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.
The fury in Snape’s glare deepened, now tinged with something else, unease.
“You brewed the love potion!” Ian’s voice cut through the tension, indignant as he jabbed a finger at the cauldron Snape had just finished. “I didn’t make that, I watched you make that!”
“The love potion you learned about from the Restricted Section?” Snape snarled. “I knew Dumbledore should never have approved you.”
Indeed.
No one at Hogwarts understood potions better than Severus Snape.
“I’m conducting research!” Ian shot back.
Professor Morgan’s love potion formula contained fragments of alchemical theory that had intrigued him. He wasn’t even close to unraveling all its secrets yet, but he was making progress, until Snape had interrupted him.
Had he been left alone for just a little longer, he would have cracked an entirely new principle tonight.
But now?
To clear his name, Ian had to shift tactics.
His gaze flicked toward the large bag of ingredients Snape still held, his carefully acquired supplies. If he played this right, he might be able to steer the conversation toward practical application instead of punishment.
As Ian stepped forward and ignited a fresh cauldron, Snape’s fury deepened.
“You intend to teach me how to brew potions?”
His voice was low, dangerously soft.
“I only hope you’ll advise me.” Ian’s tone was carefully measured.
He wasn’t about to throw caution to the wind, he was well aware that Snape’s knowledge of potioneering still far surpassed his own.
At least, for now.
“You’ve altered the formula this much, and yet you still need me to guide you in brewing a love potion? Ha! Don’t think flattery will save you! This is a love potion, Prince! It’s forbidden magic! Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”
Snape’s voice still carried anger, but the raw fury had noticeably lessened.
“If you hadn’t destroyed the cauldron that was closest to success, I could have shown you exactly what I was doing!” Ian shot back as he continued preparing ingredients.
Truth be told, Snape had successfully brewed a love potion, but it was nothing like Professor Morgan’s formula. That cauldron had been on the verge of becoming something else, something that strayed far from standard potion-making practices. The love potion had merely been a foundation, the easiest path.
Had Ian not recognized this, he wouldn’t have been so determined to study it overnight.
“Kā kā kā kā~”
Lacking the assistance of his usual helper, Ian had to manually process the ingredients. Snape, standing nearby, made no move to help, his expression remained one of irritation and brooding impatience.
“You idiot, cut it coarser! Do you want the calamus root to release all its properties at once?”
At least Snape wasn’t stopping Ian from working. Unfortunately, with no other students to focus on, the man had all the time in the world to criticize.
“Scrape off the top layer of the asphodel root, soak it in honey, then blend it with the liquid from the petals. And Merlin’s beard, are you rationing that nectar as if the bees had a hard time collecting it?”
“You’re pouring out armadillo bile, what, do you have some personal vendetta against armadillos? Or does that empty head of yours think more will somehow improve the potion?”
Snape’s cutting remarks were sharper than usual, clearly, he was using them as an outlet for his frustration. Ian didn’t argue. He simply adjusted his technique and followed the corrections without hesitation.
[Potions Proficiency +4]
[Potions Proficiency +6]
[Potions Proficiency +3]
…
Though Ian was only making minor adjustments, Snape’s scathing remarks proved he wasn’t just being difficult. The steady improvements in Ian’s proficiency made it clear that his ingredient handling still had plenty of room for refinement.
“What in Merlin’s name are you adding unicorn saliva for, wait.” Snape’s voice cut off as his gaze locked onto the large bottle Ian had produced. “Where did you get such a large supply of unicorn saliva?”
Before Snape could fully process this, Ian calmly began stirring a bowl of frog brains, then poured them into the cauldron along with the unicorn saliva.
“Are you trying to convince me that this is a love potion by using the most repulsive method possible?”
Snape looked ready to explode, until an unfamiliar aroma curled through the air.
Ian had altered the process, weaving a different path through the half-finished potion Snape had seen earlier. That was the only reason Snape hadn’t immediately put a stop to it.
“Of course not.”
Under Snape’s piercing gaze, Ian raised his wand and began to move it in a precise pattern.
The air around them grew thick with tension, urgency creeping in as their conversation deepened.
The potion in the cauldron was changing. Its scent shifted, curling through the air in an unfamiliar way.
Snape, who had thus far worn his usual let’s see how you embarrass yourself expression, suddenly looked uncertain.
“Add armadillo bile!”
His eyes snapped wide with shock. His usual biting tone faltered into something urgent. Without waiting for Ian to respond, he strode over to the shelf, snatched up a bottle, and measured out precise drops into the potion.
The scent shifted again, just slightly.
Ian’s potion making continued.
He had meant to fetch the next set of prepared ingredients himself, but before he could move, he noticed Snape had already done it.
His professor stood by the cauldron, adding the components in swift, deliberate sequence. Ian hadn’t even given instructions, yet Snape adjusted the quantities, deviating slightly from what Ian had planned.
“Uncle, ” Ian started.
But Snape cut him off with a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through dragonhide.
“Continue.”
There was something in his voice, something layered, almost unreadable.
Under that piercing stare, Ian didn’t hesitate. He lifted his wand again, focusing his magic as he resumed the incantations.
The potion in the cauldron was no longer murky. Slowly, it clarified, becoming more transparent until it shimmered with a rich, mesmerizing deep blue, like the most enigmatic treasure hidden in the depths of the sea.
“Success!”
Ian’s voice brimmed with surprise, he hadn’t truly expected one of the many possibilities hidden within Professor Morgan’s perplexing formula to be verified so smoothly.
It must be the Half-Blood Prince.
“Where is your original love potion formula?”
At some point, Snape’s previous frustration had faded. Now, his hands were steady as he carefully decanted the shimmering potion into crystal vials, each one gleaming in the dim light.
Watching the liquid swirl inside the vials, Snape finally believed Ian. No matter how talented a young wizard might be, there was simply no way he could have devised something this complex mere weeks into the school year.
“I found the formula in the Restricted Section, I just memorized it.” Ian certainly wasn’t about to hand over the scraps of Morgan’s enchanted robes as proof. At most, he’d share the formula with Snape for joint research.
A good uncle has no children.
What achievements could he possibly forget about me?
“Do you even understand what you’re analyzing?” Snape’s voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it, something almost unreadable. He had realized that the formula wasn’t Ian’s own work, but that didn’t diminish his astonishment at the boy’s raw talent.
Most wizards, even seasoned Potioneers, lacked the instinctive ability to isolate specific properties within a complex potion. Such skill was as rare as a Niffler that could sniff out treasure in an empty vault.
The Prince family shouldn’t have fallen into obscurity like this, Snape thought. A strange mix of pride and something far more complicated settled in his chest.
“I believe this is a vitality potion, one that can keep our magic at peak performance for an extended period.” Ian’s voice carried the certainty of discovery, then faltered as he added, “Maybe we should call it the Infinite Firepower Potion.”
His naming skills were clearly not on par with his potioneering abilities.
Still, the thought of holding the exclusive rights to such a potion filled Ian with excitement.
“We should patent this,” He declared. “Sell it to the Aurors, there have to be loads of them who’d want it. It’ll sell better than, than shampoo or anything else!”
Ian’s voice practically sparkled with enthusiasm.
Technically, this was Professor Morgan’s discovery, her achievement, her legacy. But he was the last person alive to carry on her work. He was her only apprentice.
And how could he let such brilliance be lost to time?
Ian had just about convinced himself that he was a wizard of great responsibility when,
“Go to the Restricted Section. Find that formula, and then…”
Snape’s voice had dropped into something low and unreadable. Ian assumed he was about to demand a copy of the formula.
But then,
“Destroy it.”
The words cut through the air like a hex.
“Use Fiendfyre. Or whatever other magic you must.”
Ian stiffened. This was not the reaction he had expected as it made no sense.
But Snape’s expression was deadly serious. Even more severe than when he’d suspected Ian of brewing an illicit love potion.
“…Is this for a monopoly?” Ian ventured, trying to make sense of Snape’s urgency.
“Bury that formula so deep even you forget it exists.”
Snape cast a sweeping glance over the cauldrons, then, with a flick of his wand, he obliterated the remaining potion and every trace of the unfinished ingredients.
“If I find out you’ve shared this formula with anyone, anyone, don’t blame me for ensuring your friends forget it by force.”
Snape’s voice was lower than a whisper, but it carried the weight of something cold and final.
“Prince, I don’t want to die. And I think you don’t, either.”
Then, without another word, Snape seized the completed potion and swept out of the Room of Requirement, his black robes billowing behind him.
Ian stood there, staring at the empty space where Snape had been.
The classroom was silent.
His mind wasn’t.
Something very strange was going on.
Deep in the dungeons, in the shadows of his office, Severus Snape locked the door behind him.
The Potions Master turned the doorknob with a deliberate slowness, stepping into his office before shutting the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the dimly lit room as he secured it again, his movements uncharacteristically tense.
With Ian’s potion in hand, Snape crossed the room and settled behind his desk.
He sat there.
Staring at the deep blue liquid resting on the polished wood, his dark eyes reflected something rare, fear, anxiety, and a weighty apprehension that seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.
‘I know I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous.’
The thought was suffocating, but when his emotions threatened to consume him, he finally moved toward the far wall.
Muttering an incantation under his breath, he watched as the bricks shifted and twisted, revealing a concealed compartment hidden deep within the stone. Inside sat a bottle no larger than a shoebox, its contents shimmering like liquid starlight.
Water of Revival
The label was scrawled in his own unmistakable handwriting. The crystal vial, its craftsmanship exquisite, was clearly the work of a Potions Master at the height of his abilities, one of his greatest achievements.
Snape stood there, motionless, his gaze locked onto the potion. He hesitated. Then, pacing back and forth, he wrestled with something unseen, something heavy.
Outside, the sky deepened to twilight.
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
“But I don’t want to die without knowing the truth.”
Resolve hardened in his expression. Snape reached into the compartment, took the potion with careful precision, and moved swiftly to his cauldron. He poured in the shimmering liquid before adding several rare ingredients, muttering incantations as he worked.
The process was methodical. Precise. Dangerous.
Minutes later, he retrieved the now-boiling potion and carefully poured it into Ian’s blue concoction.
The moment the two liquids met, the potion’s color shifted. A brilliant, star-like glow pulsed within, as though the very essence of the night sky had been captured in a bottle.
It was radiant and mesmerizing.
“…It worked.”
Snape’s breath was shallow. The potion was finished.
Yet there was no triumph in his face, only a ghostly pallor, his hands trembling so visibly that the vial nearly slipped from his grasp.
“How could it actually work?!”
His composure cracked. Nearly knocking over his chair in his haste, he stumbled toward his cabinet, his hands moving frantically through its contents.
He snatched up a glass dropper.
Drawing a single droplet from the vial, he turned sharply, his gaze landing on a toad trapped within a glass enclosure. Without hesitation, he let the droplet fall onto the creature’s slick skin.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Snape didn’t breathe.
Then,
“Prince… I almost wish you were just trying to dose us all with love potions.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, yet thick with something between disbelief and horror. His complexion had gone deathly pale.
He lifted a small, transparent stone, an ancient detection tool infused with delicate strands of magic, its core flickering with a faint blue glow.
The light within it twisted and pulsed.
It was reacting.
To what?
Magic.
Raw, unfathomable magic.
It was a force so potent, so volatile, that even he wasn’t certain how to control it. Snape’s grip tightened around the stone as dread settled deep in his bones.
“Why must it always be a disaster?” Somewhere in the castle, oblivious to the storm brewing in the depths of the dungeons, Ian was likely dreaming of glory.
He had no idea what he had uncovered.
And Snape wasn’t sure if anyone could stop it now.
(End of Chapter)
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