That, and the fact that he'd told her they were going to find Dumbledore, yet had brought her to the Owlery in the dead of night instead.
"Your brothers were brawling here earlier," Ian recalled, thinking back to what he had witnessed. It was probably around the time he'd crawled out of the dungeons and stumbled into the Room of Requirement.
That felt like ages ago now.
Since then, he'd seen the Weasley twins caught sneaking about, overheard Snape and the traitorous Quirrell whispering in the shadows, and even discovered the entrance to a hidden passageway in the disused second-floor bathroom. Several hours had passed. By now, not only should the altercation between the two Dumbledores have ended, but even the heated tempers of young men in their twenties would have cooled considerably.
"I'll have a look."
Ian checked Marauder's Map, but Dumbledore's name was nowhere to be found. Grindelwald, on the other hand, listed under his assumed name, Gilderoy Lockhart, was still in his office. Ian could see the little dot labeled "Lockhart" pacing back and forth, a sign that the Dark Arts professor was still awake.
Seeking Grindelwald's help was an option.
However.
Dumbledore was undoubtedly the better choice. Ian had glimpsed fragments of the old man's memories, and even those brief flashes had revealed an obsession with time, life, and death far beyond the comprehension of most wizards.
Grindelwald's studies had always taken a different direction. And more importantly, approaching him would mean keeping certain things concealed— particularly everything related to the Twilight Realm.
After all, Ian had kept that secret from the Dark Arts professor thus far, and explaining his current predicament without mentioning it would require a level of deception he wasn't keen on attempting.
"I think he might have gone back to Hogsmeade with Aberforth?" Ian mused aloud.
His choice of words wasn't exactly conventional, but as Ariana's friend— and, if he rounded up the numbers a little, an acquaintance of Albus himself— he figured it wasn't too much of a stretch.
"Hogsmeade?" Ariana tilted her head in curiosity, floating idly in midair.
"Yeah. Aberforth usually lives there… Let's see… There are a few secret passages that lead directly to the village."
Ian scanned Marauder's Map again, confirming what he already knew. Several hidden routes connected Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, the most famous being the passage beneath the Whomping Willow.
But there was another way.
The hunchbacked, one-eyed witch statue concealed a tunnel leading straight to Honeydukes. Harry Potter had used it countless times when sneaking out of the castle.
It was located in the third-floor corridor.
To enter, one had to tap the statue with a wand and say, "Dissendium," which would cause the witch's back to open, revealing a stone slide that led down into the passageway.
"The third floor is closest, but I think I should check somewhere else first," Ian said, folding the Marauder's Map and tucking it away.
"You're awfully busy tonight…" Ariana remarked. She still hadn't fully grasped Ian's situation, but rather than pressing him about her brothers, she simply tilted her head and asked, "Do you need help?"
She had always been the sort to put others first.
"Not for now… I need to end the Patronus Charm first. I'll call you up later, all right?" Ian suggested.
Ariana nodded, and as he lowered his wand, the silver glow that had illuminated the Owlery began to fade.
Now, he had to make his way down from the eighth floor. The Weasley twins were still below, no doubt enduring whatever punishment Filch had concocted for their latest mischief.
"This thing keeps flashing; it's really annoying." Ian scowled at the Ouroboros mark on his hand, which showed no sign of fading.
"If this is some kind of test, it should at least give me a hint."
Ian set off toward the dungeons. As the old saying went, to break a curse, one had to find its source. The Ouroboros mark had first appeared beneath the castle, and if he wanted answers, that was where he needed to go.
Meanwhile, in the second-floor girls' lavatory—
"It's you! You murderer!"
Myrtle had just seen Ian speak Parseltongue. She had finally dared to peek her head out of the toilet, only to see him barging into her "private ghost room" once again.
"Plop!"
With a startled shriek, she dived straight back into the water. Ian barely spared her a glance. He strode to the sink adorned with the Ouroboros carving and began his investigation.
"It wasn't left here. It must have been placed on me in the dungeon," He muttered, frowning. No trace of active magic lingered around the sink—though that could simply be due to his own limited skills.
"Open!"
Speaking Parseltongue, he watched as the ornate faucet twisted. A grinding noise echoed through the chamber, gears shifting unseen. Within moments, the entire sink began to descend, revealing a familiar dark passageway.
Ian took a deep breath and plunged into the tunnel, his wand light illuminating the inky blackness ahead. He retraced the long, winding path that had first led him to Salazar Slytherin's domain.
The air here felt heavier than before, thick with something ancient and watching. The torches that lined the rocky walls burned deep red, an eerie contrast to the blue flames that had once lit his way.
"Something's changed..."
At the tunnel's end, Ian stepped into the vast dungeon chamber, where the towering statues of Slytherin and Hufflepuff loomed over him. But now, at the chamber's center, the bleached remains of a great western dragon sprawled across the stone floor.
"Could it be that Slytherin's idea of humor involves pranking future students?" Ian muttered, raising his wand toward the statues.
"Move, stone pedestal!"
It was worth a shot. Whether due to luck, intuition, or magic, the statues began to shift, grinding back into place against the stone walls.
As the chamber trembled with their movement, the red candle flames flickered violently, momentarily brightening the dungeon before plunging it into shadow.
Then—
"Thank Merlin, finally! Someone is here... Little wizard, where is this place?"
A disheveled man suddenly stumbled forward from within the dragon's skeletal remains.
Ian's breath hitched, and he instinctively pointed his wand at the figure. A flash of green light flickered at its tip.
The stranger flinched. "Mr. Prince! You wouldn't hex your own professor, would you?"
Ian's grip tightened.
"Don't be nervous, Mr. Prince. We've met before, haven't we? Just a few days ago, I believe— though, hold on, you've grown taller, haven't you? Or was it last month? No... last year?"
The man muttered to himself, looking utterly bewildered.
Ian wasn't sure whether to lower his wand— or cast a stunning spell on the spot.
Ian's hand continues to tremble.
"This... this can't be real..."
His voice wavered even more than his grip on his wand—not out of fear or inexperience, but because he simply couldn't suppress the overwhelming surge of emotions flooding through him.
"Expelliarmus!"
A jet of scarlet light burst from Ian's wand. The man, who had been reaching for something at his waist, was blasted backward, his wand flying from his grasp as he crashed against the massive dragon skeleton.
"Urgh—cough, cough!" The man groaned, his body curling slightly as he coughed violently. "I wasn't trying to attack you! I just needed to extract my memories! You must see how jumbled they are right now—"
His voice was hoarse, and his dazed eyes darted around as if grasping for something just out of reach.
"This isn't possible..." Ian muttered, his wand lowering ever so slightly. His entire body felt stiff, as though his magic itself was resisting the reality before him.
"I should be the one saying that..." The man murmured, rubbing his chest where he had been hit. He looked up at Ian, his expression a mix of bewilderment and something else— something unnervingly close to awe.
"The sheer power of your magic... it's just as impossible..."
Ian barely heard him. He took a slow, hesitant step forward, his wide eyes locked onto the man before him. His voice came in a whisper, thick with disbelief:
"Professor Ronnie Ehrlich... you shouldn't be alive."
The words hung in the air like a specter.
It was no wonder Ian's emotions were in turmoil.
Because this— this was a man who had died. A man whose existence had been erased by time. And yet, here he stood, flesh and blood, speaking, breathing— and more importantly, alive.
Ian's gaze flickered toward the towering stone statue embedded in the dungeon wall. The flickering green light in its eyes pulsed faintly, watching. Waiting.
Salazar Slytherin.
Ian barely breathed the name. His throat tightened as the realization struck him, sinking like cold iron into his bones.
A time loop.
No— this was more than just a mere loop in time.
This was magic beyond reason, beyond anything Ian had ever encountered.
A thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin had done more than experiment with time. He had defied it.
And now, deep within the very foundations of Hogwarts, his legacy had reached across centuries—pulling back what should have been lost forever.
A resurrection. A miracle. A warning.
(End of Chapter)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395