The city lay under a gauzy veil.
London's ever-present haze made it feel as though mist was drifting through the air itself.
On a quiet street,
Ian was still lost in the melancholy of parting.
Though he'd looked forward to studying magic for so long, when it finally came time to leave the orphanage behind, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow—for the place, and for the people.
After all, this was the home he'd known for eleven years since arriving in this world.
"Heh. It seems, Mr. Prince, that you're quite good at winning people over."
Snape's voice pierced the quiet. And somehow, no matter how ordinary his words were, that slow, dry drawl always made them sound laced with sarcasm.
Ian didn't respond.
He simply dragged his suitcase along behind Snape.
His mood was too heavy to bother replying. After all, no matter how obediently you behaved, it was clear this Potions Master wouldn't be giving out gold stars.
But Snape wasn't finished.
"You left all your money for them. That's not something a clever person would do." Evidently, the little gesture Ian had tried to conceal hadn't escaped the sharp eyes of a wizard.
"I did keep a little. Enough to exchange for the… appropriate currency," Ian muttered, glancing up at the professor whose actions didn't quite match his usual portrayal.
Wasn't Snape supposed to be the silent type?
"Hmph. Then you're not entirely an idiot."
Snape gave a dismissive grunt.
"You are aware, aren't you, that you're just a ward of the state—a child meant to be cared for, not the one doing the caring?"
He slowed his pace and turned his narrowed eyes toward Ian.
"I was a sickly kid," Ian replied, not answering the question directly. "Probably something to do with early magic awakening. Always weak and falling ill."
"Director Elena used to take me to the hospital even when the orphanage could barely afford bread. She still bought me expensive medicine."
"When food was short, Catherine would split her half of the bread with me. Daniel used to sneak out to find herbs—he believed they'd make me strong, even though his healer grandma once poisoned herself with her own medicine."
"And Mia, the youngest, would stay up praying for me every night, asking God to make me better. Everyone… was really good to me."
Ian's voice was soft and even.
"Tch. Is this where you try to tug on my heartstrings?" Snape muttered.
"No, Professor."
Ian knew Snape wouldn't be moved by sentiment. He'd heard stories—Death Eaters didn't believe in love, or at least not the kind that warmed the soul. So Ian chose another approach.
"They did so much for me. So when I finally could do something in return, why wouldn't I? That's my responsibility."
The child's words echoed down the empty street.
Wrapped in fog, his small figure followed behind Snape. The quiet resolve in his voice made the black-robed professor pause for a long time.
"…Tch. For someone so young, you sure know how to overthink everything."
After a while,
Snape gave a scoffing reply, face blank as ever.
"Even with that anonymous donor giving money over the years, it's not enough anymore. Prices have gone up. Without what you left, things would be much harder for them."
The truth was, Ian's daily street hustle wasn't just for boosting his [Psychology] skill. He'd been trying to ease Elena's burdens, one coin at a time.
Even without Hogwarts in the picture, that money would've become eggs, milk, vegetables, meat—smuggled back into the orphanage in whatever way he could manage.
He wasn't trying to be a saint.
But he wasn't going to forget where he came from, either.
"So, what? You want me to call you the orphanage's savior?" Snape gave him a sidelong glare.
"No, Professor. But if you wanted to make a donation, you would be their real hero. The true savior."
Ah. There it was.
All that emotional buildup—
And now the fox showed his tail.
Ian blinked his large green eyes, full of hope. They were the same color as Lily Potter's, after all. Maybe it gave him an edge?
And more importantly, ever since that confusing comment from Dumbledore, Ian had sensed something odd. With his [Thoughtsense], he knew Snape felt guilty.
So, if he could turn that into some tangible help for the orphanage…
Well, he'd consider it a win.
This was the Potions Master, after all. Even a few coins from his vault would go further than anything Ian could scrounge up.
Snape stopped in his tracks.
His dark eyes locked onto Ian.
Complex. Sharp. Cold.
"You'd do well in Slytherin."
Of course.
Snape saw right through him.
He'd probably known the moment Ian opened his mouth.
"But unfortunately for you, you don't know me very well. I'm not a good person. I wouldn't give that pathetic little Muggle orphanage a single Galleon."
He sneered and turned away.
Ian's shoulders slumped.
Snape walked forward again, and Ian had to scramble to keep up.
They turned into a quiet alley.
"Drink this."
Snape pulled out a bubbling green potion and shoved it toward Ian. His tone brooked no refusal.
"Uh…"
Ian eyed the suspicious liquid, forcing a smile.
"What… is it?"
Did Snape want to poison him? Even if it didn't kill, the trauma alone could last a lifetime. Wizard potions were infamous for being revolting.
"Don't flatter yourself. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't need potions to do it."
Fair enough.
"…I just don't like how it smells."
Ian mumbled, then looked up.
Snape stopped walking and stared.
"…Alright, alright."
Gritting his teeth, Ian took the vial and downed it in one gulp—
Wait.
It tasted… good?
Like coconut milk? Sweet, creamy?
This couldn't be right.
Wasn't Snape's stuff supposed to taste like toad sweat?
He blinked in confusion—
"I've never seen a more cowardly little fool."
Snape suddenly grabbed him by the neck.
And with a flick of his wand—Crack!—they vanished from the alley.
Ian's vision twisted, blurred—
And when it cleared,
He was somewhere else entirely.
Cobblestone streets stretched as far as the eye could see. Shops of every shape and size lined the way, their windows full of glowing potions, floating books, enchanted robes.
Wizards and witches bustled past in wild, colorful clothing. Brooms swept the streets on their own. Owls, snakes, rats perched calmly on shoulders.
It was a place Ian had only seen in movies—
But here, it was real. And it was magnificent.
He knew where they were.
Diagon Alley.
The place where, for so many—
The dream began.
(End of Chapter)