HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

"You suspect..." Ian didn't finish his sentence.

“I didn’t suspect anything,” Severus interrupted him, but a cold glint flashed deep in his dark eyes. “Just stating the facts. Dumbledore knew he wanted to borrow these books and approved it. The headmaster didn’t seem…surprised.”

Ian processed the information in those words. Dumbledore wasn't surprised; it meant either Quirrell's "academic interests" were indeed under the Headmaster's control, or...

"He always had that ridiculous purple turban wrapped around his head," Severus continued in that narrative tone, "saying it was an Albanian travel souvenir that would bring good luck."

"But today, when he bent down to reach the top shelf of the bookshelf for 'A Study of Eastern European Soul Ritual,' a corner of his headscarf came loose, and I glimpsed... what appeared to be hair underneath was... bandages, very thick bandages."

"Bandages?" Ian frowned.

"Yes. And," Severus's voice was even lower, almost a whisper, "in that instant, I felt a... extremely faint, but unmistakable, malicious and decaying gaze, not Quirrell's, but something else, through the fabric and bandages."

Ian's hands clenched unconsciously, and after a long while, he slowly exhaled.

"Main Soul," he mouthed silently.

Severus nodded slightly, put down what he was doing, and turned to face Ian.

"Ten years." Ian's voice was soft, carrying a complex emotion, not fear, but more like the solemnity of "It's finally here."

"He didn't give up after all, choosing the weakest link, the one least likely to arouse suspicion... Quiro, Albania."

"There are many ancient, dark ruins there, the legendary lair of vampires and witches, suitable for hiding and...restoration," Severus interjected, "Quillo's academic trip."

He scoffed, his tone full of mockery.

“Dumbledore knew,” Ian said confidently. “He brought Quirrell back, let him teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and allowed him access to those books… It was a trap, or rather, a lookout post.”

"It's a test too." Severus looked at Ian, his dark eyes unfathomable. "For us, for Harry Potter, for everyone. He's waiting, waiting for that thing to lose its composure, waiting for it to slip up, waiting for an opportunity... to finally resolve it."

“And what we have to do is, just like we have for the past eleven years,” Ian continued, taking Severus’s hand. His fingertips were a little cold, and he warmed them with his hand. “Watch, keep an eye on things, and when necessary… hand over the right knife.”

Severus gripped his hand tightly. He didn't say "danger" or "be careful," words that had been repeated too many times over the years, becoming as natural as breathing.

He just looked at Ian for a long time, then said very softly, "You can't secretly add energy drinks to my pumpkin juice at the school opening party this year. Last time, Minerva thought I had stayed up too late and stuffed three of her 'pepper rascal cookies' that she thought were 'miraculous for boosting spirits' into my stomach."

Ian paused for a moment, then laughed and relaxed his shoulders.

"That was an accident, and I thought you needed a bit of a shock to deal with that long report on the 13th International Confederation of Wizards."

He leaned closer, their breaths mingling. "But I promise you, this year I'll only add honey, double the amount."

Severus hummed in agreement and gently kissed Ian's lips.

He had been doing this for ten years, and it was as familiar to him as breathing.

"Draco Malfoy..." Ian suddenly brought up the name again, "If he really goes and messes with Harry... would you do anything about it?"

Severus answered irrelevantly, "I am the Head of Slytherin."

"He's also Harry's godfather." Ian lowered his head, a smile playing on his grey eyes. "Although it's a secret godfather, one that even he himself doesn't know about."

"Lily insisted." Severus looked away, his ears turning slightly red. "It's a formality, just in case..."

"I know," Ian said with a smile, pulling the man into his arms. "But it's also a matter of status, so if Malfoy goes too far... you know what to do."

"Maintaining the reputation of the academy, not being able to find fault with a former Death Eater father who dotes on his son, and secretly protecting Lily's son—this is not difficult for you, Professor Snape, after all, you have been able to navigate under the noses of Voldemort and Dumbledore for so many years."

Severus didn't say anything, but he twisted Ian's side slightly with his fingers, eliciting an exaggerated gasp from the other.

"As for Quirrell..." Ian's voice became serious, "We'll hold our ground. Since Dumbledore has already set up this scheme, our intervention might only alert him. You continue to 'lend' him books and observe him while you're at it."

"When I'm in Hogsmeade, I also keep an eye out for unfamiliar faces asking about strange things, or whether there's any unusual 'goods' moving around in Knockturn Alley. Mr. Borgin may be old, but his nose is still sharp."

"Um."

……

September 1, 1991, the opening banquet for the new school year.

The candles suspended in the hall cast a golden glow on the four long tables, and the air was filled with the aroma of food, the scent of new robes, and the buzzing whispers of more than a thousand excited young wizards.

Ian sat on the edge of the faculty section, with a gold plate in front of him.

His "assistant" status was casually assigned by Dumbledore; after all, he was always wandering around the cellars and the castle, so having another title would be more convenient.

He turned his head to the side and could see Severus.

The professor in the black robe sat upright, his gaze fixed on the crowd below, as if he were taking inventory of medicinal herbs rather than on energetic students.

Ian gently nudged Severus's knee under the table. Severus's eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't turn his head.

Professor McGonagall led the new students in.

Harry stood in the middle of the line, his eyes full of curiosity and amazement. Next to him was the red-haired Weasley boy with freckles, looking around excitedly.

The Sorting Hat started singing, and the lyrics seemed to mention "unity" and "new challenges." Ian didn't listen too closely; he was more attentive to the commotion in the faculty section.

Quirrell sat in the middle, wrapped in that conspicuous purple headscarf, nervously talking to Professor Flitwick next to him, his voice stuttering, occasionally raising his hand to touch the headscarf.

Ian's nose twitched; there was indeed a faint smell of garlic, but beneath it, there seemed to be something else... a more stale, unpleasant odor.

Severus's gaze swept over Quirrell several times, each time lingering only for a moment before coldly looking away.

"Harry Potter!"

When Professor McGonagall uttered the name, the auditorium fell silent for a moment, then erupted into even louder whispers.