Chapter 69: Mickey Mouse Clubhouse

As it turned out, when one wielded the truth, even a mischievous poltergeist could be made to reason.

"I was wrong! I shouldn't have scared you! I deeply regret it!" Peeves pleaded, realizing there was no way to escape.

"Who were you calling a little troublemaker?" Ian demanded, his wand still raised, his eyes cold and piercing.

"It's me! I'm the wicked Peeves!" The poltergeist, now sporting an explosive head of hair thanks to Ian’s spell, confessed obediently.

"I'm usually a very gentle person. You were the one who ambushed me first," Ian stated, grabbing Peeves by his collar and lifting him effortlessly. Though Ian wasn't particularly tall yet, he still had a few inches over the floating trickster.

"If I ever find out you went snitching to the professors, I'll hang you in the Great Hall—twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year."

Ian paused for a moment before adding righteously, "Of course, on a leap year, I’d generously give you a day off. That should be proof enough of my kindness!"

Peeves looked as if he was about to cry.

"I understand! I won't tell! I swear I won’t say a word!"

Peeves had never been a good student, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to act like one when necessary.

"Good. Let’s both be honest and trustworthy," Ian nodded, lowering his wand.

His suspicions had now been fully confirmed—the usual boundaries between the living, the dead, and spirits didn’t seem to apply to him.

This likely had something to do with the special privileges he possessed in freely entering and exiting the Ethereal Realm. Compared to his Personal Panel, this strange ability was clearly far more mysterious and layered, and he had yet to fully uncover its depths.

"Can I go now? I swear I won’t try to scare you again!" Peeves pleaded desperately.

"One last thing," Ian said, eyes narrowing. "Don’t even think about twisting the story. Sectumsempra was taught to me by Professor Snape, and Dumbledore himself even praised my magic as ‘a delight to behold’!"

With that final warning, Ian let go of the poltergeist.

"Waaaaah!"

Peeves wailed dramatically as he floated away in retreat.

He was both furious and terrified.

Normally, he could pull pranks with impunity—no one could physically touch him. Yet, this year, something felt different.

Bloody hell!

What’s going on?!

How can a mere student be this terrifying?!

Peeves had heard that some "born troublemaker" had enrolled at Hogwarts this year. Now he was certain—this little demon had to be the one!

And that name—Grindelwald—he’s from that infamous European family, isn’t he?!

Even as he fled far beyond the eighth floor, Peeves still couldn’t make sense of it.

A living wizard shouldn’t be able to grab me, let alone hex me!

Ian watched as Peeves vanished into the distance, his expression calm.

Just as he’d said earlier—if Peeves tried to slander him, he’d make sure the poltergeist paid for it.

That was a promise.

"Now… I need a place to store things. I need a place to store things. I need a place to store things…"

Ian murmured to himself as he paced back and forth in front of a blank stretch of wall. Three times.

He focused his thoughts on the exact kind of place he needed.

The moment he completed his third pass, a grand door materialized silently into existence.

The bronze handle gleamed under the dim torchlight.

"Click—"

Ian grabbed the handle, pulled hard, and the door slowly creaked open.

Without hesitation, he dashed inside.

And the sight before him took his breath away.

A vast, boundless space stretched out before him—larger than some stadiums.

Like a forgotten graveyard of relics, the room was filled with mountains of discarded objects:

Broken statues

Ancient, dust-covered tables and chairs

Bottles filled with mysterious, unidentifiable liquids

Piles of old books and notebooks

Tarnished magical trinkets

Worn-out wizard robes

And…

Even a few muggle cannons quietly sitting in a distant corner.

Standing at the entrance, Ian couldn’t help but smirk.

This was worth it.

Everything in this room had been long abandoned, lost to time, and forgotten by their original owners.

But that didn’t mean they were useless.

"No… These are treasures."

Hidden Riches

Ian immediately made a beeline for the towering piles of books.

At first, he was hopeful—there were some diaries and study notes, which might be useful.

But…

There were also stacks upon stacks of moving, illustrated "adult literature."

Western-style.

Very wild.

Ian’s expression turned deadpan.

"Upper-year students would probably pay a fortune for these," he mused, flipping through a few pages before shaking his head. "But that would damage my reputation at Hogwarts."

No, there were better treasures to find.

He raised his wand.

"Accio valuable objects!"

Nothing happened.

Ian sighed.

"As expected, it only works when I specify exact items."

He’d been hoping to avoid the tedious process of sorting through mountains of junk.

Still, he wasn’t about to give up.

"I’ll come back later to dig through this mess properly," Ian decided. "Once I find a secret passage to Hogsmeade, I’ll sell off the valuable stuff there."

There was a shop in Hogsmeade that bought secondhand magical items.

That would be his target.

But first—a little test.

"Accio Galleons!"

To Ian’s delight, hundreds of ownerless golden coins shot out from various piles of junk and soared into his hands.

He quickly stuffed them into his robes and pockets.

That weight.

That satisfying clink.

It was the sound of happiness.

But this wasn’t his main goal today.

Ian narrowed his eyes, his mind racing through everything he’d read in the Hogwarts Library.

His gaze flicked across the towering piles of objects, scanning like a high-speed camera.

Minutes turned into half an hour.

And then—

There it was.

A rusted, ancient diadem sat forgotten among the clutter.

The once-brilliant gemstones embedded in it had faded, dull and lifeless.

But Ian recognized it immediately.

Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem.

Or rather—

Tom Riddle’s defiled Horcrux.

It was even marked with a tarnished "Tom Riddle" nameplate, as if some careless hand had simply tagged it like a discarded toy.

Ian’s jaw clenched.

"Desecrating such a masterpiece… only a lunatic would do this."

Carefully, he found an old wooden box and placed the diadem inside.

He knew how Horcruxes worked—as long as he didn’t wear it, it wouldn’t be an issue.

But it still enraged him.

If this thing was still intact, it would be my personal symbol as a Ravenclaw!

Just the thought of Voldemort corrupting it made his blood boil.

Which was why…

Tomorrow night, Ian had plans.

It was time to take Voldemort on a little trip.

To where he truly belonged.