You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395
The moment Albus Dumbledore's weary gaze lifted toward the door, Ian's heart jolted. His legs reacted faster than his mind, and he fled without a second thought.
Even with the Disillusionment Charm cloaking him, a lingering fear gnawed at him. Within moments, he had bolted down the corridor, sprinting towards the ever-shifting staircases.
Fortunately, Ian managed to leap onto the nearest staircase just in time. He glanced back, half-expecting to see the headmaster's piercing blue eyes trailing him. But the corridor behind him remained empty. Relief washed over him, though his heart continued to race.
"The old headmaster is still the old headmaster..." Ian muttered under his breath. He didn't fear Dumbledore would curse him into oblivion. No, it was the inevitable conversation and the tiresome explanations he wished to avoid. Claiming he was 'just passing by' would never be enough.
With his pulse slowly calming, Ian decided to visit the Hogwarts kitchens for a snack to steady his nerves.
---
Back in the Owlery, the tension had somewhat subsided.
"There was a noise outside just now."
The speaker was Aberforth, still sprawled on the ground, his face bloodied and swollen. His voice emerged thick and slurred —a clear result of the battering he'd received. He winced, his bruised mouth struggling to form the words.
"I know," Albus Dumbledore replied tersely.
The elder Dumbledore's breathing remained labored. His silver hair was disheveled, and his crooked wand rested limply against his knee. Though the duel had been one of fists rather than spells, the toll on both men was undeniable.
With a begrudging sense of mercy, Albus Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial of potion. He tossed it toward his brother, who caught it clumsily with trembling hands.
"Hoot hoot hoot~"
The owls, disturbed by the recent commotion, still fluttered restlessly about the rafters.
Aberforth wasted no time. Despite the ever-present bitterness between the brothers, he trusted Albus enough to know the potion wouldn't be poisoned. With a grimace, he gulped it down, feeling the sting of healing magic as it coursed through him.
"You always claimed Hogwarts had rats skittering about. Was that a rat just now?" Aberforth's voice retained its rasp, though the potion had begun to soothe the swelling in his mouth.
"No," Albus Dumbledore responded quietly.
His tired gaze remained on the ground, where he absently traced patterns in the dust with his wand. Slowly, a triangular symbol emerged— the mark of the Deathly Hallows.
"Just a student sneaking about at night, most likely," Albus said with forced indifference. "Happens all the time."
Aberforth narrowed his eyes, sensing the evasion. But Albus did not elaborate.
Even concealed beneath a Disillusionment Charm, Ian had not truly escaped the notice of the greatest wizard of the age. But for whatever reason, Albus chose not to pursue the matter.
After all, they were brothers.
A scuffle was one thing.
There was no need to burden Aberforth further— not when the ghosts of their past still lingered so heavily between them.
...
After removing the Disillusionment Charm. Ian filled himself up in the Hogwarts kitchen, and like a victorious champion, he was cheerfully sent off by the house-elves. As a self-proclaimed Hogwarts wanderer, he began to amble through the corridors, feeling like he belonged.
One must digest after a meal.
It was a sensible precaution to avoid growing into a plump little wizard, not to mention a proven method to prevent unpleasant bouts of nighttime acid reflux. Anyone who had indulged in a late-night snack and then flopped straight into bed could attest to the unfortunate sensation.
"Fat Lady, what brings you here to the hall?" Ian asked, startled, as he spotted the Fat Lady's ghost drifting through the gallery.
She was supposed to guard the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, serving as the ever-reliable gatekeeper. Although she was praised for her dedication, it appeared that she sometimes indulged in a bit of leisure herself.
Ian had only greeted her out of surprise, but the Fat Lady's guilty expression spoke volumes. She fidgeted, clearly caught in the act.
"I'll return immediately!" She blurted, vanishing from a portrait of a witch enjoying tea by a riverside. The bewildered witch, teacup in hand, blinked in confusion at the now-empty grass.
"Lady Viola, have you seen that Young Gryffindor recently?" Ian asked, thoughts lingering on the elusive portrait of Godric Gryffindor. He had been in pursuit of the legendary founder's likeness, having persuaded nearly all the Hogwarts portraits to aid him. Even the older Gryffindor portrait had solemnly sworn to help track down his younger self.
"No, we're still keeping an eye out for him," Viola replied, her elegant figure seated on the painted grass. "But not a single portrait has caught sight of him. Perhaps your dreadful hound has already chewed him to bits."
Ian scoffed at the accusation. "My precious Grim-pup wouldn't harm a portrait! Besides, it was Gryffindor who challenged him first!" He crossed his arms in indignation, defending both his dog and his dignity.
Viola's expression twisted skeptically. "Grim-pup? A monstrous beast with teeth the size of broomsticks hardly seems like a 'pup.'"
Most portraits had witnessed the terrifying sight of Ian's spectral hound chasing Gryffindor through the castle's painted landscapes. Despite their confusion, the consensus was that the creature had been conjured through some particularly chaotic enchantment.
Some portraits even whispered that Ian had an odd, unpredictable magic that breathed life into the strangest creations.
"Listen," Ian proposed with a grin, "If you help me find Gryffindor, I'll paint you a whole party of elegant witches from the finest wizarding courts. They'll serve you all the enchanted tea leaves you could wish for."
Viola raised a brow. "You know we can't grow real tea in a portrait, dear." She sighed wistfully, then leaned forward, adding in a conspiratorial tone, "But I wouldn't say no to a few strapping gentlemen. Preferably those rugged types from the Highlands."
Ian's grin faltered. "Deal!" He quickly extended his hand toward the portrait, brushing the edge of the frame with his fingertips. Some desires were best left unquestioned.
Hogwarts portraits, after all, had their quirks.
Rumor had it that one particularly rowdy Ravenclaw portrait had transformed into a makeshift gambling den. At midnight, its inhabitants would gather around a mystical poker table, gambling away centuries-old family heirlooms.
More than once, wandering students had stumbled upon half-naked knights stripped of their painted armor, clutching their last gold coins in despair. Professors were occasionally forced to block certain corridors to prevent further scandal.
"Perhaps you should check the places we portraits can't reach," Viola suggested with a teasing smile. "A founder's portrait likely has privileges that extend beyond the ordinary frames."
"That's exactly what I'm doing," Ian replied with satisfaction. His nocturnal wanderings were hardly just about keeping an eye on the portraits.
After bidding farewell to Viola, Ian consulted the Marauder's Map, plotting his next move. But before long, he stumbled upon a far more familiar sight.
The Weasley twins.
Fred and George Weasley, notorious Gryffindors and the school's undisputed kings of mischief.
Their red hair and freckles were unmistakable trademarks of their family. Although the Weasley twins looked nearly identical, they had their own quirks and subtle differences in personality.
Of course.
They were both notorious pranksters, bold and mischievous. Their natural talent in potion-making and enchanting objects foreshadowed their future success.
Not only were they skilled in Quidditch, but they would one day become the founders of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a joke shop brimming with magical mischief, from Ton-Tongue Toffees to Skiving Snackboxes and Canary Creams. Their products were wildly popular among Hogwarts students, bringing both joy and chaos.
"Poor brothers."
Ian held little fondness for the Weasley twins. Their rampant success had left his own ventures in magical trinkets struggling, costing him a fair share of Galleons. On top of that, they were often the source of many absurd rumors about him.
Though Ian didn't believe they acted maliciously, he couldn't deny finding their current situation amusing— like cats toying with mice.
(To Be Continued…)