When the feast came to an end, the young wizards were led back to their respective dormitories by their house prefects.
Ian returned to his quarters as well.
He sat down at his writing desk, upon which a scroll of parchment lay unfolded.
It was his teaching timetable.
He had no classes scheduled for tomorrow morning; his only two sessions were in the afternoon, teaching the first-year and third-year students.
This meant he could afford to stay up late tonight.
As luck would have it, tonight was the perfect time to carry out his plan.
However, it was still quite early, and he had to wait for someone to arrive.
Thus, Ian had no choice but to pull out a copy of On the Casting and Countering of Curses and begin reading.
It was a book he had chanced upon in a corner of the Restricted Section yesterday, detailing various curses from the wizarding world.
Ian had found it quite interesting and decided to check it out.
Speaking of curses, the most famous one at Hogwarts was undeniably attached to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
Word had it that Voldemort had placed a curse on the post, making it impossible for anyone to safely teach the subject for a full year.
According to rumors Ian had overheard during his own school days, this was because Voldemort had applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position upon graduating, only to be turned down by the Headmaster at the time, Armando Dippet.
A few years later, Voldemort had applied once more, but was rejected again—this time by Dumbledore.
Stung by these two rejections, the still relatively young Voldemort had offhandedly placed a curse on the position: from then on, no Defense Against the Dark Arts professor could last more than a single year.
This went to show that Voldemort was actually rather petty—and somewhat childish.
At the thought, Ian couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.
Knock, knock, knock!
Just then, there came a knock at the door.
“Come in!” Ian called out without raising his head, seemingly having expected the visitor’s identity all along.
With a soft creak, the door was pushed open, and Harry stepped inside.
Ian finally lifted his eyes from the book and looked up at Harry.
“Have a seat!” Ian gestured toward a chair.
At the invitation, Harry didn’t stand on ceremony and sat down directly across from Ian.
“Ian!” The moment he sat down, Harry began eagerly, but Ian raised a hand to cut him off.
“I won’t offer you tea this late at night.
How about some milk instead?” Though framed as a question, Ian had already tapped the desk.
A second later, two glasses of milk appeared before them.
Ian’s calm demeanor proved infectious, soothing much of Harry’s anxious impatience.
“What is this?” Harry looked at the milk in front of him and cast a curious glance at Ian.
“One of the perks of being a Hogwarts staff member,” Ian explained.
“You can request food from the house-elves in the kitchens whenever you like, including late-night snacks.” Hearing that professors enjoyed such privileges, Harry had to admit he was a bit envious.
Still, as a mere first-year student, envy was all he could manage for now.
By this point, however, Harry was no longer in a hurry.
He picked up his glass of milk and began to sip it slowly.
Ever since he learned from Ian that drinking milk helped with growth, he had never shown any resistance to it.
Even so, Harry was still young, after all; after taking a few gulps, he couldn’t hold back any longer and set the glass down.
Leaning forward, he stared intently at Ian with burning eyes.
Having no choice, Ian set his own glass of milk down as well.
“Your scar hurt again during the feast, didn’t it?” Ian saw right through the purpose of Harry’s visit in a single sentence.
Harry nodded vigorously.
“Ian, it was Professor Quirrell!” Harry added, instinctively touching the lightning-bolt scar as anxiety surfaced in his eyes.
Back when they were at home, Ian had told him to notify him immediately if his scar ever acted strangely.
Yet looking at Ian now, the man didn’t seem the least bit surprised.
Appearing to sense Harry’s confusion, Ian explained, “Professor Quirrell met with a certain ‘accident’ over the holidays.
There is an additional soul attached to the back of his head.
So, during his classes from now on, you must be extremely careful.” “Remember, never forget to carry that sword with you.” Although Ian didn’t utter that person’s name, Harry already had a guess in his heart.
He gave Ian a firm nod, clearly taking the warning to heart, which put Ian much more at ease.
After a moment’s thought, however, Ian reached into his robes, pulled out a card, and handed it to Harry.
“What’s this?” Harry took the card instinctively, feeling that the shield pattern drawn on it looked oddly familiar.
“This is the Shield!” Ian explained, a complex look floating into his eyes.
This happened to be a parting gift given to him by a certain “good friend.” Harry turned the card over repeatedly, unable to tell what purpose it actually served.
“Remember,” Ian said, pulling his thoughts back and adopting a serious tone, “if you ever face a lethal threat, throw the card out—just like this.” Ian snatched the shield card back and tossed it forward.
At the same time, his wand appeared in his hand before anyone could see how.
As it was thrown, the card hovered eerily in midair, spinning continuously; the complex patterns on its face spun so fast they made Harry feel a little dizzy.
With lightning speed, Ian thrust his wand forward, its tip striking precisely at the front of the card.
Hum— With a low chime, a gentle ripple spread across the surface of the card, and the sealing lines in its center shattered inch by inch.
In the next instant, bursts of light broke free from the card, coalescing into shape in midair.
It was a massive shield, identical to the picture printed on the card just moments ago.
“That’s the giant shield!” Harry pointed at the object before him in astonishment.
He recognized it—back at Gringotts, Ian had used this very shield to block that blast of green light.
“Indeed, this is the Shield!
It can block any attack for you, including the Killing Curse, though you only get one chance.” Ian beckoned toward the giant shield hovering in midair.
The shield collapsed back into its card form, eventually drifting down into Harry’s palm.
Harry nodded solemnly, carefully slipping the card into his pocket.
“Furthermore,” Ian added, “if anything unusual happens in class, or if you feel a persistent burning pain in your scar, leave the classroom immediately.
Do not hesitate.” “I understand, Ian!” Harry touched his forehead, then gently pressed against the card in his pocket.
“It’s getting late.
You should head back and rest,” Ian said, glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Remember: stay vigilant, but don’t be overly tense.” Harry nodded, gave Ian one last look, and left the quarters.
Once the door closed, Ian turned his attention back to On the Casting and Countering of Curses on his desk, quietly waiting for time to pass.
As the night deepened, the corridors outside grew completely silent.
Ian checked the time once more, closed the book, and blew out the candle.
Darkness instantly enveloped the room, with only the faint moonlight filtering through the window to outline the furniture.
Rising without a sound, he changed into dark robes and slipped his wand into a hidden sleeve pocket.
He gently pushed open the door and stepped out of his dormitory.
“What a fine night for a stroll!” Looking out at the utterly silent Hogwarts Castle, Ian sighed with soft appreciation.
In the next instant, he lightly tapped his body with his wand.
“Disillusionment.” “Muffling.” A series of incantations spilled quietly from Ian’s lips, and his figure gradually grew hazy—as though erased by an eraser—until it vanished completely.
These were the Disillusionment Charm and the Muffling Charm.
The Disillusionment Charm allowed the target to blend seamlessly with the colors and textures of their surroundings, camouflage-style like a chameleon, while the Muffling Charm eliminated all sound created by a person’s movements.
Ian’s form melted into the shadows of the corridor, as if he had never been there at all.
He moved forward along the hallway, his footsteps virtually silent despite the eerie, quiet stillness of the castle at this hour.
Before long, Ian arrived at the Great Hall.
He looked up; the moving staircases, so lively during the day, now seemed fast asleep, remaining completely motionless.
Stepping forward, he planted his foot firmly onto the upward staircase.
Ian’s target tonight was the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor.
It was one of the most mysterious rooms in all of Hogwarts, rumored to be connected to Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the four founders.
Yet Ian hadn’t come tonight to explore ancient secrets; strictly speaking, he was here for the tiara hidden inside.
That was one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.
It was only upon seeing Voldemort attached to the back of Quirrell’s head at the feast that Ian had been reminded of its existence.
Ian moved silently through the sleeping Hogwarts Castle.
With the dual protection of the Disillusionment Charm and the Muffling Charm, he glided across the empty halls and long corridors like a ghost.
The motionless night staircases saved him a great deal of trouble as well.
Ian wound his way upward along the fixed stone steps, occasionally catching the distant sound of Mrs.
Norris meowing or Filch shouting.
He proceeded cautiously, avoiding any route where he might be spotted—hard-won experience accumulated from his own student days of nighttime wandering.
As he passed the fourth floor, Ian paused outside the door of the very room Dumbledore had so strongly emphasized.
Because right now, he spotted two figures tiptoeing up to the door, preparing to pick the lock.
It was the Weasley twins.
The two were clearly veterans of nighttime sneaking; one was in charge of picking the lock while the other kept watch.
Most of the sconces in the fourth-floor corridor had been extinguished, leaving only a dim wall lamp every few paces, casting the hallway in a gloomy light.
Even so, Ian could clearly see one of the Weasleys crouching before the famous door, his ear pressed against the keyhole and a long, thin silver wire clutched in his hand.
Is that…
a piece of wire?
When Ian realized what the boy was holding, he found it somewhat unbelievable.
A wizard, mimicking a Muggle to pick a lock with a piece of wire?
In that moment, Ian couldn’t help but wonder if these two really were the notorious troublemakers Professor McGonagall was always talking about.
Unable to watch any longer, Ian silently glided up to the pair.
Looking at whichever twin it was—George or Fred—who was currently sweating profusely, he suddenly offered a low suggestion: “Perhaps you could try Alohomora.
It’s the Unlocking Charm.” “Thanks, George, but no need.
I just learned this from Muggles over the holidays, so…” Fred answered instinctively.
Halfway through his sentence, he suddenly realized that hadn’t been George’s voice.
He whipped his head up, looking around in alarm.
George, who was keeping watch, noticed Fred’s odd behavior and quickly scurried over, dropping his voice to whisper, “What’s wrong, Fred?” Fred searched the area for a long moment without spotting a single soul, his expression instantly turning as pale as if he’d seen a ghost.
“George, I think…
I think I just saw a ghost!” “A ghost?
An apparition?
Where’s a ghost?” George asked in confusion.
“No!
Didn’t you hear that?
Someone just spoke to me!” Fred said frantically.
George looked at Fred as if he were an idiot.
“Aren’t you talking to me right now?” “…” Fred was speechless.
Ignoring the little dispute between the two boys, Ian was already up on the eighth floor—though he brought his footsteps to a halt once again.
Because right in front of him, yet another person had appeared.