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No one wanted to be the last to flee. The latecomer might just find themselves immortalized in oil paint with Ian's cursed creation.
"A shame," Ian muttered, tucking away his masterpiece. Just as he turned to buff the wooden bench for Dumbledore, the office door creaked open.
Albus Dumbledore stepped inside, looking exhausted. Ian barely had time to register his expression before the Sorting Hat, which had been slumped lifelessly on a chair, sprang to life.
"Dumbledore! Finally! It's this one!" The hat practically vibrated with outrage. "This little menace has been running amok in your office, committing all manner of mischief! The portraits and I have suffered dreadfully!"
It was positively breathless with indignation.
"He hasn't done anything of the sort," One portrait huffed.
"Yes, perhaps the Sorting Hat is mistaken," Another added with amusement.
"Will it even survive another year?" Someone muttered.
Despite the Sorting Hat's best efforts to rally support, the former headmasters seemed disinclined to join its cause. Unlike the Hat, they had once been human, after all, with a modicum of sense.
The Sorting Hat, on the other hand, lacked such wisdom. It also, apparently, lacked the foresight to fear an enraged Ian returning to settle a grudge.
"That's enough of that," Dumbledore sighed, looking distracted as he seized the sopping-wet Sorting Hat and unceremoniously stuffed it into a cabinet.
Ian, however, had noticed something else, the back of Dumbledore's robes were stained with blood.
"Merlin's beard, Headmaster," Ian blurted, "Just what were you and our dear Defence Against the Dark Arts professor doing in the underground chamber?" His mind raced. He had a strong suspicion that Professor Ronnie Ehrlich had not fared well.
Dumbledore closed the cabinet and turned, his expression unreadable.
"Ronnie Ehrlich is still alive." His voice was calm, but Ian felt a shiver crawl down his spine.
"That," Dumbledore continued gravely, "Is precisely the problem. No matter how many times he dies, he returns. It appears he has achieved a state of unnatural immortality."
Ian suddenly felt very cold.
He could well imagine the two old wizards, locked in battle deep below the castle, testing every conceivable means of undoing Ronnie Ehrlich's twisted existence.
This truly was a most sinister affair.
"So, what does this mean?" Ian resisted the urge to let his imagination spiral out of control; what mattered most was whether the two extraordinary wizards had discovered anything useful.
"It means that he is not truly alive; his current 'existence' is an illusion." Albus Dumbledore stood before the cabinet, speaking plainly.
Without preamble, he explained to the young wizard, "Ronnie Ehrlich's memory ceased at the moment he received a letter from our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Of course, the letter itself was a forgery— but that detail is secondary. What matters is the exact moment his memory last stopped."
"At that point, Ronnie Ehrlich had neither been attacked nor being killed, yet it was then that he was drawn into Hogwarts' underground chamber."
Despite Dumbledore's explanation, Ian still felt as though he were grasping at smoke.
"But we saw his body."
Ian frowned. More than that, when he had first entered that strange underground chamber, there had been no sign of Ronnie Ehrlich lurking within.
Dumbledore nodded. "That's correct; the body we found was the real Ronnie Ehrlich."
His increasingly cryptic responses made Ian feel as if he were morphing into a Confunded Puffskein.
"Then what was the one in the underground chamber? A duplicate? A homunculus?" Ian stretched his imagination to its limits, struggling to connect the mystery of Ronnie Ehrlich with some form of arcane wizarding alchemy.
"It is a fragment of fate that has been severed," Dumbledore murmured. "It has neither past nor future; it neither lives nor truly dies. At the moment Ronnie Ehrlich read that letter, what was taken from him was not his body, but a portion of his fate itself." He let out a quiet sigh.
Dumbledore returned to his desk, setting out three cups and beginning to brew tea.
"So this is why he cannot leave the underground chamber?" Ian's eyes widened in dawning horror. "Because he isn't a real person? He only continues to exist under specific conditions?"
A cold shiver crept down Ian's spine. Dumbledore's words reminded him of the darkest wizarding tales, the kind where souls were siphoned away without anyone ever realizing it.
"I believe you must have examined his memories," Dumbledore continued. "What they reveal is the infinite branching of fate— of countless possibilities woven together and then collapsed into the Ronnie Ehrlich we now see."
It was clear that the old headmaster had scrutinized the unfortunate professor's mind and had noticed Ian's own magical signature within.
"Why did Salazar Slytherin do this? What was his aim?" Ian ruffled his hair in frustration, struggling to make sense of the ancient founder's motives.
"Perhaps it was to showcase his mastery over magic," Dumbledore mused. "After all, he walked closer to the divine than most dare. Or perhaps this was merely another experiment, one in which we are all unwitting participants."
"At least, that is the theory of our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
He smiled faintly. "But I hold enough reverence for our founder to believe there may be another reason. Perhaps this was his way of imparting knowledge to you."
There was a note of uncertainty in his voice.
Even the greatest wizard of the age was not omniscient.
"But what does Ronnie Ehrlich's situation have to do with me?" Ian murmured, raising his hand to examine the rune upon his skin.
The mark of the Ouroboros shimmered faintly, pulsing as though it were breathing.
"No, your experience is inextricably linked to his; or rather, it is precisely because of Ronnie Ehrlich's existence that you and I are able to converse here at this very moment."
Albus Dumbledore strode toward the washbasin, turned on the tap, and rinsed his face, then used a quiet incantation to cleanse the bloodstains from the back of his robes.
"Ian, can you tell me what you did after witnessing my argument with Aberforth?" Dumbledore's sudden question made Ian shift uncomfortably.
It was an awkward sort of feeling, like being caught sneaking a pumpkin pasty from the Hogwarts Express trolley without paying.
"I saw the Weasley twins and Peeves causing a ruckus, and then Professor Snape found me and put me to work as a cleaner."
"Because of Professor Snape's sheer pettiness, I inadvertently stumbled into that underground chamber, and when I finally left, I found this mark on my hand."
"At the time, I didn't think much of it and went back to cleaning the bathrooms. It wasn't until morning that our Ravenclaw common room door knocker told me that this was something connected to Slytherin."
"It said I had been 'chosen' by Slytherin and also mentioned that Slytherin had been researching some rather deep and obscure magic." Ian recounted his experience in full detail.
Of course, he took certain liberties in his telling, but none that altered the core of what had happened.
"An accidental discovery?"
Dumbledore wiped his face with a towel and turned to Ian with a knowing look, but he did not press the matter further.
"I shall speak to your door-knocker to understand the situation more clearly. However, it was not mistaken; this is indeed a profound form of magic, one that we wizards ought not to meddle with lightly."
There was a wistful note in Dumbledore's voice.
"I assume you aren't just referring to time loops?" Ian noted how the old headmaster was smoothing his hair, an unusual gesture, as though he wanted to compose himself.
"Indeed, Mr. Prince, a very astute observation." Dumbledore returned to his desk, settled himself in his chair, and placed his half-moon spectacles back onto his nose.
"As I mentioned earlier, our meeting at this moment is something that should not have happened. This, too, is but a possibility of fate."
Dumbledore's voice was measured, yet it carried undeniable weight.
He did not speak loudly. But his words sent ripples through Ian's mind, each one deepening his sense of unease.
(To Be Continued…)