The absence of Dumbledore was unexpected. Even the iconic moment of a letter delivered by an owl was missing.
Ian couldn't help but think that his journey into the magical world was already off to a rocky start. While others were guided by welcoming figures like the gentle Professor McGonagall or the amiable giant Hagrid, his introduction to Hogwarts was courtesy of the school's least popular figure: the infamous Half-Blood Prince.
Yes, standing in the orphanage's office, cloaked in his trademark billowing black robes and accompanied by his perpetually greasy hair, was none other than Severus Snape.
Known by many titles—Potion's Master, eternally brooding antihero, and perhaps the ultimate tragic romantic—Snape's reputation was as complex as his layered loyalties. Yet, for all his hidden virtues, his intimidating presence was undeniable, bolstered by his former allegiance to the Death Eaters.
Now, this austere man had been sent as Ian's guide.
"Ian, come in!"
The orphanage's headmistress, Miss Elena, motioned warmly for him to enter. Her radiant smile contrasted sharply with Snape's icy demeanor.
Ian stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him. From outside, the muffled complaints of the children filtered through.
"Poor Ian, finally leaving for a better life," Miss Elena murmured under her breath. Her words were laced with both relief and melancholy. She gestured toward Ian as if presenting him to Snape.
"This is Ian, the brightest and most thoughtful child in our care. He's a natural—far more intelligent than any average child."
Miss Elena's praise made Ian feel slightly self-conscious. As a reincarnated soul, he often felt like comparing himself to other children was inherently unfair.
"Let's hope that holds true," Snape remarked, his deep voice measured and skeptical.
From the moment Ian entered, Snape's dark eyes hadn't left his face. His piercing gaze seemed to weigh every facet of the boy, as if searching for something hidden. There was an emotion behind that scrutiny—a faint thread of guilt?
Ian's unique talent, [Thought Perception], born from his [Psycology Proficiency], allowed him to pick up on emotional undercurrents. As Snape's emotions oscillated between wariness and regret, Ian recalled Dumbledore's cryptic words: someone who felt deeply indebted would come for him.
Could this be the person? Ian wondered, baffled.
It wasn't like he was Harry Potter. The possibility of being some secret love child of Lily Potter's and—
No, impossible. Ian dismissed the absurd thought with a shudder.
His pondering was interrupted by Snape's sharp, commanding voice.
"What are you doing?" Snape's expression shifted to one of astonishment, his features tightening as though someone had hit a nerve.
"Uh… what?" Ian stammered, retreating a step. Even Miss Elena looked startled by Snape's sudden change in tone.
"Legilimency!" Snape snapped. "Mr. Prince, Dumbledore neglected to inform me of your particular talents."
Ian froze. His Thought Perception, a byproduct of his training, had apparently been mistaken for an innate mastery of Legilimency—the magical art of reading minds.
Snape's intense reaction left Ian feeling increasingly out of his depth. The professor's emotions—a volatile mix of surprise, doubt, and guarded fascination—swirled around him like a tempest.
"I didn't… I mean, I wasn't…" Ian tried to explain, his nervousness only growing as Snape's sharp gaze bore into him.
"Whatever you were doing, stop it. Now!" Snape's stern voice cracked through the air like a whip.
"I can't help it," Ian admitted. His voice faltered, but his words were truthful. "I… I can sense emotions, but that's all. It's not something I can control."
Snape's frown deepened as he scrutinized Ian further, his expression softening ever so slightly.
"Control it," he commanded flatly, before adding, "Such abilities will only bring you trouble if left unchecked."
Ian nodded quickly, relieved that the professor's anger seemed to be subsiding.
"If you're done causing a scene," Snape continued, his tone regaining its icy edge, "we have preparations to make. There are forms to complete and supplies to purchase before term begins."
Miss Elena beamed at Ian, unaware of the tense exchange that had just transpired. "Everything is ready, Professor. Ian can leave with you whenever you're ready."
Ian returned to his room to retrieve his belongings. The suitcase, already packed days in advance, contained everything he owned. Though heavy, Ian insisted on carrying it himself.
As he emerged into the courtyard, the entire orphanage had gathered to see him off. Miss Elena stood at the center, flanked by staff and the younger children.
"Ian, will you bring back chocolates?" one of the boys called out.
"Don't forget us, Ian!" another added.
Even the smallest child, a girl no older than five, clung to his leg with tearful eyes.
"Don't… don't die, okay?" she sobbed, clearly misunderstanding the situation.
Ian chuckled softly, kneeling to comfort her. "I'm just going to school. I'll be back during the holidays, I promise."
Miss Elena approached, her smile tinged with sadness. "Ian, don't look back. Your future is bright."
Her words carried a deeper meaning, one that Ian understood all too well.
He gave her a tight hug. "Thank you for everything. This place wouldn't be the same without you."
"You'll do great things, Ian," Miss Elena whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
With final farewells exchanged, Ian turned to Snape, who stood waiting at a distance. Dragging his oversized suitcase, Ian followed the imposing figure through the orphanage gates and into the foggy streets of London.
As they disappeared into the mist, Miss Elena reached into her pocket and froze. A thick envelope, one she hadn't noticed before, rested in her hand. Opening it, she found a stack of neatly folded bills—enough to ensure the orphanage's stability for the coming winter.
"This child…" she murmured, her voice trembling. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she clutched the envelope to her chest.
In the distance, Ian's silhouette faded into the fog.