"Are you alright, Professor Quirrell?"
Snape's hand suddenly rested on Quirrell's shoulder from behind, startling Quirrell so much that he couldn't help but shiver. He quickly turned to look at the black bat behind him.
"Perhaps... perhaps I didn't... didn't sleep well last night."
The guilty Professor of Muggle Studies couldn't help but stutter; it wasn't a disguise, but genuinely almost scared out of his wits when Snape startled him as he thought of Voldemort.
"If you can't sleep at night, I suggest you patrol the corridors more... there are rats in the school." Snape said in a low voice, watching Quirrell's slightly sweaty face.
He paused for a long time before continuing in a slow and deliberate manner, "I lost quite a few things last night, and I have no idea which rat took them without notice."
Snape's gaze made Quirrell very nervous.
"I... I'm not sure either... maybe... maybe I can help you keep an eye out." Despite the winter temperature, Quirrell's forehead kept sweating. He quickly used an illness as an excuse, and Snape said nothing, just gave him a deep look before following the students off the field.
"How strange."
Quirrell, still with lingering fears, watched Snape's back with a hint of worry in his eyes. He was afraid that Snape would figure out what kind of magic he had used from the few ingredients he had taken. He couldn't understand how this damn Slytherin Headmaster could even notice a slight shortage of materials in his office.
...
In the Great Hall.
Lunchtime began.
The players were reflecting, reviewing which parts were not excellent enough, but what puzzled Ian was that none of the reflecting players or discussing wizards mentioned anything about the unreasonable nature of the Golden Snitch; one could only say that the inertia of thought was terrifying.
"Quidditch is amazing! I must become a Seeker in the future! If it were me just now, we definitely would have won sooner; it's just that our Seeker was too slow!"
"It also has something to do with the broomstick. Our Seeker's broomstick was just bought recently, so maybe they're not quite in sync yet." William and Michael seemed a little unsatisfied.
Ian took the opportunity while the two were talking to silently finish all the steak in front of him. He burped and raised his hand, and a lemonade with five lemons appeared.
This was the handiwork of the House-Elf in the shadows. Because he drank subpar drinks last night, he had negotiated free unlimited drink supplies with the House-Elves.
"I love House-Elves."
Full and satisfied.
After lunch, Ian returned to the Room of Requirement to adjust the complex potion he was brewing. He dumped the leftover waste from processing materials and his domestic garbage into the mouth of the Dementor.
The Dementor's mouth, seemingly connected to an unknown space, was really handy, at least for handling waste it was like having an infinitely large waste processing plant.
"Eat, hurry, eat it all." Ian pressed down the Dementor trying to escape, then pried open its mouth and poured all the garbage in — though the Dementor struggled, Ian trusted the book that said Dementors lack taste; this one was just naturally timid.
"Don't spit it out."
Ian watched the Dementor stick both hands into its o-shaped mouth, softly reminding it, and the Dementor obediently took its hands out. That's what Ian liked most about this Dementor; it was more obedient than a puppy and never made the same mistake twice.
"I... I want to... go... go..." The Dementor's use of human language was very lacking. It couldn't manage a complete sentence after stuttering for ages.
"Behave, don't go back to the cage, just keep an eye on the heat for me here."
Ian added some more herbs needed for the cauldron, and after instructing the Dementor, he continued to study the alchemy techniques of the Room of Requirement.
"Gurgle~ Gurgle~ Gurgle~"
Several large cauldrons were bubbling.
The Dementor silently kept the fire burning.
It had no eyes.
But it always felt a bit teary-eyed.
"Truly a wonderful alchemy technique, time seems to fly by." Ian continued his studies until it was almost time for the afternoon Spell Class, and then hurriedly ran to the Spell Classroom from the Room of Requirement.
The basic first-year course was already quite familiar to him, and not only he knew it, the Head of Ravenclaw, Filius Flitwick, was obviously also well aware.
Throughout the whole class.
Filius Flitwick took the opportunity to ask Ian questions and have Ian perform some magic demonstrations, while taking a break and also giving Ravenclaw College a chance to earn points.
Who said heads don't have little motives?
This was clearly Filius Flitwick's own little motive.
Compared to the cautious McGonagall due to historical reasons and the nitpicking Snape, Filius Flitwick didn't hide his favoritism for Ian, a Ravenclaw student. After all, compared to students who turn the classroom into smoke with a flick of their magic wand, Ian was indeed much more reassuring.
He even supported Ian's after-school mini-classes because the little wizards of Ravenclaw were progressing rapidly because of it, which also reduced his teaching workload in class.