He came.
And then he left.
With a wave of his sleeve.
All he left behind was Ian, who still hadn't gotten to learn any new magic, a bag of brand-new gold coins that had somehow made its way out of his pocket, and a tidy living room where the mess had been completely cleaned up.
"Keep your curiosity about Dark Magic in check. Don't let me find out you're asking around the village about things you shouldn't. If I catch you trying to find someone to teach you Dark Magic, you're finished!"
Before Snape left, he also issued a blatant threat. Perhaps he was worried about the Acolytes of Grindelwald who had been active in the village lately, or maybe he was afraid Ian would actually get someone to send him to Azkaban.
"I promise I won't ask around!"
Ian's trembling reply might or might not have satisfied Snape. Either way, Snape certainly hadn't anticipated that the "control" effect his threat had on Ian wouldn't last very long.
Snape had barely left.
Ian rushed straight to the bathroom.
In three quick moves, he opened the toilet tank.
There.
Secrets of the Darkest Art lay quietly against the side of the tank, wrapped in oilcloth. Ever since the ruckus he'd caused the night before, Ian had prudently hidden it away.
After all, with all that banging and crashing, a bunch of corpses had come crawling out. It had made quite a racket.
Though Ian hadn't expected the person he'd run into to be Snape, he was still worried that another wizard might notice something strange going on in the cabin, so he'd taken precautions.
After all.
Whenever Ian went out to wander around and find food, he often heard the bar owner, Rosmerta, gossiping about who had been having a midnight duel with a wizard or several witches in the village.
If even those sorts of sounds could be discovered, how could Ian not worry that someone would notice the noise he'd made?
Most of what he'd told Snape had been true. For instance, he really had been scared out of his wits. He hadn't slept a wink the previous night, afraid a wizard would come knocking.
In such an anxious state.
Of course he had to hide Secrets of the Darkest Art.
At first.
Ian had actually thought about smashing the toilet, hiding Secrets of the Darkest Art in the secret pipes, then using the Mending Charm to restore the broken toilet and leave no trace.
However.
In the end, he hadn't gone through with it.
He was worried Secrets of the Darkest Art might get flushed away. And after being marinated in things humans used the toilet for, the knowledge in the book would have been profaned, too.
Well.
Profaning the knowledge itself wasn't much of a problem. The real worry was that he might become tainted by that profanity while studying it... Ian didn't want to start school and earn a reputation for "smelling like a pile of shit."
[Shit-Scented Wizard]
Just thinking about a title like that was terrifying enough.
For that reason.
Ian had settled for the next best thing.
Hiding Secrets of the Darkest Art in the toilet tank really did make it hard to find.
And the fact that Snape hadn't suspected Ian had obtained such a compendium of Dark Magic, let alone hidden it in some corner of the room, proved it.
With this textbook.
Why would he need to ask anyone else about Dark Magic?
"My precious~"
Ian checked the oilcloth's seal, then hid Secrets of the Darkest Art away again. He had more important things to do right now than study Dark Magic.
[Successfully copied Potions textbook, Potions Mastery +1]
[Successfully copied Potions textbook, Potions Mastery +1]
[Successfully copied Potions textbook, Potions Mastery +1]
That's right.
Copying the books he'd rented.
That was the more important task.
Compared to knowledge he could keep studying whenever he wanted, completely copying the Potions textbooks for all seven years was what truly needed doing urgently.
Professor Mara was a good teacher, but she clearly wasn't much of a wizard.
Who knew whether she'd keep teaching him more magic if he didn't do what he'd promised? She might even let him experience Dark Magic firsthand.
Ian hadn't spent much time with the mysterious soul in Limbo, so he couldn't make an accurate judgment just yet. In any case, he'd rather make little Migi suffer than test the waters.
Besides, Migi wasn't much use at this age anyway.
He might as well put him to work hunched over the desk, copying away.
"Scratch, scratch, scratch~ Scratch, scratch, scratch~ Scratch, scratch, scratch~"
In the quiet cabin.
The steady rasp of a Quill against a notebook rang out.
[Successfully copied Potions textbook, Potions Mastery +1]
[Successfully copied Potions textbook, Potions Mastery +1]
[Successfully copied Potions textbook, Potions Mastery +1]
The steadily rising proficiency was what kept Ian writing. Quills that could copy text automatically were sold in the village, and Snape had "fed" Ian again, so he was flush with cash once more.
However.
Ever since he'd discovered the previous night that copying these textbooks could improve his Potions Mastery, Ian had abandoned the idea of taking the easy way out and using "technology."
For Ian, studying hard enough to burn the midnight oil was a pleasure. Letting knowledge flow through his mind as he copied it, leaving behind a trace of its passing—what could be more delightful?
"There was a Half-Blood Prince in the past. Who knows, Hogwarts might produce an orphan prince, too!"
Ian figured his talent for Potions probably wasn't bad either.
After all.
For most young wizards, knowledge like Potions might enter their minds only to sweep away their other knowledge when it flowed back out.
The fact that he could increase his proficiency just by passively copying made his talent second only to his downright unreasonable knack for Dark Magic.
Well.
At the moment.
Only his talent for White Magic seemed a little lacking.
He had to practice several times before he could learn a spell, and the intervals between proficiency gains while using it were about ten minutes longer than with Potions Mastery.
"If I could get Dumbledore to teach me, maybe I could make up for my lack of talent in White Magic?" Ian looked forward to his studies after the school year began.
What?
Dumbledore didn't teach magic classes?
Impossible!
Could a great headmaster really refuse a student who was eager to learn?
A thick skin!
That was how you got what you wanted!
[Successfully copied Potions textbook, Potions Mastery +1]
Even when Ian's attention occasionally wandered as he copied, his proficiency gains merely slowed. Perhaps this was the latent talent hidden in the Prince family bloodline.
The Quill brushed the page, and the ink slowly dried.
Sunlight streamed in through the window.
Inside, the only sounds were the soft scratch of the nib against the paper and the occasional rustle of a turning page, mingling in the air with the faint scent of ink and books.
Ian gradually lost himself in it.
Focused.