Back in the Room of Requirement, Ian wasted no time in setting up his cauldron.
Quirrell was making a swift descent toward self-destruction, but Ian had already gathered a considerable collection of ingredients. Even if he didn't go through with brewing the Infinite Fire Potion, there were plenty of other options worth pursuing.
"Polyjuice Potion is always useful," he mused, recalling his earlier conversation with Aurora about human transfiguration.
It was never a bad idea to be prepared.
Any skilled potioneer knew that adaptability was the key to survival, true masters carried dozens of different potions at all times.
"I'm no master… but fifty bottles should do the trick."
With practiced efficiency, Ian set up multiple cauldrons at once, selecting a handful of brews that required longer refinement periods to prepare alongside the Polyjuice Potion.
Before long, the Room of Requirement was thick with the mingling scents of rare herbs and simmering elixirs. Thanks to Ian's personally crafted air filter, however, the smell that drifted beyond the room was that of the Draught of Living Death.
Even if Snape happened to catch a whiff, he'd likely assume Ian was merely brewing a batch of sleeping potions.
His dear uncle might have been a potions master, but he certainly wasn't as inventive as Ian, nor would he ever suspect that his nephew had developed a device specifically to mislead him.
"Clever me!"
Smirking to himself, Ian pulled out another of his personal projects. The early stages of potion-making often involved long waits between steps, and he had no intention of wasting that time.
With a flick of his wand, he unrolled a battered old manuscript,
The Book of Parselmouths
"gū lūgū lūgū lū~"
"sīīīsīī~"
Hissing syllables filled the air as Ian practiced the serpentine language, the eerie echoes blending with the bubbling of various cauldrons.
The entire scene had taken on an almost surreal quality, dark potions simmering ominously, a skeletal tome filled with cryptic Parseltongue scripts, and, in the corner, a cleaning Dementor dutifully scrubbing the stone floor.
If anyone were to stumble upon this sight, they would sooner believe they had entered the lair of a dark wizard than a Hogwarts student's private study session.
But Ian merely grinned, entirely at home in the madness.
Time passed slowly.
After completing the intricate early stages of his potions, Ian decided to relocate for some well-earned rest. The mingling fumes of bubbling brews, even with his air filter, were still less than pleasant. And really, what was life without a bit of comfort and ritual?
The Next Morning
While most of Hogwarts still lay deep in slumber, Ian was already up, well-rested from a night spent atop a sprawling twenty-meter mattress in the Room of Requirement, one so unnecessarily grand that he had to walk fifty meters down a rich red carpet just to reach the door.
Stepping out into the corridor, ready to seize the day, he turned a corner, and promptly walked into something as solid as a mountain.
"Thud!"
Ian was sent sprawling onto the floor.
"Hagrid?"
Looking up, he found himself staring at the towering form of Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts' half-giant groundskeeper. The man was awkwardly balancing an enormous mirror on his shoulder, peering down at Ian with a puzzled expression.
Ian, having squeezed a bit of mouthwash into his mouth just before leaving, was currently blowing small, translucent bubbles, an odd sight, and apparently, enough to startle Hagrid.
"Merlin's beard! Is there anyone about? This little wizard's foamin' at the mouth!" Hagrid bellowed in alarm, eyes darting around for help. Unfortunately for him, the eighth floor was utterly deserted at this hour.
Ian hurriedly waved a hand. "It's fine, Hagrid! Just brushing my teeth."
To his mild embarrassment, the words came out punctuated by yet more floating bubbles, shimmering like morning dew in the dim corridor. He had, perhaps, used a touch too much mouthwash.
Hagrid blinked. Then, after a beat of silence, he let out a booming laugh. "Blimey, nearly gave me a fright, you did!"
Still, despite Ian having taken the brunt of the collision, it was Hagrid who looked guilty. Not that he had budged an inch, of course, being half-giant meant even a full-speed sprint from Ian would feel like little more than a nudge.
But he seemed genuinely concerned, shifting slightly as if he wanted to help Ian up, though the massive mirror on his shoulder prevented him from bending properly.
"It's fine, I wasn't looking where I was going," Ian assured him, dusting off his robes.
That was when his eyes finally landed on the mirror Hagrid was carrying. The ornate carvings, the intricate patterns, there was something eerily familiar about it.
Ian's breath caught.
"The Mirror of Erised!"
He couldn't stop the words from escaping, his excitement barely contained. He had been expecting to encounter it at Hogwarts, but not until next year!
Hagrid looked taken aback. "You know this mirror?"
Ian's gaze was locked onto the ancient artifact, his mind racing.
"Of course! I've read about it in books." And if he wasn't mistaken, this was precisely the object Professor Morgan had asked him to track down.
"Well, aren't you a clever one," Hagrid chuckled, ruffling Ian's hair with a hand the size of a dinner plate. "Dumbledore had me fetch it for 'im, wants it in his office. I reckon he needs a proper look at himself; Headmaster's office has never had a good full-length mirror."
Ian blinked. "...What?"
That didn't make sense. Surely, even if Hagrid didn't know the Mirror of Erised's true nature, he would at least understand its basic function?
"You… haven't looked into it?" Ian asked cautiously.
"Course not! Professor Dumbledore told me not to, and when Dumbledore tells ya somethin', best listen. If he says don't look, then I reckon there's a reason." Hagrid's expression was one of absolute trust.
Ian hesitated, then asked, "Can I look at it?"
He knew that if used correctly, the mirror could do more than just show desire, it could speak. And even if it didn't, it would still reveal his greatest longing.
And who wouldn't be curious about that?
Would he see himself standing as one of the greatest wizards of the age? Or would the mirror show him something entirely unexpected?
Hagrid, however, shifted uncomfortably. "Ah… best ask Dumbledore 'bout that. Wouldn't feel right lettin' you without permission."
Ian sighed, but he wasn't truly disappointed. He had already been planning to seek out Dumbledore anyway, Professor Morgan had trusted him to locate and retrieve this mirror, and he fully intended to do just that.
"Well, I won't keep you, Hagrid," he said, stepping aside.
"Atta boy," Hagrid beamed. "Gotta get this to the headmaster first, then off to the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore wants me to find some rare bits n' bobs for 'im."
As he turned to leave, he paused and threw a glance over his shoulder. "Oh! And stop by me hut when you get the chance, I'll see if I can find some o' them potion bits you're always needin'."
Ian smiled at that. Hagrid had clearly taken note of his ever-growing collection of potion ingredients.
"Will do!"
Hagrid gave him a final friendly pat on the head before lumbering away, mirror and all.
Ian, however, remained standing in place, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the half-giant's retreating figure.
What exactly is Dumbledore planning…?
His gaze flickered toward the small leather pouch fastened to Hagrid's belt. It wasn't large, but it seemed heavy.
Then,
"Clink."
A set of keys inside the pouch knocked together, the crisp sound ringing faintly through the corridor.
(End of Chapter)
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