As expected, after returning to the common room to hide the box in his trunk—and placing a Concealment Charm on it—Ian entirely missed the Hogwarts dinner hour.
Chill winds whistled beyond the castle walls.
Still, Ian wasn't the type to go hungry. He knew the kitchens beneath the Great Hall could provide a meal, yet first he chose to head for the dungeons.
****
"Knock-knock!"
He arrived at his destination and rapped on the door.
No response.
"It's me, Professor Snape—Ian, the one you personally chose as first place in Potions class today,"
Ian called out loudly toward the office within.
"Clack."
Moments later,
the office door opened.
Snape appeared, disheveled and expressionless, filling the doorway.
Behind him lay a space mirroring his own unkempt state—three half-spherical sections forming the walls, crowded shelves brimming with glass jars of all sorts.
"Prince, curfew's nearly here. Unless you fancy me assigning you detention, you'd better be in Ravenclaw's common room,"
the old bat snapped, spitting the word "Ravenclaw" with a bitter sneer, still harboring some unspoken resentment.
"Would detention teach me anything new? Something not covered by the textbooks?"
Ian asked hopefully, gazing up at the Potions Master with bright eyes.
"… …"
Snape's eye twitched.
"If you refuse to take Potions seriously, you'll never learn anything of real value from me."
His voice was as cold as ever.
"Then let me apologize right now—and adjust my attitude."
Sensing a glimmer in Snape's words, Ian wasted no time. Standing at the threshold, he bowed at a perfect 90 degrees and held the pose for a good few minutes .
Such earnestness.
Snape, caught off guard, tried to find the right words to scold him but remained silent. He studied Ian closely, his face reflecting a swirl of emotions.
"If that's all you came here for…"
Snape turned and walked inside, opened a drawer in his desk, and retrieved an old black book that looked quite worn.
"Take this, then get out of my office."
He flung the battered book to Ian, who had followed him inside, speaking curtly.
"This book was meant for other purposes, but your shameless tricks have forced me to hand it over. As a result, you'll face an alternative exam at term's end—different from the other dunderheads."
"If you fail to satisfy me…hmph."
Snape paused meaningfully, hoping to unsettle Ian. However, Ian merely looked on, unruffled.
"The Half-Blood Prince—who's that?"
Ian noticed the words scrawled on the back of Advanced Potion-Making and played at being mystified, recognizing it as the very volume Harry Potter once used.
Snape's face flushed—
"That's the Half-Blood Prince, you fool!"
he growled, storming over to snatch back the black tome. Grabbing a quill, he angrily blotted out the writing before shoving the book back into Ian's arms.
"I'd hoped you'd prove cleverer than your worthless father!"
Only after double-checking that the inscription was unreadable did Snape practically hurl Advanced Potion-Making at Ian.
"It belonged to my father?"
Ian feigned ignorance.
He'd long suspected a connection between himself and Snape; now, the truth was laid bare—somewhat more abruptly than he'd anticipated.
So that was it.
At last, his conjectures were confirmed. Before, lacking hard evidence, his suspicions were only guesswork.
"Tch—your father and his troll-like brain knew only to follow instructions literally. I count this as a 'collectible' from an exceptional potioneer in your family line,"
Snape remarked, clearly underestimating how much Ian had already pieced together. He spoke with stony composure, mixing insults at Ian's family.
"So, you destroyed a master's autograph, then?"
Ian asked, catching Snape mid-sneer and leaving him momentarily speechless.
"I surpass him. I have every right,"
Snape declared weakly.
Ian pretended to accept it.
"If you spent more time in the library, and less discussing dangerous experiments, you'd understand your own family's background,"
Snape added, his sarcastic tone colored with a faint note of exasperation, as if lamenting Ian's lack of diligence.
"I did borrow A Brief Enrollment Record Through Hogwarts' History, but I haven't had time to read it,"
Ian replied, gleaning that Snape wasn't actually his father.
"Do I have any living kin?"
he abruptly asked, voice subdued. Snape's face stiffened.
"If so, do you think you'd have grown up in an orphanage?"
Snape's gaze flicked away from Ian's pale green eyes.
"Then who's responsible?"
Though Ian had no memories of his parents in this life, that didn't mean he could dismiss them. The destruction of his entire family demanded accountability.
"Attend your classes. Study the curriculum,"
Snape said bluntly, trying to steer Ian out of his office.
"Wait!"
Ian braced his foot against the door before it could slam shut.
"I've answered loads of your questions, and you're still not satisfied, Mr. Pest?"
Snape hissed, looming over Ian, voice icier than ever.
"Actually, I came to repay you."
Ian pulled out a hefty coin pouch from his trouser pocket. Under Snape's astonished stare, he pressed it into the professor's hand.
"You sold the Felix Felicis?"
Snape asked, the only scenario he could imagine explaining such wealth. It was exactly the brazen sort of thing Ian might do.
Snape's glare bored into him, but although Ian shook his head in denial, Snape seethed with disbelief.
"I'm not that foolish,"
Ian retorted. To avert Snape's wrath, he pulled aside his robe, revealing multiple interior pockets lined with glittering Galleons.
"I found a hidden treasure in Hogwarts. My finances are now secure,"
he said quietly, leaving Snape looking stunned.
He'd never heard of hidden gold in Hogwarts?
"I'll investigate carefully. If I find you've committed theft, or threatened other students into handing over their Galleons, I'll personally escort you to Azkaban. That's where you belong,"
Snape snarled, evidently viewing Ian as a conniving crook.
"Ever heard of medieval treasure-hunting's romantic legacy? If I pick up unclaimed treasure, it's not stealing,"
Ian retorted, suppressing an urge to whack Snape's head.
"It had better not be,"
Snape said, attempting to hand the coin pouch back. But Ian sidestepped, so with an annoyed scoff, Snape tossed it contemptuously at Ian:
"You imagine I care for a handful of coins?"
His potioneer pride showing, though ignorant of how best to handle Ian's cunning.
"A handful of coins won't buy a favor from you—too naive,"
Ian teased, rolling the pouch behind Snape into the office. The vein pulsing in Snape's forehead twitched violently.
"Get out!"
Snape thundered, slamming the door shut.
Seconds later,
the door cracked open again; the battered Advanced Potion-Making—which had dropped earlier when Snape grabbed Ian's collar—was chucked out.
"Bang!"
The door slammed again, harder.
"… So, a Potions lineage..."
Ian murmured, sighing lightly. He stooped to pick up the valuable tome, lingering in the deserted corridor, eyes drifting to the place where Snape had scrubbed away the signature.
"Did Voldemort slaughter my family, or…?"
He recalled Snape's anxious demeanor.
"I do have an uncle, after all,"
he mused to himself.
But in this empty hallway,
no one could answer the young wizard's whispers.
-----------
(A/N: I've launched a Patre0n page where you can get access to 20+ chapters ahead—come check it out! on my PATRE0N.C0M/HP_PS)
(A/N: If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review! Your feedback really helps me keep going and motivates me to write more. Thank you for your support!)