The blue light of Fiendfyre illuminated the entire corridor. It was like a painting, as though the scene had frozen in that very instant.
Other than the crackling of Fiendfyre and the young wizard's faint breathing.
There was no other sound.
Snape's hand, gripping his wand, had been trembling the entire time.
On the way here, he had imagined countless possibilities. He had even prepared himself for the worst—that he might have to carry away Ian's cold corpse.
Who could have imagined that there would indeed be corpses, still warm at that, except they were all drifting through the air? The young wizard, whom he had thought would pay for his recklessness, did not even have a single scrap of clothing dirtied.
"Who taught you Fiendfyre?" After a long while, Snape lowered his wand. His expression was complicated. He sensed a strength in Ian that did not belong to a young wizard.
Stronger even than that person had been back then.
"Headmaster Dumbledore praised my Fiendfyre." Ian still did not betray his friend. He merely gave an irrelevant answer, finding himself a reason for "legally" possessing Fiendfyre.
"Were you expecting Dumbledore to give you an award, too?" Snape looked irritably at the ruby on the ground. Though Fiendfyre raged all around it, it had not touched the gem in the slightest.
That degree of control... sent a chill through him.
"A Special Contribution Award? I think that would be appropriate. The person you told me to watch nearly set the whole school on fire. If I hadn't arrived in time, he might have succeeded."
Ian looked toward Silly Barnabas's portrait.
"I can testify for him."
While using his head to catch the troll's club, Silly Barnabas gave Ian a thumbs up. "Once Dumbledore dies, you should take over as the