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"You're covering for him!" Flint bellowed, his face red with fury. "He 'did it'! I saw it with my own eyes! The Ministry won't let you get away with this! My family has connections— connections, do you hear ?! You'll all pay for this!"
The professors exchanged glances.
Sothing was 'off'.
Dumbledore studied Flint's expression, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "You seem… quite certain of what you saw," he mused.
"Severus," Dumbledore continued, "take young Mr. Flint back to the dungeons. Check for traces of the Imperius Curse— and examine his mories. I have reason to believe they may have been tampered with."
That was all Snape needed to hear.
With an almost satisfied smirk, he stepped forward.
"'Stupefy.'"
There was no unnecessary flourish— just a swift, precise movent and Flint collapsed, out cold.
Not with magic.
With an elbow.
Snape had knocked the boy out 'manually'.
Ian blinked. He wasn't sure if he was more impressed by the sheer audacity of it or the fact that no one looked remotely surprised by such actions.
Marcus Flint's limp form was unceremoniously dragged toward the exit, his head lolling as Snape made his way out of the Owlery. Before disappearing, he cast Ian a final, warning glance— one that clearly said, 'Behave.'
As the last of the Prefects shuffled out, Professor McGonagall turned back toward Dumbledore.
"We'll assist Pomona in checking the castle. If the true culprit is still lurking within Hogwarts, we must ensure they do not remain hidden."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression unreadable.
And Ian was left alone with him.
Filius Flitwick, the Head of the Ravenclaw House, felt much the sa; after all, they had all worked together for many years.
"You must consider carefully whether you've drawn the ire of anyone— especially dark wizards." Flitwick gave Ian a grave reminder before taking his leave.
"I'm an orphan; how could I possibly offend a dark wizard?"
Ian frowned, deep in thought. He truly felt innocent. "If I had to say, before term began, I did co across a rather suspicious-looking wizard near Charing Cross in London."
'Could that be relevant?'
Yet Dumbledore's expression was sowhat unreadable.
"We shall look into it."
He nodded, though it seed more out of formality, hesitating briefly before speaking again.
"Just to satisfy my personal curiosity... Mr. Prince, might I see your Fiendfyre?" Dumbledore's sudden request left Ian montarily stunned.
Could this turn of events be any more abrupt?
"Erm— pardon?"
Feigning ignorance would be pointless. If Dumbledore was asking, then he already knew Ian had mastered the Fiendfyre spell.
But how?
Aurora?
No— she shouldn't know either!
Though the book on dark magic 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' had co from Aurora, and she had suggested he learn Fiendfyre, Ian had never actually cast it since perfecting the incantation.
Legilincy?
Surely not...
Occluncy was hardly a weak point of his.
With his 'Mind Perception', he hadn't needed instruction in the art— he had practically installed this crucial safeguard the mont he stepped into Hogwarts!
Under Dumbledore's steady, smiling gaze, Ian hesitated only a mont before raising his wand and uttering the incantation.
Brilliant blue flas erupted into the shed, yet not a single flicker touched the highly flammable straw littered about.
"Impressive control." Dumbledore, still smiling, offered quiet praise. The reflection of the eerie fire flickered in his half-moon spectacles, while a subtle, unreadable ripple passed through his deep-set eyes.
"Headmaster, I—"
Ian wanted to explain that he wasn't so wayward dark wizard, but Dumbledore simply patted his shoulder before extinguishing the flas with a casual flick of his wand.
"This afternoon's History of Magic lesson promises to be an ordeal; you'd best get so rest."
Before Ian could reply, Dumbledore had already stepped out, leaving him alone at the scene of the cri, without so much as a shield.
"Huh?" Ian was left with an avalanche of questions.
The deceased professor.
Was it really his responsibility to deal with the body?
Would it be improper to use Fiendfyre for such a task?
"But dismbered remains don't exactly reassemble themselves either..." Just as Ian wondered whether Dumbledore was subtly implying that he 'should' incinerate the late Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,
'Pop! Pop!'
Two house elves materialized before him.
---
In the headmaster's office, the round chamber was filled with an assortnt of peculiar trinkets, each one whirring, clicking, or emitting delicate curls of silver smoke.
Portraits of forr headmasters lined the walls, many of them snoring away, as though their schedules operated on an entirely different plane of ti.
Others, however, were engaged in conversation.
"Imagine— a Ravenclaw student sent to stand in the corner here!"
"Hah! Do you truly believe Ravenclaws never misstep? Look at her fidgeting— she may well avoid Azkaban, but I wager she won't escape expulsion."
"Back in my day, misbehaving students were dealt with the old-fashioned way— firm discipline, no exceptions!"
"Oh, hush! You'll frighten the poor girl. How long have you all been deceased, and you still insist on reliving your glory days? The current headmaster, Dumbledore, does not employ such punishnts."
"But Severus does."
---
Penelope sat stiffly on a wooden bench, her nerves wound tight.
Ti seed to stretch unbearably long.
She wasn't sure what was more torturous— the wait, or the ceaseless murmuring from the surrounding portraits.
Only when she heard movent from the spiral staircase did she stir from her anxious trance?
"Headmaster Dumbledore."
She turned toward the elderly wizard who had entered. She had ntally reviewed every action of hers from the day and found no reason why she might be summoned alone.
"No need to worry, Miss Clearwater. You've done nothing wrong, nor are you in any trouble. I rely asked Fawkes to bring you here to clarify a few matters."
Dumbledore settled into his chair with an air of practiced ease.
"Is this about the professor's death today?"
It was the only logical conclusion Penelope could reach.
"That incident no longer concerns you students; best not to dwell on it. The professors will handle everything accordingly." Dumbledore's voice was gentle, his expression warm.
Yet, behind those twinkling blue eyes, sothing elusive shifted.
"However, the castle's ghosts have been chattering... They tell that since yesterday afternoon, you've been rather diligently prying into matters that may not be entirely appropriate."
(End of this chapter)
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