HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

It wasn't until closing time in the evening, after Ian helped close the shop window and tidy up the tools, that Bokin slowly said from behind the counter, "The Malfoy family... is very powerful these days. Whether it's a blessing or a curse for you to register with them is up to you to decide."

Ian lowered his head and straightened his cuffs, his voice calm: "I understand, Mr. Borgin. He just wants a stable job and not to be a burden on his family."

"Safe and sound?" Bojin snorted as if he had heard a joke, waved his hand, and said, "Let's go, let's go, don't be late tomorrow."

Stepping out of Boking-Bock, the foul air of Knockturn Alley hit him, but Ian took a deep breath, as if to dispel the stagnation that had accumulated in his lungs all afternoon.

As darkness fell, eerie lights began to illuminate the shop windows on both sides, distorting the shadows of people.

When Ian opened the door, warm air and the subtle aroma of food wafted in.

Severus peeked out from the kitchen doorway, his dark hair slightly disheveled and hanging over his forehead, a wooden spoon in his hand.

"Why are you so late?" he asked, his brows furrowing slightly as his gaze quickly swept over Ian to make sure he was alright.

"Something came up at the shop and I was held up." Ian took off his robe and hung it up, then walked over to Severus, naturally taking the wooden spoon from his hand. He glanced at the suspiciously colored broth bubbling in the pot. "What new recipe did you try today?"

"...Lady Leah said this root is beneficial for mana recovery." Severus turned his face away and reached for the spoon in Ian's hand. "Give it to me, it'll be ready soon."

Ian didn't give it to Severus. Instead, he stirred the soup in the pot with a spoon, smelled it, and then turned his head and kissed Severus on the corner of his mouth very lightly and quickly.

"It smells alright. Next time, use less wrinkled figs; the flavor is too strong."

He laughed and put the spoon back in Severus's hand, then turned to get the bowl. "I'm hungry."

During dinner, Ian briefly mentioned that Malfoy had come by during the day, speaking casually as if he were talking about the weather.

"He took something, probably some kind of dark magic artifact, implying that if we were sensible, we would have a bright future." Ian scooped up a spoonful of soup, blew on it, and said, "Mr. Borgin didn't ask any more questions afterward, but he warned me to be careful."

"Lucius came to collect it personally; that thing won't be simple." Severus's face remained expressionless, but his fingers unconsciously tapped the edge of the table, betraying his irritation. "He's warning you, and he's also giving me a warning, Mr. Borgin..."

He paused for a moment, then said, "He may not be trustworthy, but at least he won't actively harm you for the time being. In Knockout Alley, interests are more reliable than blood ties."

"I know." Ian reached out and placed his hand on Severus's hand as he tapped the table. "His warning to be careful is a kind of statement. For now, maintaining the status quo and gathering information is the only thing we can do. You're over there..."

"At work." Severus's voice was somewhat harsh. "Some... reverse engineering of dark magic damage, searching for more efficient, less traceable variants of curses, and corresponding, controlled mitigators."

He twitched the corners of his mouth, a completely devoid of a smile. "Irony, isn't it? I'm researching how to kill, and how to control the consequences of killing, in exchange for the person who will kill me... no, the person who will kill you, holding back for now."

"Severus." Ian's fingers tightened. "That wasn't your fault, nor was it your intention. You were buying time, for all of us."

"Time." Severus closed his eyes, leaning wearily back in his chair. "He's getting increasingly impatient. Last time we met... he mentioned 'proof of loyalty,' not just potion recipes. He wants to see something more tangible... results, or, participation."

Ian's heart sank. "You have a target?"

"It's still unclear. But Regulus's previous note mentioned that there have been frequent, secretive meetings at the Black family mansion recently, and Lucius seems to be more...active since taking over the Malfoy family."

Severus opened his eyes, his dark pupils filled with a somber, inky light. "What are they planning? They need more 'reliable' and 'specialized' people. I might... not be able to hide for much longer."

Ian silently finished the last sip of soup, put down the spoon, and the metal clinked softly against the porcelain bowl.

"Then let's not hide." He looked up at Severus. "Since they want to 'get involved,' let's get involved. But let's get involved the way we do it."

Severus stared at him sharply: "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is," Ian pulled out a tissue and slowly wiped his mouth, "that we need another line of communication, a line that will allow us to be less passive when necessary."

A week later, as Ian was cleaning a batch of antiques in the backyard of Borgin-Bock, the brass bell on the door rang.

Mr. Bokin hoarsely called him to go watch the shop in the front, saying he was going upstairs to the warehouse to find something.

A white-haired sorcerer wearing a patched robe stood in front of the counter, hunched over, carefully examining a cracked peephole in the window while muttering incantations.

Ian walked over, but before he could speak, the wizard suddenly turned his head, his cloudy eyes quickly scanning the empty shop, then lowered his voice and spoke very fast:

"Ephias Dorge. Professor Dumbledore sends his greetings, Mr. Burke. Tonight at eight o'clock, in the innermost room on the second floor of the Hog's Head. Come alone. The password is 'Honey Tsizzles'."

After he finished speaking, before Ian could react, he immediately raised his voice and complained in a different, old, hoarse voice, "This thing can really detect ill intentions? I think it's just a broken pendulum! Oh well, what bad luck!" Then, muttering to himself, he staggered out the door.

Ian stood still, head down, continuing to wipe the counter.

Dumbledore, he's finally here.

At 7:50 p.m., Ian wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and walked alone through the cold streets of Hogsmeade.

Pig Head Bar was as dirty, dimly lit, and noisy as ever.

He didn't stop on the first floor, but went straight up the creaking stairs.

The door at the end of the corridor was closed, so he knocked on it.

"Password?" a muffled voice came from inside.

"Honey Toast Candy".

The door opened a crack, revealing Aberforth Dumbledore's gloomy face. He looked him up and down before stepping aside.

The room was small, with only one candle lit.

Albus Dumbledore sat in a creaky armchair.

There was another person in the room, Remus Lupin, who looked somewhat haggard, but nodded gently to Ian.

"Please sit, Mr. Burke," said Dumbledore in a calm voice. "Thank you for coming. I think you know why we've come to see you."

Ian sat down on another hardwood chair, took off his hood, and said, "For our own sake."

“Very direct.” Dumbledore crossed his fingers. “To make a long story short, we understand Mr. Snape’s current… predicament, and we’ve also heard about your recent work at Borgin-Burke. Voldemort’s influence is expanding rapidly, and we need information, we need eyes and ears from within.”

"This is extremely dangerous, but perhaps it is also the only way for you to escape passivity and even take action."

"You want us to be spies," Ian said, without question.