This bonus chapter is my thank-you for your Power Stones.
Enjoy!
— The moment Ian left Greenhouse One, Harry and his friends eagerly crowded around the teacher’s desk.
Ron carefully touched the seedling Ian had left behind with his finger, a look of lingering disbelief plain on his face.
“That’s absolutely mental…
I had no idea magical plants could do something like this.” Turning to Harry, Ron added, “You know what, Harry?
I feel completely energized right now.
I definitely won’t fall asleep in our next class!” Harry didn’t reply, his eyes locked onto the seedling.
This was the first time he had seen Ian perform this sort of magic.
Compared to the spells Ian usually taught him, the magic shown today was noticeably more mysterious and profound.
He made a silent vow then and there: he had to learn this trick from Ian.
“I’ve never read about magic like this in any of our books,” Hermione joined in, thoughtfully assessing the scene.
“Maybe it’s some sort of forbidden magic.
I saw a Restricted Section when I was in the library, but Madam Pince wouldn’t let me anywhere near it.” “Who’s Madam Pince?” Ron asked, looking bewildered.
Hermione gave him a sharp look, though she explained anyway: “Madam Pince is the librarian.
She’s extremely strict and won’t tolerate anyone making a single sound in the library.” “That scary?” Neville, playing the quiet bystander, was thoroughly intimidated, his round face pale with fright.
“Hold on!” Ron suddenly caught on to something, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.
“When did you go to the library?
Haven’t you been with us the entire time?” “Hmph!” Hermione let out a cold huff, turned on her heel, and walked away without looking back.
“What’s got into her?” Ron asked, glancing at Harry and Neville.
Harry explained, “I saw Hermione head into the library around lunchtime.” Pausing briefly, Harry offered a tactful piece of advice: “Ron, Hermione’s a girl.
She’s not going to hang around with us every second of the day.” Neville nodded along in eager agreement.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron still hadn’t quite grasped the point.
Harry shook his head and dropped the subject, turning his mind instead to which magical plant he should pick for his assignment.
Honestly, Ian’s homework assignment gave Harry the strange illusion of writing an observation journal back in Muggle primary school.
Harry’s intuition was spot on; the study method Ian had assigned them was precisely one he had tested repeatedly in his past life.
However, Ian currently had no time to ponder the students’ homework, as he had to handle the small crowd gathered before him.
“Ian, that was a wonderful presentation!” Professor Sprout gave him a resounding hug.
Ian gently patted the professor’s back, adopting a playfully exaggerated tone.
“Well, I had you setting the standard, didn’t I, Professor?
I couldn’t go around bringing shame to Hufflepuff!” “Ha ha!” Ian’s comment made Professor Sprout burst into hearty laughter, her hearty slap landing squarely on Ian’s chest.
“Ahem!” Ian coughed lightly, working to keep his footing while a relaxed smile surfaced on his face.
“Professor, I might not survive your enthusiasm at this rate,” he remarked, rubbing his chest half-jokingly.
Professor Sprout released him with a smile, her eyes brimming with admiration for the young man.
“You never fail to bring me surprises, Ian,” Professor Sprout praised him without holding back.
“Even though I’ve seen your abilities more than once, I still find myself amazed.
It seems my choice was completely spot on!” Ian offered a slight smile and didn’t press the matter further.
Seeing his reaction, Professor Sprout patted his arm again before heading off.
“Ian, today’s lesson was brilliant.
I haven’t seen an educator as exceptional as you in many years!” While Ian could accept Professor Sprout’s praise with a clear conscience, hearing such words from Dumbledore meant he had to tread carefully.
“You flatter me, Professor,” Ian replied, measuring his words with utmost care so as not to wander into any potential traps set by the old headmaster.
He had come to understand one thing clearly: though the old headmaster was advanced in years, his mind hadn’t dulled in the slightest.
On the contrary, he was more calculating and far-sighted than ever.
You could never truly tell what was going through the old headmaster’s mind.
Compounded by the memories from his past life, Ian found it impossible to ever grow fully close to him.
Dumbledore, however, seemed entirely oblivious to the subtle distance in Ian’s demeanor.
He merely smiled, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles with a light that seemed to pierce through everything.
“Flatter you?
Oh, my dear boy, I rarely offer praise so directly—unless someone truly deserves it.” He gently stroked his long, silver-white beard, his tone soft yet carrying an unmistakable gravity.
“What you demonstrated in class wasn’t merely magical technique, but an understanding and respect for the very nature of magic itself.
“It reminds me of an old friend from my youth.” Ian lowered his eyelids slightly, his mind racing to guess which “old friend” Dumbledore was referring to.
“I only did what was expected of me, Professor.
These children need exposure to a broader, more diverse spectrum of knowledge,” Ian replied, his voice remaining smooth and composed.
“Diverse.” Dumbledore repeated the word, a flicker of approval flashing in his eyes.
“Quite right.
Diverse indeed.
Even when it touches upon the magic systems of certain ancient entities.” Ian’s heart tightened slightly, though he maintained a calm facade as he ventured a probing question: “Do you know of this magic, Professor?” “What do you think?” Dumbledore gave a playful wink, leaving Ian with nothing more than an enigmatic smile as he walked away.
Ian’s expression stiffened, his lips twitching slightly as he watched Dumbledore’s departing back.
“I bloody hate riddle-spinners!” Half an hour later, Ian stepped into a classroom once again.
This time, it was not a greenhouse, but a standard classroom.
And his students were no longer first-year novices, but the seasoned “old hands” of the third year.
“Silence, please.
We’ll start with the roll call!” “Ernie Macmillan.” “Here!” “Lee Jordan.” “Here!” “George Weasley!” “Here!” “…” Once he confirmed everyone was present, Ian set the register down on the desk, his eyes sweeping across the varied expressions of the third-year students.
Compared to the first-years, their eyes held less wide-eyed curiosity and awe toward a teacher, replaced instead by scrutiny and quiet evaluation.
“Very good.
It seems no one dared to skip my first class.” Ian stepped into the center of the podium.
No one spoke.
Before figuring out Ian’s temperament, none of them wanted to risk provoking this new teaching assistant; they were all waiting for someone else to break the ice first.
Someone like the Weasley twins, for instance.
Ian was unaware of their silent scheming, though he wouldn’t have cared even if he knew.
The third year was a pivotal academic stage because it was the year students selected their elective courses.
They had to make choices that aligned with their future career plans or personal interests.
Naturally, as a core required subject, Herbology presented no such choices.
However, that didn’t mean they could take it easy.
On the contrary, starting today, their workload was set to increase significantly.
This was because it directly tied into the two most critical examinations in the wizarding world: The O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) at the end of their fifth year, and the N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) at the end of their seventh year.
Therefore, when conducting third-year classes, Ian couldn’t improvise as freely as he did with the first-years; he had to strictly follow Professor Sprout’s established curriculum and teaching style.
Yet that didn’t mean Ian intended to compromise his own teaching philosophy.
“I know many of you are already thinking,” Ian began, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable authority, “‘How is this class going to be any different from before?’ or ‘What kind of trouble is this new assistant going to bring us?'” A few stifled chuckles echoed through the room, particularly from the direction of the Weasley twins.
He offered a slight smile and continued, “I understand your concerns.
“After all, you’ve been accustomed to Professor Sprout’s teaching style for two full years now.
“But keep this in mind: starting in your third year, Herbology is no longer just about ‘identifying plants’ or ‘learning basic plant care.'” Ian turned to the blackboard and wrote down a few key phrases: O.W.L.
Preparation, Advanced Applications, Cross-Disciplinary Connections.
“You will be dealing with far more complex species and learning how to connect Herbology with Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and even Ancient Runes.” “For instance, how to use the juice of a Fanged Geranium or Venomous Tentacula to counter certain Dark magic curses, or how to cultivate Mandrakes to brew high-grade Restorative Draughts.” A quiet murmur rippled through the seated students.
Tap, tap, tap!
Ian knocked his knuckles against the desk, signaling for quiet.
“Perhaps you’re wondering what Herbology could possibly have to do with Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Ancient Runes.” “If that’s what you’re thinking, you couldn’t be more wrong!” Ian turned around and drew a heavy circle around the phrase O.W.L.
Preparation.
“The O.W.L.
examinations—your Ordinary Wizarding Levels—will directly determine whether you secure a position at the Ministry of Magic, receive job offers from major magical firms, or end up as a petty smuggler before being hauled off to Azkaban.” Ian’s words were cold and blunt, ruthlessly stripping away the gentle veneer of the wizarding world to reveal its harsh reality.
The lighthearted, probing atmosphere in the classroom froze instantly.
Every student sat up straight, and even the Weasley twins wiped the grins off their faces.
“This is no alarmist exaggeration.” Ian’s voice returned to its steady pitch, yet every word hammered into the students’ ears like a steel nail.
“Your O.W.L.
results will directly dictate whether you can continue taking Advanced Herbology in your sixth year, which in turn impacts your preparation for the N.E.W.T.s, ultimately shaping the starting point of your entire career.
“The Ministry of Magic, St.
Mungo’s Hospital, Gringotts…
even the Auror Office will make their hiring decisions based on your transcript.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over every young, tense face in the room.
“Starting today, I will ensure that what you gain in this Herbology class isn’t just theory, but the actual ability to face these real-world challenges.” “I won’t take your exams for you, but I will teach you how to achieve an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ or an ‘Outstanding’ in Herbology—and even in your other subjects.” The moment those words left his mouth, an uproar broke out across the room.
The students stared at Ian, their eyes blazing with excitement.
They knew full well what it meant to earn an ‘E’ or an ‘O’ on the O.W.L.s, and they knew how difficult it was to achieve.
Yet Ian’s words carried such an alluring conviction that they willingly brushed those doubts aside.
Ian observed their reactions with satisfaction; their enthusiasm for learning had clearly been ignited.
With a sudden wave of his wand, several strangely shaped, gently trembling potted plants appeared out of thin air on the podium.
“Now, put away your anxiety.
We’re going to dive straight into practical application.
Today’s first lesson: How to safely handle a ‘Biting Cabbage’ and extract its juice.” “The probability of this specific task appearing on past O.W.L.
exams is no less than seventy percent!” Rustle!
The moment that statistic was uttered, everyone’s eyes lit up.
What was there left to hesitate about?
Time to study!
As long as it wouldn’t kill them, they would study like their lives depended on it!
And so, through just a handful of classes, Ian’s name spread like wildfire among the students in the lower years.
Regardless of their House, the students’ appraisal of him skyrocketed, quickly making him one of the most popular instructors of the school year.