The night was deep.
After a day of studying, Hogwarts' Young Wizards had all drifted into comfortable dreams. Some searched for their ideals in their dreams, while others simply had wet dreams.
Ian was different.
He took another trip through the Misty Illusion, using everyone else's sleeping time to get ahead of his classmates again. Not only had he expanded his knowledge, but he had gained something else as well.
Inside the cauldron in the Room of Requirement.
Violet potion bubbled away.
"Back!"
Ian slowly opened his eyes, and the familiar Room of Requirement came into view.
A complex, distinctive scent permeated the room—the lingering smell from the potions he had brewed earlier. The scent of Mandrake Root mingled with the unique aroma of potion-making.
Time.
It was brewing pot after pot of miracles. Dim yellow light poured down from the magical chandelier on the ceiling, softly illuminating the room piled with all kinds of potion-brewing tools.
Ian stretched and rose from the comfortable magical recliner he had customized. His gaze wandered around the room before finally settling on a corner.
"Tap, tap."
A strange sound came from the corner.
The Black-Robed Skeleton was squatting there, fiddling with the unfortunate Dementor in both hands. The world-weary Dementor struggled constantly in its grip, letting out chilling, low growls.
However.
As the Black-Robed Skeleton grew more vicious.
The Dementor's black robe was ripped to tatters, and in the end, it could only let out weak whimpers—for the Black-Robed Skeleton, which did not need sleep, all twenty-four hours of the day were the Dementor's nightmare.
Perhaps.
To the Dementor.
This was heaven bestowing a great task upon this creature. Ian's eyes immediately lit up. He strode over and snatched the Dementor from the Black-Robed Skeleton's hands.
"Huh?" The Black-Robed Skeleton was stunned by