Bracing himself, Ian pushed open the door and strode in, flashing his most sincere expression.
"I deeply apologize for my tardiness, my most esteemed Professor Snape." He launched into a flurry of polite apologies— excessively formal, but delivered with impeccable charm.
"Mr. Prince," Snape drawled, his dark eyes locking onto Ian with a mixture of irritation and scrutiny. "Among this year's first-years, you are the first to dare be late to my class."
Though he looked somewhat bruised— no doubt from an earlier mishap— it didn't stop him from directing a glare sharp enough to curdle milk.
"Tell me," Snape continued, voice as silky and venomous as ever, "do you believe yourself so above my lessons that you needn't attend them? Or have you, as you so often boast, once again saved Hogwarts without bothering to inform the rest of us?"
His signature sarcasm rang through the room.
Yet, curiously, it lacked its usual venom.
Even the Slytherins— who normally would have delighted in such a spectacle—seemed hesitant to laugh along.
"It's entirely my fault! I'm deeply ashamed!"
Ian didn't attempt to argue; instead, he bowed at a precise ninety-degree angle in front of the class. As expected, Snape, now having made his point, chose not to extend his rebuke any further.
"Return to your seat. Ravenclaw will lose five points because of you." His voice was cold as ever, and with a flick of his wand, the classroom door swung shut behind Ian.
Ian quickly made his way over to Aurora.
"This is entirely your grandfather's fault!"
He could only vent his frustration to Aurora— after all, if Snape decided to confront Grindelwald about his tardiness, who knew how that particular conversation would go? The idea of Grindelwald responding to Snape's razor-sharp sarcasm was more terrifying than missing class.
"He told me he was off to capture a few Centaurs. Did he drag you along for that?" Aurora asked, evidently having had a word with her grandfather before class.
"Ugh~"
Ian groaned, realizing he had clearly underestimated Grindelwald's audacity.
Before he could continue whispering with Aurora, Snape shot him a pointed glare, forcing him to shut his mouth and focus on the lesson.
Whether it was because of Ian's lateness or the unsettling potion containing a soul from the previous class, Snape seemed particularly intent on scrutinizing him today. Before Ian had arrived, Snape had already covered a considerable amount of material—and now, he was using that very material to test him.
Fortunately, Ian wasn't easily caught off guard.
However—
The old bat wasn't finished with him yet.
"Mr. Prince!"
As soon as the lecture ended, Snape didn't immediately allow the students to start brewing their potions. Instead, he turned to Ian with a cold, unreadable expression.
"What is Salamander blood used for?" His tone was casual, but the question itself was well beyond first-year level.
"To increase the spiciness of a potion."
Ian blinked as he answered.
Aurora turned to look at him in surprise, and several other students did the same. Of course, a few seemed to perk up as if they'd just learned a valuable culinary tip.
"Prince, do you think this is funny?" Snape's gaze swept across the room, silencing everyone instantly. "I asked about its use in potion-making."
"It's a vital ingredient for enhancing potions, increasing the potency of other effects… which, ultimately, isn't much different from what I said."
Ian's reply left Snape momentarily silent.
"Next question." Without missing a beat, Snape shifted to a new interrogation. "Tell me what potions can be brewed using Daisy roots, Shrivelfigs, caterpillars, a drop of leech juice, and rat spleen."
This, too, was beyond their current syllabus— Snape was undoubtedly testing whether Ian had been thoroughly reviewing the extra notes he'd provided.
"Shrinking Solution, also known as the Youth Potion. It causes a person or creature to revert to a younger state. Just a few drops are enough to take effect— a frog, for example, would turn back into a tadpole."
Ian answered without hesitation.
Snape gave a curt nod of approval.
"Correct. Next— if someone has been petrified, which potion would you use to restore them?"
His expression suggested he was determined to catch Ian off guard.
"The Mandrake Restorative Draught can counteract petrification."
Ian exhaled, already sensing that Snape wasn't about to let this go.
And sure enough—
"If I asked you to locate some Sneezewort, where would you look?"
This question wasn't overly difficult, but it did expose one of Ian's knowledge gaps.
He hadn't studied that section of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi in much depth. As far as he was concerned, it was far more practical to know where to purchase certain ingredients rather than where they grew in the wild.
"The Forbidden Forest?" Ian guessed uncertainly. Then, without missing a beat, he added, "Or your office, Professor. If it's urgent, I'm fairly certain I could find some in there."
It was such a straightforward and honest answer that students from both Ravenclaw and Slytherin couldn't help but laugh aloud. But the moment they caught sight of Snape's murderous glare, they hastily ducked their heads, stifling their amusement behind hurried quills.
"Why haven't you written any of this down yet? Is your brain too small to hold it?"
Snape's sharp rebuke sent a flurry of parchment shuffling through the room as students scrambled to jot down notes.
"Because of your insufferable cheek and incessant nonsense, Ravenclaw gains only three points," Snape added with a sneer. "If you don't adjust your attitude, Prince, your House will suffer for it."
With that thinly veiled threat, he turned away, and the lesson resumed. When the time came for practical brewing, Ian's potion turned out, as expected, to be the best in the class.
Even Aurora's attempt paled in comparison.
Despite his earlier irritation, Snape awarded Ravenclaw five additional points for Ian's results— though he made sure to correct a few minor imperfections, if only to remind Ian who was actually the Potions Master. He refrained, however, from mentioning the soul-infused potion from their last lesson.
"We're going to watch your grandfather catch Centaurs!"
After class, Ian had briefly entertained the idea of dragging Aurora into the Forbidden Forest, but to his surprise, she wasn't the least bit interested in Centaurs. Instead, she made her way toward the hospital wing— perhaps nursing an injury from last night's questionable festivities.
Left alone, Ian wasn't particularly keen on marching into the forest by himself to track down Grindelwald.
Instead, he opted for a more productive route— lunch first, then straight to the Room of Requirement.
"A Potions classroom, just for me!"
With a faint ripple of magic, an ancient, ornately carved door appeared in the stone wall. As it creaked open, Ian stepped into a chamber that felt utterly untouched by time.
Unlike Snape's dungeon classroom, this space was vast, aged, and eerily quiet. Portraits of long-deceased Potions Masters lined the walls—some wearing stern expressions, others watching him with faint amusement, all of them silently observing. At the center of the room stood a massive stone workbench, though the shelves bore no prepared potions.
"Ah, just as I thought."
Ian glanced at his map— Snape had left Hogwarts after class. Perfect. Now was the time to put his plan into motion.
Returning to the now-empty second-floor classroom, he gathered a pile of ingredients and materials before making his way back to the Room of Requirement. From his robes, he retrieved the fragment of enchanted fabric that contained the potion recipe.
"If I'm not mistaken, knowing Professor Morgan's teaching methods, this prank of a recipe is hiding something far more advanced."
Ian quickly realized that while the listed ingredients weren't particularly difficult to handle, their preparation was absurdly time-consuming. He tapped his fingers against the workbench, considering. Then, with a smirk, he turned back to the Room of Requirement.
"Show me what else you're hiding."
A ripple of magic surged through the space, revealing something previously concealed—
A massive iron cage.
Inside, a hunched figure stirred. A Dementor, its form shrouded in ragged black, curled in on itself. It remained motionless at first, but the moment its prison unlocked, it shifted. The creature felt the change. It sensed freedom.
And more importantly—
It sensed him.
Dementors were blind, but they knew when a living soul stood before them. Hunger took hold. It drifted forward, drawn to Ian's presence, its instinct urging it to feed.
Joy. Emotion. Life.
The very essence of a human soul—
And young wizards had the richest emotions of all.
The Dementor lunged.
However.
"You're going to help me grind these ingredients. Just press this down and roll it back and forth."
Ian barely flinched as he dragged the hooded wraith toward the stone workstation.
"And don't mess it up," he added, his voice as casual as if he were instructing a house-elf. "Or I'll have you stuffed into Ravenclaw's dung pit."
His tone was lighthearted— yet perfectly, unmistakably serious.
Dementors weren't known for understanding speech.
Threats meant nothing to them.
At least—
Until today.
The moment Ian finished speaking, the previously ravenous Dementor froze in midair.
And then, without a single wail of protest, it moved.
Gliding toward the workstation, the creature lowered itself over the table and, with eerie obedience, began grinding the potion ingredients.
"Ka-chaka-chaka-cha~"
The steady, rhythmic motion filled the silent chamber.
It didn't understand why it was obeying. It didn't know what force had compelled it.
All it knew was that the young wizard's voice echoed within its very being.
A binding.
A command.
Irresistible.
Undeniable.
It was as though the words themselves carried an authority too great to defy—
Like the decree of a king.
(End of chapter.)
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