Chapter 31: No Time to Explain! Get in the Coffin!

The sun rose and fell, marking the quiet passage of time.

Hogsmeade Village remained as tranquil and peaceful as ever.

Outside the village, the trees stood tall and verdant, their trunks wrapped in vines, a silent testament to the years they had weathered. Beneath their shade, Ian struggled with a newly purchased axe, hacking away at a tree that, while not particularly thick, stubbornly resisted his efforts.

"Little Ian, do you need some help?"

Madam Puddifoot, the owner of the local teahouse, had just returned from outside the village. She was a plump woman with sleek black hair tied up in a bun.

Seeing the boy struggling to chop down a tree, she didn't scold him as some might expect. Instead, she pulled out her wand with a cheerful smile and asked, "Would you like me to lend a hand?"

"Miss Puddifoot, I would truly appreciate it," Ian admitted, his tone polite but tinged with exhaustion. He had not only underestimated his own magical potential but had also overestimated the stamina of a ten-year-old.

Who would have thought that cutting down a single tree could take over half an hour? It wasn't just the fault of the small axe—he simply lacked the strength and endurance of an adult.

"You're always so sweet-tongued," Madam Puddifoot chuckled, clearly pleased by Ian's respectful address. Anyone who had set foot in her shop, decorated in a distinctly romantic and feminine style, would have no trouble guessing that the owner harbored a soft spot for charm and flattery.

"Would you like me to cut it into smaller pieces?"

Without uttering a spell, she gave her wand a slight flick. The tree trunk, already bearing deep axe marks, split cleanly at the incision, then floated effortlessly into the air under the influence of a Levitation Charm.

"If possible, I'd like wooden planks," Ian requested, unable to hide his admiration at the seamless display of magic.

Wizards who ran businesses in Hogsmeade, so close to Hogwarts, might not have been legendary figures, but they were undoubtedly skilled practitioners in their craft.

"As you wish."

With another flick of her wand, the raw timber divided itself further, the wood neatly aligning into evenly cut planks, which stacked themselves in an orderly pile before Ian.

"You truly are a master of magic!" Ian praised with genuine admiration.

"Hah! I was top of my class back in the day, you know," Madam Puddifoot boasted, clearly enjoying the compliment.

"I can only hope to be as skilled as you someday," Ian added smoothly, prompting a deep, hearty laugh from the older witch. Her mirth was robust and unrestrained, carrying the confidence of a woman who had never hesitated to take up space in any room.

"Hufflepuff would welcome you with open arms," she remarked, revealing her old house at Hogwarts.

"I wouldn't mind being a Hufflepuff at all," Ian replied without hesitation. It wasn't just flattery—he genuinely saw the appeal. Who wouldn't want to live next to the kitchen, where a hot meal was always within reach?

"Would you like me to help carry these back?" Madam Puddifoot offered, her good mood making her even more eager to assist.

"It's not far. I can take them in batches—it'll be good practice," Ian said, declining politely. Pulling out his wand, he aimed at a portion of the wooden planks and spoke the incantation clearly.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The spell worked flawlessly, and the planks floated into the air. At the same moment, Ian felt a subtle change in his magic.

[Successfully cast Levitation Charm. Magic proficiency +3. ]

His natural gift for Dark Magic didn't mean he lacked potential in other areas—after all, Dark Magic was still magic. However, given his limited training time, his Levitation Charm was still at a beginner level and couldn't handle heavier objects yet.

"That was impressive," Madam Puddifoot praised, watching as Ian carefully guided the floating planks toward the village.

"You'll make an outstanding wizard one day."

This wasn't mere politeness—she genuinely meant it. Successfully casting Wingardium Leviosa wasn't difficult, but maintaining precise control over it for an extended period was no small feat, especially for someone who hadn't even started formal schooling.

Even many second-year students struggled with it.

"I certainly hope so," Ian replied, concentrating on maintaining the spell. With a small wave, he bid farewell to Madam Puddifoot and made his way toward his cottage.

Since the house Snape had arranged for him stood on the outskirts of the village, the trip was short.

Along the way…

[Maintained Levitation Charm. Magic proficiency +1. ]

He made several trips back and forth, each time honing his control. By the end, all the wooden planks had been transported successfully.

However, he was still missing a shovel, deodorizing potions, plastic sheeting, and—most importantly—nails.

Hogwarts, Slytherin Headmaster's Office

Severus Snape looked deeply displeased.

As the Potions Master of Hogwarts and a wizard of considerable renown, he had, against all logic, ruined a batch potions so simple that even the dunderheads in Gryffindor should have been able to brew it correctly.

"This is Dumbledore's fault."

His recent insomnia had been disrupting his concentration, which in turn had caused him to miss a crucial stirring time. Now, the once-perfect potion was irreparably flawed.

And all because of a single maddening sentence Dumbledore had said to him days ago.

"It's not that he needs you. It's that you need him."

Snape had snapped back at the old man at the time, dismissing it as nonsense. Yet, the words had haunted him ever since, refusing to leave his thoughts.

"I do not need anyone."

He still believed that.

But if he truly wanted to silence these intrusive thoughts, he had to prove it to himself.

With one last glance at the imperfect potion simmering in his cauldron, Snape's expression hardened.

Pulling on his ever-present black robes, he strode out of the office, his footsteps brisk and purposeful.

Along the way, he encountered Argus Filch, the castle caretaker, who was making his usual rounds.

"Good morning, Professor Snape," Filch greeted eagerly.

Snape didn't even acknowledge him, walking past without so much as a glance.

Filch's smile faltered, his face twisting in a mixture of disappointment and irritation. Muttering under his breath, he clutched Mrs. Norris tightly and resumed his work.

Hogsmeade, Ian's Cottage

"Hopefully, he hasn't starved to death," Snape muttered as he reached the small cottage.

With a flick of his wand, the locked door swung open.

Three locks? Snape's brow furrowed. He hadn't expected the boy to be so cautious—especially in a place as safe as Hogsmeade.

Expression unreadable, he stepped inside…

And immediately froze.

For the first time in years, his usually impassive face twisted in genuine shock.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?!"

His voice, sharp and high-strung, cut through the air like a whip.

It wasn't without reason.

Before him lay an unsettling scene: the floor had been dug up, exposing a deep, gaping hole. A makeshift coffin, hastily assembled from the wooden planks Ian had collected, sat at its edge.

And Ian—small, pale, and utterly guilty-looking—was struggling to shove two severely decomposed bodies inside it.

Snape's stomach turned as his gaze swept across the room. Three or four more corpses, in varying states of decay, were scattered around the dilapidated space.

This wasn't something one expected to find in Hogsmeade.

"Professor Snape!" Ian's voice trembled as he looked up, startled by Snape's sudden arrival.

In his panic, he pulled too hard—resulting in a sickening snap as a corpse's arm tore clean off.

Snape's already dark expression grew even more thunderous.

"You had better have a damn good explanation for this before I send you straight to Azkaban!"