Ivan closed Walking with Trolls and put it back on the shelf.
Whoever the real expert was, he felt a flicker of sympathy.
Anyone who could describe trolls in that much detail had clearly spent far too much time up close and personal with the things—only to have Lockhart claim the credit afterward.
Knowing the weaknesses was useful.
It was not enough.
He still needed better potions, stronger spells, and more Academic Points.
Classroom evaluations and answering questions were the only reliable sources left.
He quickly discovered that being a model student was harder than it looked.
Even answering questions had turned into a competition.
No matter the subject, the moment a professor asked something, Hermione’s hand shot up first.
She would wait for permission, then deliver the answer with perfect speed and accuracy.
Once Ivan joined the contest, every class became a two-person war.
Two arms stayed permanently raised.
Hermione seemed to enjoy the rivalry; she studied even harder and often stayed in the library with him until Madam Pince extinguished the lamps and drove them out.
Ivan wanted to cry.
He only needed points.
Hermione’s presence had cut his harvest in half.
Eventually he decided ordinary competition was too slow.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick stood on his usual stool and demonstrated the Disarming Charm and the Impediment Jinx.
Years of teaching had given him an easy rhythm; the first-years leaned forward, listening.
“Who can tell me the incantation for the Disarming Charm, and what it does?” Hermione’s hand was already high.
She glanced sideways at Ivan—the only real threat in the room.
Ivan simply stood up.
“The incantation is Expelliarmus, Professor.
It forces the target to drop their wand on contact.
It also carries a certain amount of kinetic force.
How far the opponent is thrown depends on the caster’s skill and the difference in magical strength.” Flitwick, who had been about to call on Hermione, blinked.
“Very good.
Two points to Gryffindor.” He recovered quickly and added, “Mr Hals, in future please raise your hand first.” “Yes, Professor.” Ivan sat down, already checking the system notification.
The points were banked.
He looked perfectly satisfied.
Flitwick cleared his throat.
“Next question—the Impediment Jinx.” Ivan was on his feet again before the sentence finished.
“The incantation is Impedimenta.
It creates a unidirectional magical barrier that can block incoming attacks.
Multiple barriers can be stacked for greater strength.
The main weakness is that it only protects from one direction.” He gave the professor a polite, slightly sheepish smile.
“Is that correct, Professor?” Hermione stared at him, hand still half-raised, expression blank.
The rest of the class sat in uneasy silence.
Fighting over answers this aggressively felt somehow more vicious than actual duelling.
“Correct,” Flitwick managed.
He waved Ivan back into his seat and, this time, awarded no points.
After a moment he simply said, “I think I’ll continue the lesson myself.” Once Ivan learned the technique, Academic Points arrived much faster.
Hermione was clever and competitive, but she still had enough residual politeness that she could not bring herself to copy the method.
Every time they met afterward her face was a little tighter.
At first she tried to lecture him: answering without permission was wrong; they should compete fairly.
Ivan refused without hesitation.
Among top students, was it really “snatching”?
No rule in the Hogwarts code forbade standing up and answering correctly.
He rather suspected the four Founders would weep tears of joy in their graves if they knew someone loved learning this much.
When he casually mentioned the five points he had lost during the flying lesson—points that, in a roundabout way, involved her—Hermione found herself short of arguments.
The other professors developed headaches of their own.
They had dealt with disruptive students before.
They had never dealt with a student who interrupted by standing, answered every question with clinical precision, and then apologised so sincerely that scolding him felt unreasonable.
Encouraged by the results, Ivan finally turned his attention to the last fortress: Potions.
He wanted to map exactly where Snape’s tolerance ended.
Snape, who had never hidden his favouritism toward Slytherin or his dislike of Gryffindor, was not amused.
After class he stopped Ivan with a cold warning: the next time he stood without permission, every house point he had earned in other subjects would be stripped away in one stroke.
Snape swept out of the dungeon.
The system chimed almost immediately.
[Ding.
Potions class concluded.
Overall evaluation: Satisfied (Excellent) Evaluator: Severus Snape Reward: Academic Points ×10] “Tsundere,” Ivan muttered under his breath.
He rubbed his chin, thoughtful.
Maybe he could still push it a little further.