Realization dawned on Godric. He pressed his face dramatically against Rowena's fra, as though peering through into her world.
Beyond the fra was one of the corridor's few windows, overlooking the castle grounds. The sunlit lawn and the edge of the Forbidden Forest ca into view. On clear nights, this would undoubtedly be a splendid vantage point for stargazing.
Many accomplished wizards enjoyed observing the night sky.
The movents of the sun, moon, and stars.
They spoke of many things.
Including the inexorable passage of ti in the mortal world.
...
In the Hogwarts elf kitchen, the atmosphere was bustling with energy. Beside a large wooden table laden with various magical ingredients, from Rinky's glowing enchanted fish to freshly picked vegetables and fruits, a group of small house-elves in neatly pressed aprons hurried about their tasks.
Their pointed ears twitched with focus, and their bright eyes glead with pride as they devoted themselves to their culinary craft.
So elves flicked their fingers, effortlessly guiding enchanted knives and stirring spoons through the air. Pots and pans floated gracefully, chopping, stirring, and simring with precise movents.
The kitchen thrumd with the comforting clatter of cooking, the mingled aromas of savory stews, spiced pies, and sweet pastries creating an intoxicating fragrance that filled every corner.
"Today is Halloween; it's only proper to add a bit of flair to the feast," Ian Prince declared with a mischievous grin. "Hogwarts should have its own special traditions. We can't be as dreadfully predictable as Beauxbatons or Durmstrang."
He nodded with satisfaction, eyeing the bubbling cauldrons. "A little surprise in the dishes will bring plenty of joy to the students. Fiery flavors will keep them awake through the feast. Trust , I'll even write a 'Little Wizard's Culinary Guide' if you need further convincing."
With Ian's enthusiastic guidance, tonight's feast was spiced with just a hint of xican fire peppers, a choice the house elves followed diligently. They, of course, had no idea that this well-aning suggestion might lead to a sudden spike in requests for cooling charms and digestive potions.
Ian himself sat at a small table, gleefully sampling dishes as though savoring a personal hotpot. He paused only to dramatically sip on a tall glass of lemonade, puckering slightly from the extra tang of fresh-squeezed lemon juice.
"Ah, that's the stuff!" Ian sighed with satisfaction, setting his empty glass aside. The stubborn headache from last night's overindulgence had finally begun to fade.
It was a feeling any seasoned reveler would recognize, the lingering regret of a hangover, made worse by the suspicion that the ghostly drinks might have contained sothing even more questionable than magical spirits.
"Mr. Prince is so knowledgeable! Rabby admires Mr. Prince so much!" chirped a nearby elf.
"Habby admires him too!" echoed another.
"Xibi will show his admiration through action! Xibi has prepared a plate of roast at for Mr. Prince!" the third one piped up enthusiastically.
The house-elves were certainly experts at flattery. Ian may not have risen to prominence at Hogwarts in the conventional sense, but within the cozy warmth of the kitchen, he already basked in the joyful authority of a small emperor.
"I think I've had my fill of roast at," Ian mused, pushing aside the latest platter. "How about you wrap it in a burrito? Add a touch of that spicy sauce from earlier. I'll need the energy for my studies."
The elves eagerly complied, praising Ian's dedication to his academic pursuits even as they folded the at into a perfectly wrapped burrito. With his al in hand, Ian strode out of the kitchen, his thoughts already shifting toward his next task.
Christmas was approaching, and gifts would soon need to be arranged for friends and family. Even Grindelwald, for purely diplomatic reasons, would receive a token, on par with what he'd give to Dumbledore and Snape.
Ian had no intention of earning the ire of his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. After all, the golden container Grindelwald had gifted him was not only steeped in history but also quite literally made of solid gold.
Gift-giving was, at its heart, a matter of balance. A carefully chosen present could weave the most delicate of connections, and Ian Prince was determined to stay on the right side of every one of them.
"I'm truly a social butterfly."
As Ian passed the four towering hourglasses that recorded House points, he noticed Ravenclaw's score was far ahead of the others. The first-year students hadn't made much of a contribution yet; it seed the upper years were working particularly hard.
"If it weren't for the Quidditch House Cup points, we'd have it in the bag," Ian thought, suppressing a sigh. He had significant opinions about Quidditch, perhaps because Ravenclaw rarely perford well in the sport, and winning the championship felt almost impossible. At Hogwarts, Quidditch glory practically belonged to Slytherin.
Crossing the entrance hall, Ian made his way toward the castle's great oak doors, but his plan for a cost-free trip to the Forbidden Forest was abruptly foiled by the sudden downpour outside. He hadn't realized the weather had turned while enjoying his ti in the kitchen.
Now, rain lashed down in torrents.
Lightning streaked across the sky, montarily illuminating the gloomy surroundings before vanishing into the mist. Ian wasn't sure if heading into the Forbidden Forest during a storm would lead to an enlightening adventure or a brush with a stray bolt of lightning.
Little wizards who had been enjoying the outdoors were now scrambling back inside, a haphazard crowd clutching broomsticks and shielding their heads. Mud splattered their robes, and damp hair clung to their faces.
So had clearly slipped during Quidditch practice, while others looked like they had enthusiastically discovered the appeal of stomping through the mud. At Hogwarts, even the strangest antics seed perfectly ordinary.
Ian lingered at the doorway, watching the chaos unfold.
As the drenched students hurried past him, his gaze shifted to a looming figure moving through the rain like a shadow. A figure clad in black, his robes billowing behind him, much like a large bat.
"Professor Snape."
The students visibly shrank at the sight of him, quickening their steps. The rain seed reluctant to touch him, sliding off his robes as if the weather itself understood the futility of the attempt.
"Get to the Great Hall for dinner."
Snape's voice was low and harsh as he passed Ian. His mood was as heavy as the storm clouds. But Ian quickly realized the venom wasn't directed at him.
Trailing behind Snape was a man who appeared far less composed. He was hunched, as though burdened by an invisible weight. His nervous glances darted about, avoiding the curious stares of the returning students. His robes were simple and unadorned, and a faded purple scarf was wrapped around his neck.
"You weren't like this before you left," Snape said coldly, his expression twisting further into displeasure.
"I... I encountered many dangers, Professor Snape. I'm still a bit shaken… I'll need ti to recover," the man stamred, forcing a trembling smile as he greeted Ian.
"What are you still standing there for? Go to the Great Hall for dinner!"
Snape gave Ian a firm shove toward the castle's interior.
"Alright, alright," Ian muttered, though his curiosity was piqued.
Glancing back, Ian observed the man who had arrived with Snape. Thin and pale, he looked as though he hadn't seen proper nourishnt in weeks. His wide eyes flitted nervously beneath his slightly disheveled hair. Yet, what stood out most was the absence of a certain accessory.
He wasn't wearing a turban.
"Professor Quirrell! Don't wander off! We're going to the headmaster's office first. You've returned earlier than expected and need to report to Dumbledore."
Snape's bat-like tone was even sharper now. Ian's ears perked at the na.
Quirrell.
He turned, the scene firmly imprinted in his mind.
(End of Chapter)
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