The city was shrouded in a thin veil.
London's smog drifted through the air like layers of gauze.
On the quiet streets, Ian was still lost in the sadness of parting.
Though he had long looked forward to truly learning magic, now that he was actually stepping out of the orphanage to go to school, he felt reluctant to leave—this place, these people.
After all, this had been home for the eleven years since he transmigrated.
"Oh, it seems, Mr. Prince, you have quite the talent for being likeable."
Snape's voice broke the silence. For some reason, even when his words seemed neutral, his slow, deliberate tone always carried an edge of sarcasm.
Ian didn't respond.
Dragging his suitcase behind him, he simply followed Snape.
He wasn't in the mood to engage. After all, no matter how well a student behaved, they rarely won favor with Hogwarts' Potions Master.
Snape spoke again.
"You left all your money to them. Not the wisest decision."
Clearly, Ian's little trick hadn't escaped his sharp eyes.
"I kept a bit—enough to exchange for magical currency at the appropriate place." Ian looked up at Snape, who wasn't quite acting like the man he had imagined.
Where was the taciturn brooding?
"That's not entirely foolish."
Snape snorted, as if through his nostrils.
"You do realize you were merely an orphan taken in by that place, the kind of person who needed to be looked after, don't you?" Snape slowed his pace, casting Ian a sideways glance.
"My health wasn't great when I was younger. Probably because of my magic awakening, I was often sick," Ian replied, not directly answering Snape's question.
"Ms. Elena took me to the city hospital for treatment. The orphanage's financial situation was much worse back then, but she still bought me expensive medicine."
"The food was scarce, yet when I was sick, Catherine gave me half her bread. Daniel would run out to find wild herbs for me."
"Even though Daniel's witch-doctor grandmother poisoned herself with her own medicine, he still believed that as long as I took his remedies, I'd get stronger."
"And Mia—she's younger than me—whenever I was sick, she'd pray for me all night."
"They've all been so good to me."
Ian's voice was calm and steady.
"Tsk. Are you trying to move me?"
Snape remained unmoved.
"Not at all, Professor."
Ian never expected Snape to understand. He had heard that people who became Death Eaters didn't comprehend love. So instead, he tried to explain from a different angle.
"They did so much for me. Now that I'm able, it's only right that I consider them in return." Ian's voice was soft but unwavering.
"It's my responsibility."
His childish voice echoed through the empty street. In the smog, his small figure trailed behind Snape, his calm conviction leaving the Potions Master silent for a long moment.
"Tsk. Not even that old, yet already burdened with nonsense like duty."
At last, Snape scoffed, keeping his face expressionless.
"Though, I suppose the orphanage has been receiving anonymous donations from some generous benefactor all these years. Still, with the pound's declining purchasing power, things would be difficult without that money."
Ian had spent days setting up a small street stall—not just to improve his [Psychology] skill, but to earn enough to lighten Ms. Ilena's burden.
Even without Hogwarts, he would have eventually used the money to buy eggs, milk, vegetables, and meat for the orphanage.
Frankly, an eleven-year-old didn't need much for himself. Ian wasn't a saint, but he wasn't ungrateful either.
"So, do you want me to call you the orphanage's savior?"
Snape shot him a look, his slow drawl infuriating as always.
"No, Professor. But if you were to show some generosity and donate to the orphanage, you would be its true savior. The real hero."
There it was.
Ian's fox tail finally peeked out.
He turned his bright green eyes toward Snape, wondering if their similarity to Lily Potter's might have some effect.
Besides, thanks to [Thought Perception], Ian had already sensed the Potions Master's lingering guilt.
If he could use that to squeeze a donation out of Snape, it would be a win for the orphanage. His own contribution could only last for a while—but Snape, Hogwarts' renowned Potions Master, had wealth that could make a real difference.
Never underestimate a Potions Master's financial power.
"You truly are…"
Snape stopped.
His black eyes locked onto Ian's.
His gaze was sharp, unreadable.
"…a perfect Slytherin."
Clearly, Ian's little scheme hadn't fooled him. Snape had seen through it the moment Ian started buttering him up.
"Unfortunately for you, you don't understand me. I am not a good man. I wouldn't waste a single Galleon on a ridiculous Muggle orphanage."
Snape sneered.
Ian, disappointed, said nothing.
With a flick of his robes, Snape led the way forward.
They turned into an empty alley.
"Drink this."
Snape suddenly pulled out a bottle filled with bubbling green liquid.
There was no room for refusal in his tone.
"Huh?"
Dragging his suitcase behind him, Ian hesitated. The potion's eerie color made him swallow nervously.
"Professor… what exactly is this?"
He had the distinct feeling that he was about to be poisoned.
Everyone knew that magical potions were notoriously foul-tasting.
Snape's gaze was unimpressed.
"If I intended to harm you, do you think I'd resort to trickery, offering you a potion first?"
That… made sense.
"I just have a bad feeling about the taste."
Ian weakly muttered.
Snape simply crossed his arms and stared at him.
"Alright, alright."
Gritting his teeth, Ian tipped the potion back in one gulp.
Huh?
It wasn't bitter—it was smooth, creamy, with a sweet coconut flavor!
Wait, what?
Wasn't Snape's potions supposed to be borderline undrinkable?
As Ian savored the unexpected sweetness—
"You absolute coward."
Snape grabbed him by the collar.
With a flick of his wand—
The world blurred.
Then—
In an instant, everything changed.
When Ian's vision cleared, he found himself on a cobblestone street stretching into the horizon.
Shops lined the sides, their storefronts filled with fantastical wares.
People in elegant robes bustled about, laughing and chatting.
Feather dusters hovered on their own, sweeping away dust. Unmanned brooms cleaned up stray bits of trash.
Owls, snakes, and rats sat obediently on wizards' shoulders.
The scene before him—
A world he had only ever seen in movies.
Yet, this was no film.
This was real.
This was Diagon Alley.
The place where so many dreams began.
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