Chapter 68: Grabbed in an Instant! Refined on the Spot!

Snape had no desire to witness Ian’s struggle to distribute his spoils once again. With a dramatic sweep of his cloak, he turned sharply and opted for a more secluded route back to his safe house.

Along the way, many young wizards saw the Slytherin Head of House with a stormy expression. No one dared to greet him or provoke him—after all, the old bat even kicked a passing toad out of his path.

Rumors spread.

Some said that no one had seen Snape for the rest of the day.

Others claimed that he had caught a few disobedient students and reinstated Hogwarts’ most dreaded punishment—whipping—before conducting an entire day of inhumane experiments in his office.

Though these rumors were full of holes and lacked any real credibility, they spread like wildfire, thanks in no small part to Gryffindor students, who took great pleasure in exaggerating and embellishing every story about Snape.

They relished any opportunity to share increasingly absurd versions of the tale with anyone who would listen.

"Did you hear? Snape actually awarded points to Ravenclaw!"

"What? Has he lost his mind?"

"Snape has finally gone mad! He’s probably planning to use dark magic to eliminate us all!"

The rumors had started from a well-meaning student who had simply pointed out that Snape wasn’t as terrible as the stories suggested. However, Snape’s reputation had been deeply ingrained in the minds of Hogwarts students for years, and no amount of truth could easily erase it.

Ian might have had a hand in shaping this perception, but expecting him to take responsibility was a lost cause. After all, Gryffindors were the ones doing the heavy lifting—what did that have to do with a Ravenclaw like him?

"Wait for my good news. I’ll begin crafting soon."

After parting ways with Aurora, who wholeheartedly supported his alchemical vision, Ian set off to explore the castle. The first week of school had a relatively light schedule, with only one class in the morning and another in the afternoon, leaving plenty of free time.

Perhaps this was a tradition—to allow young wizards to uncover Hogwarts’ secrets.

As a thousand-year-old castle, Hogwarts housed countless mysteries, some of which even Dumbledore might not have discovered.

Now that Ian was here, he had no intention of letting these opportunities slip by—especially not when it came to the rumored secret passages and, of course, the Room of Requirement.

"Vera Verto!"

Ian took every chance he could to practice Transfiguration, often using decorative potted plants as test subjects. He wasn’t entirely sure if this violated any school rules.

"It should be fine."

Unlike the Weasley twins, he wasn’t pulling pranks—he was simply enhancing the artistic appeal of the pots. In the process, he polished his spellcasting and brought a touch of Picasso-esque creativity to Hogwarts.

The only ones who truly suffered from his "artistic" modifications were the castle’s enchanted portraits. Some witches in the paintings covered their eyes in horror.

Not all the paintings objected, however.

One particularly unusual portrait—a giant engaged in a centuries-long brawl with a ballet instructor—paused mid-punch to admire Ian’s work.

The giant leaned forward, staring intently at the altered potted plants.

"A giant who appreciates art?"

Ian was genuinely surprised.

But upon closer inspection, the giant wasn’t actually admiring the artwork. It was simply drooling, its slack jaw hanging open.

Ian smirked as he reached a familiar section of the corridor.

This was it—the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

Just as he prepared to enter, a pale, ghostly figure slipped out from a suit of armor behind him.

A squat, mischievous spirit with a wide mouth and round, gleaming eyes.

It was Peeves.

The infamous Hogwarts poltergeist had haunted the school since its founding, delighting in chaos and pranks that left students and professors alike exasperated.

Even Dumbledore found him to be a persistent headache.

"Boo! Scared ya!"

Peeves shot up from beneath Ian’s legs, leaping right into his face.

"Ah—Sectumsempra!"

Ian had been so focused on recalling the Room of Requirement’s entry ritual that the sudden jump scare caught him completely off guard.

On instinct, he raised his wand.

A faint, eerie green light flickered.

Fortunately, Wisdom’s Insight ensured Ian remained rational, allowing him to swiftly adjust the spell mid-cast. Instead of the full force of Sectumsempra, a controlled, invisible blade of magic slashed toward the mischievous ghost.

"Wahahaha—huh?"

Peeves had been cackling, ready to mock Ian for his reaction, but his laughter cut off abruptly.

The next moment, his translucent form was sliced into dozens of pieces.

Pain.

Real pain.

Yet no death.

"Aaaaaahhh!!!"

Peeves’ fragmented form squirmed on the ground. His severed head, split down the middle, slowly knit itself back together. But the sheer terror in his eyes remained.

"Impossible! Impossible! I’m a spirit! I’m a spirit!"

"That’s not Snape’s Sectumsempra! What kind of spell is this, you little brat?!"

For the first time in a thousand years, Peeves was the one who had been frightened.

The moment his body reassembled, he scrambled to escape.

"Oh no, you don’t!"

Ian lunged forward, grabbing Peeves by the legs midair.

Yes—he actually caught hold of him.

"Looks like you’re not as slippery as the older students claim!"

Ian wasted no time. With a swift motion, he slammed Peeves onto the ground and started pummeling him.

"Mercy! Mercy! You little menace, let me go!"

Peeves flailed, trying desperately to slip into his intangible form—but he couldn’t.

He was trapped.

He had no idea how or why, but the realization filled him with a terror greater than any prank he had ever pulled.

"You wanted to scare me, and now you’re calling me a menace? We’ll see who’s the real menace here!"

Ian was a firm believer in payback.

That prank had almost triggered something dangerous within him.

If he didn’t give Peeves a lesson he’d never forget, the poltergeist would undoubtedly haunt him relentlessly in the future.

And the best way to eliminate a grudge?

Reason with the offender.

With fire.

"Incendio Maxima!"

Ian raised his wand.

"AAAAAHHHHH!!!"

Peeves shrieked as his hat caught fire, his ghostly essence writhing in panic.

Fortunately for him, it was nearly time for dinner, and the eighth-floor corridor was empty. No one was around to witness his humiliation.

"Someone! Call Dumbledore! Help meeeee!"

He wailed, pleading with the nearby portraits.

But the ballet-fighting giant had resumed his age-old brawl, utterly indifferent to Peeves' plight.