Harry Potter: Prince of Shadows

The weather carried a biting chill.

Ian glanced back at the slowly closing door, then raised his head to take another look at the faded lettering on the sign of Ollivander's Wand Shop. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as a sneering thought crossed his mind—he might have just uncovered the wizarding world's most artful scam.

"Crafty old villain," Ian muttered under his breath, his tone laden with amused disdain. His mind raced as he pieced together a picture of Ollivander's role in the grand scheme of things. Surely, Voldemort couldn't have amassed so many followers on sheer fear and manipulation alone. A subtle push here, a whispered prophecy there… Ian suspected that Ollivander and his gift for cryptic predictions might have played a part in the chaos.

"Ollivander might have to share a bit of the blame for the state of the world," Ian mused, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on his newly acquired wand.

Think about it: if a fortune-teller had told you at ten years old that you were destined to become a great figure, and later in life, you stumbled upon the likes of Spartacus and Wat Tyler rallying for rebellion, wouldn't you believe it was your fate? How could anyone resist the pull of a prophecy?

"I've cracked the root of the wizarding world's chaos!" Ian declared to himself, his imagination ablaze with the idea of unraveling such mysteries. Perhaps he could pen a groundbreaking paper on the psychological effects of prophetic manipulation. Shame that Hogwarts didn't publish academic journals.

"Or maybe I should submit it to The Daily Prophet," Ian mused, his steps quickening as he caught sight of Snape waiting by another shopfront. "Bet they'd pay handsomely for something so provocative."

Despite his outward stoicism, Professor Snape had not abandoned Ian to wander aimlessly. The dour man stood with arms folded, his eyes cutting through the crowd with his trademark scowl. Spotting him, Ian jogged over, dragging his bulky suitcase behind him.

"Professor," Ian began, his voice laced with mock seriousness. "Could you teach me how to write wizarding academic papers? You know, something worthy of publication in The Daily Prophet. Perhaps with your endorsement, I could even secure a front-page feature."

Snape turned his head slowly, fixing Ian with a look of profound disdain. "Mr. Prince," he intoned, his voice dripping with venomous calm, "I have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge your juvenile whims. Now, focus." He gestured toward the shop's window. "You'll need to choose a pet to aid in your studies."

Ian followed Snape's gesture, his curiosity piqued. The shop's glass window displayed a variety of creatures in cages: sleek cats with glowing eyes, toads in myriad hues, owls perched with an air of regal indifference, and even small, scaly creatures that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. However, none of these options struck Ian as particularly appealing.

Sure, he had a soft spot for owls. They were iconic, after all, and owning one would certainly add to his burgeoning wizarding persona. But Hogwarts had an abundance of communal owls for students to use. Why spend his precious funds on something he could enjoy for free?

"Professor," Ian asked cautiously, "can I choose any pet I want?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, his lips curling slightly. "Within reason," he replied, his tone suggesting that Ian's definition of 'reason' would inevitably clash with his own.

"Great," Ian said with an exaggerated grin. "Then I'll take a phoenix."

Snape's reaction was instantaneous. His lips twitched as if suppressing a grimace, and his already pale face seemed to grow a shade lighter. "A phoenix?" he repeated, his voice laced with incredulity. "Have you overdosed on calming potion, or are you simply delusional?"

Ian shrugged, maintaining his innocent expression. "I mean, Ollivander uses phoenix feathers for wands. They can't be that rare, right?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to an icy drawl. "Aside from the Dumbledore family, no one in this century has earned the favor of a phoenix. Forget your foolish notions, Mr. Prince."

"Well, maybe you could ask Dumbledore for me?" Ian countered, flashing a cheeky smile. "He'd definitely give you that kind of face-saving gesture."

Snape's composure cracked, just for a moment. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again as if he were about to retort, only to find himself at a loss for words.

Finally, he snapped, "Impertinent brat!" before turning on his heel and stalking toward the shop entrance.

"Guess that's a no," Ian muttered, suppressing a chuckle as he followed.

Inside, the shop was alive with the sounds of creatures rustling, chirping, and croaking. Ian pressed his face against the glass enclosures, studying the animals within. There were sleek snakes coiled around branches, fluffy kittens with eyes that sparkled like starlight, and even a peculiar bird with iridescent feathers that shifted colors with every movement. But none of these captivated him.

"Honestly, Professor," Ian said after a long pause, "I don't think any of these are right for me."

Snape's expression darkened. "Are you suggesting you have higher standards than the finest magical creatures in Britain?"

"Not at all," Ian replied. "I just think I'd rather wait until I can find something… extraordinary. Maybe in my second year, or even third."

Snape's glare could have frozen fire. "An indecisive fool," he muttered. "I suggest you don't come whining to me when your delay leaves you unprepared."

Ian only smiled, dragging his suitcase after Snape as they left the shop. The professor walked briskly, his robes billowing dramatically as he moved.

"Professor," Ian called out, trying to keep up, "what about a snake? I could keep it for potions experiments. Efficient, right?"

Snape stopped abruptly, turning to fix Ian with a withering look. "First-years are prohibited from keeping such dangerous pets," he snapped. "Besides, you've squandered your chance to choose. Don't think I'll humor you further."

Ian shrugged. "Fair enough. I'll revisit the idea when I'm older. Maybe a snake… or something bigger."

The faintest twitch of Snape's lips betrayed his exasperation. "Keep dreaming, Prince," he muttered as he resumed his stride, leaving Ian to follow with a contented grin.

Yes.

Ian wanted to raise a basilisk.

It was the kind of pet that truly matched an adult soul's ambition. Bigger was better—that was an unassailable truth in his mind.

"Hmm, it seems, Mr. Prince, that the issue isn't that you don't want a pet," Snape remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Rather, you believe none of the creatures in this shop are worthy of you. I hope you won't regret this childish decision."

Snape's gaze was piercing, as though he had peeled Ian's thoughts layer by layer and laid bare his innermost intentions.

"Let me also remind you," Snape continued in his usual venomous tone, "any creature possessing even the slightest trace of magical blood is not something a first-year like you could possibly afford."

The look in his eyes seemed to say: I've seen through your little tricks.

"Thank you for the warning, Professor," Ian replied, nodding graciously, his expression entirely devoid of the distress Snape had clearly hoped to elicit.

This, in turn, made Snape frown faintly.

Ian, however, was unbothered. His bright green eyes roamed across the street, taking in the dazzling array of magical shops.

"Get ready," Snape suddenly commanded.

Before Ian could even ask what for, Snape's long, pale fingers clamped around the back of his neck. Ian barely had time to register the sensation before the world spun wildly out of focus.

The nauseating tug of Apparition hit him like a rogue wave. Compared to the earlier trip, which had been smooth and uneventful thanks to Snape's potion, this one left him slightly dizzy and a little queasy.

Perhaps the potion had lost some of its potency?

As Ian's thoughts wandered, the spinning sensation abruptly ceased.

"Swoosh~"

His vision cleared, revealing a quaint and serene village, bathed in the golden light of a setting sun. Gone was the bustling energy of Diagon Alley, replaced by the gentle murmur of a nearby stream and the occasional hoot of an owl. The air was sweet with the scent of magical pastries and confections, wafting from unseen bakeries.

This was Hogsmeade Village—a charming magical settlement nestled within the arms of the Scottish Highlands.

"You'll be staying here until the term starts," Snape announced, leading Ian toward a secluded, rustic wooden cabin. It was modest but well-kept, tucked neatly away from the livelier parts of the village.

Ian barely had time to feign curiosity before Snape produced a small iron key and a half-full pouch of Galleons, which he handed to Ian without ceremony.

"This is your key. And these," Snape gestured at the jingling coins, "are to ensure you don't starve or find some other idiotic way to cause trouble. Mark my words, if you dare wander off or meddle in things beyond your station, the consequences will be most unpleasant."

Snape's dark, unyielding gaze punctuated the warning. He gave Ian no time to respond before pivoting sharply on his heel, his robes billowing dramatically as he stalked away. It was as though he had some urgent, pressing matter to attend to—perhaps a cauldron of delicate potion ingredients left simmering too long?

Ian watched the Potions Master's retreating figure, a flicker of amusement playing at his lips.

"Did he just tell me not to … run off again?" Ian muttered to himself, his keen ears catching the peculiar wording. The phrase lingered in his mind, stirring curiosity, but he pushed the thought aside.

Instead, his attention shifted to the contents of his trunk. Neatly packed inside were stacks of new textbooks, their spines gleaming with promise.

"Magic," Ian whispered, his voice tinged with awe and anticipation. He felt a surge of excitement bubbling within him, overpowering all other concerns.

For now, his singular focus was clear. He had a whole new world of spells, potions, and enchantments to master. Other mysteries and challenges could wait.

Standing at the doorway of his temporary home, Ian inhaled deeply, the crisp air of Hogsmeade filling his lungs.

"Magic… here I come!"