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"That's correct; I was quite old at the time." Professor Binns confirmed the tale without a trace of hesitation, entirely unbothered by recounting his own death.
However…
The older students had neglected to tell Ian something important.
"Speaking of that, it is actually a matter of historical interest; perhaps I should explain in greater detail…" Professor Binns suddenly became animated, cutting the break short.
At last, Ian succumbed, slipping into a deep sleep, dreaming peacefully. When William finally nudged him awake, Michael was once again raising his large, ink-stained hand.
Still, he failed to land a solid blow, much to his disappointment.
"Time for dinner."
The three of them yawned as they made their way to the Great Hall. The evening feast was as extravagant as always, though the selection remained largely the same; at this early stage in the term, however, it had yet to grow tiresome.
"So, what about the letter of introduction?"
William had been preoccupied with the idea of joining the club, and throughout dinner, he kept piling Ian's plate with the best dishes.
He is as enthusiastic as ever.
Even the quick-handed Michael couldn't snatch anything before him.
"I'll write it when we get back!"
Ian handed his History of Magic homework to William, who took it without a word, slipping it into his bag as if it were second nature.
This child had potential.
"Heavens, Prince, I heard you killed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"
"I heard Professor Snape was taken out as well!"
"That's brilliant— what's next? A first-year single-handedly dueling the Dark Lord? I've read ridiculous tales before, but even those wouldn't stretch the truth this far! Bet you anything this is another wild Gryffindor exaggeration!"
…
Back in the common room, the Ravenclaw students had already caught wind of the morning's rumors, but naturally, no one here was foolish enough to believe them. Most dismissed it as just another overblown story spun by certain dramatists.
Thankfully, Gryffindor's usual flair for theatrics had worked in Ian's favor.
At least he wasn't being ostracized or treated like a dangerous anomaly. The support from the two Prefects had likely played a significant role in that as well.
As the fire crackled in the hearth, Ian— just as he had promised the night before— resumed his little study session. Perhaps the invigorating standard boil potion had worked, as even a few second-year students decided to join in tonight.
"Today, we won't be discussing potions. Once I gather the right materials, we'll have a proper practical lesson. For now, I'll share some useful Transfiguration techniques."
Switching the focus of the lesson,
Some students hesitated, debating whether to stay.
Others, intrigued, leaned in to listen.
Ian watched them carefully but he made no comments.
After collecting his 'tuition' from the eager young wizards, he launched into a vivid and engaging explanation. Time slipped by, and, just like the night before, he was met with grateful murmurs and admiring gazes from his classmates.
When he finally returned to the dormitory and finished washing up,
Ian found William sitting by his bed, silently staring at him with pleading eyes. It took him only a moment to understand before he quickly scribbled out the recommendation letter.
Then, he studied for a while.
Once both his roommates had drifted into deep sleep, Ian reached into his trunk, pulling out the box he had retrieved from the Room of Requirement. Alongside it, he took out the two boxes of Chocolate Frogs he had received over the past two days and tucked them under his blanket.
Even though he had napped in the afternoon, sleep came easily to Ian.
Before long, he slipped back into that peculiar, shadowed place between dreams and reality.
The night deepened.
And some stories were still unfolding.
…
The pale winter sun hung low in the sky.
Desolate. Silent.
As if all life had long since vanished.
'Rustle, Rustle, Rustle~'
Black waves crashed against the empty shore, the gray sand darkening and lightening with each retreating tide. Ian opened his eyes upon an island that seemed forgotten by time itself.
"Brilliant! A new map!"
As far as the eye could see, an endless expanse of ink-dark water stretched before him, shimmering ominously beneath the cold morning light— like the surface of an abyss flickering in and out of existence.
The tide churned against the shore, each wave cresting with a low, eerie hum, churning up thick layers of black foam before swallowing them back into the depths.
Not a bird chirped. Not a single gull circled the sky. The sea was neither blue nor green but unfathomably black, like spilled ink soaking into the world itself.
Clearly, this was not Ariana's cozy village, nor was it Professor Mara's gloomy castle. This was an entirely new part of the Twilight Realm— one Ian had never set foot in before.
It was mysterious and unsettling.
'Who was imprisoned here? And why did the air feel thick with something unseen yet oppressive?'
"Professor Mara said the Twilight Realm responds to my desires, but I wasn't looking for anything new today. All I wanted was to take noseless Riddle home."
Tucking a small box under his arm and gripping two boxes of Chocolate Frogs, Ian surveyed the bleak island. Not far off stood a lone wooden cabin, its silhouette stark against the dreary backdrop.
"Could it be that, because I brought a piece of Riddle's Horcrux, the Twilight Realm led me straight to his personal oubliette?" Ian mused, making his way toward the cabin.
The structure of the cabin was crudely built, its logs weathered and worn by the passage of time. Dried vines draped over the small windows, obscuring whatever lay within.
A forsaken island… or Riddle's personal purgatory?
"Makes sense. Here, he'd have no one to gloat to— no admirers, no audience. Not even an ant to terrorize. If this were truly his prison, he'd go mad. Even his beloved 'Avada Kedavra' would be useless here, unless he fancied trying it on himself."
Ian reached for the door, eager to glimpse inside.
And then, quite suddenly—
"Huh?"
The moment he raised his hand, the space around him warped. His vision twisted.
The cabin door… receded.
Though Ian was standing right before it, the distance between his outstretched fingers and the door stretched impossibly far, as if the space itself was unraveling like a moving tapestry.
It was like peering into a distorted mirror, a shifting kaleidoscope of reality.
The dizziness was almost unbearable.
Yet, the moment he lowered his hand—
Everything returned to normal.
The cabin stood precisely where it had before. The island remained eerily silent.
"Weird. I didn't even blink, but it felt like the scene… skipped." Ian muttered. He tried again. And again. But each time, the same thing happened— the door danced just out of reach.
Frustrated, he threw caution to the wind and lunged forward.
'Splat!'
And splashed face-first into the damp, gray-brown soil. The musty scent of the earth filled his nostrils.
"Ugh— pah!"
Spitting out the sand from his mouth, Ian lifted his head.
The cabin was still there. But… had it 'moved'?
"What, am I locked out because I'm not Tom Riddle?" Ian groaned, flopping onto the ground in defeat.
This trip might just end with him waiting here until the Realm spat him back out. The ink-dark sea was far too ominous to consider a swim— otherwise, he might have tried.
(To Be Continued…)