Hogwarts had never teemed with excitement like it had on September 1st 2022 and no class had ever been a full twenty minutes early on a Monday morning, like it was for the sixth-year Defence Against the Dark Arts class on the first day of classes. To many, today was a very special day, they'd be taught by the mysterious Harry Potter! However, one student, Ian Crooks—a tall, gangly boy with flowing auburn hair and grey eyes—hadn't arrived to class yet, running down the hall minutes after class started with an awkward, off-beat run which miraculously didn't trip him up.
He'd been up late reading an article in the paper on Harry Potter, who'd returned to the Wizarding World after a close to two-decade long absence from everything. Inside spoke of the now infamous argument Potter had whilst an Auror, which saw him yelling profanities at the Head of the DMLE at the time and eventually leaving without a trace. There had been an extensive investigation looking for him, where the British Ministry had eventually left it alone after years of nothing but rumoured sightings—like the Muggles had with Bigfoot. It seemed none knew the truth; only Potter knew his reasonings for his return… But Ian cared little for that, all he cared about was that he was about to be taught by Harry Potter!
Ian checked his watch and cursed himself for not getting up when his friend, Nick, had nudged him this morning. But, as any sixth-year student has done after a late night, he'd shrugged the boy off and told him he'd meet him in class. What an idiot he'd been.
As he rounded the last corner, Ian was dreading the poor impression he was about to make, he doubted Potter would have any time for people that couldn't show up to a measly lesson on time. He'd babble something about whatever to Potter, though the man would surely know he was late because he couldn't be bothered to get up on time—Ian would have to make a good impression another way; thankfully he'd excelled in DADA through his tenure at Hogwarts. He prayed that wasn't about to change.
He slowed down as he got to the classroom, taking a few deep breaths before opening the door and entering, wincing proactively as the silent class stared at him.
"Are you supposed to be in this class Mr…?" Potter asked.
Ian's mind went blank when he saw Potter. Around the man was an aura of… greatness? He couldn't say; but it was extraordinary! And wholly unnatural… He coughed, then spoke: "Crooks, Professor. And er—yes. Yes, Professor. I'm meant to be here. I'm sorry I'm late."
Potter was unimpressed. His eyes were hard and unforgiving, no doubt moulded by the war. Ian shifted under Potter's gaze, scared to move. Why couldn't he be more courageous?
"Demonstrate to the class how to cast the Disillusionment Charm."
Ian gulped. He'd performed the charm before, but not in front of people and not to the standard Potter was surely expecting. He took out his wand without rebuttal and went through the motions of the spell as he'd done before. He tried to speed it up, not wanting to look like a fool in front of Potter—to show he was ready for anything the great man could throw at him! The whole time, Ian kept eye contact with Potter. Trying to keep out the prying eyes of his classmates; steeled with resolve. And, when the spell took effect, Ian noticed a hint of something akin to respect wash over Potter's features before he masked behind a stone-like stare.
Potter stepped toward Ian with a slow and meandering limp. The class remained silent. Ian kept still, the spell dropping as Potter stopped a foot away from him and took out his wand. "Show me your wand movements again."
Ian did so, taking care to follow the instructions he'd read in a book some months ago. Potter's eyes followed his wand then brought his own up, that famous Holly wand, copying the movements… No! There was a difference—the way his wand curved was different. It was more fluid and Ian copied it without a word. He felt—without even enunciating the incantation—the spell take hold. He looked back up at Potter, who nodded. Ian spoke the incantation, allowing his magic to flow: the spell to take hold.
Potter looked upon him with wide eyes and stowed his wand away in his robe. "Bravo, Mr Crooks! I expect by the end of the year you'll be quite adept… Take a seat—and come see me after class."
Ian would've joined his friends, three Ravenclaws sat in the front row, but another Ravenclaw had taken his usual space. He gave Nick, a stocky boy with dark hair, and the two girls (Leila and Melissa) a small smile before making his way over to sit alone at the edge of the room.
"As I was saying," said Potter, his voice gruff from lack of use, "today we will learn Concealment Charms; namely, the Disillusionment Charm."
The chalk wrote on the blackboard without Potter using a hint of magic. Ian took the time to take in Potter's ethereal appearance, something that he'd not gotten to do during the feast. He wore attire befit of an Auror, though custom and no doubt far more expensive, Ian noted, as he got a glimpse of the gorgeous dragon-hide boots Potter wore… He was taller than Ian expected, as in photos he'd looked short compared to Ronald Weasley, who must stand at well over six and a half foot.
Potter's infamous scar had faded since he'd fought in the war. It wasn't the lightning bolt often portrayed in the media, but a scar that danced like lightning from his eye and up his forehead, hiding behind his hair.
"I assume all of you have done your reading over the summer, but for those I imagine who'd rather ride their brooms—" he stared directly at the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Mosley Crockett, whilst he spoke "—I shall write the incantation on the board… I do, however, expect from you to all be capable of silent casting before your N.E.W.T.s… And yes, I know that's two whole years away, but trust me, that time will go quicker than you can imagine!
"Now, up! Out of your seats!"
There was hesitation, then Ian slowly rose first, followed by the rest of the class. Potter waved his hand—the desks all danced off to the sides of the room and shrunk. He waltzed around the room, a slight limp in his step, inspecting them with keen, piercing eyes.
"This is an individual task; I do not want any of you to help each other—"
"—Professor," said Rose Weasley, a Gryffindor.
"Yes, miss…?" Potter asked, eyeing Weasley with a stone-like stare.
She seemed not to notice this and continued as she usually would. "Weasley, Professor—would you give us a demonstration, using the right technique?"
Ian bristled at Weasley's statement, she was the so-called perfect student. In Ian's opinion, Weasley was a right cunt. Still, he got ready for Potter to smile and greet her like an old family friend; but, unlike one might expect, he did not smile from the name. Quite the contrary, Potter seemed annoyed at her interruption. He looked down upon her with contempt.
"Of course," he said, bluntly, and waved his wand, which Ian swore appeared out of thin air, with a deft motion. He enunciated the spell so there was no question of what he'd said or how he said it. He disappeared in the centre of the class then moments later appeared by the blackboard at the front. "Learning to conceal yourself will be invaluable for those wishing to pursue a career as an Auror, and, equally, for those who wish to roam the castle after curfew… But, do not assume this an invitation—I have methods of finding even a concealed person, no matter how good your charm may be; so think twice before you try!…"
For Ian, the class went by in the blink of an eye. It finished before it even started. He spent most of his time watching as Potter stalked around the room, his limp almost exaggerated, taking students and correcting their wand movements or getting them to speak the incantation out loud so that he could correct them; most students had spent five minutes each with Potter, getting the rundown of the theory or whatever. Ian got none of that—Potter only asked for Ian to perform it again, to see whether it was the same as he'd performed the second time. When it was, Potter nodded and gave Ian three points before he wandered off to the next student.
Ian spied a few of the Gryffindor girls batting their eyes at Potter as he attempted to teach them. Most asked more of him than they really needed, hoping to get him to hold their hands and wave their wand for them. Potter was polite in these interactions, albeit blunt, from what Ian could hear. He seemed adept at being able to walk the tightrope between benign touch and sexual harassment—although, if anyone was getting harassed it was Potter.
At the end, a bang came from Potter's wand, silencing the class in a moment. "That is all for today, class. I expect six inches on the uses for the Disillusionment Charm by next Monday. Goodbye."
Ian held back while his classmates filed out, chattering away with wide grins on their faces. He'd told Nick he'd meet him in the Great Hall for some food before they went to Herbology. Most students had left by the time Potter put the desks back in place. Ian had watched Nick, Leila and Melissa file out together, seeming to get into a heated discussion before they'd even left the classroom.
Ian hung around awkwardly, feeling his gangly frame more than usual as he waited for Potter to address him as he slumped down at his desk.
"Mr Crooks, I expect you'll be punctual to my classes from now on?" Potter asked once the rest of the class were gone.
"Yes, Professor."
Potter nodded. "You performed far beyond your peers today—I hope this won't be a onetime occurrence?"
"Of course not, Professor."
A smile. "You have detention on Friday at four. Try not to be late."
Ian bowed his head and scampered out of the classroom, trying to not waste too much time so he'd get some food before Herbology, having less than an hour before he needed to be in Professor Longbottom's Greenhouse.
He'd only taken a step out of the classroom as a girl barrelled into him, knocking both of them over. "Wah–"
"I'm so sorry!" the girl yelped. She knelt by his side in an instant, looking over him with worried eyes. "Are you alright?"
It was Ines Delacour…
She had lovely eyes. That was Ian's worry. They were a deep blue and frantically looked over him. Her hair was a platinum blonde shimmering in the light coming from the windows and she spoke with a thick French accent. He'd seen her from across the halls before—with her willowy, ethereal figure—, but the opportunity to speak with her never arose; it wasn't like he could speak with her, lest he make a fool of himself…
If Ian wasn't mistaken, he was almost certain they were both in the same academic year, although as a Slytherin, she'd not have had any classes with him. It'd long been standard to group the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors together, not allowing for much interaction with the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs.
He was pulled from his musings by her wrapping his arm with bandages. Where had they come from? Merlin, he needed to pay more attention. It surprised Ian to see a large gash across his forearm, and a tear in his robes. He must've slashed it across the lantern hung outside the classroom. Blood gushed out of it, and Ian wondered how he'd lost himself so badly whilst in the presence of this girl…
"I'm fine," said Ian, trying his best not to show how flustered he felt under her touch. "No need to panic."
"But there's a gash—"
Without thinking Ian waved his wand across the gash upon his arm. The wound knitted back together in an instant. He smiled at her. "All better," he said, but his blood still painted the floor and covered her hands.
It was her turn to look at him flustered now, batting her eyes wildly as she continued to inspect the rest of him. Her rosy cheeks only enhanced her allure. "How—"
"I'm Ian, by the way… I can't recall we've ever spoken," he said, growing more confident from his spellwork.
Still, he was unsure how he'd performed a complex charm such as that with ease. Part of him must've not wanted to look like a fool in front of her—another part sought to impress her. Either way, he'd just done something extremely impressive; confidence and elation weaved their way through him as he admired the girl's beauty.
"Ines…" she said, smiling.
"Mr Crooks, Miss Delacour," Potter's voice rang from the doorway. "Are both of you alright?" he asked, looking down at Ian's arm where the gash had been.
"Fine, Professor—we weren't paying attention," said Ian, feeling like even more of a fool than he already did in Potter's presence. At least his magic spoke for him…
Ines kept her head down, either in embarrassment or something else, Ian couldn't tell.
Ian felt something take hold of him, and it brought them to their feet while Potter looked over the two properly. The blood staining their robes and hands disappeared too.
Potter gave Ian a look, suggesting he knew about the healing charm; Ian felt like it'd be mentioned sooner rather than later. Hopefully, his magic would impress Potter even more than before; however, he doubted he could replicate the spell in a different scenario.
With one last look down at Ines, Potter swept back into his classroom.
"I'm sorry," she said again. "I should've been—"
"Don't worry about it—no harm no foul."
"But… But your arm!" she cried.
"It's fine, here have a look." Ian rolled his sleeve up to show Ines his arm, unblemished even under a magnifying glass; His robe had sewn itself back together, too! No one would ever know of it if they walked past now. "If it was that bad, Potter would've seen to it."
Ines was pensive for a moment. She reached out and caressed his newly healed forearm; it looked as if she was expecting it to spring back open and Ian to drop dead.
"Don't trust my abilities?" he asked with mirth.
"Your blase attitude doesn't make your magic more potent."
"No. It was potent to begin with."
Ines bit her bottom lip, looking up at him with doe eyes. Ian thought he might faint. She seemed to stamp down whatever she'd wanted to say, and Ian dared not let himself think of what. Those seductive eyes said all he wanted to know. "I'm going to need certain assurances I'll not be prosecuted upon your death."
Ian chuckled. "Do you need it in writing?"
"Your word will do."
Ian cleared his throat. "Ahem!... I hereby vow upon my death, Ines Delacour shall not be named under cause of death—whether it be her fault or not…"
"It was not my fault!"
"It was your fault—"
Ines guffawed. "You refuse medical attention, at this point it's just survival of the fittest."
"If you hadn't been barreling down the corridor none of this would've happened." Ian grinned at her, and his stomach rumbled loudly. "I really best be off, I missed Breakfast already—I can't be missing Lunch too."
Ines called out to him as he began to run off. "Don't die on your way!"
"As long as I'm away from you, I'll live forever!"
He left Ines at Potter's classroom, rushing off to the Great Hall to find his friends. Though Ines remained in his head throughout the walk, and the way her eyes flickered over him with worry… He'd try to shake it off during the walk, but her face would remain behind his eyes, smiling at him every time he blinked.
*—*
Ian caught up with his friends, who were having Lunch at the Ravenclaw table. They were arguing over Potter: whether he'd gone insane. They'd had this conversation on the train, continuing through to dinner and into the dormitories. Now it seemed it was to continue well into the next week. Perhaps for the rest of the year…
"But he's Harry Potter!" argued Nick.
"So?" asked Leila. She was taller than Nick, often looking down at him. Ian often wondered why she spent most of her time with Nick when she seemed to despise the boy with every ounce of her body. He and Melissa had their suspicions, of course, but anything concrete was unfounded in the years they'd been friends.
Ian loaded his plate with a few ham sandwiches and filled a goblet with Pumpkin Juice as he listened in to their conversation.
"He's only just past forty, Lelia. He won't have gone nuts from a few years away from everything," said Nick.
"Don't you remember the rumours surrounding when he first disappeared? That massive argument all over the papers?" asked Melissa, a stout girl with a round, friendly face speckled with freckles, adorned with bright red hair. "There was that photo of him shouting at the Head of the DMLE."
"Ian, what do you think?" Nick asked, ruffled from Melissa's accusations and looking for backup—which he often found in Ian.
Ian shrugged. "… He doesn't seem all that nuts. Strict, yes. But if he were a Professor during his tenure, he'd seem normal. Well, if those stories of what they did to Professor Longbottom are true, I'd say he's a saint."
Nick hummed. "What did he want to talk to you about, anyway?"
"I've got detention on Friday."
"Strict is an understatement, then," said Melissa.
Ian snorted. "If I'd had a decent excuse, I bet he'd have been nicer."
Leila huffed. She was a tall, athletic girl—taller than Nick and close to Ian's height—with curly brown hair. Although she tied it up often for Quidditch, so few saw it; she'd been the Ravenclaw Keeper since her third year. Ian doubted that was going to change this year, as she'd conceded the least amount of goals out of all the Keepers last year. But with her known skill also came an insensitive tongue developed from hubris. "That bumbling mess of an excuse was pathetic," Leila interjected, "I got secondhand embarrassment from it."
"Like you'd be any better," said Nick.
"One more word out of your mouth, Sheppard and I'll make sure you won't have children."
Nick paled, but kept his ground. "I'd be surprised if you could, you can't cast even the simplest of charms, let alone a hex that powerful—"
"—Will you two stop bickering!?" shouted Melissa, garnering the attention of those in close proximity. The hall grew quiet to listen. "Why don't you just get a room already? I'm sure we can organise it—a nice broom cupboard would do—"
"—What?" Leila blustered.
A whistle came from another table, likely the Slytherins, causing Leila to blush furiously and turn to look in the direction it came.
"Finally gonna get some action, Sheppard!?" The Slytherin Ian could now see as Greg Bennet shouted. "Who knew you of all people could get up Grouse' blouse!"
A roar of laughter came from the Slytherin's; Bennet revelled in it, a smug grin plastered across his slim and sallow face. He was a lanky boy, with wrists as thin as two wands and had greasy black hair. Ian was of the opinion Bennet represented everything wrong with Slytherin. Many thought the same.
Nick looked beyond furious. "Who knows if you could get anything up, Bennet, you limp cocked fuck!" he shouted back, earning a loud cheer from the Gryffindors. "What did Shaw liken it to, again? A flobberworm?"
"With Dwarfism!" Maisie Shaw shouted from the Gryffindor table. Shaw was a lithe, very attractive girl, with flowy blonde hair. She got a lot of attention from almost every boy, and Ian once thought she was the prettiest girl in the school, but now Ines occupied that spot… They were very similar in looks, although somehow Ines seemed to slide under the radar compared to Shaw, most likely due to differing personalities.
Ian scanned the Slytherin table for Ines, but she'd not shown up. He went back to his food, taking a bite out of another sandwich as he focused back on Nick and his tirade against Bennet.
Nick shivered at the thought. "Merlin, you best get that looked at!"
Even the Slytherin table chuckled from Nick's last comment and the smaller boy somehow had puffed up with confidence.
"Your Mum would—"
"—Be mortified! She's a Healer at Saint Mungo's… But I'm sure at the very least you'd get a sticker for being such a brave little boy!"
Bennet was red with anger, ready to retaliate with more violent means.
"Going to cry, Bennet," came Crockett's infernal voice from the Gryffindor table. "I thought you Snakes were witty!" He laughed at the boy, which invoked the ire of the Head Girl, Ruth Bullwark.
"That's enough of that!" Bullwark commanded from beside Crockett. "Or I'll make sure you lose your Captaincy of the Quidditch Team."
"You can't do that," Crockett complained.
"Professor McGonagall can, I'm sure she'll love to hear what a role-model you are to our younger years," said Lorcan Scamander, the Head Boy, from the Hufflepuff table. "And that goes for you two, too," he added, pointing at Nick and Bennet.
Crockett remained silent, biting his tongue. And, on the other side of the hall, Bennet had dropped his head and poked at his food to save face. The Slytherin sitting next to him elbowed him and laughed, but Nick scowled at them. "Twatts."
"Good one, mate," Ian said, grinning at Nick. "You been practising those insults?"
Nick smirked at Ian. "Maybe a little."
Melissa laughed, and Leila was still blushing whilst eating quietly. Usually she'd have mocked him for such a thing, but she must've been thankful for his jibes toward Bennet, as it'd taken the attention off her.
Throughout the rest of their quiet Lunch, Ian noticed Leila occasionally looking in Nick's direction. A couple of times he saw them make eye contact, and do anything but address it—swiftly looking away from one another, only to do it again not five minutes later.
That practically confirmed both Melissa and Ian's suspicions that there were underlying feelings going on between them—even if they refused to show them. Other than that, Lunch went quickly for Ian and Nick, as Herbology was an hour after DADA and Potions straight after that; with the size of Hogwarts it'd take at least fifteen minutes to get to Longbottom's Greenhouse. Melissa and Leila opted out of Herbology in favour of Arithmancy, and had an extra three hours free before they met back up for Potions.
Ian could've taken any of the N.E.W.T subjects, and there was even talk of bringing back the Alchemy class had Ian conjured up more interest in it. As it happened, Ian found it far harder to do that than conjure even fine metals. Hell, he'd be better off at trying to conjure a decent meal than find a class worth of people willing to take Alchemy for his sake…
"Did you see the way Leila was looking at you?" Ian asked Nick once they were out of the Great Hall.
"Looking at me? Why would she—she hates me," replied Nick.
"Oh, come off it—we both know she doesn't."
"You're delusional. Why would she like me?"
"Seriously? You're the funniest guy I know—"
"And small, unathletic and there's the patchy facial hair, my nose is too big… Do I have to continue?"
"If she cared about that, she'd have agreed to go to Hogsmeade with Crockett by now! Merlin knows she's not after a prick like him. I think she has her eye on you."
"I will not make our friendship weird by asking her out—what if she says no!? Not that I'd care, of course." The last part was added hastily, and Nick averted his gaze, looking out of the many windows in the hallway.
It was practically an admission, though not an outward one. And Ian settled it'd be the best he'd get for now. Perhaps Melissa could talk sense into the two of them… "Alright, I'll not force you to do anything…" said Ian, knowing this argument was as good as a sinking ship.
"Oi, Sheppard!"
Ian and Nick turned to see who'd hollered Nick, rather confused. It was Bennet, who'd no doubt followed them from the Great Hall. He had his wand in hand and looked ready to curse the boy. He was backed up by three other Slytherins. Lackeys for lack of a better term.
"What do you want, Bennet?" asked Nick, no longer puffed with confidence. He looked feeble, and rather pathetic at wand point.
"You won't make fun of me like that and get away with it."
Ian took his wand out from his robes silently, watching Bennet with caution. There were several onlookers to this confrontation, some Seventh-years had just come out of Bones' Transfiguration class and were lurking around in wait for the Great Hall to clear out. A group of three Gryffindors (two boys and a girl) seemed to take a keen interest in what was about to happen and eyed Ian's wand eagerly.
The girl had tanned olive skin and dark hair. She was a chaser on the Gryffindor team, though Ian couldn't remember her name for the life of him. The three of them were involved in a number of prohibited parties in the previous year, where they'd been held in unused classrooms attempting to ride under the radar. Not that Ian had ever been to one, he'd only heard the rumours in the following days. Perhaps this year he'd get to go to one. But the location was always kept under wraps.
"Next time be less crass, and I might not," said Nick, trying his best to replicate his feat at Lunch.
Suddenly, a jet of yellow light shot at Nick! It raced toward the boy as he fumbled to take his wand out of his robes. It was inches away from Nick as the boy ducked out of the way. It was unnecessary, though, as Ian intercepted it with a brilliant silver shield.
"You too, Crooks?" taunted Bennet. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Ian wasn't sure of a fight with Bennet, but he was certain he'd not want to see Nick in the Hospital Wing. That yellow spell was a nasty one, if Ian remembered correctly—it caused boils the size of coins to appear all over the victims face.
"I don't have any other choice," said Ian. "I'll not let you harm him."
Bennet sent another hex at them, Ian blocking it easily once more. This pattern continued, the more Ian blocked the curses, the more Bennet grew annoyed. Bennet became more creative in his advances, transfiguring the lanterns to have legs and run at Ian, then charming the suits of armour to attack him whilst he was distracted.
Ian had a harder time to dispel these, but he did so without getting hurt. He turned to attacking after the third suit of armour, wielding a battle axe, almost bashed his skull in.
He turned the granite floor into ice first, then sent gale-force winds at Bennet. The boy managed to dispel these, but in the process, Ian disarmed Bennet with a silent 'Expelliarmus'. Once the Slytherin was disarmed, Ian stitched the arms of his robes together and wrapped him in bubble wrap; he made sure to add a helmet, too. To add insult to injury.
Ian held the boy's wand in triumph, and those around them looked at him with wide eyes. "Wah ho!" shouted one of the Gryffindors. Another was laughing, and the last, the girl, looked on with pride. This was his shot to be noticed, Ian thought. He smiled at the girl, and she winked at him.
Now Ian had to seal the deal.
He didn't bother to disarm the other Slytherins, but he did make them do jolly jigs around Bennet and sing the Hogwarts song. The Gryffindor boys clapped along to the tune.
Bennet glowered at Ian and usually Ian would back down and de-escalate things. But he was filled with newfound confidence from the Gryffindors, and found his tongue: "You should've challenged him to a duel, Bennet. It would've looked better on your part." Ian silenced Bennet, transfiguring his lips into a zip. He was thinking about what to do next but was interrupted, and his smile evaporated as he saw who it was.
"That is quite enough, Mr Crooks!" Professor Longbottom said, emerging from the classroom with Professor Bones. They must've heard the commotion from inside the room. "There was no need for drastic measures such as that."
Ian gulped. "I was just de-escalating the situation," he said with as much courage as he could muster; he'd not gotten in trouble for his use of magic before…
"Does that look like you de-escalated the situation? We both know a simple Disarming Charm would've worked the same," said Longbottom, undoing Ian's spellwork with a few waves of his wand. Bones joined in after the singing proved harder to dispel than one would've thought.
Part of Ian enjoyed that Longbottom took a moment to undo his spellwork, especially as he could've done much worse had he wanted… There was a thrill, the same thrill he always felt when his magic performed well, and Ian grew more confident with Longbottom's ineptitude at dismantling a Sixth-year's spellwork.
"Hand me Mr Bennet's wand."
Ian did as he was told, not wanting a second Detention in one day.
"You best get to class, Mr Bennet," Longbottom said as he gave Bennet his wand back. He turned back to Ian and Nick. "You two can walk with me to class, so I can make sure you stay out of trouble."
The Gryffindor girl waved to him as she left the corridor with her friends, and Ian was ushered by Longbottom to continue to the Greenhouses after he saw this.
"Don't be getting any bright ideas, Crooks," he said as he led Ian away, with Nick following. "You're a gifted student, you shouldn't use your magic to prey on others. Especially those who are inclined to retaliate in exceedingly more dangerous ways."
"So we're just meant to take it?" asked Ian, finding his voice once again. "At least this way he's less likely—"
"Is he?" Longbottom interrupted. "Are you certain he'll cower away after that?"
"There's no good answer to that question, Professor. Bennet will continue no matter what we do."
"I know…" said Longbottom, looking every bit the war veteran he was. "But a Disarming Charm and a call for a teacher will look far better on you than complete humiliation of a peer. It'll only attract unwanted attention—the next thing you know everyone will want a piece of you. Your prowess with a wand won't go unnoticed."
Ian liked the thought of being known for his skill, as Dumbledore had been in his youth. There was a certain prestige powerful wizards got, and Ian knew he was well on his way to being one. Still, he needed to save face in front of Longbottom for now. "Okay, Professor."
"Good." Longbottom lightened up. "Now why don't I tell you what you'll be learning today. Venomous Tentacula!"
