HR Chapter 130 Wonderful Cycle Part 3

There are some things that wizards might not dare to say.

But witches were a different matter entirely.

He was the head of Slytherin House, he knew his own students. With a sharp flick of his robes, the great bat of the dungeons stalked away, choosing to turn his ire on some other unfortunate students instead.

"Brilliant move! That was perfect!" Ian slid back into his seat beside Aurora, giving her a discreet thumbs-up.

"You could have easily brewed a flawless batch of Skelegro. Why did you make so many defective ones? Was it just to irritate your uncle?" Aurora asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

"Obviously, it was because... well, Dumbledore told me to," Ian said smoothly. He certainly wasn't about to admit he'd done it just for the fun of needling Snape, Dumbledore's name made for a perfect excuse.

"Oh?" Aurora nodded thoughtfully, as if this made perfect sense. Truthfully, Ian had simply anticipated Snape's inevitable retaliation and decided to make the first move.

Sure enough.

After class ended.

Just as Ian remembered, Snape held him back.

"I understand, Professor. You wanted to remind me not to use magic while cleaning the toilets, so I suppose I'll need to do them again tonight," Ian preemptively stated.

"???"

Snape, robbed of his chance to deliver the punishment himself, looked momentarily thrown. Fortunately, he had more than one plan in mind, and he swiftly adapted.

"Since you've grown so fond of meddling, you can polish all the lavatories. I've taken extra precautions to ensure—"

Snape's words faltered when Ian, without waiting for further instruction, reached under the teacher's desk and pulled out a large bucket of polish he had already prepared. That strange, nagging feeling Snape had been suppressing since the beginning of class flared up again.

"What is wrong with you?!" He finally burst out, suspicion clear in his voice.

Ian offered no answer, merely lifting the bucket and striding off, leaving Snape behind with only the sight of his retreating figure.

Of course.

Unlike Snape and the rest of Hogwarts, who were left reeling in confusion, Ian already knew what was coming next. Snape, rather than chasing after him, would instead head straight to the Great Hall to find Ian's two unsuspecting roommates.

And sure enough, moments later—

"Tell me! What in Merlin's name is going on with Prince?" Snape's deep, silken voice carried an unmistakable edge of menace as he loomed over William and Michael. The sheer force of his presence alone had them trembling like a pair of frightened puffskeins.

"We— we can't betray our friend, Professor," William stammered, attempting to summon some Gryffindor-worthy courage.

"Yeah, that'd be downright dishonorable," Michael added, though his voice wavered as he swallowed hard.

"Ah. How admirable, such steadfast loyalty," Snape murmured. "However, I do hope your resolve is as strong as your friendship. After all, you do realize that, as a student of Ravenclaw House, you should be quite familiar with a certain branch of magic known as Legilimency."

The color drained from William's face.

Michael made a strangled squeaking noise.

"I am not particularly skilled at it," Snape continued in a slow, deliberate drawl, "so I cannot guarantee there won't be… errors. Amnesia, confusion, a regrettable lapse in intelligence— well, I suppose that would be the best-case scenario."

Michael went stark white.

William's terrified expression suggested he was rapidly reconsidering his earlier bravado.

"You can't do that, Professor! You'll end up in Azkaban!" William blurted out, but his voice was swallowed by the steady hum of chatter in the Great Hall.

"Oh? Shall we make a wager, then?" Snape drawled, lifting his wand ever so slightly. That was all it took. The two boys broke.

"It's prophecy! Professor! Ian's got the Sight! He said he's a hidden Seer among the students!" William, weighing his options, chose to betray his friend— survival first, loyalty second.

It wasn't like this was a secret. Ian had been going on about it for months—three hundred and sixty times, to be precise. They had counted. It was only recently that he'd stopped bringing it up.

"Prophecy? A Seer?"

Snape's wand froze mid-air. His expression tightened as something unspoken flickered behind his dark eyes. Then, without another word, he whirled around and strode out of the Great Hall, black robes billowing behind him.

William and Michael exchanged glances before, inevitably, curiosity got the better of them.

"Should we follow him?" Michael asked.

"Do you even have to ask?" William grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him towards the dungeons.

They peered around a corner, watching Snape's every move.

Inside his office, Snape swiftly retrieved two locks of hair, one golden, one black and disappeared into his private laboratory. The telltale scent of potion-brewing soon filled the air.

"That has to be Miss Grindelwald's and Ian's hair," Michael muttered.

William gasped as realization struck. "It all makes sense! It all makes sense!"

…

Their covert operation remained unnoticed. Meanwhile, Ian was tucked away in a dimly lit corridor, glancing around with deliberate care. He knew exactly who he was waiting for.

A few moments later, accompanied by the unmistakable stench of garlic, a nervous figure approached.

Quirrell.

Ian tightened his grip on the device in his hand. Timing was everything.

The instant Quirrell stepped onto the marked section of the floor—

"Boom!"

A controlled explosion sent the professor flying, his turbaned head slamming into the ceiling before he came crashing down again. Ian had to admit, he might have enjoyed that a little too much.

Dumbledore had only forbidden him from blowing up the Department of Mysteries. He hadn't said anything about certain Defense professors.

"Professor Quirrell is on the ceiling," An awed voice remarked from behind.

Ian didn't flinch.

"Yeah, I wonder who could've done that," he mused, eyes never leaving the crumpled professor. His wand was already raised, waiting for any sign that Voldemort's soul would reveal itself.

After all, his real plan wasn't just to ambush Quirrell. It was to force Voldemort's presence out and then immediately incinerate him with a well-placed Incendio. A simple plan, really.

But nothing happened.

Even after being thrown against the ceiling and landing hard enough to bruise his tailbone, Quirrell showed no reaction beyond pain and embarrassment.

Voldemort could really endure.

No wonder he had almost conquered the wizarding world.

"Pity. Looks like you didn't get what you wanted," The voice behind him said again, except this time, it was different. Deeper. More knowing.

A chill ran down Ian's spine.

"You tricked me with a voice charm! Professor! You're the real shady one here!" Ian turned sharply, suspicion etched across his face.

There, clad in deep green robes, stood Professor Arthur King, the alchemy master.

"That's called human transfiguration, my boy," Kin said smoothly, his throat visibly shifting as he reverted to his usual voice.

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Weren't you in the library?"

"I was just about to go."

Ian frowned. That was unexpected. He had specifically remembered meeting Professor Kin in the library. The professor was supposed to be there. What had changed?

Professor King smiled, as if reading his thoughts. "Have a pleasant day, Ian."

Ian, still watching him warily, gave a slow nod. "You too."

Quirrell, meanwhile, had begun scrambling towards a hidden passage, clearly eager to escape.

Professor King didn't stop him.

He took a few steps away, but then, as if an afterthought, he turned back to Ian.

"However, I fear you might not have such a pleasant day…" Professor King's voice was almost playful, but there was something unsettling beneath it. "Remember, I once offered you help? I wonder— do you regret refusing me now?"

His words hung heavy in the corridor.

A statement.

A warning.

Perhaps even a promise.

(End of Chapter)

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