"Why do you want me to watch this person?" Ian almost made eye contact with the sneaky guy looking around, but fortunately, he quickly pounced on Snape, pretending to cry.
"Aflisson Carlo, a seventh-year student, is doing very well academically, about to graduate. Unfortunately, he’ll probably spend the rest of his life repenting in Azkaban," Snape snorted, pushing Ian away. It seemed he had a grasp of quite a bit of information, and it appeared that it was this Slytherin student who had unleashed the Fire Ash Snakes.
Totally unsurprising.
"The Divine Twenty-Eight Clans, huh."
Ian pouted.
"Keep an eye on him, and let me know what he’s up to." Snape continued to play dead.
"Can’t you give me some incentive!"
Ian grumbled.
"You’re protecting your school!" Snape responded irritably. Ian wanted to ask more questions, but Snape had no interest in continuing the conversation.
"Ugh, you’ve got me. Indeed, I’m good pals with Hogwarts, so of course, I’ll protect it." Ian crawled out from under the classroom table.
He jogged back to the crowded center of the hall.
"Ian, is Snape really dead? They say his head was chopped off!"
Some little wizards were inquiring about the Magic Potion Class professor’s condition. Clearly, Gryffindor students were tireless in spreading rumors about Snape, regardless of the circumstances.
"Probably not?"
Ian glanced in the direction where Snape was lying, and following Snape’s instructions, occasionally kept an eye on the seventh-year student Aflisson Carlo.
This guy seemed very tense, clenching his fists, not going out with other seniors to help the professors, just pacing back and forth in the hall, hesitating about something.
"Didn’t die even when his head was chopped off?"
The little wizards exclaimed continuously.
"....."
Ian almost couldn’t hold it in.
"Professor Snape’s Magic Potion class isn’t as good as yours, maybe you could become our new Potions professor," mused a little wizard who had once attended Ian’s tutoring class.
First year.
That’s the age of thinking outside the box.
"Stop it, Professor Snape really holds grudges; I call him ’Dear Uncle’ a few times and he’s ready to mess with me." Ian always kept a side eye on Slytherin.
Just at that moment.
He noticed Aflisson Carlo seemed to have made up his mind, sneakily heading towards the sealed side door, and with a spell resembling the Wall-Penetrating Technique, he passed through as if nothing was there.
"Pure-blood Clan truly has resources! That magic isn’t in the textbooks!" Ian quickly followed, having to use the Unlocking Spell to crawl out through the sealed window beside him.
There weren’t many Fire Ash Snakes outside.
It seemed they were mostly concentrated towards the main entrance of the hall.
"Where did he go!"
This wasn’t Ian’s question.
But Snape, who had been pretending to be dead for a while, tried to sneak a peek, only to see Ian squeezing out through the window.
Ian resealed the window.
"Damn it! You fool! I only told you to watch him!"
Snape bolted up in a mock deathbed leap!
A resurrection in place!
The hall erupted in cries of "Merlin above", amazed at this medical miracle.
"Snape turned into a ghost!"
There were other voices.
...
The corridor wound endlessly.
Apart from the occasionally appearing Fire Ash Snakes, there was no sign of other wizards. It seemed Aflisson Carlo had something that kept the snakes from noticing him.
He was heading briskly towards the stairs.
"Eighth floor?"
Ian hid in the shadow of the corner, watching Aflisson Carlo climb upward. From his choice of stairs, Ian guessed his target.
After a brief thought.
Ian turned and headed for another stairway. Along the way, as Fire Ash Snakes attacked, without an audience, Ian opted to practice his Skill Level in other spells.
"Sectemsempra!"
This was a spell full of potential. Ian thought it even more worthy of study than Avada, imagining if he could train to slash living souls, his ’Dear Uncle’ would surely make history.
"Damn it! It’s not in there! It’s really not in there!!"
Eighth floor.
When Ian managed to reach the corner.
Aflisson Carlo came out of the Room of Requirement in panic.
"Who is it! Who stole his thing! I have to find it! I have to find it for him, or else he’ll definitely kill me... he might even have my father do it himself!"
Aflisson Carlo stood anxiously at the doorway, pacing back and forth in fear, his hand clenching the wand trembling violently, his muttering voice filled with immense terror.
"Tell me! Who was here! Took away that damn junk!" Fear was breeding within him, and Aflisson Carlo could only cling to possible hope.
He pressed his wand against the painting of Silly Barnabas, attempting to get a definitive answer from the painting, an act of utterly desperate insanity.
"You must’ve seen it, you’ve been here all along, tell me, or I’ll burn you down with Fiery Fire!" It was unclear whether he was merely threatening Silly Barnabas or truly commanded such advanced magic.
"I’m just a painting."
Silly Barnabas was being relentlessly pummeled by the Giants.
"Go ahead, burn it, I’m already sick of this damn Giant, my true soul must have found one in the Netherworld who can perform such a graceful dance."