that your future will bring even greater service to the peace and prosperity of our world.

Seven days from now, a special envoy shall be dispatched to Hogwarts to present the medal in person.

Richard Goshawk

Commander of the Knights of Merlin (Grand Master of the Order, Vice President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class)

The letter wasn't brief.

In fact, it seemed deliberately wordy, especially in the way it outlined the entire review process step by step.

That wasn't standard protocol.

It felt, somehow, as if someone had insisted, perhaps even leaned, on Richard Goshawk to compose it this way.

The whole thing left a strange impression.

Ian's eyes flicked to the final paragraph, where a faint, serpentine watermark shimmered near the corner of the parchment. As his fingertip brushed across it, the symbol curled and shifted, transforming into runes that slowly spelled out: "Caution: Accept with Care."

Before he could begin to decipher what that meant,

"Oh, Merlin's socks! It's actually a First Class Medal!"

Michael, who had been reading over Ian's shoulder, let out a shout loud enough to rattle plates.

"The Daily Prophet said that in the past ten years, only the Head of the Auror Office has been awarded one!" Michael's voice rose with every word, his face flushed with excitement.

"You're going to be in the history books, Ian! Not only the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, but it's First Class! That puts you on the same level as Headmaster Dumbledore!"

William grabbed Ian's arm in disbelief, practically shaking with enthusiasm.

There was no doubt, they were genuinely thrilled for him.

And they weren't the only ones.

Cheers erupted from the Ravenclaw table like a magical explosion. The excitement spread in waves, echoing across the Great Hall. Even a few students at the Gryffindor table leapt up onto the benches to join in the celebration.

Thankfully, Professor McGonagall, who had been supervising breakfast, decided enough was enough.

"I understand this is a cause for celebration, but kindly observe basic dining decorum!" she declared. With a flick of her wand, the overenthusiastic students were gently but firmly knocked back into their seats by invisible force.

"Congratulations, Mr Prince. Your friends are quite right, you've accomplished something remarkable." She turned to Ian, her voice filled with rare astonishment.

"A First Class Order of Merlin… this is truly…"

She trailed off.

Her expression had shifted, just slightly, still proud, but now tinged with uncertainty. It was clear she had questions she wasn't comfortable voicing in front of the entire hall.

To be honest, Ian felt the same.

He was still trying to process it all.

He'd fought and defeated a dark wizard, yes, but a First Class medal? Even if that dark wizard had been Voldemort, it felt excessive.

Sure, Dumbledore's influence might've helped, but something about the letter suggested there was more at play. That cryptic line about a "person of considerable importance" had lodged itself in his thoughts like a splinter.

"Am I really that well-liked?" Ian muttered, scratching his head. He tried to think of anyone he knew in the Order of Merlin, but the list came up short. No obvious benefactor sprang to mind.

Just then, a familiar voice piped up.

"Congratulations! You'd better treat us after this!"

It was Lirim, strolling over with a self-satisfied grin and a steaming cup of what smelled like enchanted Brazilian roast clutched in one hand.

He was also holding what appeared to be a homemade meat floss bun, clearly brought from the dormitory kitchens.

"Take it in stride! This is big, and you'd be daft not to enjoy it!" he added, still chewing with visible pleasure.

Apparently, he'd come well-prepared for breakfast.

It was as if he'd known the morning feast would be sub-par.

"Why do you sound like you're afraid I'll turn it down?" Ian asked, eyeing him as he squeezed onto the bench beside him.

"Hehe."

Lirim just grinned, wide and pleased with himself, as if that were explanation enough.

His face was uncomfortably close to Ian's.

Just as Ian was deciding whether to give him a firm shove, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, strode into the Great Hall from the entrance, looking rather uneasy. Without slowing, he made his way straight toward Ian and leaned in to speak quietly.

"Hey, can we talk… just the two of us?"

"Sure, no problem."

Ian rose from the bench and followed Harry out through the main doors.

Behind them, the younger students were already buzzing with speculation.

But Harry didn't hear a word of it.

His head was full of the strange discovery he'd made moments ago.

"I was in the dormitory loo just now… bit backed up, I think, too many roast potatoes last night, and then I overheard my roommate, Draco Malfoy…"

They'd reached a quiet stretch of corridor near the Charms classrooms. Harry began explaining, though, judging by his expression, even he realised his opening wasn't exactly ideal breakfast conversation, and trailed off, brow furrowing.

Because just then,

Ian felt a sudden searing heat in the inner pocket of his robes.

He reached inside swiftly.

It was the crystal orb, the one Malfoy had so "clumsily" dropped before. It was no longer glowing with that soft, pearlescent light. Instead, it pulsed with a furious, molten red, the colour deepening with each beat like it had a heartbeat of its own.

It was glowing blood red.

"Is this thing actually about to explode?" Ian muttered, wincing as the heat burned against his palm.

He held it out, closer to Harry, who stepped back instinctively. But as he did, the orb pulsed brighter, almost as though it recognised him.

The red light flared, and for a split second, it looked as if it might drip, a viscous, glowing crimson, like liquid curse magic.

In its glare, the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead gleamed eerily, no longer just a scar, but something alive, as if it, too, were resonating with the crystal. The same blood-red glow shimmered faintly across the jagged mark, making it appear to pulse in time with the orb.

(End of Chapter)