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Even with his temporary height of around one seventy-five and an adult's frame, there was still plenty separating him from a real eighteen-year-old.
At that moment, Ian suddenly understood why his earlier attempt at a disguise, when visiting Hogsmeade with Aurora, had been seen through by the village shopkeeper. Some things truly were obvious at a glance.
"Wait a second! I was a university student in my previous life! I was an adult!" Ian protested internally, thinking that surely his shortcomings were minimal, he had, after all, truly been a grown-up once.
He couldn't just say he lacked social experience and hope others would take him seriously… right?
…
The dormitory gradually returned to its usual lively state.
After spending so much time alone, Ian found he'd missed this noisy, chaotic atmosphere. Of course, had Michael not brought back some so-called local delicacies, tonight might've been a warm, heart-warming reunion.
"Is this thing actually edible?" Ian eyed the pickled sea sparrow Michael had produced, seriously questioning whether Michael's family was part goblin.
"Of course! Mum makes these to earn a bit extra!" Michael didn't eat any himself. He just opened the jar, releasing a smell that instantly assaulted every corner of the dormitory.
"Is it… rotten?"
William, who'd returned to his usual younger self after the Ageing Potion wore off, was holding his nose.
"No, that's just how it's supposed to smell."
Michael even demonstrated how to eat the bird, offering a full performance to Ian and William.
"Ugh~"
William was the first to start dry heaving, not because he lacked guts, but because he hadn't progressed far enough in his magical studies to cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, unlike Ian.
"I respect any way of earning a living, but… do people actually buy this? I mean, do wizards really eat it?" Ian stared at Michael, who was happily chewing away.
He genuinely admired the lad's ability to enjoy such… exotic fare.
"There are definitely wizards who like it, but it's mostly sold to Muggles. These days, posh blokes in London are mad for anything exotic from abroad."
"Remember I told you about my dad?" Michael said suddenly, growing more serious. "He gave his life in the line of duty. The Ministry gives families like mine a yearly allowance, which we can exchange into Muggle pounds. So Mum makes and sells these to help us get by."
He pulled out another sealed tin, but Ian quickly waved him off before he could open it.
He had a sinking suspicion it was either pickled herring or something far, far worse.
"Speaking of the Ministry of Magic, have you heard about their recent visit to the school?" Ian tried to steer the conversation in another direction, quietly shoving the odd assortment of enchanted trinkets and questionable snacks Michael had brought back from home under his bed.
He gave them a firm push, making sure they were wedged in deep enough that Michael would have to get on all fours and crawl halfway under the bed to retrieve them. Ian was giving himself a generous head start, should the time come to flee.
"Of course I've heard! My dad told me all about it… Minister Fudge brought back a ghastly corpse, and several traces of incredibly dark magic were found clinging to it."
Given that William's family worked at the Ministry, it wasn't surprising that he knew about such things. However, after blurting that out, he leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper as he spoke to his two roommates.
"Apparently, it all started because Minister Fudge received some top-secret tip-off, thinking that Headmaster Dumbledore was attempting a forbidden ritual to bring someone back from the dead. That's why he turned up at Hogwarts, hoping to catch the Headmaster red-handed."
"But of course, he failed. According to my dad, not only did Fudge leave empty-handed, but he's become increasingly paranoid ever since."
"He's been telling everyone that if anything happens to him, anything fatal, that is, it has to be Dumbledore's doing... I honestly don't understand how he's managed to convince himself that our kind, wise Headmaster could ever be behind such things."
William's tone clearly brimmed with frustration. After all, for most students at Hogwarts, it was impossible to imagine their ever-cheerful Headmaster with any dark intentions.
It seemed quite evident that the Minister of Magic was being hysterical, letting his own fears cloud his judgment and projecting them onto Dumbledore. Both Michael and Ian nodded in firm agreement with William's take.
"This sounds like one of those plots that go belly-up, if the Minister really does end up dead, it'll be someone using his words to frame Professor Dumbledore." Ian spoke with conviction, making no effort to hide his disdain for Cornelius Fudge, regardless of whatever he might've experienced in the dungeons below.
"Exactly!"
William agreed wholeheartedly.
Everyone knew that despite William's family once being loosely involved with the Acolytes, he'd recently been trying to make friendly overtures towards the newer members among the student body. That said, his true loyalties clearly lay with Albus Dumbledore.
The handful of underpants he owned with Dumbledore's face stitched onto them rather proved the point.
"Wait, someone actually died at school, and Rebecca didn't even write to tell me? Don't tell me it was one of those blokes who used to mock me for going over to Slytherin just to talk to her?"
Michael's concern for the deceased was... unorthodox, to say the least. But it wasn't strange that he hadn't heard, after Professor Quirrell's death, the Hogwarts staff had nearly sealed off all information.
When Professor Snape had burst into the Great Hall that night, even though quite a few students had stayed behind over the holidays, hardly anyone had dared to eavesdrop on the tense conversation between him and the other professors, except Ian, of course.
Even after the Ministry sent representatives to investigate, Cornelius Fudge had been left red-faced and clearly wanted to keep the matter as hushed as possible.
Perhaps a few well-connected students, especially those from pure-blood families, had caught wind of what really happened, even whispering about Ian's confrontation with You-Know-Who. But no one dared speak of it openly within the school walls.
Even the most gossip-prone among them had likely received sharp reminders from their parents. After all, the name Voldemort still made even the bravest witches and wizards flinch.
"Not really."
William responded briefly to Michael's question, but rather than continue, he turned to look at Ian, who seemed lost in thought. That was enough to make Ian glance up.
"I've only heard bits and bobs, nothing major," Ian said slowly, debating whether to tell them that he'd seen Little Black's sister having a moonlit walk with some fair-haired boy during the holiday break. That likely explained why Rebecca hadn't had the time, or perhaps the heart, to write to Michael.
First-years, honestly.
The young witches and wizards these days were growing up fast. They might not have had the foggiest idea about deeper romantic matters, but a few of them were clearly dipping their toes into the world of dating, however innocent their attempts.
"Who was it, then?"
Michael's puzzled look was genuine, he clearly hadn't a clue.
(To Be Continued…)