The words of the bronze eagle knocker left Ian somewhat taken aback.
The place he had visited was clearly suspected to be an underground chamber jointly built by the four founders, so why had he been marked by Slytherin's symbol? Could it be because the entrance passage was located near the Chamber of Secrets?
"What do you mean by 'being chosen'?" Ian raised his hand, examining the faintly glowing Ouroboros mark. He had a sinking feeling that the rune's color and appearance didn't bode well.
"I can only tell you that it is related to a certain discovery Slytherin made." The bronze eagle knocker tilted slightly and spoke softly, choosing not to beat around the bush or give Ian a hard time.
"During a certain period in the past, Salazar Slytherin would often shut himself in his room— the very Chamber he left behind at Hogwarts before his departure."
Hearing this, Ian nodded. "I've heard that rumor. It was mentioned in 'Hogwarts: Ten Great Secrets'. He even stored some of his personal collections in that Chamber."
Fully aware that the bronze eagle knocker's love for gossip was no less than the Fat Lady's, Ian had no intention of revealing that he had already found Slytherin's Chamber.
He was certain that if he dared to tell the bronze eagle knocker about this, rumors of him being Slytherin's descendant would spread throughout Hogwarts before nightfall.
Already burdened with the name "Ambrosius Dumbledore Grindelwald Prince" in the rumor mill, Ian had no desire to add another surname to his list— four surnames were bad enough, but five might make people suspect his ancestry included some magical creature lineage.
Fortunately, the bronze eagle knocker wasn't particularly curious about this.
"This isn't just a rumor or story. I know for a fact that the so-called Chamber exists, and what Salazar Slytherin researched inside it is related to the… 'treasure' you found?" The bronze eagle knocker's voice carried a hint of pride, as if it had misunderstood what Ian meant by "treasure."
Clearly, this door knocker wasn't omniscient about Hogwarts' secrets.
"What was he researching?" Ian tried rubbing the mark on his hand vigorously a few times, then used magic in an attempt to remove this curse-like mark.
"Very profound things," The bronze eagle knocker replied, its tone vague.
"You don't actually know, do you?" Ian used reverse psychology on the bronze eagle knocker, but to his surprise, the knocker nodded frankly.
"Indeed, I only know that before Salazar Slytherin left, he mentioned leaving a 'little surprise' for future reckless individuals. I believe what you obtained is that very 'little surprise.'"
The bronze eagle knocker did eventually reveal some useful information.
"A 'little surprise'? It's not poisonous, is it?" Ian even poured some of Voldemort's grand-uncle's bones potion on his hand, but it neither removed nor suppressed the green rune.
He suspected that the Slytherin bloodline in the Gaunt family might not be as pure as they claimed.
"Who knows? After all, I'm just a bird," The bronze eagle knocker's tone was calm. After a pause, it added in a teasing voice, "But back then, Salazar Slytherin was reportedly in a foul mood."
Ian wasn't intimidated.
"Wake up, you're just a metal door knocker carved into the shape of a bird," He fired back without hesitation, his sharp words leaving the bronze eagle knocker somewhat melancholic.
"How do you know I wasn't once a bird? Perhaps my brain was just transplanted into this door knocker. Give me a pair of wings, and I'll surely fly for you."
"Of course, I might also just be a door-knocker fantasizing about being a bird. Both are possible. Maybe you could crack open my skull to see if there's a brain inside."
The bronze eagle knocker's mental state was growing increasingly bizarre, reminding Ian of a malfunctioning enchanted object. He wondered if this was related to his frequent conversations with it.
Logically, it shouldn't be, since over a thousand years, the bronze eagle knocker must have interacted with many people. Perhaps it was this millennium-long accumulation that led to its wild thoughts.
"I'd like to study your craftsmanship, but not right now," Ian said, noticing someone opening the door. The highly competitive Ravenclaw students always woke up early.
"Good morning, Ian," A square-headed third-year greeted him.
"Have a pleasant day, cool-looking senior," Ian replied.
Since this senior hadn't attended his small class, Ian didn't remember his name. Still, his compliment made the third-year beam with joy.
Sometimes, handling interpersonal relationships was just that simple— at least within the school.
"Not going to chat some more?" Seeing Ian slip through the door opened by the senior, the bronze eagle knocker's tone was full of regret and resentment.
"Will chatting make you tell me how to figure out what this is?" Ian held the door open and raised his hand. He believed the Hogwarts founders wouldn't curse future students— just like how the basilisk wasn't meant to purge Muggle-born students but to protect the school.
In the founders' era, establishing such a school was no small risk. Many of Hogwarts' secret passages were designed to facilitate evacuation during invasions. The basilisk was also meant to be a guardian, only later misused by Voldemort.
"I'm just a bird," The bronze eagle knocker reiterated, emphasizing that it wasn't all-knowing.
Ian sighed regretfully.
"And I'm just a little wizard about to attend class," He replied, finding a reasonable excuse to leave without further escalating tensions with the bronze eagle knocker.
With two classes scheduled for the morning, Ian tucked all the required textbooks under his arm and then woke his two roommates with a firm shake each.
"Oh no! Rebecca and I just had our baby!" Michael lamented as if mourning the loss of a lifetime of happiness from his dream.
"Did you not come back last night?" William, who seemed dreamless, glanced at Ian's untouched bed and shuffled into the bathroom, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
"I was secretly studying while you were asleep," Ian said, piling on some psychological pressure and leaving William looking utterly miserable.
William dreaded such things the most.
"Why are you more talented and work so much harder than us? Blimey! I'm pulling an all-nighter tonight!" William truly meant it.
On the way to the Great Hall for breakfast, he was already buried in his textbook— 'History of Magic', no less— determined to excel in the least popular subject.
A clever little scheme, indeed.
"Eat this! It's delicious!"
"Don't steal my cream cake!"
"Who puts chili in a cake?!"
Everyone feasted at the long table laden with food. Due to slight indigestion from the night before, Ian only ate half a pound of lamb pie and three cups of extra-sour, concentrated lemonade.
He kept an eye on the mail-delivering owls, noticing many students receiving Howlers, though none as loud as the Weasley matriarch's.
(To Be Continued…)
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