The Auror Director did not understand what the young wizard was talking about.
"Your problem?"
he asked.
Ian did not answer. He turned and continued walking out of the ruins.
Shacklebolt followed him. "At least tell us who you are."
Ian neither stopped nor looked back. His voice came from ahead, calm and clear. "Ian Prince. A student of Hogwarts."
Shacklebolt froze. A Hogwarts student? A twelve- or thirteen-year-old Hogwarts student, alone, had reduced that stitched monster—the thing that had left all of Azkaban helpless—to ashes? He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, only to realize he had no idea what to say. Flitwick walked over and stood beside Shacklebolt, likewise watching the boy's retreating figure. He was small in stature, but his back was ramrod straight, and complicated emotions churned in his large eyes.
"He really is a Hogwarts student," Flitwick said, his voice hoarse but calm. "At least, that's what he says."
Shacklebolt turned to look at him. "You know him?"
Flitwick shook his head. "No. But I've seen him—once, in Dumbledore's office. It was brief. Dumbledore didn't introduce him, only said he was a 'special' student."
Shacklebolt fell silent for several seconds. Special—coming from Dumbledore, that word carried far too many meanings. Special could mean anything: especially clever, especially gifted, especially dangerous, especially important. Special could also mean—not an ordinary person.
"He said just now that he came to solve his own problem," Shacklebolt said quietly. "What do you think his problem is?" Flitwick did not answer. He did not know, and he did not want to know. Some things were better left unknown.
In the distance, Ian stopped. He stood at the edge of the ruins, facing the sea with his back to everyone. The sea wind stirred his robes and tousled his black hair.