Chapter 11: Ian's Doubts

Movies are, after all, just movies.

They are bound by special effects, limited by camera angles, and can only present a mere fragment of what Diagon Alley truly is.

It wasn't until Ian actually stepped foot onto its cobbled streets that he realized the truth.

Diagon Alley was not some glorified countryside market, nor was it a relic of a bygone era, left to decay in obscurity.

It was the most prosperous and bustling wizarding hub in all of the British Isles!

"This is… incredible!"

Ian's heart pounded with excitement.

He hadn't felt the nausea or dizziness that supposedly accompanied one's first Apparition. It was only now, in hindsight, that he realized it must have been due to that potion Snape had given him—the one that, to his surprise, tasted far better than milk.

Who would have thought Severus Snape had such a considerate side?

This revelation clashed with everything Ian had come to expect about Snape's character. It made him recall Dumbledore's words once again.

Just what kind of debt did Snape owe?

What could possibly make him show such unusual care?

Could it be… that in this life, his parents had been killed during one of Snape's missions as a Death Eater?

Ian was deep in thought, lost in a web of speculation.

But before he could reach any conclusions—

"Keep up."

Snape had already released his firm grip on Ian's collar and strode forward without a glance back.

Ian quickly grabbed hold of his oversized trunk and hurried to follow.

The streets were alive with movement. Wizards and witches bustled about, engaged in their own affairs. Though Snape never turned his head, he somehow maintained a pace that ensured Ian could follow without being lost in the crowd.

"Professor, where are we going? The bank?" Ian asked curiously.

"It's called Gringotts. Don't apply Muggle ignorance to the wizarding world," Snape corrected coldly, though he still answered the question.

Then, in a voice that was both sinister and condescending, he added, "Control your mind. Everyone here is a wizard. They won't tolerate you simply because you're a child. A dark wizard could snatch you away for some twisted experiment at any moment."

Ian frowned slightly at the remark. It was obvious that Snape wasn't just trying to scare him—this was a warning, a reminder not to carelessly use his mental perception ability on others.

"I'll try…"

Ian made an effort to clear his thoughts, dulling the sensitivity of his ability as much as possible. But controlling it completely? That was still beyond him.

To distract himself, he shifted his attention to the magical creatures coexisting with wizards in this world.

Aside from fantastic beasts, there were also giants and dwarves—races that had only ever existed in fantasy tales before.

Ian was particularly curious about goblins. Just how grotesque did they really look?

However—

Snape did not take him to Gringotts.

Instead, their first stop was Flourish and Blotts.

"I need a full set of first-year textbooks for Hogwarts," Snape said to the shopkeeper.

Flourish and Blotts was the dominant supplier of magical books in Britain. The family that controlled it likely had deep ties to one of the old pure-blood families—otherwise, monopolizing the entire school textbook industry would have been impossible.

Ian couldn't help but think of his previous life, where certain schools would require students to purchase books from specific bookstores. There was no way such arrangements weren't fueled by some backdoor dealings.

"Of course, Professor Snape," the shop assistant responded, visibly nervous in Snape's presence.

The man was likely a former Hogwarts student.

Ian, standing behind Snape, muttered, "I don't even know which books I need. I haven't even received my Hogwarts acceptance letter yet."

Snape's dark eyes flicked toward him, filled with disdain.

"You're concerned about a meaningless piece of paper?"

"It just feels like I'm missing something," Ian replied, blinking.

Snape let out a derisive chuckle.

"Ridiculous sentimentality."

Without another word, he reached into his robe, pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment, and tossed it toward Ian with as much care as one might discard a piece of rubbish.

Ian hurried to catch it.

The first thing he noticed was the crest at the top—a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent, all surrounding a large letter "H."

This was it.

His Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Prince,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

A list of required supplies followed. Ian skimmed through it quickly, getting a general idea of what he needed.

Snape watched with his usual look of contempt.

"Well then, Mr. Fuss-Over-Nothing—are you satisfied now?"

"I was hoping to see the Hogwarts owl," Ian muttered.

Snape scoffed.

"Rather than wasting time on childish vanity, perhaps you should consider how to conduct yourself at school. Unless, of course, you aspire to end up as useless as those Hufflepuffs."

At that moment, the shop assistant returned with a stack of books.

Judging by his stiffened expression, Ian was fairly certain Snape's comment had also been an indirect jab at him.

Snape truly had a gift for being insufferable.

"Thank you," Ian said sincerely, accepting the books.

The shop assistant, still visibly annoyed, knelt slightly and whispered, "Don't believe everything Professor Snape says. Hufflepuff has produced many remarkable witches and wizards—like Newt Scamander, the renowned author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."

Ian smiled. "I think so too."

The assistant gave him a pleased pat on the head before moving back behind the counter.

"That'll be fifteen Galleons," the cashier announced.

Before Ian could reach for his own money, Snape had already tossed a small pouch of coins onto the counter.

Ian frowned. "Is this… a student loan, Professor?"

"Not your concern," Snape answered curtly.

Ian sighed and attempted to fit his new books into his already full trunk.

Without a word, Snape flicked his wand.

"Reducio."

Instantly, Ian's clothes and miscellaneous items shrank, making room for the books.

"That's incredible!" Ian marveled.

Snape smirked. "Consider this a warning—this spell lasts only twenty-four hours. If you don't take your things out before then… well, you won't like the result."

Snape finished his words, his tone dripping with disdain.

Then, with a dramatic swirl of his long black robes, he strode toward the door.

Ian hurriedly followed.

To his surprise, with Snape's enchantment in place, his trunk felt significantly lighter. The wonders of magic! Even Lavoisier would be rolling in his grave right now—

Conservation of mass?
Gone!
Completely unscientific!
I love it!

Ian's desire to learn magic burned even stronger.

"Professor! Wait!"

With Snape's pace quickening, Ian had to push his much shorter legs to the limit just to keep up.

What followed was a whirlwind of shopping, with Snape efficiently picking up all the necessary supplies while Ian simply trailed behind.

More astonishingly, Snape was the one paying for everything.

When it came to buying a cauldron for Potions class, the shopkeeper had already prepared the standard student set: a simple tin cauldron, size two, as per the Hogwarts supply list.

Yet, instead of accepting it, Snape spoke up.

"Make it a brass cauldron instead."

A pricier choice.

Far more expensive than the standard tin cauldron.

Ian hesitated, frowning as he double-checked the letter in his hands.

"Professor, but the supply list specifically states that first-years need a size-two tin cauldron." He voiced his uncertainty.

To his dismay, Snape didn't even look at him as he paid, his voice dripping with mockery.

"It seems that Mr. Prince believes he has already mastered all there is to know—so much so that he now presumes to lecture me, a Potions Master, on what constitutes the proper choice?"

His sarcasm was razor-sharp.

Ian clamped his mouth shut.

Were it not for the fact that Snape was the one covering all expenses, he might have mustered the courage to snap back.

Honestly, Ian was feeling more confused than ever.

Could it be that Snape had truly murdered his parents while serving as a Death Eater? If not, why was he treating Ian so differently—why this unusual generosity?

No matter how he thought about it, he couldn't make sense of it.

A mystery he had yet to unravel.