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The wind and rain lashed against the castle walls, howling through the cracks and rattling the ancient windows.
Hearing Snape address the unfamiliar wizard, Ian’s curiosity got the better of him. What began as a single glance over his shoulder turned into six, despite Snape’s sharp glares piercing through him like daggers.
This was Quirinus Quirrell! The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor during Harry Potter and Hermione’s first year, though he wouldn’t officially take up the post until the following term. Currently, he was supposed to be teaching Muggle Studies, having taken an extended leave to travel abroad.
“The butterfly effect?”
Ian feigned a vacant expression, his eyes darting around like a “clueless first-year,” as Snape led the now bald but noticeably altered Quirrell toward the staircase to the eighth floor.
“Has he already encountered Voldemort?” The question burned in Ian’s mind, his gaze lingering on the pair until they vanished from sight.
“His demeanor’s changed; he must’ve had some significant experiences during his travels.” Even as he shared a meal with William and Michael, Ian couldn’t shake the thought.
Given his knowledge of the timeline, it was tricky to judge the situation accurately, but that didn’t stop him from scheming ways to test his suspicions.
He couldn’t take the lead himself, of course.
Perhaps he’d need to enlist some help?
Ian glanced at William and Michael, who were guzzling pumpkin juice like mad after accidentally biting into some enchanted chili peppers.
“Merlin’s beard! What’s with the spice? Have the house elves gone barmy?”
“These chili-stewed chicken legs are delicious, but I reckon I’ll have to choose between enjoying them and keeping my backside intact. Is this some sort of Hogwarts Halloween tradition?”
“Halloween tradition? God, I suppose I’ll just have to endure it, then.”
…
His two roommates oscillated between moments of brilliance and sheer daftness. If he asked them to probe Quirrell, there was no guarantee the professor wouldn’t catch on and trace it back to Ian. That was hardly a wise move, especially considering Ravenclaw’s reputation for producing sharp minds.
If Quirrell were still just an ordinary professor, it wouldn’t matter much. But if he’d already aligned himself with Voldemort, that was a far graver issue. Ian had no desire to attract the attention of a noseless dark wizard before he’d even made a name for himself at Hogwarts. He prided himself on lacking the reckless audacity of Harry Potter.
“Should I just report him?” Ian wouldn’t mind stepping into the role of a prefect, even if he’d despised the idea in his past life. He was certain Dumbledore would be more than willing to address any concerns about Quirrell’s current state.
However, Dumbledore had once again vanished from the Marauder’s Map after meeting with Quirrell and Snape, leaving Ian feeling rather stumped.
Where had the headmaster gone this time?
Consulting Grindelwald might yield some answers, but Ian wasn’t keen on being alone with the dark wizard. It was a conundrum that gnawed at him.
“I’m just an ordinary Ravenclaw student. Even if Quirrell has turned to Voldemort, he’s unlikely to suspect me of nicking things from the Room of Requirement.” Ian speculated that Quirrell’s early return might be tied to his own actions, which was why he couldn’t stop pondering the professor’s state during the feast.
“Damn It What’s in this drink?”
While Ian ate calmly, William, Michael, and the other students were in an uproar, hopping around after sipping beverages laced with freshly squeezed chili juice. It was certainly a Halloween feast to remember, fiery, chaotic, and perfectly in keeping with the spirit of the season.
“Did the house elves raid a dragon’s spice hoard today?”
The food wasn’t bad, to be fair.
However, it was no secret that most Brits couldn’t handle much spice.
Students of all years were grumbling, but after a day of festivities and with hunger gnawing at them, they kept eating despite their complaints.
The food vanished even faster than usual.
The desserts that followed likely saved every little wizard with swollen lips, though those who began to relax as the spiciness faded probably didn’t realize one thing.
The “curse of the chili” would visit every person who’d indulged in the fiery feast during their next trip to the loo. Ian, who had failed to make it rain birds earlier, had quietly pulled off his Halloween prank. Of course, he wasn’t immune to its effects.
With the increased demand for drinks and water, Ian only managed to grab a cup of a murky-looking beverage, the kind most wizards would avoid on a normal day.
After taking a couple of sips, Michael and William immediately asked how it tasted.
“A bit of an aftertaste,” Ian replied casually.
His nonchalant response didn’t fool his two roommates; instead, they concluded that his taste buds were clearly defective. Frustrated by his failed attempt to drag them down with him, Ian angrily tossed the cup into the nearest bin.
The taste was akin to dishwater.
How could it ‘not’ be called an aftertaste?
Ian finally understood why no one touched that drink; it was one of those peculiar wizarding concoctions that somehow persisted through the ages despite being universally unappreciated.
After the banquet, as he left the Great Hall, students of all sizes continued to chatter about school gossip. On his way to the library, Ian even overheard whispers about Gilderoy Lockhart.
“Did you hear? Professor Lockhart’s releasing a new book!”
“Really? He’s strict and loves to scare us, but I’m still a fan of his books. Didn’t he say he wasn’t planning anything new this year?”
“Apparently, Hogwarts inspired him, and he’s writing a brand-new story about the school. I even caught a glimpse of his manuscript in his office!”
“What’s it about? Does it involve us?”
“It’s called ‘Dumbledore: The Wizard Who Can Do Magic’! It’s a biography of our headmaster! This is the first time Lockhart’s writing from someone else’s perspective!”
“Ohh! That’s exciting! Maybe we’ll finally get the full story of Dumbledore’s legendary duel with Grindelwald!”
…
Grindelwald seemed to have truly let loose, planning to publish a book under Lockhart’s name. Ian didn’t doubt the book’s authenticity or value; he was more curious whether the real Lockhart had met his end. Otherwise, how could Grindelwald pull off such a stunt?
“Quirrell, Grindelwald, Voldemort… none of them can stop my love for learning.” Ian returned to the library and borrowed a stack of books, studying diligently until closing time. He worked harder than usual, anticipating the acquisition of ‘Extraordinary traits’ in his alchemy soon.
…
As night fell, Ian left the library and glanced out the window. The dark clouds and lightning were even more intense than when the storm had begun, the rain now pouring down in relentless sheets.
It obscured the distant Forbidden Forest and extinguished Ian’s desire for a nighttime stroll. He could only return to Ravenclaw’s common room and decide to give the little wizards a lesson in Charms.
His friends listened attentively.
Ian spoke with equal enthusiasm.
“Ravenclaw gains five points!”
In the end, after ensuring everyone had mastered the ‘Accio’ spell, Ian concluded the evening’s tutoring session with a joke that had seemingly become a recent tradition.
The little wizards, still eager for more, began to trickle out one by one, though a few lingered behind to practice their spells.
Of course, there were also quite a number who had taken to self-studying Muggle subjects to outwit the bronze eagle. Whether they were upperclassmen or first-years, all had experienced the frustration of being stumped by the eagle’s cunning questions.
The clever little witches had recently stopped chatting with Ian, having noticed a pattern: every time they had a pleasant conversation with him, they’d inevitably face a particularly tricky question from the bronze eagle.
“It must be in love with you,” Cho Chang had remarked to Ian on more than one occasion. Ian had even tried reasoning with the bronze eagle, but it remained stubbornly displeased whenever others took up his time.
Was it love?
Of course not.
“You see, I’ve even learned to be selfish; this is the wisdom you’ve already given me, but I want even more wisdom,” The bronze eagle had declared bluntly to Ian.
It did seem far cleverer than before, almost unnervingly so. Ian couldn’t help but feel like he was providing training material for some sort of enchanted, sentient artifact.
Of course, the bronze eagle vehemently denied Ian’s interpretation, insisting it was on the verge of attaining true life.
“Let me out, you daft bird!”
Once everyone had retired for the night, Ian skillfully slipped out of the common room. The heavy rain showed no signs of letting up, but his destination wasn’t the Forbidden Forest, it was the Room of Requirement. Whatever the reason for Quirrell’s early return, it wouldn’t hurt to brew a few extra vials of his unlimited power potion.
“Snape’s asleep, Quirrell’s in the kitchens, good, good, good, time for a zero-cost operation!” Ian confirmed the locations of the castle’s more dangerous inhabitants as he moved through the quiet, deserted corridors.
He didn’t particularly enjoy taking Snape’s precious ingredients without payment, but the Potions master had mocked his attempts to pay last time.
To avoid further ridicule from his “good uncle,” Ian had resolved to save his galleons and take a few extra materials to muddy the waters.
It was a necessary precaution to ensure Snape wouldn’t grow too suspicious. After all, it was rumored that he and the Weasley twins weren’t the only ones pilfering from Snape’s stores; many seventh-years were habitual offenders.
“I’m just taking a bit more than the others,” Ian muttered to himself as he stashed his Marauder’s Map away. He even took the time to ask a few portraits about Godric Gryffindor’s whereabouts.
“He was chased by a dog; I’ve no idea where he’s run off to,” One portrait eagerly shared, vividly recounting the afternoon’s excitement to Ian.
“Truly a founder, his agility is remarkable; he managed to run all over Hogwarts without getting bitten,” Ian remarked with interest, though he was also puzzled. If his hellhound had chased Gryffindor’s portrait to the treasure room, it should have returned to lead him there.
Had Godric Gryffindor’s portrait found a way to outwit the hellhound he’d drawn?
That must be the case.
Realizing this, Ian felt a twinge of frustration.
“I’ll need to lure him out again, and next time, I’ll draw a few transformed titans to chase him. I don’t believe a mere portrait can handle Titans,” Ian resolved.
Lady Ravenclaw had clearly underestimated him.
He wouldn’t rely on multiple hellhounds again.
If it weren’t for his limited skill in magical painting, which prevented him from conjuring more formidable creatures, Ian would have drawn something like a Cthulhu-esque monstrosity to hunt down Gryffindor’s portrait.
“This is what happens when you don’t work hard! When something comes up, you’ll lack the means to cope!” Ian scolded himself inwardly as he hurried toward Snape’s office.
No wonder this place was a hotspot for thieves.
As soon as Ian stepped inside, he spotted a shadowy figure already engaged in some zero-cost shopping.
“Obliviate!”
Having pushed open the door to the dimly lit office, Ian startled the intruder, who spun around and immediately cast a spell.
Quick and decisive.
Without a hint of hesitation.
“…”
Ian quickly crouched to dodge the spell, his wand flaring brightly and momentarily blinding the intruder who had been poised to cast another charm.
The little wizard already in the room instinctively raised a hand to shield their eyes. The sudden burst of light from Ian’s ‘Lumos’ effectively disrupted their spell-casting.
“Aurora, attacking friends isn’t exactly the right behavior,” Ian said, not immediately retaliating. His decent night vision allowed him to clearly see the sneaky little thief.
“Ah? Ian! Why… why is it you?”
When Ian dimmed the brightness of his wand, Aurora recognized the figure at the door and immediately flustered.
Her pale face turned as red as a Weasley’s hair.
With a hint of fear.
“I’m sorry, Ian, I thought it was Professor Snape,” She stammered. It was hard to imagine that a little wizard with such a panicked tone had just been about to cast a Memory Charm on a professor.
She even seemed to think it was a reasonable explanation for her actions… This made Ian’s eyelids twitch, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure whether to question his “good uncle” or not.
“The Slytherins have clearly led you astray,” Ian sighed.
“Ah?” Aurora looked astonished as she lowered her wand.
“Isn’t that what you taught me? You said I could find anything in Snape’s office, and you even said there was ‘everything’ in Snape’s office…”
The little girl’s honest response made Ian feel a twinge of embarrassment.
“I was just introducing Professor Snape’s magical office,” He began to argue.
“You were promoting it,” Aurora countered, clearly not as easy to fool as Ian had hoped.
“What are you holding?”
Ian stepped forward to change the subject, eyeing the small bag Aurora had opened and was showing him. It was much smaller than the empty sack he was carrying.
“Wow, Ian, that was quite a thrilling situation just now,” Aurora said, her face filled with guilt. She was clearly still remorseful for almost attacking him.
“You might as well cast a Memory Charm on me while I’m not paying attention; if I can’t dodge it, then it’s just my bad luck,” She suggested as if it were a perfectly fair idea.
“Let’s settle the accounts first; I like to collect interest,” Ian replied, not too bothered by Aurora’s sneak attack. He’d practiced not only magic but also dodging spells in the Room of Requirement.
“Sri Lankan vulture bile, Berkshire grass, half-ear grass buds, Icelandic yuris stalactite, ferret heart tendons, and salamander serum…”
Ian adjusted his wand to a dim glow and leaned closer to Aurora’s bag, identifying the ingredients. “Who are you planning to brew Veritaserum for?”
This was definitely a move second only to his own experiments with love potions.
“My grandfather,” Aurora replied matter-of-factly, blinking as she closed her small bag. Her lowered voice and straightforward answer illustrated just who the true bold one at Hogwarts was.
“??????”
Ian’s expression was a sight to behold.
He’d thought ‘he’ was the most daring of all.
He hadn’t expected there to be a master among the first-years!
“I feel like a new student in front of you,” Ian admitted, his evaluation heartfelt. Aurora tilted her head, about to say something else, when,
“Click~”
The sound of the doorknob turning echoed through the room. Aurora raised her wand, aiming at the door, but Ian immediately pressed her down and silently cast the Disillusionment Charm on both of them.
One for all.
With his deepening study of magic, many spells that weren’t too complex but required high proficiency could now be performed without incantation.
As the door opened, Ian and Aurora’s bodies first appeared with numerous transparent holes, which spread out like water stains, and the two of them vanished like ice under the scorching sun.
Inside the office, their bodies entered a hidden state.
The person who entered the office was completely oblivious to the fact that two people had been there moments before. He cautiously poked his head in to survey the room before carefully squeezing through the door and quietly closing it behind him.
“Muggle Studies professor?” Aurora was surprised to recognize the newcomer in her mind.
Ian’s expression turned peculiar.
Did Snape’s office really attract so many visitors every night?
It couldn’t be!
How much could it withstand being raided like this?
“Eagle’s eye, snake’s nerve…” The frail Quirrell, even when alone, looked weak. He tiptoed around Snape’s office, pilfering ingredients, seeing him steal a few items and then leave, Ian stopped Aurora from following out of curiosity.
“We need to be cautious; this professor clearly doesn’t seem like a good person,” Ian said, to which Aurora nodded in agreement. After all, how could a thief be considered a good person?
As for her and Ian… well, they weren’t exactly paragons of virtue either.
“This bloke hasn’t even returned to his dormitory,” Ian observed Quirrell’s movements through the Marauder’s Map, watching him enter a remote, unused classroom.
“Should we catch him? Then pin the stolen goods on him,” Aurora suggested, eyeing the materials Ian had gathered in his sack with astonishment.
She realized she’d underestimated the scale of Ian’s operation.
“He won’t admit it,” Ian replied, shrinking the sack and stuffing it into his pocket.
“Then let’s make sure there’s no evidence,” Aurora said, raising her wand with a hint of eagerness.
“That might not be wise,” Ian hesitated. “Attacking a professor within Hogwarts Castle isn’t the right behavior, and I suspect he’s already allied with some very troublesome dark forces.”
He felt that as long as it wasn’t the noseless one, dealing with a Death Eater wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. Quirrell’s actions had already made it clear he’d turned traitor; the materials he’d taken were key ingredients for many dark magic spells, and, most tellingly, there was a distinct bloody smell about him.
“My grandfather’s Acolyte listens to me now,” Aurora said, blinking.
The implication of her concise words was unmistakable.
“Let’s see what he’s up to,” Ian decided. He didn’t want Quirrell to cause any disturbances that might interfere with his peaceful studies, but he clearly had more reservations than Aurora.
Following the markings on the map, Ian led Aurora slowly toward the empty classroom where Quirrell was, both of them maintained the Disillusionment Charm, and Ian also cleared away anything nearby that might make noise if accidentally disturbed.
They stood outside the window and peered in; Quirrell was indeed casting dark magic, just as Ian had suspected.
Not returning to his dormitory was likely due to concerns about leaving traces of dark magic there. In the center of the classroom was an empty basin filled with blood, and Quirrell was using the stolen materials to perform a ritual, muttering obscure incantations.
As the blood in the basin began to bubble like boiling water, it eventually coalesced into a grotesque face, and Quirrell immediately dropped to his knees, speaking in a tone laced with fear.
“Master~”
His voice was sycophantic.
“Is the item still there?”
The blood-formed face emitted a hoarse voice.
“I went into that room; your treasure was not there,” Quirrell replied, trembling slightly, his tone tense as his eyes darted around nervously.
Perhaps he was worried that Dumbledore, who had left the school, might suddenly return, one could only say that this bloke was clearly overly cautious; he surely didn’t know that Dumbledore had taken a liking to avoid work.
“Just as I thought!”
The blood-formed face surged angrily, revealing that the person on the other end was furious. “When that fool Carrow went missing without sending any news, I had a premonition. I didn’t expect someone to actually find the things I’ve hidden. That damned fool didn’t even find out who took it!”
The voice wasn’t loud, but that was clearly due to Quirrell’s “volume control.”
The other person was practically roaring.
“Master, I… I… I have completed the tasks you assigned me. May I return to your side and continue to serve you as your loyal servant?”
Quirrell pleaded, prostrating himself on the ground.
“You still need to help me find out who stole my belongings,” The blood-formed face replied coldly, refusing Quirrell’s request and issuing a stern command instead.
This made Quirrell tremble uncontrollably.
“I’m afraid, Master, I’m afraid Dumbledore might discover my situation. He made me feel something was off today; I even suspect he has uncovered my connection with you.”
Quirrell’s voice quivered with a whimper, thick with fear and trepidation.
“Rest assured, our great Dumbledore is nowhere near as clever as you think. His enemies will soon make it difficult for him to cope. What you need to do is seize the opportunity to find that thief for me.”
Voldemort’s low, hoarse voice carried a hint of gritted teeth.
“I’m just the professor of Muggle Studies; it’s an elective course, and I don’t come into contact with many people. I’m not very familiar with the other professors either.”
“Perhaps… perhaps Dumbledore took your things,” Quirrell desperately tried to persuade the person on the other end; he clearly did not want to stay at Hogwarts any longer.
One could understand that.
After all, he was a traitor within Hogwarts’ walls.
“Then find a way to get Dumbledore to transfer you to another position… the Defense Against the Dark Arts class is a good choice,” The Dark Lord said, clearly still nursing a grudge over the job application he had been denied years ago.
He might hope that his servant could become the professor of that class, thus proving some of the worth he had always been concerned about. Dumbledore’s past insult had indeed left a mark on him.
“But, but that class is currently taught by Gilderoy Lockhart,” Quirrell protested, only to find the blood-colored face in the basin glaring at him ominously.
“Then kill him!” The Dark Lord’s tone was filled with disdain.
“Just a clown trying to attract attention; don’t forget, you’re also a wizard who graduated from Ravenclaw. This is the best opportunity to prove your worth.”
“Kill that man, replace him, and complete the task I assigned to you!”
The hoarse, low voice echoed through the classroom.
Ian and Aurora, crouched outside the window, heard everything clearly.
“Very well… Master… for you.”
After a few minutes, Quirrell finally seemed to have made a decision, prostrating himself on the ground to respond to the Dark Lord linked to the bubbling blood in the basin.
At this moment,
Ian finally let out a long breath.
He knew.
The peaceful days were about to return.
And they wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.
(End of Chapter)