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Ian expected some form of rebuke. Voldemort did not disappoint.
"Aghhh!"
Quirrell clutched his head, collapsing once more, writhing like a cursed marionette. Ian could only guess what torment Voldemort inflicted, though the effect was painfully clear.
"I was wrong! Master! Forgive me!" Quirrell's agonized screams echoed through the stone walls.
The punishment dragged on for an excruciating ten minutes before Voldemort relented. Quirrell lay gasping on the cold floor, trembling as the echo of Voldemort's anger lingered.
"What made you so bold?" The dark voice hissed, contempt dripping from every syllable.
"I'm sorry, Master," Quirrell whimpered, curling up like a cowering cat. "It was my hatred… Snape has always scorned me, humiliated me. I only wished for you to exact justice."
Voldemort's laughter was cold and mirthless.
"I will decide how to deal with Severus."
His voice lowered into a dark whisper.
"I am still weak… the power I have gathered must be reserved for killing that pathetic fool of a writer. The one who mocked me. Obtaining the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is our priority. Only then will we gain access to the Philosopher's Stone."
Ian's eyes narrowed. So that was their plan.
"I will serve you, Master," Quirrell said meekly, his voice trembling with subservience.
"First, befriend him," Voldemort commanded. "Lure the fool to Hogsmeade. Ensure there are no witnesses. Then… we strike."
"Yes, Master," Quirrell answered quickly, but his hesitation was clear.
"Should we wait until your strength has fully returned?"
The question hung in the air, but Ian doubted Voldemort would appreciate his servant's sudden display of caution.
Voldemort punished him once more, twisting Quirrell into a grotesque figure "dancing" on the floor, and the pained groans that escaped him made Ian feel a twinge of discomfort as he watched.
"Dealing with a third-rate wizard, I won't have you doubting me again."
This time, Voldemort didn't prolong Quirrell's torment for long.
"I understand! I won't do it again! I will obey! I will follow all your commands!" Quirrell stammered in sheer terror, and as he rose from the ground, he left a puddle behind him.
"Blast it! Go back and change your trousers!" Voldemort bellowed, his fury palpable; he truly relished tormenting his servant.
"Hiss~ So that's how it is!" Ian observed as Quirrell leaned against the wall, shuffling out of the classroom before vanishing around the corner. He ultimately refrained from drawing his wand to eliminate the threat while it was still in its infancy.
"After all, Voldemort really knows how to invite disaster." Ian was acutely aware that Quirrell, along with the fragment of Voldemort's soul, wouldn't stand a chance against Grindelwald, even in a dream.
He had no desire to involve himself in yet another escapade.
"It's time to settle down; otherwise, my dear uncle will surely fly into a rage and deduct points from Ravenclaw House." Ian glanced at the "burning" evidence Quirrell had left behind in the classroom.
Just as he was about to continue his exploration of the secret passage in the basement to locate the Gryffindor portrait, he caught sight of a shadow flitting past— a black bat.
Right by the office door.
Snape appeared to have been lurking there, waiting for something. Ian was relieved he hadn't dispelled the Disillusionment Charm and quickly prepared to sneak past Snape and carry on.
He resolved that in the future, he must keep the Marauder's Map handy during his nocturnal wanderings; otherwise, he might find himself in a spot of bother again.
Just as Ian was setting this rule for himself in his mind.
"Reveal yourself." Snape suddenly raised his wand and cast a spell in Ian's direction. In an instant, Ian, cloaked by the Disillusionment Charm, was revealed, his Little Black feet now fully visible.
In the blink of an eye, he was completely exposed to Snape's gaze.
"Ah?" Ian was momentarily taken aback.
"It seems you've come to remind me that I should assign you a detention." Snape ground his teeth and strode over, seizing Ian by the back of his collar.
"How could you know I was here? I used the Disillusionment Charm!" Ian was at a loss for words; if Dumbledore could sense him, that was one thing, but how could even Snape see through it?
Was this still a Disillusionment Charm?
It ought to be renamed the "leaky spell"!
"At least you weren't discovered by Quirrell and the soul tethered to him." Snape clearly knew Quirrell's secret; he simply hadn't chosen to reveal it until now.
"So, you can see through the Disillusionment Charm?" Ian was solely focused on this revelation.
"No." Snape replied curtly.
"I knew this afternoon that you wouldn't behave, so I sprinkled a potion on you beforehand. Heh, as expected, you're meddling in affairs that don't concern you." Snape watched as Ian sniffed around, even lifting his arm to check his own scent.
His eyelids twitched, "Stop that; if I could use something to make you smell something foul, I wouldn't waste it on you, you little schemer. Do you think I'm one of those incompetent potion masters at St. Mungo's?"
God knows why he had to disparage the innocent magical hospital.
"How long will it last?" Ian received no answer from Snape; he realized he was being dragged toward the supply room, and an ominous premonition settled in his gut.
"You're not really going to make me clean the toilets, are you?" Ian attempted to appeal to Snape's sympathy with a pitiful expression, but the Head of Slytherin remained unmoved, demonstrating what true ruthlessness looked like.
"This is the punishment you've been dodging all along." Snape promptly found a set of dung collector's clothing in the supply room and dressed Ian as if he were a doll, then thrust a mop and a plunger into his hands.
"It's bedtime! If you don't sleep, you won't grow tall!" Ian still stubbornly tried to evade the toilet cleaning, only to find that Snape immediately cast a spell on his wand.
"You sealed my wand-casting ability?" Ian's eyes widened. "I'll be caught and killed by Quirrell! You know how much he hates me! He and the one lurking behind his head will turn me into wizard jerky!"
His words made Snape pause, his expression flickering.
"Lurking behind his head..." That particular detail might have escaped Snape's attention.
"Casting spells is a fundamental right of every wizard! You can't just strip me of it! I'm going to tell Dumbledore!" Ian's indignant shouting made Snape's eyelids twitch furiously.
"You dunderhead, can't you focus on anything other than Dark Arts? I merely placed a minor detection charm on your wand to monitor any spellwork!" Snape sneered, truly believing Ian's magical priorities were terribly misplaced. Fiendfyre was notoriously destructive, yet Ian had neglected even the most basic knowledge expected of a Fourth Year.
"Fine..." Ian's voice faltered, though frustration still lingered. He'd spent his afternoon dodging Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, only to be reduced to the rank of a Hogwarts janitor by evening.
"I've done great things for Hogwarts; I've practically bled for it." His protest earned no sympathy from Snape.
"By morning, I want every toilet spotless. Fail, and your friends will suffer the consequences." Snape's black eyes gleamed, convinced he'd found Ian's weakness.
However…
"Not punishing me? Brilliant!" Ian's mood brightened, and without hesitation, he dropped the scrubbing brush.
"??????" Now it was Snape's turn to be utterly bewildered. He had studied Ian's habits meticulously, yet the boy's reaction defied all expectations.
Just as Ian turned to leave, Snape's voice cut through the air.
"Do you not recall the funds I arranged to send back to your old orphanage this Christmas?"
Ian froze.
(To Be Continued…)