Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey filled in the blanks herself, frowning as she glanced at the readings hovering in midair above Harry's chest.
"Sothing like that," Ian offered vaguely.
The matron didn't press him further. She conjured a cloth and began cleaning the wounds on Harry's face, muttering soothing charms as she worked. "Poor boy… he clawed at his own cheeks in fright. Sothing must have terrified him out of his wits."
"Can you tell where you found him? And what sort of accident occurred?" She asked, her gaze sharp with professional concern. She doubted this was sothing as simple as a hallway scuffle.
"He might've stumbled into sothing foul while wandering after curfew," Ian replied smoothly, narrowing his eyes. "You know how the castle is, it's full of secrets, and not all of them are harmless."
He glanced at the ti again.
"I'll leave him in your care. I've a class to get to."
Before Madam Pomfrey could say another word, Ian had turned and jogged briskly out of the infirmary. The door swung shut behind him with a soft thud, leaving the sll of potions and blood in the air.
Outside, the corridor was abuzz with students streaming to class. The flickering torchlight danced along the grey stone walls, stretching Ian's shadow into a distorted figure that trailed behind him like a phantom.
Two second-year students clutched their Magical Draughts and Elixirs textbooks as they rushed past, their voices a low, hurried whisper beneath the arched ceiling.
"Potter must've been cursed, probably by him!"
"He's trying to show who's in charge now. There's no Boy Who Lived anymore, just that Prince bloke!"
"Dumbledore won't do a thing. Bet he's already covering for him. He's got a phoenix, doesn't he?"
...
The two students clearly hadn't noticed Ian standing not far off to the side.
They were too caught up in their hurried conversation to pay attention to their surroundings.
Their whispered words made Ian glance over his shoulder several tis, but before he could say anything, a trembling first-year from Slytherin crashed straight into him, like a startled Sniffer bolting into the wrong tunnel.
"S-sorry! Sorry, Prince, Sir Prince!" the boy stamred.
As he stumbled backward in panic, he knocked over the spear from a nearby suit of armour. The weapon clattered to the ground with a loud tallic crash, echoing through the empty corridor. He didn't stop to pick it up or even look back, his wide eyes were locked on Ian in pure terror.
"I didn't an to! Honestly! Please, don't kill !"
Clearly, this poor Slytherin first-year had been thoroughly spooked. His fear wasn't unfounded; after all, he belonged to the House most deeply wary of Ian, and the whispers about him possibly having killed the Boy Who Lived were only growing more dramatic by the hour.
"Just mind where you're walking next ti," Ian said mildly. "Do I really look that frightening?"
He reached forward and gently adjusted the boy's skewed tie, his fingers brushing the silver-and-erald tie clip. The first-year's whole body trembled, knees nearly buckling beneath him.
"…"
Seeing that, Ian sighed and lifted a hand, gesturing for the boy to go on.
The student didn't need to be told twice. He turned and bolted in the opposite direction as fast as his legs would carry him.
"What have I done! What have I done?! I've badmouthed him! I'm finished!" The boy wailed when he reached the classroom door, imdiately grabbing his roommate's sleeve with trembling hands.
"Eh? Oh, mate… then you're dood," his roommate replied, deadpan.
"Nooo!"
The anguished cry of the young wizard echoed down the corridor.
Just then, a voice interjected, calm and clear.
"You look frightened," Said a girl's voice.
"Fear can cause your pupils to dilate by up to thirty-seven percent."
It was Hermione Granger, standing by the doorway with her books neatly stacked in her arms. The Slytherin first-years were scheduled to have class with the Gryffindors that morning.
"You should try giving him Dragon Blood Ink," Hermione added, crouching to help the boy collect the books he had dropped. "Page 214 of Human Weakness: The Secrets of Prince says Ian responds well to gifts. You'd be surprised how often people overlook that."
She had finally gotten her hands on the book she'd been dying to read.
But her well-ant advice earned no thanks.
"What does a Mudblood know about pure-blood traditions!" The boy snapped suddenly, shoving Hermione aside.
His reddened eyes burned with misplaced pride as he threw out the slur. The corridor fell silent. The word hung in the air like a hex, and every nearby student froze.
"Who dares speak such foul, disgusting filth?!"
The loudest reaction ca from Daphne Greengrass, who had been passing by at just the wrong mont.
At the sound of that word, she turned as if struck by lightning. Her golden-blonde hair practically crackled with fury.
"You filthy little--! Who are you trying to disgrace?!"
Daphne stord toward the boy, grabbed him by the front of his robes, and gave him a firm shake, her expression blazing. She looked like a mother hippogriff defending her young.
"You apologise, right now! You owe this lady a proper apology!" She practically roared the words, eyes flashing like blue fire.
The first-year looked genuinely confused.
"But… Miss Greengrass, isn't that how we all think?" He stamred, clearly from a lesser branch of a pure-blood family, out of touch with the shifting landscape of the wizarding world.
"We?!" Daphne spat. "Who's 'we'?! That's slander! Shaful, backward slander!"
Her voice carried through the corridor like a spell gone wild. She turned swiftly to Hermione, whom Ian had brought into the school himself.
"Don't believe a word of that rot! The Greengrass family sponsored twenty-three Muggle studies initiatives just last year! And last week, my father personally blocked the Wizengamot's motion to ban Muggle-borns from Hogwarts!"
She sounded like she was about to produce a gaphone and list every equality initiative her family had ever signed.
...
At that mont, Daphne couldn't help but be suspicious, what if Hermione had been sent by Ian to test her loyalties?
Paranoia crept in.
On the other side of the school, several young wizards had quietly slipped away from their lessons and were now sneaking into the abandoned girls' lavatory. After speaking a few words in Parseltongue, they opened the secret passage hidden beneath the sink and descended without hesitation.
Given the screams discussed the night before, Ian had already begun to suspect sothing.
And so, rather than heading to the underground crypt that had first co to mind, he turned and made his way instead toward the Slytherin Chamber.
He needed to know if his intuition was right.
Under the dim light of the candles, he slowly stepped into this space forgotten by ti. The air in the Chamber was heavy and oppressive, making even breathing feel difficult. The stone walls around him were etched with ancient runes, flickering with a faint green light in the darkness, as if so unknown power surged within.
Suddenly, a strong, tallic sll of blood assaulted his senses, causing Ian to furrow his brow. He followed the scent directly to its source.
"Oh! No! My baby!"
Ian let out a hoarse wail.
As he feared, a massive basilisk lay quietly in the center of the Chamber, its body already stiff, eyes tightly closed and unable to open again.
This basilisk had once been the guardian of the Chamber.
Its scales shimred with a cold light in the sunlight.
These scales were stained with completely dried blood, and its body was covered in scars, clearly having gone through a fierce battle. Most heartbreaking was that the basilisk's body had shriveled up.
It looked as if its flesh had been devoured. Moreover, Ian seed to sense an indescribable emptiness, as if the basilisk's soul had also been completely consud by so force.
Last night, sothing significant had indeed happened here.
(End of Chapter)
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