Hogwarts' philosophy of "teaching according to aptitude" fit perfectly here.
"By Merlin's beard! These are your notes?" Ian accepted the book, surprise and excitement shining in his eyes.
"I will oversee your Animagus training next term. But mark my words, do not let your recklessness lead you into attempts over the holidays."
Her gaze softened, but the warning was clear. She did not wish him to suffer any lasting harm from impetuous actions.
"Thank you, Professor. Rest assured, I'll wait for your guidance before tackling such dangerous magic," Ian said firmly. He valued his life, and there were many other magics still to master. No need to rush headlong into Animagus trials.
"If you can truly keep that in mind, all the better."
With a wave of dismissal, Professor McGonagall sent him on his way.
Ian left promptly.
The next student began their standard first-year assessment, and judging by the number of young wizards leaving the room looking quite glum, Transfiguration was no easy feat for them.
Ian did not tarry.
He still had the Potions practical exam ahead, with his dear uncle, Professor Snape.
To be honest…
Both Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had awarded Ian exceptionally high marks, and Uncle Snape was no different, though he expressed it in his own, unique fashion.
"This is bloody insane!"
Snape's eyes widened in disbelief as he inspected the potion Ian had brewed using the [Extreme Fusion] technique. In his own brusque way, he was praising Ian.
"Something's very odd about your hands."
Snape examined Ian's hands repeatedly but found nothing unusual. Yet he had clearly seen Ian use ingredients that ought never to have produced such a flawless potion… and somehow, the impossible had been accomplished. Snape fixed Ian with a piercing glare, only to be met by Ian's completely innocent, bewildered expression.
"Isn't this how you brew potions?"
That maddeningly naive look.
Worse still, it was delivered with genuine, unshakable confidence. Were it not for the queue of students still waiting to be tested, Snape might have spent the entire day interrogating him.
"Get out of my sight, you slippery little imp!"
Despite it all, Snape still awarded Ian an 'O', though it came with his trademark, ear-splitting bellow.
Ian was finally free.
But those who suffered were the students following him.
"With only those ingredients, that little runt just managed to brew it. Why can't you? Don't you sneak out of Slytherin every night to attend that absurd extra tutoring he gives? Or do you think he's too snobbish to teach Ravenclaws Potions?"
To be fair…
When it came to taking out his frustrations on others, Snape was Hogwarts' undisputed champion.
After several more exams…
By the time Ian reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical exam, nerves had begun to gnaw at him again. He still remembered Grindelwald's warning, that he would give Ian an exam he'd never forget.
Ian hadn't worried about any of his other subjects all year, but DADA had been weighing on his mind for some time. Who knew what fiendish challenge the eternally unpredictable professor might conjure?
"Professor? What are you doing out here?"
As Ian approached the exam hall…
He spotted "Professor Lockhart" crouching near the entrance, scowling and muttering under his breath. Ian approached, confused, unwittingly lighting a fuse.
"You might have dodged it this year, kid, but you won't next time. Sooner or later, you'll face my exam, or all my preparations will have been for nothing!"
Grindelwald snarled viciously before storming off.
Still puzzled, Ian turned toward the exam room door.
Soon enough…
The student before him emerged beaming. Then, when the Sorting Hat called Ian's name, he stepped inside, and immediately understood why Grindelwald had looked so furious.
"Dumbles… Headmaster."
Ian saw who awaited inside.
It was Albus Dumbledore, clad in robes of pure white.
"Good afternoon, Ian."
Albus Dumbledore sat upright behind a centuries-old oak table, its surface worn smooth by time and history. Outside the window, the sunset's afterglow streamed through stained glass, casting a soft, almost sacred light onto his silver hair and flowing beard, giving the legendary wizard an aura both gentle and divine.
"Is this the you of this time?" Ian asked tentatively.
Ever since Dumbledore began his studies into time magic, Ian had never quite worked out the truth. Each encounter left him questioning which timeline's Dumbledore he was facing.
"Actually, you only need to know that the Dumbledore you meet is always me, always someone you can trust. That way, you need not be so troubled by confusion."
Dumbledore chuckled softly, offering a rare and comforting answer.
"Today, the one you see can indeed be considered the 'time-correct' me."
Dumbledore's eyes were deep and warm, like two endless pools, brimming with wisdom and carrying a profound meaning Ian found difficult to grasp.
"You haven't become muddled yet, have you? Or perhaps you've simply lost the ability to tell?"
Ian stepped closer, concern flickering in his eyes. He waved his hands gently before Dumbledore's eyes, trying to test his clarity.
The gesture left Dumbledore looking somewhat helpless.
"Of course, I'm not confused. In fact, I'm clearer-headed now than ever before. Rest assured, I won't lose myself in the labyrinth of time."
Dumbledore lightly folded his hands on the table, the faint sound of his fingers rubbing together accompanying his calm yet warm tone.
"What exactly are you studying?"
Ian fixed a steady gaze on the venerable headmaster before him.
"To truly understand the past, one must also peer into the future. Quite simply, I am studying the past, the present, and the future alike."
There was something deeper implied in Dumbledore's words.
"Can the Time-Turner reach the future?"
Ian's surprise showed plainly.
His question seemed to touch upon a gap in conventional magical knowledge.
"Precisely because it remains unclear that I must investigate it further. When I have results, I shall share them with you."
Dumbledore smiled kindly, but before Ian could press further, the old wizard interrupted his curiosity.
"I think today, right here, you need not ask about me."
With that, Dumbledore opened a drawer built into the ancient oak table.
"I was about to inquire about the disturbance. I saw our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor storm off cursing, though you have no idea how fiercely he was cursing at you."
Ian wasn't sure if the headmaster's words were a touch exaggerated.
"Don't mind him. The exams he concocted are far too perilous, both for you and the others. I worry they might leave lasting psychological scars."
"So, for the time being, I have temporarily relieved him of his duties as examiner."
Dumbledore's expression remained steady as he withdrew a test paper from the drawer and handed it to Ian.
"Wasn't the theory exam already this morning?" Ian asked, perplexed.
He took the paper with suspicion. Even before glancing at the questions, he had a bad feeling. Upon reading them, his confusion only grew.
The questions were not only unrelated to Defence Against the Dark Arts, they were remarkably simple. Had Dumbledore arranged this to guarantee Ian's top marks?
No need for that!
Ian thought firmly, I'm no simpleton!
Still, he accepted the quill the headmaster handed him and began to answer.
"This is your final exam in Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Dumbledore watched with a gentle smile as Ian worked through the questions.
"But none of these relate to Defence Against the Dark Arts at all?"
Ian looked up, baffled after completing a series of seemingly random multiple-choice questions.
"Trust me," Dumbledore said, "compared to other forms of examination, this is the truest test of your Defence Against the Dark Arts skills."
Seeing Ian's scepticism, Dumbledore paused, then reluctantly admitted:
"It's a psychological test."
To be honest…
Ian had suspected as much.
Now Dumbledore's words confirmed it beyond doubt.
"Hiss, this counts as a Defence Against the Dark Arts exam?!"
Ian's expression was riddled with question marks, yet he continued filling in the answers. He was a well-rounded young wizard, skilled in virtue, intelligence, physical endurance, aesthetics, and hard work, and was certainly not afraid of a psychological challenge.
Mastery of mind?
Understanding its value?
"We all know that using Dark Magic inflicts subtle, almost imperceptible but irreversible harm upon a wizard's mind, this kind of mental erosion is hidden, and difficult for anyone to detect."
"So many who practise Dark Magic regularly check their mental state using various methods."
Albus Dumbledore explained patiently.
"Precisely for that reason, I asked you to take this psychological test."
His gaze settled on the form Ian was completing.
"If you can maintain a sound mind after casting Dark Magic hundreds of times, then you already possess the finest form of defence against it."
How to put it…
Ian could only admit that the old headmaster truly lived up to his reputation. The reasoning seemed odd but left him with no ready objection.
"Are you saying I can fight Dark Magic with Dark Magic?"
Ian scratched his head, still answering the questions.
"As headmaster, I wouldn't teach a young wizard that."
Dumbledore winked.
"I would only say that magic can only be overcome by magic."
His voice carried a teasing warmth.
(End of this Chapter)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395