Chapter 10: The Place Where Dreams Begin

The city was shrouded in a veil of mist.

London's infamous smog draped over the streets like layers of sheer fabric, softening the edges of buildings and casting an almost dreamlike haze over the quiet roads.

Ian walked in silence, his heart heavy with the weight of departure.

For years, he had longed for this moment—the chance to finally study magic, to step into the world he had always felt drawn to. Yet, now that the time had come, leaving behind the orphanage and the people who had been his family for the past eleven years felt far more difficult than he had imagined.

This place had been his home since he first arrived in this world.

A cold, drawling voice shattered the quiet atmosphere.

"How very charming, Mr. Prince. It seems you have quite the talent for making yourself well-liked."

Ian didn't respond.

Trailing behind Severus Snape, he simply dragged his suitcase along the damp pavement. He wasn't in the mood to engage. There was no point, after all. No matter how obedient or well-behaved a student might be, it would never earn the favor of Hogwarts' infamous Potions Master.

Snape, however, was not one to be deterred by silence.

"You gave away all your money to them," he remarked, his voice laced with disdain. "That is not the decision of someone with an ounce of intelligence."

So, he had noticed.

Ian shouldn't have been surprised—no detail escaped the keen eyes of a skilled wizard like Snape.

"I kept enough," Ian answered, lifting his gaze slightly to study the man beside him. "Enough to exchange for wizarding currency where necessary."

Snape made a sound of disapproval, something between a scoff and a derisive snort.

"Not entirely foolish, then."

His pace slowed slightly as he glanced at Ian from the corner of his eye.

"You do realize that you are merely a ward of that orphanage—someone meant to be taken care of, not the one doing the caretaking?"

Ian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reflected on those early years—the frail body he had once inhabited, the frequent bouts of illness, the way his magic had struggled to settle into his being.

"I was sick a lot when I was younger," he finally said, his tone calm and measured. "Probably because of my magic awakening. My body was weak."

"Miss Elena, our matron, would take me to the city hospital whenever I fell ill. Back then, the orphanage was struggling even more than it is now, but she never hesitated to buy me expensive medicine."

"There was never enough food for all of us, yet when I was sick, Catherine would share half of her bread with me. Daniel would run outside, trying to find herbs to help—though considering his grandmother was a self-proclaimed healer who poisoned herself, it probably wasn't the safest idea."

"And Mia, the youngest of us… Whenever I got sick, she would stay up all night praying for me, whispering to God in the dark."

A faint smile played at Ian's lips as he recounted the memories.

"Every single one of them looked after me." His voice was quiet yet firm. "So, when I finally had the ability to do something for them, of course, I would. It's not generosity—it's responsibility."

The empty street seemed to absorb his words, the lingering mist thickening around them.

Snape exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable.

"Touching," he said dryly. "But if you think this sentimental speech will move me—"

"That's not my intention, Professor," Ian interrupted.

He had no illusions about Snape's capacity for empathy. He had heard enough to know that a man who could brand himself with the Dark Mark likely wasn't someone who understood love, much less kindness. But that didn't matter.

"They thought of me when I had nothing," Ian continued, meeting Snape's gaze with unwavering certainty. "So now that I have something, I will think of them."

Snape studied him for a long moment. Then, his lips curled into something that might have been a smirk, had it not been so utterly devoid of amusement.

"Quite the little philosopher, aren't you?"

Ian didn't respond, but his expression remained steady.

"Well," Snape continued, his voice laced with scorn, "since you're so insistent on playing the orphanage's noble savior, shall I start addressing you as its Messiah?"

Ian tilted his head. "Not at all, Professor. But if you were to show some generosity and donate a portion of your wealth to the orphanage, then you would truly be the Messiah. A real hero, even."

For the first time since their conversation had begun, Snape looked genuinely taken aback. He blinked, his sharp black eyes narrowing slightly as he processed Ian's words.

And then, something between a laugh and a scoff escaped him.

"Bold," he mused. "Shamelessly so."

Ian simply held his gaze, unflinching.

Snape shook his head. "I'm afraid you're under a dangerous misapprehension if you think I would donate so much as a single Galleon to a Muggle orphanage."

Ian had expected as much. Yet, even knowing the answer in advance, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of disappointment.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Snape abruptly stopped.

"Drink this."

From the depths of his robes, he pulled out a small vial filled with a swirling green liquid. The potion emitted faint bubbles, as if it were alive.

Ian eyed it warily. "What is it?"

Snape's expression darkened. "If I intended to harm you, would I need to go through the trouble of tricking you into drinking something first?"

…That was a fair point.

Ian hesitated for only a moment longer before sighing. "It's not going to taste awful, is it?"

Snape didn't dignify that with a response. He merely watched, expression blank, waiting.

With a resigned breath, Ian uncorked the vial and downed the potion in one gulp.

To his surprise, it wasn't bitter at all. Instead, it was smooth and sweet—like coconut milk, with a faintly refreshing aftertaste.

Wait. That wasn't right.

He had heard plenty of horror stories about Snape's potions. Weren't they supposed to be nearly undrinkable?!

Ian barely had time to process this realization before Snape moved.

Without warning, the professor seized him by the collar, fingers tightening around the fabric.

"You are truly the most pathetic coward I have ever met," Snape sneered.

And with a sharp flick of his wand—

The world twisted.

A sensation like being yanked through a narrow rubber tube overwhelmed Ian, his vision blurring into a whirlwind of color and shadows. His stomach lurched. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the feeling stopped.

The ground beneath him was no longer cold, wet pavement.

Instead, he found himself standing on a cobbled street, stretching far beyond what the eye could see. Shops lined both sides of the road, their displays filled with items both marvelous and strange. People in flowing robes bustled about, their conversations lively, their laughter ringing through the air.

Feather dusters floated midair, brushing away specks of dust. Brooms swept the streets without anyone guiding them. Owls hooted from their perches, while cats, rats, and even the occasional snake lounged lazily on their owners' shoulders.

Ian barely breathed.

The sight before him was far grander than anything he had ever seen on a movie screen.

There was no mistaking it.

This was Diagon Alley.