HR Chapter 128 The First Generation is Trash! Part 1

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Deep within the labyrinthine depths of the underground chamber, Ian stumbled upon something utterly impossible. There was no runaway mother, no gambling father, no prodigious younger brother, and no ambitious sister carving her path in the wizarding world. Instead, there was a man— a man who should have been dead.

"Professor Ronnie Ehrlich..."

The figure sprawled upon the cold stone floor looked impossibly real. Ian had seen his corpse with his own eyes, and yet here he was, a breathing man with intact flesh and bone. His mind reeled, his scalp prickling with unease. This was even more disorienting than the realization that he had been ensnared in a time loop woven by Salazar Slytherin's lingering enchantments.

But how? How could a professor who had perished only recently be revived within this loop, with no discernible purpose?

Was there some ancient magic hidden within the castle— some relic of Hogwarts that could anchor the souls of those who perished here? If not, then surely Professor Ronnie Ehrlich's spirit should have passed beyond the veil, beyond the Twilight Realm, long before this strange cycle had begun.

Ariana's absence from these events made one thing clear: Slytherin's enchantments did not extend into the Twilight Realm. They held dominion over Hogwarts, but not over death itself.

And yet, if Slytherin had indeed left behind some means of resurrection within the castle, why waste it on reviving an Acolyte who had barely spent a day at Hogwarts this term?

A torrent of questions surged through Ian's mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

"It doesn't make sense! None of this makes any sense!" He muttered under his breath. It was absurd to think that Salazar Slytherin could have foreseen events at Hogwarts a thousand years into the future, let alone have devised contingencies for them.

Unless—

Unless Salazar Slytherin was still alive, watching, waiting, his influence woven into the very foundations of the castle. But if that was not the case, then the only explanation Ian could conceive was that Slytherin's legacy had the power to preserve the souls of the recently deceased, returning them to the underground chamber upon the activation of his enchantments.

If that were true, then this resurrection was no accident.

It had meaning— something crucial to Slytherin's design, a test or revelation for those who stumbled upon the secrets of this place.

"I have no idea what you're on about, lad..." Professor Ronnie Ehrlich groaned, wincing as he stirred. "Whatever enchantment has muddled my memory, I think I'd still know if I were dead."

The professor's ribs were likely cracked from his earlier collision with the dragon bones. He coughed violently as he pushed himself upright, clutching at his chest, his face contorted with pain.

"No, Professor, I don't think you understand what's happening right now." Ian's voice was steady, though his hands trembled slightly. The thoughts swirling in his mind were beginning to crystallize.

He was sure of it now.

Just as he had suspected from the start, the key to breaking the curse upon his hand lay within this chamber. And the answer was standing before him— resurrected, oblivious, and utterly inexplicable.

"Actually, I believe it's not so difficult to grasp." Professor Ehrlich hesitated before retrieving his wand. He could sense the young wizard's unease and chose instead to sigh, eyeing the wand where it lay on the stone floor, just out of reach.

"As you can see, my memory is hazy, and I have no notion of how much time has passed. But all signs point to a rather unsettling possibility: I was placed under the Imperius Curse, a pawn in You-Know-Who's scheme."

He exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his temple as if trying to ward off the fog in his mind.

"You-Know-Who controlled me— he cast that curse— so he must have met some misfortune. Either that or he has already wrung me dry for whatever purpose he has intended. And now, with his hold over me severed, I am left to pick up the pieces of a life I do not remember losing."

It had to be said that Professor Ronnie Ehrlich's reasoning was, on the surface, quite sound. His current state did bear a striking resemblance to someone who had been freed from the Imperius Curse.

However.

That was certainly not the truth.

Ian had seen the professor's body reassembled with his own eyes, and those remains had been verified beyond all doubt by several professors— even Headmaster Dumbledore himself— as belonging to Ronnie Ehrlich.

"I've told you more than once, Professor— you should be dead." Ian made no attempt to soften the truth. Nor was he particularly concerned about the effect this revelation might have on Ehrlich's mind. His earlier ruthlessness with the Disarming Charm made it abundantly clear that he harbored no sentimental attachment to a professor who had lasted all of a day or two before meeting his untimely end.

"Hah. The dead don't get struck by your spells, lad." Professor Ehrlich showed no sign of being rattled— mostly because he didn't believe a word Ian was saying.

"What year are you in now?"

His last memory of Ian had him a fair bit shorter than he was now.

"First year. It's nearly Christmas." Ian answered promptly, then threw in his own question. "What else do you remember?"

"Still first year... tsk tsk."

Ehrlich didn't answer at once. His gaze drifted to his empty hand, then to his wand lying far beyond his reach.

For a wizard so young to have cast such a forceful Disarming Charm… The second-generation Acolyte's eyes flickered with something between intrigue and a concealed, burning fascination.

"I saw the Transfiguration work you left in the Owlery," He mused at last. "It was an impressive bit of magic. At the time, I thought you were simply a particularly promising dark wizard."

"Who would have thought that, in just a matter of weeks, you'd already mastered the Killing Curse?" A glimmer of something unreadable passed through Ehrlich's expression as he recalled the eerie green light that had flickered at Ian's wand tip earlier. 

He was certain of what he had seen— it had been a silent incantation, prepared with deadly intent. And Ian's proficiency with it far outstripped that of his Disarming Charm.

"Professor, would you kindly answer my question?" Ian pressed, his patience thinning. "I want to know where your last clear memory stops."

As he suspected, Ehrlich had no intention of making things easy.

Even in his pitiful state, with him being wandless and barely upright, his weight propped against a pile of dragon bones, the professor dodged the question, a smirk tugging at his bloodied lips.

"To be frank, Hogwarts isn't fit to hold a talent like you. The headmaster here despises those who practice the Dark Arts. If he knew your true potential, he'd never let you be."

His chest was badly caved in, and he was forced to spit out blood between sentences, yet his choice of words made it clear that he was trying to unnerve Ian with the threat of school rules.

"I get along quite well with Dumbledore, so I doubt that." Ian rolled his eyes. Communicating with someone who seemed permanently stuck in the past was proving to be exasperating.

"He's fond of disappointing those who think they understand him." Ehrlich's smirk widened despite the pain, his voice tinged with something close to pity. "You don't know our headmaster like I do."

Of course, as an Acolyte, his disdain for Dumbledore made perfect sense. What was less reasonable, however, was just how brazenly he was displaying it. His every word was practically an open admission of his betrayal of Hogwarts.

"I know our headmaster far too well. It's you who doesn't understand the position you're in. I'd advise you not to dodge my questions by changing the subject."

Ian frowned.

(To Be Continued…)