Under that soft light, the tightly packed books appeared solemn, veiled in mystery.
A chilly draft slipped through a crack in the doorway, rustling a few pages and producing a faint, continuous flutter that echoed strangely in the utter stillness.
"Choose me! I'll reveal the forbidden truths of the shadow realms!"
"No, I am the original scripture of the dark arts! Master my secrets, and the world shall kneel before you!"
"Don't listen to them. My pages hold no sinister magic— just endless, tedious facts you'll never get through in one lifetime..."
…
In the Restricted Section—
These softly whispering, temptingly cursed books were no surprise to Ian anymore. He paused only briefly in front of the murmuring shelves before heading straight to the corner he knew best.
Given how often he visited to find obscure magical workarounds for outdated potion recipes, he was especially familiar with the alchemical and potions shelves.
The reason he kept returning here was simple: many of the suitable substitutes for ancient ingredients couldn't be harvested from nature at all.
They had to be forged or crafted through alchemy, and their creation often trod on the edges of magical ethics. Some even outright violated Ministry law.
"This is all Professor Morgan's fault, driving me to break school rules and possibly wizarding legislation too," Ian muttered under his breath.
Among the books he flipped through were horrifying alternatives that called for infants or children in their ingredient lists.
The illustrations alone made his stomach churn, but he forced himself to keep turning the pages. Although Professor Morgan was well-read in modern magical theory, most of the ingredients she listed in her formulas, while replaceable in theory, were now as rare and costly as goblin silver.
That left Ian with only one path forward:
Using low-cost substitutes for ingredients that had already been substituted once before.
Layered improvisation. He half-wondered if some ancient, long-dead dark witch had set this whole ordeal up as a test of creative alchemy.
"All right, all right, I let go of that one cursed tome earlier, and clearly the library gods have rewarded me." With several alternative formulas now firmly mapped out in his mind, Ian turned to leave.
Phase-Shifting Charms didn't work within the library's wards, but the Exploding Charm had no such restrictions. After sealing up the blasted section of wall behind him, Ian retraced his steps with practiced ease.
"I've still got plenty of dragon's blood left, but I'll need to purify it first, then brew a new potion to stand in for dragon brain."
He muttered as he walked, frowning in concentration. "The trickier bit will be extracting Nightshade essence."
"That should serve as a substitute for Moonshadow Grass. I suppose the two plants must've shared some common ancestor in the distant past…" The young wizard bent over his enchanted money pouch, rummaging through the materials while mentally reviewing the procedure for his latest alternative formula.
However—
Bang!
A suit of armour's helmet suddenly launched itself straight at him. Fortunately, Ian's reflexes were sharp, and he managed to duck just in time. For a moment, he suspected Peeves might've consumed something as mad as a dragon's heart mixed with phoenix gall.
He was ready to unleash a tirade—
But then he caught sight of the one who had cast the spell.
All thoughts of retaliation vanished.
"Ah… good evening, Uncle…"
Ian's voice turned sheepish, his anger melting into a guilty grin.
Yes.
He'd been caught, wandering Hogwarts at night, by none other than Professor Snape.
"Even if we're not currently in class, you will address me properly," Snape said icily. "It's Professor Snape."
His tone wasn't outright furious, but the disapproval in his gaze was impossible to miss.
"Right you are… Uncle Professor Snape," Ian replied, nervously calculating whether it was worth attempting a quick escape and whether doing so would only worsen his punishment once term resumed.
"I distinctly heard you muttering about certain… ingredients. Ones that students should not possess. Don't tell me you're planning another late-night 'salvage mission'?" Snape's displeasure clearly stemmed from a suspicion that Ian had returned to his usual thieving ways.
"I… don't know what you're on about, sir. I was just, er, reviewing today's reading material in my sleep." In the end, Ian wisely chose not to bolt.
Other professors might wait until school resumed before meting out punishment—but his dear uncle would apply interest. And Ian did not fancy his future being repossessed in such a manner.
"Hand over that pouch." Snape's tone was flat, but his eyes were already fixed on the enchanted bag clutched in Ian's hand.
Inside it were enough restricted materials to earn him a lifelong stay in Azkaban.
Naturally, Ian had no intention of handing it over.
He wasn't worried that Snape would report him to the Ministry; he was more afraid the man would simply confiscate it all for his personal stores.
"I swear, I wasn't up to anything shady tonight! I've got more than enough stock for my work. If something's gone missing, it must've been one of the… er… rodents you've yet to catch roaming the castle."
He very nearly said too much but caught himself just in time.
Whether Snape believed it or not, Ian had convinced himself, and that was what mattered.
"Tonight, he says. As though I ought to applaud you for showing restraint for a single evening." Snape's sneer deepened. As someone who'd recently discovered his private stores raided, he wasn't inclined to be forgiving.
"Do I look like I'm hard up for supplies?" Ian tried to pivot, aiming to distract Snape and lend some credibility to his innocence. With a theatrical flourish, he emptied out a portion of his pouch—spilling the stolen contents from the past two loops onto the stone floor.
There they were.
An impressive collection, at least twice the volume currently present in Snape's storeroom.
Surely, this would prove that Ian had no designs on Snape's ingredients.
Just as he bent to scoop the materials back up, he was caught off guard—Snape lunged forward to intercept him.
"You want them? Take the lot! After all, I've never forgotten how good you've been to me!" Ian spoke with exaggerated generosity, though his gaze lingered mournfully on the low-grade potion ingredients scattered across the floor.
They did have value, of a sort.
Perhaps they couldn't be used to craft proper, functioning potions, but from another angle, their potential wasn't so different from genuine ingredients. Morality might not be something Ian always possessed in abundance, but that didn't mean he couldn't tell right from wrong.
"Mm?" Snape, hearing Ian's uncharacteristic words of flattery, didn't look even remotely pleased.
Instead, he frowned deeply, crouched down, and picked up what appeared to be a shrivelled fig.
"You're calling this potion-worthy?" Snape was not one to be fooled by outward appearances. He didn't even bother to sniff it, just gave it a firm squeeze, and the fig crumbled into dusty flakes in his hand.
"It looks like an ingredient, sure. Even pretends to pass for one, but if it doesn't do anything, it's not a proper potion material, is it?"
Ian's eyes widened in pain at the sight of the crushed fig.
"Is this what the vendors in Knockturn Alley tell you?" Snape's voice was thick with disdain. "I rather thought you had more sense than to fall for their snake oil. Clearly, I overestimated you."
He scoffed, drawing out the insult, his lecture only just beginning—
"No, Uncle— those dodgy Knockturn traders can't pull one over on me. I didn't go there to buy fake ingredients." Ian interrupted quickly, shaking his head in protest.
"Then how do you explain this lot?" Snape's voice sharpened again, clearly convinced Ian had been duped and was now trying to cover it up.
But—
Under that withering glare, Ian hesitated before muttering:
"They're, er… fake ingredients I was planning to sell in Knockturn Alley." His voice dropped, filled with guilty reluctance.
He knew full well this wasn't something to be proud of.
"..."
Snape's face went completely still. A moment ago, he had been fretting that Ian had been taken in by dodgy dealers— but now, he realized the boy had intended to be one of them.
This year's crop of Hogwarts students must've been cursed.
(To Be Continued…)
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