There was no venom in Flamel's tone, but he made no attempt to hide his distrust.
And who could blame him?
Snape's past was a ledger of dark deeds. For anyone else, his redemption might have seemed unbelievable.
Ian sighed inwardly. It reminded him of the kind of tale where someone claimed a Banshee had taken up harp lessons, you'd want to believe it, but you'd never be quite sure she wouldn't scream again.
"I'll try to find that diary." Ian shifted the subject, sensing Flamel wasn't ready to let go of his suspicions.
The old alchemist opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, "The patient needs quiet!" Madam Pomfrey's voice rang sharply through the hospital wing as she marched in, lips pursed and hands on hips.
"I've already allowed one guest past visiting hours. Mr. Prince, your time is up."
She was clearly unimpressed, despite the traces of cream still at the corner of her mouth, a not-so-subtle sign that she'd indulged in the dessert Ian had brought earlier.
Her brusque tone left no room for argument.
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey. I'll be off." Ian gave a small bow, then turned to Flamel. "Please be careful tonight. If that soul manages to take control, Harry might not be Harry anymore. Try reaching Dumbledore again; he has to know."
His warning wasn't overdramatic; it was rooted in what he'd already witnessed.
After all, how else could the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets have been devoured entirely, leaving behind only dried skin and bones?
Only a monster stronger than the monster itself.
"Don't worry. I'm not ready to die just yet." Flamel gave a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll keep trying to reach Albus. In the meantime, you should focus on that diary. If it's still within the castle, it needs to be found before someone else opens it again."
Ian nodded.
This burden wasn't small, but he didn't hesitate.
After all, for all his youth, Nick Flamel knew very well that Ian's magical ability, especially in areas concerning the dark and the arcane, rivalled that of most Heads of House.
And in alchemy, he was nothing short of prodigious.
"No problem." Ian flashed a smile and made an "OK" gesture with his hand.
Under Madam Pomfrey's firm insistence, Ian left the hospital wing. The corridor outside remained quiet and still. As he wandered through the castle's stone halls, the moonlight beyond the tall windows was swallowed by gathering clouds, and a low, distant roar echoed from the Forbidden Forest, ominous, like a beast awakening in the dark.
Thud, thud, thud...
Just as Ian was preparing to begin a stealthy sweep of the castle, intending to pass invisibly through every House and dormitory, a faint set of hurried footsteps caught his attention.
He halted and listened.
They grew louder, approaching, before suddenly stopping again. A figure darted past the far corridor junction, vanishing in an instant.
Whoever it was, they were avoiding him.
"Who's there?"
The figure had moved too quickly for a clear view, but Ian's sharp eyes had caught a glimpse of a robe's hem, dark green, unmistakably Slytherin.
"Tom?"
Ian's hand went to his wand as he broke into pursuit, cloak billowing behind him.
As he rounded the corner, he glimpsed the Slytherin robe again, headed straight for the abandoned second-floor girls' lavatory. The moment the figure sensed pursuit, they took off at a run.
The air was thick with secrecy and guilt.
"Hey, elder brother, wait for me!" Ian called mockingly.
Green light crackled softly at the tip of his wand, ready to unleash lethal force at a moment's notice.
He reached the lavatory door moments later but didn't push it open. Instead, he pressed himself to the wall beside it and whispered a charm that let him pass through the stone like mist, slipping inside with the element of surprise.
But the washroom was eerily empty.
Only the sound of a dripping tap echoed off the cracked tiles. A faint trail of wet footprints led to the broken entrance of the secret passage.
"This is no accident. It's bait."
Speaking Parseltongue, Ian whispered the words to open the way to the Chamber of Secrets. The entrance ground open with the hiss of shifting stone, revealing the remnants of the once-hollow pipe.
Signs of disruption marred the collapsed passage, clearly someone had forced it open.
Wand held aloft, Ian summoned a soft blue glow from its tip and transfigured into a ghostly white mist, gliding swiftly down the treacherous shaft.
When he reformed at the base of the Chamber, he landed silently on his feet.
Some of the fallen rubble had been cleared. Ian moved forward, wand raised.
A strange energy hung thick in the air. The shadows seemed to twitch against the chamber walls.
Without turning, Ian flicked his wand and conjured Fiendfyre, the flames burst forth, writhing like serpents, devouring stone and smoke alike.
Shrieking spirits formed within the fire, only to be consumed moments later.
Even the largest of the boulders cracked and sizzled under the cursed fire's assault.
"So… you really are trying to stop me, then?" A voice rang out, bitter and annoyed.
The firelight flickered across the chamber floor, revealing a space that had been freshly cleared. In the centre, ankle-deep water glowed faintly green, casting sickly light on the unconscious form of a girl, her skin pale as marble.
Pansy Parkinson.
Ian recognised her immediately, the same girl who had sat at the Slytherin table that afternoon. Her robes were drenched. She lay still, clutching a broken wand, barely visible beneath the water.
Beside her crouched a boy in Slytherin robes, his back to Ian, furiously etching glowing runes into the floor. His work didn't pause with Ian's arrival; on the contrary, it quickened.
"Blast it! Just a little more!" the boy muttered, wand tracing the last lines of a complex magical array.
"You were going to use her to complete the ritual?" Ian's tone dripped with scorn. "Tsk. So you're the teenage Riddle I've been looking for."
He didn't hesitate.
"Forbidden spells, End!"
Ian whipped his wand forward. Instead of stabbing it into the ground, he used a refined variation of Finite Incantatem, one he had personally improved.
The magic surged outward in a violent, invisible shockwave.
It tore through the chamber like a cyclone, obliterating the magic circle and sweeping away every sigil, symbol, and line of energy.
It was as though a divine hand had reached down and crushed all of Riddle's work.
As the markings disappeared, so too did the heavy darkness that had hung in the air.
"No! You can't do this to me!" the boy in green shrieked.
He punched the floor. Water splashed high, soaking his hair and robes.
"This is for my basilisk," Ian said coldly, raising his wand. Green light shimmered at the tip, the beginning of an Avada Kedavra.
But the other boy didn't flinch.
"Fool! Utter fool!" he bellowed.
He rose to his feet, dripping wet, fists clenched.
"You're aiming your wand at the wrong person! I didn't kill the basilisk, it was another traitor, just like me! I was framed!"
He threw his tools aside and reached for the holly wand tucked into his belt, eyes blazing with fury.
Then he turned fully to face Ian.
And Ian froze.
His pupils shrank as though struck by a jolt of lightning.
The boy's soaked fringe parted, revealing his face, and the unmistakable lightning bolt scar.
(End of this chapter)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395