Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

Ever since he uncovered signs of Harry's unusual magical state and visited the Chamber of Secrets himself, he'd begun to suspect something strange had occurred the previous night.

But of course, the person behind all this couldn't possibly be the real Harry Potter. As for the fragmented soul embedded in Harry's lightning-bolt scar, Ian had decided it wasn't a pressing matter, at least, not yet.

Right now, his focus was on something else: Malfoy's lost diary.

The one that had betrayed its master, Voldemort, and allowed Ian to glimpse fragments of Harry's hidden transformation. That diary, no longer in Malfoy's possession, had now become the most intriguing clue among all the magical oddities unfolding at Hogwarts.

And so,

Finding no suspicious behaviour at the Gryffindor table, Ian shifted his attention to the Hufflepuffs. The badgers were happily clustered around a cauldron-like stew that shimmered with all the colours of the rainbow.

Bubbles popped at the surface, releasing a sweet, tangy fragrance that drifted through the Great Hall.

This concoction was clearly one of the house-elves' newest triumphs, a blend that somehow evoked both pumpkin juice and lemon tart. Several Hufflepuff upper-years were already making plans to consult the elves for the recipe, their enthusiasm spilling over.

There were no suspicious faces here either.

The Slytherin students continued to wear their usual masks of pride and indifference, whispering quietly among themselves, casting haughty and disdainful glances at the rest of the Hall from beneath half-lowered lashes.

Ian let his 'Thought Perception' drift across the ambient emotions at the table, weaving carefully through surface thoughts and flickers of feeling, searching for the smallest sign of guilt, worry, or unease. Yet nothing stood out.

Malfoy hadn't come to the Great Hall. Perhaps he'd lost his appetite. Ian figured he'd feel the same in Malfoy's shoes, so his absence wasn't suspicious. Not yet.

"What are you eating?"

Ian stepped up to the Slytherin table. As soon as he rose from the Ravenclaw table and began walking over, Daphne, seated beside Aurora, immediately stood and hurried off, practically fleeing. She darted a full ten metres away to join another group at the far end of the table.

"Deep-sea glowfish?" Aurora sounded unsure as she spoke. On her plate was a luminous blue fish, steaming gently, its body still glowing even though it had clearly been roasted.

"Looks more like a fish caught near a leaky cauldron full of Ever-Illuminating Essence," Ian said dryly, poking at the fish with the back of his fork. When Aurora took a bite, her mouth gave off a soft greenish shimmer.

He wondered, not without amusement, whether her stomach would glow after digestion too.

"You look like an owl," Aurora observed, chewing slowly. "Your eyes keep flitting about like you're hunting mice."

"I'm looking for my long-lost brother. Tom." Ian's reply was vague but deliberate, leaving the German girl momentarily puzzled.

Still, she didn't press him for more information about that vague comment.

"Have you found him yet?" Aurora asked idly, her silvery-blonde hair catching the sunlight like spun starlight. Her movements were elegant, almost delicate, as she slowly sliced her glowing fish.

"I'll find him eventually," Ian replied. "Maybe Tom's just playing an elaborate game of hide and seek with me."

He cast a sidelong glance to his left, at the pale-faced girl seated there. An eccentric, sharp-featured beauty, whose emotions pulsed more wildly than most around her.

"Miss Parkinson, you look rather unsettled." He addressed her directly now. Pansy Parkinson, descendant of an old pure-blood family, known for her cutting remarks and domineering presence, sat unusually still.

At the moment, however, she seemed hesitant even to lift her fork.

"I'm still doing better than Daphne," Pansy replied coolly, her words clipped and defiant. Compared to Daphne's outright flight, she did seem braver, at least on the surface.

But despite her collected posture, her deepening discomfort suggested otherwise. Like most of her House, Parkinson felt wary in Ian's presence, a reputation largely shaped by Daphne's relentless gossip campaign. Her enchanted storybook from Grindelwald still fabricated tales and sins that never truly belonged to Ian.

Admittedly, not all of them were false.

"You might want to go easy on the puddings," Ian said casually, eyeing the mountain of desserts in front of her. "Keep eating like that, and you'll be cursing mirrors in a few years."

Without waiting for permission, he reached out and took two untouched puddings from her plate. These weren't ordinary puddings, each one emitted a delicate melody with every spoonful, singing faintly in harmony with the enchanted cutlery.

"..."

Parkinson didn't dare touch the rest after that.

To her, Ian's words sounded like a thinly veiled threat, or perhaps he simply liked pudding so much that stealing it back from him would end poorly, possibly in violent disfigurement.

Truth be told, the first-year Slytherin girl had quite the imagination. She didn't realise Ian had only spoken from a place of honesty. In his memory, this girl had looked vastly different as an adult than she did as a child.

Rumour had it that the actress portraying her had been replaced more than once.

"What are you daydreaming about now?" Aurora leaned sideways and tapped Ian's plate with her fork, pulling him back from his thoughts. Her tone was light but teasing.

"Nothing important. Just that today's pudding is better than usual." Ian replied with a smirk, deflecting with ease. In truth, he barely remembered half the details from the original Harry Potter story.

Not that it mattered.

The timeline had already veered significantly from what he remembered. Perhaps being too familiar with the old plot would only weigh him down, trapping him in expectations that no longer applied.

"You're lying." Aurora continued eating her glowfish, her eyes never leaving Ian. She might not have learned Legilimency yet, but she had an uncanny talent for reading between his words.

"That's not the point," Ian chuckled. "The point is, I still need to find Tom."

He resumed surveying the Hall, his mind scanning across the gathered students and staff. His attention wasn't only on what they were doing, but also on the invisible undercurrents of their emotions. He extended his perception carefully, quietly.

At the staff table, Professor McGonagall had glanced in his direction several times now.

However, the usually stern professor said nothing… Perhaps Dumbledore had given her quiet instructions before his departure, or maybe, after conferring with Professor Nicolas Flamel, she'd come to suspect that a true threat loomed over the school.

Then again, perhaps she was simply more concerned about her own digestive wellbeing than Ian's behaviour.

"Have the house-elves gone completely mad?"

The older witch, known affectionately as the cat-like professor, shook her head and sighed at a plate of sandwiches that kept rearranging themselves into new patterns. Nevertheless, she took a bite, reluctantly, and was promptly surprised by how good it tasted.

"Those wretched creatures should be banished from Hogwarts."

Professor Snape, still wearing his usual expression of disdain, glared at the goblet of pumpkin juice before him, which was emitting thin trails of black smoke. His irritation was palpable. The unnatural scent seemed to have charred the air around his face, giving his pale skin an almost bacon-like sheen.

Ian, meanwhile, was "recklessly" employing what he referred to as Legilimency, though, truthfully, it was more like an extension of his 'Thought Perception'. Snape was sorely tempted to reprimand him, but the thought of being caught in a verbal tangle with Ian in front of a hundred students made him hesitate.

And so, after a brief inner debate, Snape chose to pretend he hadn't noticed.

Which only soured his mood further.

(To Be Continued…)

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