Snape never imagined he would one day encounter such a student, let alone one bound to him by blood. In all his years of teaching, he had never even dared to consider such a possibility.
A first-year student, attempting to brew a love potion?
And in bulk?
Even the Dark Lord himself had likely never attempted such a thing at that age! How had such an inherently troublesome little brat ended up in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin? As Head of Slytherin House, he ought not to dwell on such matters, but he found the Sorting Hat's decision utterly incomprehensible.
"Don't tell me Dumbledore actually approved of this."
Outside the Room of Requirement.
On the Seventh Floor corridor, Snape's expression was thunderous. He had been fully prepared to dole out a severe punishment, but Ian, ever slippery, had led him here in an attempt to evade his wrath.
"Would he approve?" Ian cast a glance toward the headmaster's office.
He still hadn't revealed the rather damning piece of leverage he held over Dumbledore.
"Hah. Dumbledore may have lost his moral compass, stooping to such disgraceful deeds, but do you think he'd ever admit it? Prince, don't forget, I am your legal guardian."
There was something bitter in Snape's eyes. Two tests. Two impossibly precise answers. It was difficult to reconcile the image of the revered Albus Dumbledore with the notion that he had left behind a bloodline in the House of Prince.
His aunt had been married!
Damn Dumbledore.
No wonder the old man had claimed he only had time to save one child. After countless nights of careful deliberation, piecing together every last detail, Snape was certain he had finally uncovered the truth behind Ian's unnatural talent, or so he believed.
"I'm sharing a Hogwarts secret with you, dear uncle. I have no interest in brewing love potions, the scent you're smelling is just a convenient illusion."
Ian focused intently, picturing the Potions classroom in his mind. He paced back and forth along the corridor three times, and before Snape's eyes, the door to the Room of Requirement materialized.
Snape barely had time to process his astonishment before Ian, moving with the recklessness of a half-giant, flung himself through the gap, squeezing inside.
"Bang!"
The door shut before Snape could react, vanishing as if it had never existed. A tense silence hung in the air before, ten seconds later, the door reappeared. Ian stepped back out, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Did you just dispose of the evidence?" Snape, regaining his composure, studied Ian with barely concealed suspicion.
"Don't tell me you dumped those potions down the drain!" The urgency in the Potions Master's voice betrayed a rare flicker of panic. Reflecting on the series of shocks Ian had provided since the start of term, Snape thought he might even be able to accept it if the boy had been sorted into Gryffindor.
"I merely tidied up a rather unsightly space. And I know love potions shouldn't go down the drain, " Ian cut himself off, deciding against explaining further.
In truth, he had only been hiding his rather useful assistant. He highly doubted Snape would allow him to keep a Dementor within the castle walls.
Such a helpful creature, one that neither ate nor slept, might even be of assistance in his alchemical experiments. There was no way Ian was parting with it.
"This is the secret chamber Dumbledore told you about?" Snape sneered. "The Chamber of Secrets?"
"It's called the Come and Go Room, Professor Snape."
Ian casually twisted the door open again. But Snape, ever perceptive, grabbed the back of his robes before he could slip away, hoisting him off the ground with a practiced ease.
"I can walk, you know." Ian gestured in mild protest, dangling midair.
Snape, however, ignored him entirely, his expression dark and unreadable as he stepped inside.
What met their eyes,
Was an ancient and solemn Potions classroom. Snape felt as though he had stepped into a relic from centuries past. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, charred herbs, and something else, something unsettlingly familiar.
Framed portraits of former Potions Masters lined the walls, their painted eyes watching with keen, knowing expressions.
"They were here all along…"
But Snape had little time to dwell on this discovery. His gaze snapped to the six cauldrons in the center of the room, their contents bubbling ominously. The low flames beneath them flickered, heating the liquid within until a faint, distinctive aroma filled the air.
It was the same scent he had detected in the corridor. So, even in a hidden chamber, the room's ventilation was still connected to Hogwarts.
"I think I can tell what you're brewing."
Snape approached the cauldrons with his jaw clenched, his sharp eyes sweeping over the ingredients meticulously arranged on the nearby worktable.
Without hesitation, he seized a handful of various ingredients, adding them to one of the cauldrons in measured intervals, all the while muttering incantations under his breath. A pearlescent shimmer rose from the potion, steam curling in hypnotic spirals.
The scent deepened, unique to each individual. Ian caught the unmistakable fragrance of old books. Snape, however, stiffened, his expression contorting into a grimace as he caught whatever it was he smelled.
"What do you have to say for yourself now?" His voice was cold, but beneath it simmered a dangerous edge.
"Merlin's beard, Prince! Not only have you brewed a love potion, you've altered the formula! You've compressed a process that should take three months into a matter of hours!"
"I suppose I should put in an application for the Most Innovative Potion Award on your behalf? I do hope you enjoy receiving it in Azkaban!"
Snape's emotions were tangled, a strange mixture of disbelief, outrage, and something dangerously close to reluctant admiration.
On one hand, he was stunned by such a monumental breakthrough in potion refinement. On the other, he was appalled that this was what Ian had chosen to apply his brilliance to.
"I could send you there right now!"
But Ian wasn't the least bit concerned about Azkaban. Not anymore.
Snape's grip on his fury tightened, his dark gaze shifting to the row of spotless cauldrons set up for further brewing.
"Six cauldrons!" His voice trembled with barely restrained rage. "You brewed six cauldrons of this wretched potion! And still, you think it's not enough?"
His eye twitched violently as the full implications of Ian's actions hit him.
Was this boy planning to ensnare every witch at Hogwarts? McGonagall? Sprout? Madam Pomfrey? Madam Pince?
No…
A cold realization struck Snape, his stomach twisting.
Ian probably didn't intend to spare anyone.
Male wizards included.
(To Be Continued…)
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