HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Ian remained expressionless: "The academy is large, Principal. Some people care about honor, some are focused on their studies, some... are enthusiastic about socializing; the atmosphere is always diverse."

"A very accurate observation." Dumbledore's eyes held a knowing insight. "Diversity, but not always harmony. Different voices, different choices, under one roof, can sometimes become...noisy."

"It's relatively quiet for now," Ian said.

"Quiet is a good thing," Dumbledore smiled, "but sobriety is even better. In many cases, it takes more wisdom and courage than to blindly follow the crowd to see the room you are in."

He paused, his tone still calm but carrying a weight, "I appointed you prefect, Ian, precisely because I believe you possess that clarity. Slytherin needs clear voices, especially... when certain tendencies begin to emerge."

"The prefect's badge is sometimes a responsibility, sometimes a shield, and sometimes a reminder of one's stance, both for oneself and for others."

Ian paused for a moment, then looked directly into the principal's eyes without looking away. "I understand, Principal."

"Very good." Dumbledore seemed satisfied. He gave the potted Mibumibo one last look. "I think it needs to be moved. Well then, I won't disturb your enjoyment of the snowy day. Oh, by the way, the new Honeydukes peppermint hard candies are quite good; they're perfect for a pick-me-up. Goodbye, gentlemen."

He carried the small plant and walked briskly down the spiral staircase, the long purple star-patterned robe quickly disappearing around the corner.

Severus stood silently beside Ian until Dumbledore's footsteps had completely disappeared, then spoke in a low voice: "He's reminding you."

"It's also a reminder to you." Ian looked towards the stairs, his gaze heavy. "He knows everything."

"He always knew."

“But he won’t interfere too much,” Ian turned around and continued walking slowly down the corridor. “At least not on the surface. Being a prefect is a student position, an internal affair of the college. He gave me a position, a position where I could legitimately observe and even voice dissenting opinions at times. But that’s all.”

"That's enough," Severus said.

"Yeah, that's enough." Ian exhaled a puff of white breath, watching it dissipate in the cold air. "Let's go back. I'm a little hungry. Maybe Kevin got some food from the house-elves."

When they returned to their dorm room, Kevin and Aris were drying their soaked socks and gloves by the fireplace, the air filled with the faint smell of burnt wool and warmth.

Upon seeing them, Kevin immediately held up a bag soaked in snow: "Look! These are fresh cookies we got from the kitchen elves, they smell even better than yesterday's!"

"You traded it for your wet textbooks?" Aris asked ruthlessly, turning his gloves over to dry as he did so.

"That's a 'Chronology of Major Events in the History of Magic' that I've already memorized! And they seem really happy to have something to read!" Kevin said confidently, handing out cookies to everyone.

Aris took the biscuit and was about to say something.

Suddenly, a soft "poof" sound came from the fireplace, and a small cluster of green flames shot up, spitting out a rolled-up piece of parchment that landed on the rug in front of the fireplace, its edges stained with ash.

Everyone was stunned for a moment.

At this time, who would send a message to their dormitory via the Filo network?

Ian picked up the parchment and unfolded it.

Ian:

When it's convenient, please come alone to the empty classroom next to the hunchbacked witch statue on the eighth floor. No need to reply.

There's something important to discuss.

—— RAB

There is no date, but the abbreviation "RAB" is clear enough.

After Ian finished reading the note, he handed it to Severus.

Severus glanced at the few lines of text, his brow furrowing slightly, before placing the note on the low table between the two men.

Kevin peeked over curiously: "Who is it?"

He recognized the abbreviation and lowered his voice, "RAB... Regulus Black? What does he want with you?"

Aris continued adjusting his gloves, seemingly oblivious to the note, and simply said, "The Black family's internal communication methods are always meticulous. Using Floo notes instead of owls means he doesn't want to leave any physical traces that could be intercepted, and he's in a hurry."

Severus looked at Ian, his dark eyes devoid of emotion, but Ian understood what he didn't say: danger, or trouble.

"I don't know." Ian rolled the note up again, lit a small blue flame at his fingertips, burned it to a pinch of ash, and sprinkled it into the fireplace. "But we'll only know when we get there."

"Now?" Severus asked.

"Hmm." Ian stood up, brushing off non-existent biscuit crumbs from his robes. "He said it was convenient, and now it is."

Severus also stood up.

"He said alone," Ian reminded him, his tone casual.

Severus met his gaze for two seconds, then looked away, sat back down on the stool, picked up the book he had been reading, but his knuckles were turning white as he pressed them against the pages. "Don't stay too long."

"As much as possible."

Ian put on his coat, nodded to Kevin and Aris, and left the dormitory, gently closing the door behind him.

The corridor was much colder than the interior, and the torches on the walls cast a dim light.

Ian strode toward the stairs leading to the eighth floor, his mind racing through Regulus's recent behavior; nothing seemed amiss.

The hunchbacked witch statue is at the end of a secluded corridor, next to an empty classroom that is always filled with abandoned desks and chairs and is rarely visited.

When Ian pushed open the door, there was only one candle lit inside, making the room dimly lit.

Regulus stood with his back to the door, looking out at the dark night and the falling snow.

He turned around when he heard the door open.

He looked worse than during the last patrol.

The formal robes that should have fit him were loose on him; his cheeks were sunken, there were large, heavy shadows under his eyes, and his lips were almost bloodless.

His eyes were filled with exhaustion, struggle, and a hint of desperate urgency.

"You've come." Regulus's voice was a little hoarse.

"Hmm." Ian closed the door, shutting out the sounds from the hallway. "What's the rush?"

Regulus didn't answer immediately. He walked to a dusty table in the center of the classroom, his fingers unconsciously tracing the surface. "Christmas holidays... I went home."

Ian leaned against the edge of the opposite table, waiting.

"I saw him." Regulus's voice was low, as if afraid of being overheard. "It wasn't a formal occasion, it was... at a gathering. My mother insisted that I go, and Lucius was there too."

He paused for a long time, "The things they talked about... some plans, ways of dealing with the Mudbloods and the disloyal... and power, the pursuit of a stronger, more ancient power."

He looked up at Ian, a clear fear appearing in his grey eyes for the first time. "It's not what I imagined, Burke, completely different. It's not honor, it's... it's..."

He couldn't explain what it was; those things were different from the family honor he sought.

Ian listened quietly, showing no surprise and without interrupting.

“I tried to talk to my mother,” Regulus said, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to control it, “I said maybe we could do it in a more… gentler way. She looked at me like a stranger. She said I was weak, that I didn’t deserve the Black name, that my brother’s betrayal had already disgraced the family, and that I couldn’t let her down any further.”

He forced a smile, a smile more like a grimace. "My father didn't say anything. He just sat there, looking at the fireplace."