He couldn't tell if Ron was just spouting nonsense or if there was actually some truth to it. In Riddle's memories, there had been no mention of Harry frequently visiting the Forbidden Forest. That in itself was strange.
After all, as the master of Riddle's memories, Ian had access to everything the Dark Lord had ever known. Yet, even in the deepest corners of that mind, there was no trace of Riddle ever making regular trips to the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't possible that Riddle had erased his own memories after each visit. Back then, in his arrogant, all-knowing state, there was no way he could have foreseen his future downfall and taken such precautions.
"…Interesting." Ian's expression tightened with thought.
And not far away,
"The Forbidden Forest!?" Neville's face turned an even sicker pale, as if he'd just stumbled out of a dungeon. He lowered his head, staring timidly at his shoes. "My grandmother said that the Forbidden Forest at night… eats people." His voice was a thin, panicked tremor.
"That's just something adults say to scare kids. My two older brothers go into the Forbidden Forest all the time, and they've never come back missing an arm or a leg." Ron appealed to his imaginary authority figures again. He slapped Neville on the shoulder with a great, reassuring thump that nearly sent the boy stumbling. Neville's knees were clearly weak from fright.
"Besides, we've got Hermione! She can even recite Where Magical Creatures Are backward." Ron's attempt at comfort was wildly abstract, to say the least.
Hermione just stared, rubbing her temple. "I do know how to deal with some dangerous magical creatures," she said, her voice strained, "but I've never actually done it before, all right?" At least she had a clear grasp of her own terrifying limitations.
However, "Then this is the perfect opportunity for practice, Hermione! It's time to show your true talent!" Ron went full motivational speaker. His confidence in Hermione was boundless, perhaps because he'd never met anyone who studied harder. Not even his Prefect older brothers, in his eyes, could match her devotion to learning.
"Investigating the Forbidden Forest, we're bound to make a huge discovery!" Ron's voice held the kind of reckless enthusiasm only he could summon. Neville didn't argue. He just sighed and nodded hesitantly. Though worry and fear filled his round face, loyalty to his friends won out in the end.
Yes, Neville Longbottom was a loyal friend. It was just unfortunate that his face was now almost chalk white. "Are we really going to the Forbidden Forest now?"
Hermione, who had been strongly against the idea moments ago, didn't protest this time. Clearly, her Gryffindor DNA had been fully activated. When she saw Ron already taking the first steps forward, she followed suit.
Hermione's legs weren't long, and her robes fluttered as she hurried. Neville, though terrified, clenched his teeth and followed too, his heavy footsteps echoing through the corridor. The chubby boy, it turned out, could actually move quite fast when panic demanded it.
"I still think we should prepare and do some research first!" Hermione called back, still clinging to a thread of caution, but not nearly enough to stop her from running toward the Forbidden Forest.
The Trio. No matter which version you looked at, they always managed to be unbelievably, recklessly brave. Of course, they were still children, after all. Children rarely had a clear sense of mortal danger. They really were just kids.
And yet, the three of them had already made up their minds. They dashed toward the staircase like a gust of wind, completely missing the figure standing right there. Yes, they ran right past Ian. None of them noticed the upper-year student, who wasn't even trying to hide. Not even Hermione, the girl who always admired Ian, saw him. Their focus was clearly, utterly fixed on the Forbidden Forest.
"Some 'fan' you are," Ian muttered helplessly. "I must have met the blind trio of Hogwarts." He was literally standing right under a torchlight. Shouldn't he be perfectly visible? "Unbelievable."
Ian stepped up the stairs, glancing toward the large doors where the trio had already slipped outside after using a hurried Alohomora. Then he turned to look at the portraits along the walls, ancient wizards and witches frozen in paint.
"Has my presence really gotten this weak?" he asked the silent figures dryly.
But before the smiling lady portrait could respond, the old portrait of a Gryffindor founder, one Ian had always thought incapable of speech, slowly stroked his long silver beard. A sly glint flickered in his eye, and for the first time ever, that ancient painting showed a genuine spark of life.
"So these are the students of Gryffindor House, huh." Good grief. Three blind students, and in the eyes of this portrait, they'd somehow become worthy successors he could speak of with proud reverence? What kind of mental state did it take to utter something like that? Did he seriously think this whole reckless situation proved their love for adventure?
"You can talk!?" Ian was startled. "So all that time you kept quiet, it was just to hide the fact that you're a bit insane!" He couldn't stop himself from quipping.
The elderly Gryffindor portrait didn't seem the least bit offended by the young wizard's sarcasm. Instead, his gaze turned toward the great castle doors.
"My juniors," he said, "once they set their sights on a goal, they charge forward without hesitation. Their eyes see only the road ahead; nothing else can easily catch their attention." Of course, he really did think this was proof of their "adventurous spirit."
Ian's face went blank, a series of invisible question marks practically written across his forehead. He truly didn't know how to respond to that. At this point, he was convinced the portrait's long silence all these years had been a mercy to everyone, because clearly, the old painting was not mentally sound.
Just then, the ancient Gryffindor portrait spoke again. "Perhaps you should follow them," it said, a trace of deep meaning flickering in its wise old eyes. "Isn't that part of your duty?"
Naturally, as one of Hogwarts' four founders, the portrait could recognize that Ian carried Hogwarts' mark of acknowledgment.
Ian, however, rolled his eyes, utterly unimpressed by the supposed wisdom. Well, he'd have to save Hermione anyway; he had collected protection fees from her before, after all. As for Neville, the chubby boy who liked him quite a bit, he'd save him, too. And Ron? He could throw him in for free.
"After all," Ian mused inwardly, "if you trace the family line back to King Arthur and round up a little, I technically count as an ancestor of the Weasley family." Outwardly, he wore a look of casual indifference.
"I could follow them," he said lazily, "but in return, you'll have to find that younger portrait, the one that's always hiding and never shows itself."
Yes, this little bit of acting was all part of Ian's plan. He was bargaining, demanding compensation. That mysterious, young Gryffindor portrait that had appeared once and then vanished, he hadn't forgotten about it. What could he say? Some people were just naturally good at holding grudges.
(End of Chapter)
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