King's Cross Station, Platform 9 3/4.
It wasn't the magical wonderland Ivan had imagined. instead, it had the chaotic energy of a subway station during rush hour. The red-headed Weasleys were shouting their goodbyes, while Lucius Malfoy stood like a king, surrounded by a sycophantic crowd of pure-blood families.
Ivan pushed a rusty trolley—something he'd "acquired" in Knockturn Alley—carrying a single, battered leather trunk. He looked thoroughly destitute.
But his demeanor was calm and composed.
Just moments ago, he hadn't run at the barrier like the others. Instead, stopping two meters short of the wall, he had simply drawn a "door" in the air with his wand.
Click.
The solid brick wall had rippled like water, opening an invisible gate. Ivan had walked through elegantly, not a hair out of place.
This scene was witnessed by Hagrid, who had just squeezed through the entrance.
"Merlin's beard..." Hagrid's beetle-black eyes went wide. "Harry, did yer brother just open a door in the wall? He didn't even run!"
Harry Potter, clutching Hedwig's cage, looked confused. "I... I didn't see clearly, Hagrid. Maybe the wind blew it open?"
Ivan ignored the stares. He was looking for a familiar, greasy figure.
There he is.
Just before the train doors were set to close, a chill swept across the platform. The noisy students quieted down instantly, like ducks suddenly grabbed by the neck.
A man in billowing black robes, looking for all the world like a giant bat, strode over. His hooked nose looked particularly sharp in the sunset, and his greasy black hair hung like curtains around his face.
Severus Snape.
He spotted Ivan in the corner immediately. Not because Ivan stood out visually, but because Ivan was the only person on the platform not looking at him with "fear" or "awe."
In fact, Ivan was sizing him up. Like a scientist evaluating a lab rat.
"Potter." Snape's voice sounded like something scraping against glass—low, silky, and dripping with undisguised loathing. "I thought Headmaster Dumbledore was joking. I didn't expect you to actually crawl out of the garbage heap."
The surrounding students snickered quietly. Draco Malfoy dramatically covered his nose, as if Ivan carried a contagious disease.
Ivan didn't get angry. Instead, he smiled and took a step forward, stopping just half a meter from Snape.
It was a dangerously close distance—right inside Snape's striking range.
"Good evening, Professor Snape," Ivan said, his voice crisp and carrying a lazy, aristocratic drawl. "Or perhaps I should address you as... the Half-Blood Prince?"
Boom!
Snape's impassive mask cracked. His black pupils contracted to pinpricks.
The Half-Blood Prince!
That was his life's greatest secret! It was his deepest shame and his private glory. How could this mongrel, raised in a Muggle trash heap, possibly know that name?!
> [System Alert: Target "Snape" is experiencing severe emotional fluctuation!]
> [Emotion Analysis: Shock (40%), Killing Intent (50%), Fear (10%)]
> [Congratulations Host! Emotion Value +500!]
> [Current Total: 1720 Points!]
"What are you babbling about, Potter?" Snape's hand was already on his wand, knuckles white. "If you wish to earn a detention for speaking nonsense before term even starts, I can accommodate you."
"Relax, Professor." Ivan raised his hands in surrender, though his smile only widened. "I just wanted to discuss Potions with you. For instance... that batch of Shrinking Solution you brewed last week? Did you know it only reached 60% efficacy because you used two grams less of powdered antelope horn?"
Snape's breath hitched.
Impossible.
That potion was a failed experiment he had brewed alone in his office. No one else knew about it! And he had intentionally reduced the antelope horn to test the toxicity threshold—a top-secret project he was working on!
This child... did he bug my office? Or... can he see through my mind?!
Instinctively, Snape attempted Legilimency.
However, the moment his consciousness brushed against Ivan's mind, he felt like he had slammed into an iceberg.
No, not an iceberg.
It was a dead, silent, absolute domain of ancient runes. The moment Snape's mental probe tried to enter, a sharp, rebounding spike of psychic pain stabbed him right in the forehead.
"Ngh!" Snape grunted, his face turning pale as he involuntarily took a half-step back.
Dead silence fell over the platform.
The students watched in horror.
The terrifying Professor Snape—the dungeon bat who scared even the Gryffindors witless—had been forced back by a first-year? And he looked like he'd been hurt?
> [System Alert: Snape is mentally overwhelmed! Emotion Value +300!]
> [Lucius Malfoy felt "Shock." Emotion Value +100!]
> [Hagrid felt "Confusion." Emotion Value +50!]
Ivan watched the cold sweat bead on Snape's forehead, internally delighted.
Master-Level Occlumency is no joke. Right now, Snape is like an infantryman trying to poke a tank with a stick. Not only can't he get through, but the vibration is numbing his hand.
"You look tired, Professor." Ivan leaned in, feigning concern, whispering so only the two of them could hear. "The backlash from the Dark Arts is starting, isn't it? That's because your soul isn't pure... Lord Voldemort doesn't appreciate disloyal vessels."
The sentence struck Snape like a bolt of black lightning.
Voldemort!
He said the name! And he knew about the impurity of his soul! He knew he was a spy!
Snape looked at the eleven-year-old boy with the bottomless green eyes, and for the first time in years, he felt a genuine chill run down his spine.
This isn't a child.
This is an old monster wearing a child's skin. Or perhaps Dumbledore's secret, ultimate weapon.
"Who... exactly are you?" Snape's voice was as dry as sandpaper.
"I am Ivan Potter, your student." Ivan stepped back, his expression returning to one of innocent confusion. He pointed at the train. "If you don't mind, I should board now. Oh, and a tip: Go easy on the Mandrake Restorative Draught this year. It causes hair loss."
Ivan turned and walked away, leaving Snape staring at his retreating back.
The moment he turned, the smile vanished from Ivan's face, replaced by cold indifference.
"System, Snape just provided 800 Emotion Points. Why no level up notification?" Ivan asked mentally.
> [System Alert: Because the Host just withstood a "Legilimency" attack from Snape, Occlumency proficiency has increased to Lv. 6. This automatically consumed a portion of the Emotion Value yield.]
"I see." Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Looks like I'll have to let him poke around more often. The old man makes for an excellent sparring partner."
---
Inside a Train Compartment.
Ivan had a compartment to himself. Just the way he liked it.
He tossed his battered trunk onto the rack and pulled out his ebony wand.
Back on the platform, even without casting a spell, he could feel the Thestral hair inside the core vibrating. The wand craved blood. It craved destruction.
"Quiet down, old friend." Ivan tapped the cold wood gently. "Not yet."
Suddenly, the compartment door was yanked open.
Draco Malfoy stood there, flanked by two hulking figures (older Slytherin students, as Crabbe and Goyle hadn't grown into their size yet).
"Oi! Potter!" Malfoy jutted his chin out, holding a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "My father told me to check what the 'Squib' brother looked like. Looks like just another poor loudmouth."
Ivan didn't even look up. He continued twirling his wand. "Close the door, Malfoy. The draft is terrible. If my essay blows away, selling you wouldn't cover the loss."
"What did you say?!" Malfoy's face twisted. He hated anyone mentioning money or status disparagingly. "Do you know who I am? My father is a school governor! One word from me and you'll be thrown off this train!"
"Crabbe, Goyle (oops, wrong goons), throw him out," Ivan ordered calmly, as if speaking to the air.
"Ha! Are you insane? Why would they listen to you..." Malfoy laughed.
But in the next second...
Ivan gently tapped his wand on the table.
Thump.
A heavy sound resonated, not like wood on wood, but like the heartbeat of a giant beast.
An invisible gravity field instantly crushed down on the compartment!
Malfoy's smile froze. He felt like a mountain had just been dropped on his shoulders. His knees buckled, and he hit the floor with a heavy thud.
The two older Slytherins behind him didn't even have time to react before they were flattened face-first onto the corridor carpet, nosebleeds erupting instantly.
> [System Alert: Target "Draco Malfoy" feels "Terror"! Emotion Value +50!]
Ivan slowly looked up. His emerald eyes flickered with a faint red glow (a sign of magical overload, though to Malfoy, they looked like the eyes of a demon).
"I said, close the door."
Ivan snapped his fingers.
Bang!
The compartment door slammed shut and locked itself with an invisible seal.
Malfoy was paralyzed on the floor, trembling violently. He looked at Ivan as if he were looking at Voldemort himself.
"What... what did you do to me?"
"Just a parlor trick." Ivan stood up, walked over to Malfoy, and patted the boy's pale, aristocratic cheek. "Remember this, Draco. At Hogwarts, blood status is worthless. Power is everything."
"Tell your father," Ivan leaned in, whispering into his ear, "that diary... he'd better not keep it at home. It leaks."
With that, Ivan released the gravity field.
Malfoy collapsed like a puddle of mud, gasping for air, his shirt soaked in cold sweat.
The diary?
How did he know Father brought the diary home?! That was top secret!
"Get out." Ivan sat back on the sofa and picked up the Daily Prophet. "Don't interrupt my reading."
Malfoy scrambled out of the compartment on hands and knees, too terrified to even utter a threat.
As the door clicked shut, the train began to move.
The Tower Bridge of London slowly receded outside the window.
Ivan lowered the newspaper, watching the night set in. The corner of his mouth curled up.
"Hogwarts..."
"I'm coming."
"Dumbledore, I hope you have your sherbet lemons ready. Because the housewarming gift I'm bringing might give you indigestion."
Meanwhile, in the last car of the train.
Snape sat in the shadows, his hand gripping a vial of the "Restorative Draught" Ivan had mentioned.
His hand was trembling slightly.
Every word Ivan had said was nailed into his brain.
"Half-Blood Prince"... "Shrinking Solution defect"... "Impure soul"...
This child was ten thousand times more dangerous than Harry Potter.
Snape drew his wand and wrote a line of shimmering letters in the air, then crushed them in his fist.
It was a secret message to Dumbledore.
It contained only four words:
"Extremely Dangerous. Threat Level: S."