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The afternoon class was History of Magic so Ian chose to skip it.
It wasn’t that he had any objections to a high-quality afternoon nap; he simply preferred not to draw attention to himself, especially since his two roommates had also skipped a class the previous day.
Besides, if he didn’t take the chance to skive off now, when would he? Later, he’d have to endure several lessons in a row. Missing one class in the afternoon was far different from skipping two in succession. Ian knew which was the wiser choice.
Unlike most students who skipped lessons just to lounge about or cause mischief, Ian spent the entire afternoon in the Room of Requirement, experimenting with and studying Professor Morgan’s potion recipe.
Love potions had an ancient history.
The completed potion would gleam with a pearlescent sheen, sending delicate spirals of steam into the air. Its scent shifted depending on the drinker, drawing out the fragrances they found most alluring. A skilled potioneer could even craft one potent enough to inspire overwhelming infatuation in its target.
However,
To this day, no one had succeeded in creating a potion capable of fostering true love. Ian had no illusions that Professor Morgan’s recipe would break that limitation either.
It wasn’t an aphrodisiac.
But it certainly couldn’t conjure real love, which was why love potions were classified as restricted substances. They induced an obsessive attachment rather than genuine affection.
Even when their effects were prolonged, love potions were ultimately no different from the power of wealth or status… Ian despised such things, yet that didn’t stop him from analyzing the potion itself.
As the saying went, one truly understood magic through practice. To uncover the knowledge he sought, Ian had to observe the precise reactions of each ingredient.
“Gurgle~ gurgle~ gurgle~”
The air was thick with the distinctive herbal aroma of simmering potion, laced with an almost bewitching fragrance, the unmistakable scent of a love potion in progress. Traditional love potions required three months to brew, but Professor Morgan’s revised recipe evidently shortened the process considerably.
Of course, that came at the cost of an exorbitant increase in ingredient consumption. Even with the modifications, Ian hadn’t been able to source all the necessary materials from the Potions classroom alone. A visit to his “uncle” Snape’s office had helped, but it hadn’t solved everything.
“Some fresh ingredients can likely only be found in that place.” Ian cast a glance at the Dementor beside him, which he had outfitted in a tiny elf apron, making it look bizarrely like a spectral chef. “Keep an eye on this cauldron. Don’t let the fire go out, and don’t let it flicker or flare.”
Faced with such a detailed instruction, the eerily obedient Dementor drifted closer. Perhaps their kind weren’t inherently unintelligent but simply unfamiliar with the “language” of the living world.
At the very least, this one understood Ian’s orders and carried them out with precision. It hovered by the cauldron, its hooded face dipping toward the fire.
It couldn’t see the flames, but it could sense the heat perfectly.
“Do a good job, and next year I’ll get you Ron’s rat, Scabbers.” Ian wasn’t making an empty promise as he genuinely hadn’t spotted Peter Pettigrew in the Gryffindor dormitory. Though Ron wouldn’t receive the Animagus-disguised rodent until the following year, it was clear his older brother was already eager to be rid of the aging rat.
Perhaps he found it embarrassing in front of the girl he liked, after all, it was perfectly normal to show off a cat performing somersaults, but who had ever heard of impressing someone with a rat doing tricks?
“Blimey, if I’d known I’d end up with a magical creature, I wouldn’t have taken Voldemort on that cursed voyage through a pocket dimension…” Ian muttered as he made his way to the Hogwarts kitchens.
After gathering what he could, he checked his remaining supply list. Consulting the Marauder’s Map to steer clear of patrolling professors, he slipped out of the castle and sprinted towards the Forbidden Forest.
To be honest, Ian really wished he could learn Snape’s uncanny, rocket-like Apparition spell. It wasn’t as stylish as an Invisibility Cloak, but it certainly had its perks when it came to moving swiftly and making a clean getaway.
Crossing the grassy expanse, he soon reached the familiar wooden cabin on the forest’s edge.
The place looked as old as ever, built from planks of varying hues, overgrown with ivy and weeds, blending seamlessly into the surrounding woodland. The roof was thick with moss, dotted with clusters of stubborn wildflowers.
Outside the door, alongside the usual farming tools, a few crossbows leaned against the wall, and a pair of enormous rubber boots stood nearby, they were so large that Ian reckoned he could stick his entire head inside one and still have room to spare.
“Or maybe it’d be a quick way to end it all.”
Deliberately, Ian adjusted his backpack so that the fresh meat inside was partially visible, while keeping the black bread and biscuits in his arms.
After getting ready, he knocked firmly on the cabin door.
“Who’s knockin’ at this hour? Fang, quiet down, we’re not in the Forbidden Forest!” Amid the deep, excited barking, a gruff voice grew nearer.
As the door swung open, Hagrid, his thick beard covering most of his face, loomed into view. He was Hogwarts’ Keeper of Keys and Grounds, gamekeeper, and Dumbledore’s most devoted friend and ally.
Though Hagrid had been expelled in his youth after being wrongfully accused by Voldemort, he had, in some ways, become one of the wealthiest individuals at Hogwarts.
After all, across the entire wizarding world, unicorn tail hairs fetched up to ten Galleons a strand on the black market. And what did Hagrid typically use them for?
Bandages.
It was safe to say that while his cabin might look like a simple wooden dwelling, its contents were worth a small fortune in rare magical materials.
“Professor Hagrid! I’m Ian Prince. Do you remember me? When I first arrived at Hogwarts, you told me by the Black Lake that I was your favourite little one.”
Ian held out the biscuits and black bread. Standing in front of the towering half-giant, he felt like a tiny fledgling beneath an oak tree.
“Oh, oh! ‘Course I remember yeh! Hahaha! Yeh’re the only one who calls me professor.” Hagrid’s face split into a delighted grin as he took the offerings.
“And yeh even brought me gifts! Now that’s touchin’!” His massive hand landed on Ian’s head, and once again, Ian felt the very real possibility of his skull caving in.
Hagrid was clearly moved, but Ian didn’t dare budge.
“I also brought extra food for Fang. He’s still growing, after all, and needs plenty of meat.” Ian, whose hair now resembled a bird’s nest thanks to Hagrid’s affectionate ruffling, seized the chance to hand over the backpack full of fresh meat while the half-giant wiped his nose.
“Yeh even thought o’ Fang! Merlin’s beard! Dumbledore’s always tellin’ me yeh’re a good lad, an’ I reckon he’s spot on!”
Hagrid’s eyes grew misty with emotion.
Ian had clearly won Hagrid’s full favor.
“But I don’t have anything to give you in return. Maybe you’d like a rock cake?” Hagrid hesitated, torn between stepping inside to fetch something and staying put to keep blocking the doorway.
He seemed worried that the young wizard in front of him might think he was being rude, so he explained his behavior while glancing at the “ferocious” dog that had already hidden under the bed.
“Fang’s a Neapolitan Mastiff, very fierce, yes, very fierce, and he really dislikes strangers. That’s right… so I’m worried he might, er, hurt you.” Hagrid clearly wasn’t very good at lying; his attempt at deception broke all the basic rules.
His eyes darted, his words repeated, his movements were awkward, and most tellingly, he even gave a nervous snort, making it easy for Ian to see through him.
“It’s fine, I’m not going in, and I’m not hungry right now.” Ian didn’t want to subject his teeth to unnecessary hardship, nor did he want to make Hagrid uncomfortable. “I actually wanted to ask you for a favor. I need to gather some ingredients from the Forbidden Forest, Wort, Belladonna essence, and Unicorn saliva.”
As everyone knew, the Forbidden Forest was essentially the backyard of the four founders, filled with all sorts of magical flora and fauna. Ian could certainly venture in on his own, but he wasn’t nearly as familiar with the forest’s layout as someone like Hagrid.
Having the gamekeeper as a guide would save him considerable time in tracking down the necessary materials.
“Listen, lad, first-years aren’t allowed into the Forbidden Forest, it’s far too dangerous. Even grown witches and wizards struggle in there, with all manner of creatures lurking about.” At the mention of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid’s expression immediately grew serious.
He was particularly concerned about curious students sneaking in where they shouldn’t.
While speaking, Hagrid carefully placed Ian’s gifts on a shelf by the cabin door and handed back his backpack, all the while keeping his large frame firmly blocking the entrance.
“I just need some ingredients for a potions assignment.” Ian quickly adopted a pitiful expression. “If I don’t finish it, I might be in big trouble. You know how some potions professors really don’t care for excuses.”
Ian wasn’t lying.
The art of persuasion lay in telling truths that sounded just deceptive enough.
“Of course it’s Snape! He’d have you in detention before you could say ‘Boomslang skin’! Dumbledore might say he’s your uncle, but I reckon that man cares least about family!” Hagrid huffed, his dislike of Snape making him instantly sympathetic to Ian’s “dilemma.”
“I still can’t take you into the Forbidden Forest, it’s Hogwarts’ rule. But I can fetch the ingredients for you, provided you stay right here in the pumpkin patch.” Hagrid stepped fully outside, and before Ian could get a proper look inside the cabin, he swiftly turned back and shut the door behind him.
“Alright, I have no problem with that.” Ian nodded thoughtfully.
He obediently followed Hagrid to the pumpkin patch outside the hut. With Halloween approaching, the field was already filled with pumpkins that had clearly been treated with some sort of magical growth enhancement.
“Really now, my dog is very fierce; don’t even think about sneakin’ in. He’ll definitely bite you.” Hagrid shot Ian another wary glance as he hoisted several large buckets and made his way toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
“Oh, I’m terrified of dogs,” Ian assured him smoothly.
Watching Hagrid’s towering form gradually disappear into the trees, Ian immediately crouched down among the pumpkins and began gathering caterpillars.
This was, in fact, a potion ingredient as well. Since he had already gone to the trouble of gathering supplies, Ian decided to make the most of it. Using the backpack Hagrid had returned to him, he began combing through the pumpkin patch in search of fresh caterpillars.
Time slipped away quickly.
Just as Ian was beginning to feel like a full-time caterpillar hunter, Hagrid returned, lugging several large buckets. The half-giant was a force to be reckoned with when it came to… frog extermination.
The sight of an entire bucket brimming with frog brains left Ian momentarily speechless. For a fleeting second, he feared Hagrid had single-handedly wiped out every frog in the Forbidden Forest.
“Er… I think that’s more than enough.”
Ian was at a complete loss for words.
“Ah, it’s just as well to have extra,” Hagrid said cheerfully. “Young wizards tend to botch their potions a fair few times. I never had much luck myself when I was at school. And if Snape’s the one giving you trouble, I reckon whatever he’s set you to brew isn’t the easiest.”
As he spoke, he handed Ian the heavy buckets. Alongside the bucket of frog brains, there was a generous supply of St. John’s Wort and Belladonna essence, more than Ian had expected.
“Unicorns, though… they’re not so easy to come by,” Hagrid admitted, rubbing his beard. “Only ran into two I know today.”
From one of his oversized pockets, he pulled out a small glass vial, about the size of a goblet, filled with shimmering Unicorn saliva. Ian couldn’t help but wonder how on earth Hagrid had convinced the unicorns to spit into a bottle for him.
“Thank you, Professor Hagrid!” Ian carefully tucked the bottle inside his robes as he spoke.
Hagrid scratched the back of his head. “Much as I like hearin’ it, I ain’t really a professor. Got expelled from Hogwarts, remember?”
There was a faint trace of sadness in his voice.
“You don’t need a diploma to be a professor,” Ian said firmly. “When it comes to magical creatures, I’d wager your knowledge is greater than half the instructors in the wizarding world.”
“You always help young wizards in need, that’s what a real professor does. Any school would be lucky to have someone as knowledgeable and kind as you.”
And Ian meant every single word.
If Hagrid were just a touch less reckless and a little more cautious, he would undoubtedly be among the finest professors of Care of Magical Creatures in Hogwarts history.
“Blimey, you’re makin’ me feel right important!” Hagrid let out a booming laugh, his great shaggy beard quivering. “Always thought I had a soft spot for Gryffindors, but seems Ravenclaws aren’t half bad either!”
He ruffled Ian’s hair in delight, utterly destroying the neat style Ian had just fixed.
“It’s true! I believe one day you’ll be our professor, it’s only a matter of time,” Ian declared, deftly ducking out of Hagrid’s grip.
His words left the half-giant looking both wistful and pleased. “If I ever did become a Hogwarts professor, I’d give you a dragon egg, yes, a real dragon egg!”
Of course, Hagrid didn’t truly believe such a future awaited him. If he had, he’d never have made such a grand promise. Beneath his towering frame and boisterous nature, the half-giant carried insecurities few ever noticed.
“Alright then! You said it!” Ian’s eyes gleamed with excitement. If he hadn’t been unable to find Dumbledore on the Marauder’s Map, he might have sprinted off to write a glowing recommendation letter that very instant.
Even the wizarding world thrived on connections.
And Dumbledore had personally assured Ian that the House of Dumbledore would always be his greatest ally.
“Of course!” Hagrid chortled, his beard shaking as he glanced toward the sky, where the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. “If you’ve got time durin’ the day, come find me, we’ll be mates, I reckon. But for now, you’d best get back to the castle. If one o’ the real professors catches you loiterin’ out here, you’ll be in for a world of trouble.”
What a well-intended warning this was.
Ian gathered up the large and small buckets of potion ingredients.
“Professor Hagrid.”
He suddenly paused before leaving, glancing back at the half-giant, who had moved to stand by the door. It seemed Hagrid was waiting for Ian to depart before daring to open his cabin.
“I think I can definitely get you that dragon egg,” Ian said seriously. “But before that happens, you need to stay alive.”
Hagrid blinked, momentarily baffled.
“Huh? What’s wrong with me?”
Frowning, he patted himself down as if checking for injuries. Ian, watching this, blinked as well before casually dropping a word of warning.
“Blast-Ended Skrewts can’t be kept indoors… People tend to, well, perish rather quickly that way.”
He hadn’t even needed to sneak inside, he had caught a glimpse when Hagrid briefly cracked the door open.
“Also, Fang’s been barking this whole time. And not because he’s scared of me.”
With that, Ian turned on his heel and sprinted toward the castle, leaving Hagrid standing in the doorway, cheeks tinged red, looking thoroughly flustered and at a loss for words.
…
The Room of Requirement.
Inside the specially conjured potions classroom, Ian stood before a bubbling cauldron, his focus razor-sharp as he monitored the potion’s reaction. Every so often, he adjusted the heat beneath the cauldron, ensuring everything proceeded as expected.
Gūlū Gūlū Gūlū~
The potion simmered rhythmically, sending up curling wisps of steam.
Ian, sleeves rolled up, carefully added the next set of ingredients, keeping them in precise order. As he reached for the next item, the Dementor beside him silently extended the required ingredient, exactly as arranged beforehand.
It was a sight that would have left any other wizard utterly horrified. But, in the solitude of the Room of Requirement, there was no one around to witness it.
“I need the spoon, not the knife, you fool! Can’t you remember their shapes?” Ian snapped, feeling like he was trapped in an endless Snape lecture.
Still, he remained determined, one day, he would train a Dementor that could assist in potion-making without error. The mere thought of it would be enough to make any potioneer green with envy.
The Dementor let out a low, hollow breath, almost as if it felt wronged.
Yet, it obeyed the command, floating over to fetch the spoon. Unfortunately, it returned with one nearly as large as Ian’s head.
Well… progress was progress.
Ian could only sigh and make do, using the oversized spoon to measure and stir the prepared ingredients into the cauldron. This marked his sixth attempt, and he remained determined to refine the formula, searching for the breakthrough he needed.
The deeper he delved into the process…
The more he realized that Professor Morgan’s lesson wasn’t just about a simple love potion. It made sense, really,if it had merely been a prank, there’d have been no reason for Professor Morgan to tear her own robes in frustration.
“Fairy Grass, the plant that nurtures Flower Fairies,” Ian murmured to himself, flipping through his notes. “There are only a handful left in the Far East… yet Professor Morgan didn’t mention a single word about it in the textbook she assigned.”
His sixth attempt had hit a dead end. He had completely run out of Snape’s supply of Fairy Grass, and unless he found a viable substitute, his research would be stuck at a standstill.
Just as Professor Morgan had modified the original potion recipe, Ian needed to do the same.
But with his current level of potion-making, identifying a proper replacement wouldn’t be easy.
And, unfortunately, there was no one left to ask.
“Perhaps ‘Modern Applications of Ancient Potions’ might already have the answers I need,” Ian mused, troubled by his lack of progress. The thought of Hogwarts’ vast library filled him with hope.
Without hesitation, he dashed out of the Room of Requirement, quickly checking the time as he hurried toward the library. If he couldn’t find a solution there, he might have to resort to the notes of the Half-Blood Prince.
The inconsistencies in the formula gnawed at him, and he had no intention of waiting until the holidays to visit Diagon Alley for new ingredients.
“Thank Merlin, it’s still open!”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Ian strode straight to the Potions section, only to find that the book he had spotted before was no longer in its usual place.
Had it been moved?
Or borrowed?
“Madam Pince, could you check if ‘Modern Applications of Ancient Potions’ is still available?”
After searching in vain, Ian approached the library’s formidable caretaker for help.
However, before Madam Pince could look up from her copy of Magical Me by Gilderoy Lockhart, a voice spoke from a nearby reading desk.
“Are you looking for this book?”
Ian turned to find a young wizard holding ‘Modern Applications of Ancient Potions’ in his hands.
“Yes… looks like you got to it first.”
Ian sighed inwardly at his slow timing. Before he could even ask, the wizard stood up, closed the book, and walked over to hand it to him.
“I was only reading to pass the time. You seem to need it urgently. And as a professor at Hogwarts, it wouldn’t do for me to keep a student from their studies.”
Ian blinked in surprise. A professor?
The wizard standing before him had a calm, scholarly air. His brown hair, long and slightly unkempt, was loosely braided on either side, giving him a somewhat eccentric yet composed appearance.
“You’re a professor?” Ian asked, adjusting his tone out of respect. The man looked barely in his twenties, far younger than Ian had expected of a Hogwarts professor.
Which subject could he possibly teach? Certainly not one of the core ones.
“If you manage an Outstanding in Charms, Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration on your O.W.L.s, you’ll be eligible for my elective course in the sixth year,” The wizard said with a small smile, his mustache shifting slightly as he spoke.
His chrome-green eyes were strikingly similar to Ian’s own, yet they held a depth of wisdom that hinted at years of experience.
“You’re Professor Arthur King!”
Ian’s eyes widened in surprise. He had always pictured the Alchemy professor as someone much older, perhaps a wizard not far from Dumbledore’s age.
After all, Alchemy was a discipline that required both time and mastery.
“It seems you have a keen interest in Alchemy,” Professor Weasley remarked with an amused smile. “Most students don’t give much thought to elective courses in their later years, they’re usually too busy worrying about whether they’ll survive their end-of-year exams.”
His tone was light, yet his presence exuded a quiet confidence, far beyond what Ian had expected from someone so young.
“I’ve been studying Alchemy, Professor. Honestly, I don’t think it should be an elective. If young wizards aren’t properly encouraged to take an interest in it, how can Alchemy ever thrive?”
Ian was, in truth, arguing for himself, he desperately needed a teacher who could guide him in the subject.
Dumbledore might have been a suitable candidate, but he hadn’t appeared on the Marauder’s Map in two days. The old wizard didn’t seem the least bit concerned about Voldemort taking advantage of the situation, then again, with the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor being as formidable as they were, perhaps there wasn’t much reason to worry.
“Alchemy isn’t like Potions or Charms, lad. It has its thresholds,” Said Professor Arthur King, his tone light yet deliberate, as if stating a simple truth rather than belittling Ian’s ambition. “A wizard without the right foundation will find it more frustrating than even History of Magic.”
“I believe I’ve built up a solid foundation. I could even show you the Housewitch’s Handy Box I invented.” Ian hesitated for a beat before adding, “Would you allow me to attend one of your classes?”
He spoke with great anticipation, giving his creation a more welcoming name. He certainly didn’t want Hogwarts’ professors to start eyeing him as the second coming of Tom Riddle.
This school had history with that sort of thing.
“You want to learn Alchemy from me?”
Arthur regarded him thoughtfully before replying in a contemplative tone, “Normally, I don’t take on students your age. However, your map-making skills are intriguing. Perhaps you’re the kind of young wizard who could make me bend my usual rules.”
Ian froze slightly.
“What map…?”
He let out an awkward chuckle, suddenly feeling rather guilty.
Arthur knew.
Ian hadn’t expected the professor to be aware of the things he had… circulated. There had to be a mole among Cho Chang’s friends, despite his instructions to have her promote those contraband items under the name James Potter.
Arthur, seeming to read his confusion, merely smiled.
“Every piece of Alchemy carries the traces of its creator. Tracking the origin is simple enough. Even Master Nicolas Flamel couldn’t erase such things.”
He placed a firm yet casual hand on Ian’s shoulder, and Ian immediately noticed the bronze ring on the professor’s finger.
There was an inscription, one he barely had time to study before Arthur withdrew his hand.
“If you don’t mind, I’d be interested in hearing about your progress in Alchemy,” Arthur said.
Ian perked up at once. “I’ve already completed Master Nicolas Flamel’s Detailed Explanation of Alchemy and The Wonders of Alchemy.”
“In fact, I’ve moved on to the application of Transfiguration in Alchemy.”
Ian never downplayed his achievements, he wasn’t the type to feign weakness.
“Hmm?” Arthur looked briefly surprised.
“Only a little behind where I was at your age… truly remarkable.” He muttered the words more to himself than to Ian, then quickly refocused.
“But being a genius is merely the first step to entering the field of Alchemy,” he said, his smile sharp with quiet amusement. “If you want my recognition, you’ll need to be more than that.”
Arthur’s eyes gleamed. “If you can uncover the secrets of the Room of Requirement by this time next year, my office door will be open to you next term.”
This was yet another unexpected statement for Ian.
The Room of Requirement was not a secret known to every Hogwarts student.
And yet… asking a first-year to grasp the principles behind it? That was like expecting a young witch who’d just mastered Lumos to start making a Corporal Patronus!
“I feel like you’re deliberately making this difficult for me…” Ian muttered. This young Alchemy professor wasn’t as easygoing as he appeared.
The usual tricks he used to handle other professors might not work here.
“You’ll manage, kid. If you can’t reach heights others consider impossible, why should I waste my time on you?” Arthur King chuckled as he made his way toward the library door. “My duty is to teach students of the appropriate age at Hogwarts, and that’s exactly what I’m paid to do.”
“If you want me to make an exception for you, you’ll need to become more than just my student, you must become my apprentice. It’s nothing personal; I simply have high standards.”
“For many years, that’s how it has been. If you can prove yourself worthy of walking among the stars, then believe me, I can teach you far more than just Alchemy.”
His dark green robes billowed as he disappeared around the doorway.
…
Encountering a young professor even more pretentious than Grindelwald left Ian feeling deeply frustrated. Fortunately, he did find a suitable substitute for fairy grass in ‘Modern Applications of Ancient Potions’.
It seemed modern wizards weren’t lacking in ingenuity. They had discovered a way to use two common herbs to replicate fairy grass’s properties. In Ian’s view, that was nothing short of remarkable innovation.
“I’d like to crown this Potions Master the King of Love Potions!” Ian muttered, double-checking the Marauder’s Map to confirm that Snape was still in the Great Hall before making his way to the Potions Master’s office.
That place was practically the potion-maker’s equivalent of a bottomless pouch,as long as the ingredient wasn’t extinct or prohibitively rare, Snape’s stores would have it.
“Let’s see… this, this, and that… Still, this might not be enough.”
Ian restocked what he had already used, not wanting to make another trip so soon.
A large bag stuffed to the brim with potion ingredients.
Just as Ian was about to take his supplies back to the Room of Requirement to spend the night studying Professor Morgan’s recipe, he turned the doorknob, only to feel another force turning it from the outside.
“Hiss,!”
There was no time to hide. The door swung open, and Ian found himself face-to-face with Professor Snape.
And judging by the unimpressed look on his face, Snape was not surprised to find him there.
“You’re back already?” Ian tried, shifting the bag behind him, only for Snape to seize it in one swift motion.
The Potions Master’s expression was thunderous.
“Obviously. To catch you.”
Ian had clearly walked straight into a trap.
“I noticed someone pilfering my ingredients this afternoon. And now, here you are.” Snape’s scowl deepened, his dark eyes glinting with fury.
“Uncle, I did, I paid for them!” Ian quickly pointed toward the ingredients cabinet, where a handful of gold Galleons lay in plain sight.
It was the market price for the ingredients.
Fair and square.
But Snape’s face only darkened further.
“And why do you think I knew it was you?” He hissed, shaking with anger as he yanked the Galleons from the cabinet. “No thieving brat who snatches my ingredients would be idiotic enough to leave these behind! Prince! Should I commend you for your thoughtfulness?”
Merlin’s beard.
Ian was at a loss for words.
“Those are Galleons, not ‘damn things’…” He muttered, his only retort.
“I was willing to ignore your mischievous behavior!” Snape’s glare was sharp enough to pierce through the cauldron iron.
“But tell me, why did I catch the unmistakable scent of a Love Potion in the corridor?!”
He yanked open Ian’s bag, scanning the absurd amount of ingredients stuffed inside.
One glance.
Then another.
Then, Snape nearly dropped the bag.
“Merlin’s bloody beard! How many batches did you brew?!”
His horrified voice rang through the entire dungeon.
(End of Chapter)