However, the absence of proper effects was obvious.
"How will they check if my stuff is the real deal?"
Ian asked curiously, or at least pretended to be curious.
Snape glared at him, frowning. Normally, he wouldn't bother to answer such a question, but after thinking for a moment, he concluded Ian was already beyond help when it came to corruption.
"Appearance, smell, even the feel—all of these can be used to tell if magic potion materials are genuine." Good uncle finally opened his mouth. He grabbed another Sopophorous Bean from the ground just as he was about to explain how to distinguish finished magic potions.
"Great!"
Ian suddenly clapped his hands.
Just as Snape was a bit confused.
"You touched my stuff! Once you touch it, you have to buy it! I can't sell things after they've been touched!" Ian wasn't concerned with identifying fakes; he was simply showing Snape his potion-selling strategy.
"..."
Snape, of course, could see what Ian was showing him, and because he realized just how thick-faced the little wizard was, he fell silent and couldn't find any words.
"You want to force people to buy? You think the vicious types in Knockturn Alley will pay just because of your twisted logic?" Snape's lips twitched slightly.
"Of course they won't."
Ian nodded in agreement, then pulled out his magic wand. "That's exactly why we learn magic! It'll definitely make the Dark Wizards in Knockturn Alley pay up."
Ian finished speaking.
As Snape's eye twitched more and more.
He added another line.
"Really, mine's already super conscientious, selling them stuff that actually works." The little wizard spoke with unswerving confidence. "I bet if I sold them plain sugar water and called it Blessing Potion, they still wouldn't dare go to the Ministry of Magic or anywhere else to report me."
"That's Knockturn Alley, and they're Dark Wizards..." Ian had clearly tasted the joy of fleecing dark wizards when he and Aurora did Christmas activities earlier today.
"This isn't what kids your age should be doing!" Snape spoke with a bit of gravitas, his voice full of helplessness toward Ian.
This kid was definitely born rotten.
Voldemort probably wasn't even this bad back in school.
"Of course, that's why I'm planning to ask Aurora's elders for help. They have their own shops in Knockturn Alley." Of course, Ian was just spouting random nonsense here.
He was fishing.
And the fish bit.
"I also have a shop in Knockturn Alley..."
Snape spoke in a quiet tone, his expression strangely twisted and unnatural. He always had a dislike for Grindelwald's Saints, so there was no way he'd let Ian work with them.
As a famous Master of Magic Potions.
No doubt about it.
He's an expert at fakes, and not just theoretically—he's practiced it countless times. Honestly, with fake potions to sell, who'd bother brewing the real stuff?
Ian's reasoning wasn't lost on him.
"Alright, alright! No need to beg anyone else! You just do us a favor and brew them all, we'll split the profits fifty-fifty!" Ian didn't wait for Snape's reply and dumped all the leftover, nearly useless potion materials from his money bag. If someone else could do the work, why would he bother doing it himself?
"..."
Snape wanted to scold Ian, but there were just too many fake potions all over the floor. He took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and mentally prepared himself.
This was all to keep Ian away from those Saints.
Definitely not about grabbing some gold coins.
And definitely not because his hands itched, wanting to experiment with this batch of mysterious fake potions for some innovation. Yep, that's it. Self-convinced, Snape opened his eyes.
But.
The little wizard was already gone.
"That damn brat, how on earth did he make these fakes?" Snape gathered up the materials with missing potion effects, but didn't even think about pocketing or confiscating them.
After all, just as the little wizard knew his favorite punishment techniques, he knew exactly how petty and vengeful Ian could be when it came to Golden Galleons.
Even he was tempted by the gold coins, but Snape didn't dare gamble. Winning would just add to his coin stash, but losing could destroy more than his reputation.
Including Amortentia—
This nephew of his might genuinely pour it down a Fantastic Beast's throat and then slip it into his bed in the middle of the night. Snape had learned quite a lot about Ian.
"So strange..."
Back in his office, after hours of study, Snape still couldn't figure out how the fake potion materials were made. The obviously fake potion effects and the near-perfect appearance felt seriously off.
"How did he do it?" Snape wondered if Ian had just extracted the potion effects, but after checking, he found no signs of extraction.
They seemed born weak, but looked just like strong materials. Snape opened his cabinet, took out a shriveled fig, and compared it.
"How could even the markings be identical?"
Snape's expression was a mix of shock and disbelief.
Clearly.
Some improbable coincidences had happened.
He stared at the shriveled fig in his hand, identical in every way except for potion effect, and was so shocked he looked like he'd seen something impossible.
"Just like there can't be two identical humans, there shouldn't be two identical materials." Snape was about to move over to the lit candle on the desk for closer comparison.
"Hiss~"
Suddenly, he sucked in a cold breath.
His head suddenly cramped with excruciating pain.
"Smack~"
Several vials on the table got swept to the floor as Snape hurriedly grabbed the table to keep himself from falling. Some corrosive potions began to fizz and bubble.
"What is going on! Am I cursed?!"
Snape ignored the spilled magic potions. His mind vibrated, shuddered, fragmentary images flickered nonstop.
All were related to him.
But none of them were things he'd experienced.
...
Hogwarts Village.
The chess player under the tree seemed to always sit here.
The hands of the mysterious middle-aged wanderer gently moved, the ring on his finger emitting unusual waves. Yet, after a moment, nothing happened in his vicinity.
"Now this is interesting."
Under the quiet shade of the tree.
The middle-aged man seemed to mumble softly to himself. Snow kept falling from the sky, but within the boundary where he sat, not a trace of dampness could be found.
The snow didn't touch him, and inside the circle it wasn't cold; you could even smell the blooming flowers of spring, the atmosphere utterly severed from the winter outside.
"After all, fairness matters."
The middle-aged man seemed to be speaking softly to someone.
In his eyes, a chess piece on the board was reflected.
Albus Dumbledore.