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There was clearly more he had yet to uncover.
"You seem quite certain the Dark Lord will enter our school," Aurora remarked, tucking her hands into her robe pockets for warmth. She hadn't resisted Ian slipping the vial into her pocket, but curiosity glinted in her eyes.
"I don't know Voldemort personally, but I do know our headmaster..." Ian's thoughts drifted to the objects Grindelwald had led him to find. Dumbledore's recent disappearances were no coincidence.
Two Horcruxes were already in Ian's possession. Fortunately, by tonight, he'd be sending those fragments of Voldemort on a little excursion of their own. There was no risk of the Dark Lord noticing their absence just yet.
"I think you're just trying to cover up the fact that you're a seer." Aurora gave a playful grin as she shook the last sealed potion bottle and handed one of the vials to Ian.
"Then you ought to teach me how to roll my eyes back like your grandfather did. It was so dramatic!" Ian joked, raising his hand to signal that their potion work was complete.
As Snape swept toward their table, Aurora said nothing more. Both potions were virtually identical in quality, they'd brewed them in tandem, but Snape's gaze lingered only on Ian's. With a curt flick of his wand, the potions master lifted Ian's bottle as though it were a standard for the rest of the class.
"5 Points to Ravenclaw."
He didn't bother to acknowledge Aurora's work. Clearly, her infamous Evans Dance Warning stunt in the Slytherin common room had left quite an impression.
Aurora remained unbothered. She knew Snape had never been fond of her. Otherwise, she wouldn't have needed to use the Evans Dance Warning to torment him in the first place.
"Well, at least there are only about twenty more fools in this class than I expected," Snape sneered after inspecting the remaining potions. The classroom buzzed with relief as students gathered their belongings, eager to escape the tension.
But Ian, preparing to leave, paused when he noticed Snape lingering. The professor, instead of retreating to his office, had begun methodically sealing the classroom's potion ingredient cabinets with layers of locks and spells.
"Who's he guarding against?" Ian muttered under his breath, his brows furrowing.
He could only assume that Snape would be even more cautious with the ingredients in his private storeroom, most likely using charms as advanced as those protecting the restricted section of the library. Ian's level three Unlocking Charm would be useless there.
"It's all Quirrell's fault!" Ian huffed, shifting the blame onto the Muggle Studies professor. It wasn't entirely unjustified, Snape hadn't been this paranoid before Quirrell's suspicious return.
Until now, Snape hadn't even bothered to guard against Ian. In fact, he rarely hindered talented students who dared to swipe a few potion ingredients. Much like the time-honored traditions of Hogwarts, if you weren't caught, it was tacitly approved.
This unspoken rule remained alive even among the professors. After all, Snape himself had used it in his student days, particularly with Hagrid, who never could resist passing along an 'extra' supply of forbidden ingredients.
"Another charming relic of the Middle Ages, no doubt," Ian thought wryly.
Outside, the chill in the air had grown sharper. Snow seemed inevitable.
"The weather's turning," Aurora remarked. "It'll be snowing soon."
"The portable hearths are brilliant, though," another student chimed in. "Only five Sickles each! I bought eight. Keep one under my bed at night, proper toasty."
Ian raised an eyebrow. "You keep one under your bed? You're not worried about waking up in the middle of a bonfire?"
"Nah," The boy grinned. "Charms keep it contained. And besides, I sleep like a dragon, through storms, explosions, you name it. No fire's waking me up."
"I do too, but I stick it right inside my robes!"
The latest gossip was already making its way through the sixth-year study group.
...
Seeing so many students clutching the Weasley twins' portable hearth bottles, Ian's mood darkened further. The failure of his enchanted thermal undergarments to sell well weighed heavily on him.
He had no doubt that his alchemy skills were far superior to the twins', but listening to the misplaced confidence of his roommate had cost him the perfect opportunity to dominate Hogwarts' winter market.
"At least the sales of the Marauder's Map are doing well." That was Ian's only solace. However, Hogwarts was simply too small a market. With so few students compared to the Muggle world, Ian couldn't help but fantasize. If thousands of new students enrolled each year, the regular version of the Marauder's Map alone would make him a fortune.
He even entertained the thought of opening a shop within Hogwarts itself, considering his relatively good relationship with Dumbledore. Anyone with sense would realize that such a venture would outshine even Diagon Alley.
"Oh well. Time to eat. Food's the best cure for a sour mood." Dinner was its usual lavish affair, though Ian noticed an attempt at a ginseng chicken soup, one that he had once jokingly suggested to the house-elves.
"Bah! That's turkey!"
The elves' culinary expertise still had room for improvement.
Dumbledore made a rare appearance at the meal, clad in his iconic purple robes and chatting animatedly with the other professors. However, Professor Quirrell's strained smile stood out in stark contrast. Unable to stomach even a bite of his food, Quirrell's nervous expression was painfully obvious to those seated nearby.
"Professor Quirrell, are you alright? You're looking rather pale," Professor McGonagall inquired with genuine concern, resting a hand on his shoulder.
The gesture startled him so much that he spilled his goblet of water. With Dumbledore's twinkling gaze now upon him, Quirrell hastily mumbled an excuse about feeling unwell and stumbled away from the Great Hall.
"Our dear Professor Quirrell must have picked up something nasty during his travels," Dumbledore remarked airily, though his tone carried unmistakable meaning.
"I'll accompany Madam Pomfrey to check on him later," Snape declared unexpectedly. Even McGonagall raised an eyebrow at the surprising offer.
"Severus, I trust you'll take good care of our Professor Quirrell." Dumbledore's words, though polite, bore a distinct undertone.
From his seat, Ian quietly "overheard" the professors' exchange. He couldn't help but notice the brief but deliberate glance Dumbledore sent his way, accompanied by a subtle wink.
"A nigh undetectable eavesdropping spell, courtesy of the Restricted Section. The creator must've thought rather highly of themselves!" Ian quickly took a large gulp of his turkey soup, trying to mask his embarrassment.
Though not particularly appetizing, the soup still had a trace of ginseng's earthy bitterness. Ian gnawed at the dry turkey, half-listening to the idle chatter of the professors. Discussion soon turned to Dumbledore's supposed losses.
The Gringotts break-in had been kept under wraps for a time, but the Ministry of Magic could no longer conceal the incident. Somehow, the narrative had twisted, painting Dumbledore as the unfortunate victim of a daring theft. In response, Gringotts had even offered him an absurdly generous compensation.
"Only in the wizarding world," Ian mused, marveling at the sheer audacity of the whole affair.
"Is he trying to teach me that even the so-called 'great' white wizard has a dark side? Perhaps he's showing me what true power means."
"Good thing I'm not ambitious," Ian thought. "Otherwise, I might just end up as the fourth-generation Dark Lord."
After dinner, Ian headed straight to the library and then returned to the Ravenclaw common room.
(To Be Continued…)