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Riddle's worldview was something he could not accept.
Truth be told, Ian seldom spoke such lofty truths to others. Yet, Riddle did not seem to take his words to heart. Only Ian's "silver authority" constrained him from further retort.
When his gaze passed over the duke and duchess, however, his contempt for commoners lingered, though he hid it more carefully out of regard for their noble status.
"A rotten tree cannot be carved." Ian sighed in judgment.
The banquet continued. Though the duke and duchess's expressions remained somewhat stiff, at least the conversation had shifted to lighter topics.
Ian did much to ease the earlier tension by occasionally showing interest in the culture and customs of this era.
Of course.
His kind of "otherworldly curiosity," as if he were untouched by mundane fireworks, caused the duke and duchess to exchange a glance. They inevitably filled in their own ideas about Ian's background.
Perhaps, in their eyes, Ian had only recently awakened from a long slumber and returned to the mortal world. That would explain why he found such commonplace things in this era so curious.
The smarter people are, the more they tend to overthink. By the end of the banquet, the Duke and Duchess had likely spun enough stories in their heads to fill an entire novel.
Their increasingly polite and restrained manner made it easy to guess as much. The conclusion of the banquet was nothing short of a relief for the couple.
Ian felt much the same.
"I'll go check on Malfoy. Do you want to come along?" Ian noticed that a musician was stepping up to perform and used it as a convenient excuse to leave the Great Hall.
"Of course. I'm quite interested in his recovery as well." Riddle elegantly dabbed at the corner of his mouth, rose, and courteously bowed to the Duke and Duchess.
The two left the feast one after the other and walked down the castle's corridors toward Malfoy's chamber. Ancient oil paintings lined the walls on either side, and candlelight cast wavering shadows on the stone.
"The meal tonight wasn't bad," Ian remarked lightly, his steps relaxed and unhurried. Riddle followed behind him, his gaze deep and contemplative as if lost in thought.
When they pushed open the door, Malfoy was lying in bed looking much better. His breathing was steady, and the soul once "tainted" by Herpo was healing.
Clearly, Riddle's medical skill was impressive. After all, someone who delved into biochemistry and bloodline fusion would naturally be well-versed in healing injuries of this sort.
Ian could have done the same; he could have saved Malfoy. He simply considered it too wasteful to use his own resources, deciding it was better to let Hogwarts' matron handle it later.
Madam Pomfrey excelled at treating such tricky cases. Most importantly, she would use the school's resources, not Ian's treasured ingredients.
He had no intention of depleting his precious supplies on a classmate he barely knew, especially since the Malfoys hadn't contributed much. Crossing time itself to save Malfoy had already made Ian something of a model senior.
"Your potion skills are quite impressive," Ian praised without hesitation. He stepped to the bedside, glanced at Malfoy, and then lifted his head to Riddle. His expression turned thoughtful.
Whenever Ian had brewed potions at Hogwarts, he had always lacked a capable assistant. Riddle seemed like the perfect fit: skilled, professional, and talented.
Voldemort's natural aptitude for matters of power was undeniable. He was a potential master-level assistant in the making.
But keeping the Dark Lord at his side long term? Ian wasn't exactly keen on that.
"Perhaps I could turn Riddle into a Dementor. Then I'd have two Dementor assistants, and I'd avoid any moral or legal backlash!"
Ian's mind stirred restlessly.
Sometimes, even he had to admire just how brilliant his ideas were.
This was true world-shaking genius!
"I may not care for praise, but my Potions grades have always been exceptional." Riddle, unaware of Ian's thoughts, lacked the intuition to sense them. He simply smiled as he spoke, then stepped to the bedside and drew a vial of potion from his robes.
Supporting Malfoy's head with one hand, he slowly poured the potion into his mouth. Malfoy required carefully prepared brews at intervals to aid his recovery.
"You weren't caught stealing potion ingredients, were you?" Ian asked casually, leaning against the doorframe. Ian still remembered that Riddle had gathered many of these potions by "helping himself" to the supplies within the castle.
"I've never once been caught," Riddle replied evasively. Clearly, he'd done his fair share of stealing. Growing up in an orphanage, he couldn't afford the expensive ingredients necessary for practice or research.
Ian arched a brow. "Thievery doesn't suit your pride."
"Resources are limited. One must find a way," Riddle said coolly. After finishing the dose, he gently eased Malfoy back onto the bed and turned toward Ian.
"To be honest, I'm really curious. Who are you, truly?" His gaze flickered, and his voice carried a cautious weight as though he had mulled over the question for a long time before daring to ask it.
"Haven't you already investigated enough at Hogwarts?" Ian asked with a faint smirk and a mild tone. He hadn't forgotten Riddle's schemes against him at school.
"Only scraps of knowledge," Riddle said with a self-mocking laugh. "I'd wager even Dumbledore himself doesn't know your true nature. Your dark magic...every spell is like a thorn driven into that old man's nerves. Compared to you, the things I've studied might be considered tame."
He truly believed it; his tone was tinged with awe.
"Heh. Do I really weigh as heavily in Dumbledore's mind as you do? Besides, I never studied Horcruxes. They are the real dark magic."
Any other magic only becomes evil in the hands of the unworthy. If you use magic for the right purpose, even Avada Kedavra can be just."
Look at me. I used Avada to destroy your Horcruxes. Who wouldn't call me the very embodiment of justice? The noble Ian?" Ian retorted with perfect self-assurance.
"..."
Riddle was left speechless.
Yet, he couldn't refute Ian's twisted logic.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
After a moment of silence, he sighed. "That's because you lack a fear of death. Before, I didn't know why, but now I think I understand.
"Teaching Morgan magic and naming King Arthur himself... In their eyes, perhaps you are the true legend." Riddle's gaze on Ian was complicated and unreadable.
Upon hearing this, Ian nodded slightly. "Thanks for the compliment. But don't expect me to warm up to you because of it. At Hogwarts, you're the Dark Lord that everyone wants a piece of."
"I've always been sociable. Ask any other student, and you'll see."
Ian didn't glow under the flattery; he only grew more guarded against Riddle's honeyed tongue.
He was convinced the Dark Lord had already sniffed out his weakness.
"..."
Riddle could only shake his head in silence again, offering no further reply.
He turned and walked to the other side of the room. He set a cauldron over the fire and began to refine a new batch of potions. Ian glanced at him, then decided to leave the soon-to-be stinking chamber.
Out in the corridor, Ian's footsteps slowly receded into the stillness.
The castle night was hushed and profound, moonlight streaming through the high windows and scattering mottled shadows across the stone steps. Ian descended the staircase at an unhurried pace, heading toward his chambers.
Meanwhile,
"The Black Scripture... Medivh... doesn't know Horcruxes? Hah! What a pitiful lie." Riddle stirred the potion while staring in the direction Ian had gone.
His voice was a low murmur.
Tonight, the young Dark Lord had gathered new information about the young wizard.
As for Medivh, he was clearly no stranger to the name.
(End of chapter.)