"Who was it, then?" Michael's puzzled look was genuine, he clearly hadn't a clue.
"It was Professor Quirrell. You wouldn't really know him; we haven't started Muggle Studies yet," Ian explained casually, choosing to clear up the least troublesome part of the whole affair.
"You actually know who died?!" William gasped theatrically.
"I remember Professor Quirrell! We pelted him with snowballs before Christmas, didn't we?" Michael's memory was surprisingly sharp for something like that.
"Yes, yes, that poor professor. He really was terribly unlucky," William muttered, casting a glance toward the dormitory door before dropping his voice even lower. "My dad said that before he died, he was used as part of some ancient dark ritual, there was even talk of a Horcrux being made."
"I doubt there's been a more pitiful end for anyone at Hogwarts..." William's voice held a rare hint of sorrow, and it was enough to make Ian pause and give him a thoughtful look.
"What is a Horcrux?"
Michael's puzzled expression was exactly what one would expect from a young wizard. After all, Horcruxes were a dark and dangerous subject, many fully grown witches and wizards hadn't even heard of them.
"I think it's some sort of object that holds a soul? That's what my dad told me, but he didn't go into detail and gave me a proper scolding for asking too many questions."
William's answer was vague, hesitant.
He turned to look at Ian.
"Maybe Ian knows more about Horcruxes?"
Both young wizards turned expectant eyes toward him.
"Your dad really shouldn't have told you even that much, and I certainly can't tell you any more either!" Ian finally acknowledged that William's family must care deeply for him; after all, what sort of responsible parent would discuss such terrifying things with their child?
"If your father won't explain it, then as your trusted dormmate and guardian, I won't either. Just know that Horcruxes are deeply dark and incredibly dangerous." Ian had learned the value of discretion the hard way.
"Oh, so you don't know either, do you?"
Michael raised an exaggerated brow, his tone teasing, trying to provoke Ian.
"Heh." Ian didn't bite. He merely let out a quiet snort, then turned to William. "Is your dad one of the Ministry officials who handled Professor Quirrell's remains?"
To be honest, William did seem to know an awful lot.
"No."
William shook his head.
"Huh?"
Ian hadn't expected that. "Even the Daily Prophet hasn't reported on it lately. The Ministry must be keeping Professor Quirrell's cause of death strictly confidential, right?"
In truth, Ian wasn't entirely sure whether this silence was due to Ministry policy. The recently resumed publication of the Prophet had clearly changed, it looked the same on the surface, but the placement of articles and focus of certain bylines had definitely shifted. Anyone paying attention could see it. Who knew what Grindelwald's followers had been up to?
"Don't forget what my family does." William's expression suddenly turned smug, though he lowered his voice.
"We're usually the first to know about anything that happens at the Ministry. My grandfather has quite a few enchanted keepsakes placed in discreet corners of the Ministry by my dad."
That was... rather chilling.
Michael's eyes widened.
Ian's thoughts began to whirl.
"Do the people at the Ministry not use any counter-charms or protective enchantments?" Ian found it hard to believe that the Ministry was truly that negligent with its security.
"Oh, they do, but it's always the same outdated hexes and wards. The great Gellert Grindelwald once wrote an entire manual on how to bypass that kind of thing."
Merlin's beard.
Ian stared at William, a little stunned. So Grindelwald had been writing well before taking on the Lockhart persona, it seemed his obsession with authorship wasn't a recent development.
And the subject matter had always been rather… questionable. Ian remembered the book Human Weakness: The Secret of the Prince, which Aurora had shown him. Just thinking about it made his head ache.
"You lot really are… quite the talented bunch."
Ian gave William a sincere thumbs up, acknowledging that the so-called reserve forces were indeed loyal, and disturbingly capable. No wonder Grindelwald had surrounded himself with so many skilled followers back in the day.
"I'll be even stronger than my dad and grandfather one day. I even dreamt that you brought me along to stir up all kinds of mischief, and I became your right-hand man!"
William puffed up proudly, as though simply sharing a bit of fanciful dreaming.
But,
Only Ian understood the implication. That dream had actually happened to him, in the loop. Clearly, William was also one of the students touched by those mysterious forces.
"…"
Ian didn't know what to say in response. William's dream wasn't just some childish fantasy, it was an echo of reality.
"Why wasn't I in your dream, then? What about me?" Michael looked genuinely put out, as if feeling left out of something important.
Unlike the others, he hadn't experienced anything from the time loop.
Ian had investigated this thoroughly by now. He was fairly certain not all young wizards could access fragments of it in their dreams. Perhaps it was something to do with magical bloodlines?
"Of course you were in it! You were just too busy chasing after Rebecca and her little boyfriend to join us on our grand adventures!" William exclaimed, unknowingly revealing a truth hidden within the dream.
He truly believed it had been nothing more than a product of imagination.
And Michael believed that, too.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible! Rebecca's future boyfriend will be me! She always smiles at me! On average, she smiles at me seven times more than at anyone else!" Michael protested with complete sincerity, even supplying made-up statistics to back his claim.
Ian gave him a pitying pat on the shoulder.
He didn't say a word.
As he made his way toward the bathroom, he could still hear William and Michael talking behind him. In some respects, perhaps William was more insightful than he let on.
"Friendship is open and honest," William said in an exaggeratedly deep voice, clearly trying to mimic himself under the effects of an ageing potion, "but caution, my friend… that's love. One day, you'll understand."
Ah, children. Still children, through and through.
...
Time flowed like water.
The more one tried to hold onto it, the faster it slipped through their fingers.
Since the start of term, life had grown busier for the more studious young witches and wizards, but the increasingly packed class schedule was starting to wear on even the most diligent.
Especially during Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Only a handful of students could remain steady without trembling through the entire lesson, and Professor Grindelwald had an uncanny ability to find endless ways to "test" the students' nerves.
The physical danger was minimal.
But the psychological toll was staggering.
Ian was certain that if Grindelwald were permitted to complete a full seven years of teaching Defense, this generation of Hogwarts students would graduate utterly unshakable, even in the face of a rampaging troll in the common room or a rogue basilisk on the loose.
"To a certain extent, Grindelwald's teaching methods really do produce remarkable witches and wizards," Ian had to admit, begrudgingly.
What baffled him, however, was why Albus Dumbledore allowed Grindelwald such free rein.
(To Be Continued…)
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