The night was deep.
The young wizards of Hogwarts, having finished a full day of study, had all drifted comfortably into their dreams. Some chased noble ideals there, while others… well, had more indecent visions.
Ian, however, was different.
He had once again traveled into the Twilight Zone, making productive use of the time while everyone else slept, cramming more knowledge and even reaping some new rewards.
Now, inside the Room of Requirement, a cauldron was bubbling with a violet-colored potion, gloop-gloop-gloop.
"I'm back."
Ian slowly opened his eyes, and the familiar, cluttered space of the Room of Requirement came into view.
The air was dense with scent, the lingering fragrance of the potions he had been refining earlier. The earthy smell of mandrake root intertwined with the unique aroma of magic brews. Time was fermenting miracles, one cauldron after another.
Warm yellow light spilled gently from the enchanted chandelier above, softly illuminating the room cluttered with alchemical tools and potion equipment.
Stretching lazily, Ian rose from his custom-made magical recliner. His gaze wandered across the room before finally settling in one corner.
Plop, plop,
A strange noise came from that direction.
There, a black-robed skeleton was squatting, fiddling with a very unfortunate Dementor.
The tormented Dementor struggled in its bony hands, letting out guttural, chilling growls that could make any ordinary wizard's blood run cold.
However, the skeleton showed no mercy. With each tug, the Dementor's black cloak grew more tattered until, at last, it could only whimper weakly, for this sleepless skeleton had become the creature's twenty-four-hour nightmare.
Perhaps, for the Dementor, this was fate's way of "granting it a special mission."
Ian's eyes lit up instantly. He strode forward and snatched the Dementor right out of the skeleton's grip.
"Huh?"
The black-robed skeleton froze, its hollow sockets flashing with confusion. It raised its stick-thin, surprisingly proper-looking arm, as if to reclaim its favorite toy.
"Let me borrow it for a bit," Ian said cheerfully.
And thus began a world where only the Dementor suffered.
"RAAARGH!"
The Dementor tried to resist, but Ian's well-practiced slaps were far more effective than the skeleton's rough handling. One clean hit was enough to make the wraith go completely limp, obedient and motionless. Its eyeless face almost seemed… clear.
"I'm… bored," Muttered the skeleton, still reaching for it.
It, too, earned one of Ian's trademark slaps.
Completely ignoring the skeleton's silent protest, Ian, brimming with alchemical excitement, grabbed the long sword from his workbench, the one he had just forged inside the Twilight Zone. Because of its complex construction, it could rightfully be called a cyber sword.
Under the amber light, the blade shimmered faintly with a cold gleam. Ian frowned slightly, his eyes bright with curiosity, and began trying to insert the Dementor into the cyber sword.
The runes etched along the blade detected magical energy and flared to life with blue light. Ian held the squirming Dementor firmly, trying to push it into the hilt's hollow slot as if he were arranging a very morbid flower arrangement.
But the Dementor's body was like a mass of sticky tar. No matter how he tried, it just wouldn't fit. It wasn't even a matter of resistance; the Dementor simply wasn't compatible with the sword's construction.
Unwilling to give up, Ian adjusted the runes repeatedly, making minor tweaks to the sword's design, but all attempts ended in failure. The Dementor's intangible form refused to merge with the blade.
At last, Ian had to stop, sighing in defeat, admitting that his strange little idea simply couldn't be realized.
However, Ian had his own kind of self-consoling optimism.
"Maybe… this can serve as evidence that Dementors don't have souls?"
At that thought, his eyes suddenly lit up, and an excited grin spread across his face, as if he had just discovered a new continent. Ian found his sudden idea absolutely fascinating, already picturing a brilliant magical research paper waving to him from the future.
Perhaps it wasn't particularly useful. But academic papers, after all, are like that. You fudge it a little, I fudge it a little, and as long as it sounds reasonable, then it's fine. In the end, it could still get printed on a Chocolate Frog card and become a celebrated "achievement."
"Not bad, Ian! I can always find useful knowledge even in everyday life!" he praised himself smugly, then turned his gaze toward the black-robed skeleton again.
He looked it up and down thoughtfully, clearly, this thing wouldn't fit into a sword any better than the Dementor had.
Still, another idea had sparked in his mind. Ian quickly walked up to the skeleton.
"Do you… want a brain?" he asked.
The skeleton froze. For a brief instant, a faint flicker of light flashed within its hollow eye sockets, the flicker of a soul flame burning. It nodded eagerly, creaking out a broken, raspy voice that sounded like a throat full of ancient phlegm:
"G-give… me flesh… with love… G-give me flesh… with love…"
The same old muttering again. Its skull bobbed up and down, joints grinding together with an unpleasant squeak.
Ian's heart gave a small twitch when he heard the familiar, pathetic plea, but he pretended not to notice.
"I'll make you a custom brain first," he said, standing up and getting busy in the Room of Requirement.
His earlier discoveries in the Mirror of Erised had inspired him, he would craft a cybernetic brain. Of course, a purely metallic brain would be too complex and cumbersome. So, the metallic structure would still need a little touch of the Creator's miracle within.
"Now… what material should I use?"
The image of the hard-working house-elves flashed through his mind. Snapping his fingers, infused with a spark of magic, he summoned one immediately.
Some elves were probably busy in the kitchen, others cleaning a corridor somewhere. But the moment Ian called, any house-elf with free hands appeared before him right away.
Some people might think freeing house-elves was a noble and righteous act, but Ian found it far more comfortable to have them serve him. After all, if these creatures felt no suffering from serving others, why force them to change? Honestly, he thought, this wasn't even about morality anymore, it was as absurd as expecting lions to eat grass, or fish to stop living in water.
As far as Ian was concerned, showing them basic respect was more than enough.
"Could you get me some pig brains? And, hmm, a few other cooking ingredients too," Ian requested politely.
The elf immediately understood. "Of course, of course! Rabi will prepare them right away for the great and greater Mr. Prince!" With that, the house-elf Rabi vanished on the spot.
Barely three minutes, maybe three and a half, later, Rabi reappeared, beaming proudly, holding an entire basket filled with fresh pig brains.
(To Be Continued…)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395