Ian was a hit!
His unique teaching style and lively, humorous classroom atmosphere earned him immense popularity among the lower-year students.
In stark contrast to him stood Professor Quirrell.
In just one short week, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher managed to turn the entire student body—across all seven years—against him.
It wasn’t that Quirrell’s teaching ability was utterly abysmal.
After all, he had graduated from Hogwarts with top marks back in his day, which was why Dumbledore hired him back in the first place.
Besides, the students of Hogwarts were no strangers to terrible Defense Against the Dark Arts professors; they had seen far worse.
The real reason was…
“Ian, you have no idea how unbearable the garlic smell on Professor Quirrell is.” It was the weekend, the time when students were permitted to visit Hogsmeade—though that privilege was restricted to third-years and above.
Harry, naturally, wasn’t eligible.
That, combined with a few other specific reasons, left him with no choice but to seek out Ian.
Hearing Harry’s complaint, Ian remained unfazed.
He merely offered him a brief glance before turning his attention back to grading assignments.
Though he only taught students in their third year and below, Ian’s workload was by no means small.
Hogwarts had four Houses, and classes were taught to two Houses combined at a time.
If two Houses taking a class together counted as one cohort, Ian essentially taught six cohorts.
With two classes a week per cohort, each lasting two hours, Ian taught an average of 4.8 hours a day—more than two full class blocks.
Unlike Quirrell, who simply read verbatim from the textbook, Ian had to thoroughly prepare for every single lesson.
Consequently, Ian had to push his assignment grading to the weekends.
Still, considering Professor Sprout covered four year groups—and upper-year ones at that—Ian felt he had little ground to complain.
Putting it into perspective, the House heads at Hogwarts certainly had it tough.
Not only did they teach all seven year groups for their subjects, but they also had to manage their respective Houses.
No wonder all the professors at Hogwarts are single, Ian thought to himself, taking a bit of grim humor in the realization.
While Ian was grading, Harry wasn’t keeping quiet either.
He took a sip from the cup on the desk and continued airing his grievances: “And then there’s Snape.
He’s completely out of his mind!” “What did Professor Snape do to offend you this time?” Ian asked smoothly, still without looking up.
At the mention of Snape, Harry bristled with indignation.
Pouting angrily, he flopped into the chair opposite Ian and complained crossly: “He’s always picking on me!
No matter how well I do in Potions, he always finds something to criticize.
This week alone, Gryffindor lost fifty points because of me!” Ian’s quill paused mid-stroke.
He finally raised his head and looked at Harry.
“So, you came all the way here today just to complain about those two professors?” “Not entirely…” Harry scratched his hair awkwardly, hesitating a moment before coming clean.
“Actually, it’s also about Hermione and Ron.
The two of them had a massive row yesterday over what happened in Charms, and I don’t know what to do.” “Friction between friends is completely normal,” Ian said, leaning back as his tone softened slightly.
“Just like your mother—she couldn’t stand James at first, either.” “…” The words caught Harry completely off guard.
Weren’t they talking about Ron and Hermione?
How on earth did his parents get brought into this?
And what did any of this have to do with his mum and dad anyway?
“Though Snape really has been going a bit too far,” Ian added, a light frown forming as he recalled the recent rumors he’d heard about the Potions Master.
In truth, it wasn’t just Harry whom Snape targeted.
Aside from Slytherin, Snape picked on students from the other three Houses with complete impartiality.
It was just that Harry currently drew the vast majority of the “firepower.” Hearing Ian agree with him, Harry immediately perked up.
He nodded eagerly and looked at Ian with an expectant expression.
To be fair, Harry knew the root reason why Snape singled him out, and he hadn’t originally intended to bother Ian with it.
However, he had severely underestimated the psychological damage his face inflicted on Snape.
Put it this way: if Harry merely possessed eyes identical to Lily’s without looking so much like James, Snape’s attitude toward him might have been slightly more tolerable.
Or perhaps if Harry had been born a girl—a Harriet—things would have been entirely different?
Ian rested his chin on his hand, a few absurd, mischievous ideas flashing through his mind.
The strange look in Ian’s eyes sent a flicker of unease through Harry’s chest.
Yet out of complete trust in Ian, he suppressed his nervousness and met his eyes steadfastly.
Ian set down his quill, a playful, amused smile curling the corners of his lips.
“Harry, have you ever heard of Polyjuice Potion?
It allows a person to temporarily transform into someone else.” Harry froze, his eyes widening in shock.
“Are…
are you telling me to turn into someone else?” Harry knew Ian could be unpredictable at times, but he hadn’t expected him to be this unhinged.
After pondering it for a moment, Harry asked with a conflicted expression, “Who…
who do you think I should turn into?” Now it was Ian’s turn to be caught off guard.
He shot Harry an incredulous look, staring until the boy flushed with embarrassment, before shaking his head with a chuckle.
“I mean, perhaps you could try a different approach.” “For instance, let Professor Snape ‘accidentally’ discover that aside from having Lily’s eyes, you take after your mother far more than James in other areas.
Such as Lily’s talent for Potions back in the day…” He paused, adopting a slightly more serious tone.
“Though before that, you have to prove yourself.
Instead of complaining, focus on making a potion so perfect that he has nothing to criticize.” A mysterious smile touched Ian’s face.
“Just picture it, Harry.” “One day, you brew a potion so flawless that even Snape can’t find a single fault with it.” “He tries desperate to pick it apart, but he can’t find a single mistake anywhere, while you…” “You just stand to the side and calmly say to Snape, ‘Well, isn’t this easy enough for anyone with hands?'” “If that happens, do I even need to describe what Snape’s expression would look like?” Ian’s description left Harry completely dumbfounded.
The vivid image involuntarily materialized in his mind: In the steaming Potions dungeon, a cauldron glowed with a perfect mother-of-pearl sheen.
Professor Snape’s face, normally perpetually sullen, turned rigid—even contorted—after failing to find a single flaw…
While he himself merely needed to stand there calmly, perhaps with a touch of innocent confusion, and deliver the line— “Well, isn’t this easy enough for anyone with hands?” Just imagining the scene made Harry crack a wide grin, almost bursting out laughing on the spot.
Seeing Harry’s utterly smitten look, Ian rolled his eyes and snapped playfully, “Alright, wipe your mouth first.
You’re drooling everywhere!” Harry instinctively touched the corner of his mouth, finding no drool at all.
He huffed in annoyance, “Ian, has anyone ever told you that you can be really annoying sometimes?” “Hmm?” Ian glared at him, letting out a softly threatening hum.
Harry gave a sheepish grin and hastily tried to appease him.
“I was wrong, Uncle!” “Hmph!” Ian snorted coldly, letting Harry off the hook for now.
He had noticed that in front of Harry, his authority as an uncle was steadily eroding compared to when they first met.
“By the way, weren’t you supposed to try out for Quidditch today?
Or was your spot already locked in?” Ian suddenly asked, curiosity piqued as something came to mind.
Just as in the original timeline, Harry’s natural gift for flying had been discovered by Professor McGonagall during his very first flying lesson.
She had immediately made the call on the spot, naming him the Gryffindor team’s new Seeker.
Strictly speaking, today was the official Quidditch tryouts.
Even with Harry’s talent, he still needed to practice and build teamwork with the rest of the team.
Hearing Ian bring this up, Harry let out a troubled sigh, the excitement on his face completely vanishing.
This only piqued Ian’s curiosity further.
“What’s wrong?
Did something happen?” “It’s Wood,” Harry said, running a hand through his messy black hair, a clear note of frustration in his voice.
“Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
He’s gone completely mental these past few days.” Ian raised an eyebrow and didn’t interrupt.
He simply set his quill beside the inkwell and assumed an attentive listening posture.
Seeing this, Harry seemed to find an outlet for his frustration, his words coming out in a rapid tumble: “Every day before dawn, he drags the entire team out of bed for training!
He keeps saying it’s ‘for the House Cup.’ “The day before yesterday, we were forced to fly in a torrential downpour for two straight hours!
Angelina nearly fell off her broom, and when George and Fred protested, Wood just said—” Harry mimicked Wood’s deadly serious, borderline obsessive tone: “‘Real matches don’t get canceled just because of a bit of rain!
If we want to beat Slytherin, we have to adapt to any weather!'” “Sounds like a very dedicated captain,” Ian offered as a fair assessment, a hint of amusement lingering in his eyes.
“Haven’t you always wanted to play Quidditch?
Having a strict captain push you to improve ought to be a good thing.” Over the holidays, Harry had spent plenty of time sneaking out to fly around wildly on the Nimbus 1000 Ian had bought him.
“I wouldn’t mind if it were normal training!” Harry raised his voice, his green eyes filled with aggrieved indignation.
“But Ian, you don’t know how unreasonable he is!
Yesterday after dinner, he kept me behind alone, saying he wanted to give the Seeker ‘special training.’ And then…” Harry’s voice trailed off, a flush of embarrassment creeping over his face.
“And then what?” Ian’s curiosity was completely piqued now.
“And then he made me practice catching the Golden Snitch in the castle corridors!” Harry practically shouted.
“Right under Filch’s nose!
He claimed it was to ‘train my reaction speed’!
If I hadn’t run fast enough, Filch would’ve caught me!” Ian froze for two seconds, and then…
“Pfft—” He couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny!” Harry glared crossly at Ian.
But seeing his uncle laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking, Harry couldn’t hold back either, the corners of his mouth twitching upward uncontrollably.
“Fine…
it is a little funny.
But it was genuinely dangerous!
If Professor McGonagall found out, she’d definitely strip Wood of his captaincy.” “Sounds like your captain fits right into Gryffindor,” Ian said, finally managing to stop laughing as he wiped away an imaginary tear from his eye.
Harry didn’t argue, though he secretly rolled his eyes.
Don’t think he didn’t know—his uncle wasn’t nearly as well-behaved as he appeared on the surface either.
Harry had learned quite a few “secrets” from his ghost friends.
Unaware of Harry’s inner thoughts, Ian nodded thoughtfully, twirling the quill between his fingers again.
“So the reason you didn’t go to tryouts today is because Wood scheduled another one of his ‘secret training sessions’?” “No,” Harry shook his head, his expression turning somewhat strange.
“Today was supposed to be the official tryout for new members, but during practice yesterday, Wood fell off his broom.
Minor concussion—he’s currently lying in the hospital wing.” Ian: “…” “Madam Pomfrey said he needs to rest for at least three days,” Harry added, his tone giving away no clue as to whether he felt regretful or relieved.
“That truly is heartbreaking news,” Ian said smoothly, though not a shred of sorrow could be seen on his face.
“So, in short, you had nowhere else to go today, which is why you came looking for me?” Ian summarized cleanly.
Harry opened his mouth to object, but ultimately hung his head.
“Sigh!” After a long pause, Harry heard a soft sigh, followed by a heavy hand patting his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go for a walk outside!” By the time Harry looked up, Ian was already standing by the door.