The sun rises and the moon sets, time flows on.
Hogwarts Village always seems to be so peaceful and serene.
Outside the village, the trees are lush and leafy, with vines of time winding up their trunks. Ian, carrying his newly-bought axe, is steadily chopping at a tree that's not particularly thick.
"Little Ian, do you need my help?"
Lady Puddifoot, the owner of Puddifoot's Tea Shop, happened to be returning from outside the village at this moment. She was plump, her shiny black hair coiled in a bun on the back of her head.
Seeing tiny Ian chopping at a tree, the tea shop owner didn't scold him—instead, she took out her magic wand, smiling as she cheerfully asked Ian if he needed a hand.
"Miss Puddifoot, thank you, I really do need your help." Ian had not only underestimated his own Dark Arts talent, but also overestimated the stamina of a ten-year-old.
Who would have thought it, just a single tree, and after half an hour of chopping it still wasn't down. It wasn't just the axe being too small—more of it was Ian simply lacking an adult's strength and endurance.
"Your mouth is still as sweet as ever."
Lady Puddifoot was very pleased with how Ian addressed her. In fact, anyone could tell from the girlish decor of her tea shop that this chubby Witch had certain notions in her heart.
"Do you want me to help chop it into smaller pieces?"
Lady Puddifoot didn't utter an incantation, just gently waved her wand, and the gap in the tree Ian had made instantly snapped apart. Then, with a Wingardium Leviosa, she floated the wood into the air.
"If possible, I'd like the wood cut into planks."
Ian looked on with envy at the spectacle before him.
To live near Hogwarts and run a shop—the Wizards here might not be dazzling masters, but they were definitely among the elite of their kind.
"As you wish."
Lady Puddifoot flicked her wand lightly, and the raw tree began to split, finally turning into a pile of neat, uniform boards, stacked tidily in front of Ian.
"You really are a Magic Master!"
Ian genuinely exclaimed in admiration.
"Hahahaha, I used to be top of my year too!"
Lady Puddifoot boasted without modesty.
"I hope I can be as excellent as you someday."
Ian hurried to flatter her, making Lady Puddifoot laugh so hard her eyes squeezed shut. The chubby Witch's laughter was hearty and unpretentious, very much the air of a heroine.
"Hufflepuff would surely welcome you."
Lady Puddifoot revealed which house she had attended.
"I hope I can be a great Hufflepuff too." Ian was always tactful, but honestly, he didn't mind the idea of being sorted into Hufflepuff at all.
Who wouldn't want to live by the kitchens, eat hot pot whenever you feel like it, or tuck into some beef as you please?
"Do you need me to help you carry these planks back?"
Lady Puddifoot was so pleased, she grew even more enthusiastic right away.
"It's not far—I can bring them back in batches… it's a good exercise too." Ian didn't want to trouble others too much. He drew out his wand and cast a Spell on a portion of planks.
"Expelliarmus!"
Ian's Magic Spell succeeded, lifting some planks into the air; and his stats screen changed as well.
[Successfully cast Wingardium Leviosa, magic skill level +3]
With an exceptional gift for Dark Arts, his talent for other kinds of magic was naturally no less. After all, Dark Arts are, in essence, just another kind of Magic.
Of course.
It's just that he hadn't studied long enough yet.
So with only Level 1 [Wingardium Leviosa], it was impossible for Ian to control objects that were too heavy.
"What impressive spellcasting."
Lady Puddifoot watched as Ian gingerly floated a portion of planks toward the village, and couldn't help but offer an utterly sincere remark of surprise.
"You'll surely become an outstanding Wizard someday."
This was Lady Puddifoot's genuine belief. After all, succeeding with [Wingardium Leviosa] isn't that hard, but maintaining it like this is no small feat.
Not to mention he hadn't even started at Hogwarts yet.
Many little Wizards in their second year couldn't manage what Ian was doing now.
"I hope so too, thank you for your help."
Ian threw himself into carefully controlling the Magic Spell, waving goodbye to Lady Puddifoot with his free hand, then slowly heading toward the little cottage.
Snape had placed his house right on the edge of the village.
It wasn't far at all.
All along the way—
[Successfully maintained Wingardium Leviosa, magic skill level +1]
Ian gained another increase in Skill Level. After making four or five trips, he finally got all the planks back to his little cottage.
However—
He still lacked a shovel, deodorizer, plastic sheeting, and, most importantly, nails.
…
Hogwarts.
The Head of Slytherin House's office.
Snape's face was extremely ugly.
As Hogwarts's Professor of Potions, a world-renowned Master of Magic Potions, he'd actually stewed a batch of Blessing Potion so badly today that not even a clueless Gryffindor could ruin it worse!
"It's all Dumbledore's fault!"
Snape hadn't been sleeping well lately, and because of that, he missed today's stirring stage for the Blessing Potion. So, a potion that should have been perfect was now doomed to have a fatal flaw.
Snape blamed Dumbledore for it, for a simple reason: he couldn't sleep ever since Dumbledore had told him, a few days ago—
"It's not that he needs you, but that you need him."
Snape had cursed Dumbledore out for his drivel at the time, but over these past few days, the words kept echoing in his mind and refused to dissipate.
"I don't need anyone!"
Snape still clung to that belief.
But he knew as well—
If he wanted to drive away the nightmares haunting him, he had to do something to prove himself.
So—
He looked at the no-longer-perfect, still-stewing Blessing Potion, his expression constantly shifting. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and put on his cloak.
That robe he never washed, ever.
"If I can't even take care of myself, what am I doing trying to learn magic…"
Seeming to make up for days of neglect, Snape strode out of his office. On the way, he encountered Argus Filch, who was inspecting some equipment.
He was Hogwarts's caretaker, night watchman, the self-appointed disciplinarian Squib—a man perhaps pitiful, but definitely not worthy of pity.
"Good morning, Professor Snape."
Filch always put on a smile for professors.
However—
Snape didn't so much as glance at him.
He swept right past without pause.
The smile on Filch's face grew awkward, but he dared not say a word—only when Snape was gone would he mutter to his cat and get back to his work.
"Let's hope he hasn't starved."
Snape arrived at Hogwarts Village.
Standing in front of the cottage.
He needed no key—one flick of his Spell easily opened the triple-locked front door. Triple locked? Snape was a little curious about the tenant's wariness.
Hogwarts Village had never been short on security, after all.
Expressionless, he stepped inside.
The next moment—
The Head of Slytherin House immediately understood why the door had been locked three times. His eternally cold face suddenly twisted in shock.
"What are you doing!!?"
Snape's voice went high and sharp, like an oboe caught in a tantrum.
He could hardly be blamed.
He had just stumbled on a sight he could hardly believe, could never have imagined he'd see inside this little cottage—the whole floor was dug out, with a great, deep pit!
A little Wizard was sprawled over what looked like a hastily-made coffin, struggling to cram two badly decomposed corpses into it.
In the already ruined house,
three or four more bodies, in various grisly pieces and stages of decay, lay quietly on the floor—bloody hell! Was this really something to see in Hogwarts Village!?
"Mr. Prince!"
Snape's face was ashen.
He saw the little Wizard look up in terror; startled by the noise, the boy even tore an arm off one of the corpses, making Snape's expression turn several shades darker.
"I need a good explanation for this—one that doesn't end with me sending you to Azkaban!!"
He was nearly roaring.