Chapter 33: The Professor's Tacit Approval

It was obvious.

Snape intended to "recreate" the bizarre scene Ian had described in an attempt to expose his words as sheer nonsense.

However—

Ian showed no sign of nervousness.

From an instructional perspective, the spell recorded by Snape wasn't as thoroughly annotated as those in Advanced Dark Magic, especially compared to Grindelwald's notes. Yet, it was evident that this spell was by no means an advanced or particularly difficult piece of magic.

"Does it require hostility…?"

Ian studied the notes carefully.

He didn't grasp the spell in one go.

Maybe it's not dark enough?

Having a keen understanding of his own talent in dark magic, Ian considered the possibility.

Meanwhile—

"Heh… putting on a show," Snape sneered, waiting for Ian to admit defeat.

As Ian continued reading, Snape drew his wand.

With a mere wave—

The scattered wooden planks in the corner began assembling into coffins. The dismembered corpses strewn across the room were lifted by an unseen force, their oilcloth wrappings fluttering as they floated into their respective coffins.

"Clatter—"

The coffins were buried one by one.

The displaced soil within the house began moving on its own, neatly refilling the graves.

In mere minutes, the entire scene was restored to order.

What had taken Ian an entire afternoon to barely manage was accomplished effortlessly through magic—without the crude necessity of cramming multiple corpses into a single coffin.

To be fair, if Ian hadn't summoned the corpses so forcefully, causing them to burst out of their original coffins, he wouldn't have had to make new ones to compensate for the damage.

At least he had a conscience.

But not much of one.

Coffin-making was exhausting, after all. Ian had merely been trying to save time by considering mass burials. They got new homes in the end, didn't they?

"Mr. Prince, I don't have time for your delays."

Having cleaned up the mess, Snape turned back, his expression dark as ever.

"Professor," Ian finally looked up, snapping out of his focused study.

"If you confess now, you might still get leniency," Snape said with a cold snort.

"Professor, this spell—it's dark magic, isn't it?" Ian asked, his tone hesitant.

"Of course."

Snape eyed him with sharp scrutiny.

"Will I get in trouble for learning it?" Ian inquired further.

Snape's patience visibly wore thin.

"You weren't worried about trouble when you learned Necrotic Control," Snape scoffed, his gaze piercing through Ian's feigned uncertainty.

"Spare me the ridiculous excuses. Didn't you claim you simply found a note and, out of curiosity, tried out the spell and mastered it? That spell isn't even classified as true dark magic. Considering your… extraordinary self-proclaimed talent, I can't imagine a mere spell would pose any challenge to you, magical prodigy."

The heavy sarcasm in Snape's tone was impossible to miss.

"I'm not making excuses, Professor. You misunderstand me," Ian said, blinking as he glanced at his status screen—where a new skill had just been added at Level 1.

"I was just thinking…"

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the remaining wooden planks in the room.

"Sectumsempra."

Ian uttered the incantation softly.

The air rippled ever so slightly.

Invisible blades sliced through the space like spectral knives, an unseen sword slashing wildly at everything in its path, leaving behind nothing but shredded remnants.

A sharp, tearing sound filled the room.

Splinters flew in all directions.

Wood dust and debris filled the air, cascading down like a light rain.

"It wasn't that hard to learn."

Covered in a fine layer of dust, Ian casually brushed off his robes, flashing Snape a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Maybe you should pick a more challenging spell next time, Professor. That way, I might actually struggle. Then, you'd get to enjoy watching me flounder."

His voice was filled with an exaggerated sincerity, as though he was genuinely considering Snape's best interests.

No response.

Snape's smirk had frozen completely.

The atmosphere in the room turned eerily silent.

"Professor?"

Ian pressed on, unwilling to let the moment die.

"Seriously, just a bit harder, and I definitely wouldn't be able to manage. My thirst for knowledge is so pure that even my lies sound completely genuine."

"…"

Snape stood motionless, his greasy black hair now coated in sawdust. The fine particles clung stubbornly to his scalp, yet his mind was far too occupied to care.

"What are you?" Snape demanded, his voice twitching with barely restrained disbelief.

"You saw it yourself— I nearly failed," Ian replied with an expression of mock fear.

Just as he had done before, spinning his bizarre, far-fetched explanations—

Snape, once again, refused to take the bait.

The man, who could mock someone for thirty minutes straight without repeating himself, opened his mouth—only to find himself at a complete loss for words.

There was simply no logical response.

Who could have predicted this?

The orphan he had only recently taken from that dreary shelter—

A boy who had just acquired his wand days ago—

Had managed to slap him in the face with sheer talent.

And proved what it meant to be a self-taught magical prodigy.

Was this even humanly possible?

This little brat learned Sectumsempra in twenty minutes?

Even Voldemort himself would hand you his wand in sheer admiration!

Snape felt unsteady for a moment.

"Professor, professor—have you decided yet? I suggest no more dark magic. How about testing me with Fiendfyre next?" Ian chirped.

"Shut up!"

Snape needed time to process this madness.

Fiendfyre?

What's next— wandless Avada Kedavra?

"Alright, alright…" Ian shrugged, feigning meekness.

Snape took another long moment to collect himself. He scrutinized the boy in front of him, reevaluating the absurdity of his previous assumptions.

Maybe…

Maybe he really did find some dark wizard's note?

"Where is the paper you found?" Snape asked, still unwilling to admit fault in his judgment.

"Gone. Last night was a disaster—corpses crawling everywhere. Who knows where that scrap of paper ended up?" Ian sighed, looking genuinely annoyed.

"You are not to mention anything about yesterday—or today—to anyone!" Snape's expression turned grim. He didn't press further about the paper.

His gaze on Ian held more than just shock and disbelief now. Beneath it all, there was a flicker of concern.

Displaying this level of talent at such a precarious time wasn't a good thing.

Voldemort was on the verge of returning.

Grindelwald's followers and descendants were already moving near Hogwarts.

A thought struck Snape.

Could the note Ian found have belonged to one of Grindelwald's acolytes?

Perhaps it was meant to teach some heir of his?

The more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed.

Without realizing it, Snape found himself believing Ian's ridiculous story.

Because what else could explain his monstrous talent?

"Hogwarts starts soon. Listen to me, Prince. You are not to use that spell on anyone at school—no matter how much they provoke you!"

Snape was already regretting showing him Sectumsempra.

Who would've thought—

That this brat would actually master it?

"Of course, of course, I completely understand. I'm always peaceful and kind," Ian assured him with a solemn nod.

Snape's words were instantly etched into his mind.

After all—

Snape had only forbidden Sectumsempra on people.

He hadn't forbidden him from using Necrotic Control on the ancestors of those he disliked.

Yes.

That was practically the professor's unspoken approval!