HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

"Third," Ian paused, took a deep breath, "we will not participate in direct combat, nor will we carry out any frontal missions that might expose you."

"We only provide intelligence, within our capabilities and to the extent that it does not arouse suspicion. If you require action, we can only provide information on the location, time, and personnel; we will not participate."

The room was silent for a few seconds. The firelight from the fireplace danced on Dumbledore's face.

"That's fair," the old man finally said. "You're not soldiers, you're intelligence agents, and I respect your boundaries. But I must also remind you, Mr. Burke, that in that kind of environment, boundaries can sometimes become... blurred."

"You need to judge for yourselves when it is 'within your power' and when it is 'absolutely necessary.' I will trust your judgment."

Ian remained silent.

He knew Dumbledore was telling the truth; there was no absolute "safe distance" when dealing with Death Eaters.

“There’s one more thing,” Dumbledore said, taking a small leather pouch from his pocket and handing it to Ian. “Take this. Inside are two port keys, one-way, triggered by the spell ‘Ravens Return to Nest.’ Using them will immediately teleport you to a safe temporary shelter.”

"It can only be used once, and it only works if both of you touch it and chant the incantation at the same time. Do not use it unless it is a matter of life and death."

Ian took the bag; it was very light, but it felt like holding a red-hot piece of iron. This was his way out, his last resort.

"Thank you," he said, carefully tucking the bag into his inside pocket.

"We are thanking you, Mr. Burke." Dumbledore stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the snow-covered rooftops of Hogsmeade.

"The war has begun. Every eye and every piece of information could save a life. Take care, and please tell Severus that he is much braver than he thinks."

……

After that meeting, Dumbledore never contacted Ian again, and on the surface, everything remained the same.

Severus traveled back and forth to that old house deep in the alley, dealing with increasingly sensitive and dangerous materials and formulas.

His deliverables always just barely met the "satisfactory" passing grade, demonstrating progress and value while subtly delaying the core steps.

He was walking on a knife's edge; the barrier built by the brain-blocking technique had to be impenetrable at all times to resist the probing gaze that might descend at any moment.

Voldemort would occasionally summon him, his crimson eyes sweeping over him with an assessive look, asking some tricky questions.

Severus answered cautiously and precisely, without saying a word more or avoiding any technical details.

He behaved like a young scholar engrossed in research and uninterested in politics, his only unease seemingly stemming from the fear of "research failure."

Lucius Malfoy was pleased with his "focus," but secretly increased the pressure.

"He gave me a deadline." Severus's voice was hoarse as he sat down in the chair opposite Ian, his body sinking deep into it as if all his strength had been drained away.

"Three months to produce the soul-soothing remedy, or at least... an undeniable, practically applicable semi-finished product. He wants to see results, not just ideas."

Ian's heart sank.

Three months—this is no longer a vague "as soon as possible," but a clear death line.

Voldemort's patience was running out, or rather, his verification of Severus's "value" had entered its final stage.

Finished Soul Soothing Agent—what does that mean? Repairing the damage to the soul? Or…paving the way for something even more terrible? Either way, it signifies that Severus will sink deeper into the mire, with no possibility of turning back.

“He can’t wait,” Severus continued. “He’s plotting something big, he needs more stable… power, or, more proof of loyalty, and my potion is one of them.” Lucius hinted that if successful, I would receive a “real reward”—entry into the inner circle; if it failed…

He didn't finish his sentence, but the unspoken words were colder than any curse.

Ian walked around the chair, squatted down in front of Severus, took his cold, stiff fingers in his hand, and slowly pried them open, one by one, and wrapped them in his own palm.

"Three months," Ian said steadily, "Then three months it is. We'll give him a finished product."

Severus looked up abruptly, his dark eyes filled with shock and even deeper pain: "Ian, that thing—"

"—It can be a perfect, theoretically flawless product, but in practical application... it may have insignificant but unpredictable flaws."

Ian interrupted him, "For example, its demanding usage conditions, or the need for a catalyst under specific conditions..."

"The risk is extremely high," Severus said hoarsely. "If he senses anything is amiss..."

"So we're fully prepared." Ian squeezed his hand. "Dumbledore's 'Ravens Return to Their Nest' is our last resort, but we need more in these three months."

"Do you remember Professor Slughorn mentioning 'The Slumber's Sigh'? That potion that perfectly simulates the state of magical depletion and near-death?"

Severus's pupils contracted slightly: "You're going to use it..."

"If necessary, we can shed our skin, but not now." Ian stood up, walked to his desk, opened a locked drawer, and took out several pages of densely written notes and a few tightly sealed small bottles.

"I have all the materials ready."

Ian explained his plans over the past few days in detail, even including how to locate each other when they were forced to separate.

"Okay." Severus grasped Ian's hand in return, agreeing to this crazy plan.

In the following weeks, Severus threw himself into "research".

He became even more engrossed in his work, occasionally appearing at Death Eater gatherings or "workplaces," his eyes dark and swollen, yet his spirit radiated excitement.

He submitted a more complex, seemingly promising interim report to Lucius, and cautiously raised several potential risks that needed to be verified, including the mental state matching problem that Ian had mentioned.

Lucius forwarded the report and received a response that was both urging and commendatory; the official "appreciated" this meticulous attitude.

The Order of the Phoenix was not entirely inactive either; they thwarted several Death Eaters' operations. Lucius's face was grim for several days, and Voldemort's rage could be felt even through the door at Malfoy Manor.

He suspected an inside job, and Severus was questioned in a mild manner, but he only showed anxiety about the interruption of his research and concern about the potential leakage of his findings. In addition, his image of being "obsessed with research and detached from worldly affairs" was deeply ingrained, so he passed the test for the time being.

Seeing the increasingly tense situation, Ian made a decision.

He summoned his bat Patronus and sent a message to Dumbledore.