HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Ian picked up the gift he had prepared the night before, a dragon skin material bag coated with a Stretch-Without-Trace Charm and a Constant Temperature-Moisturizing Charm. Inside, he had carefully categorized the rare and high-quality potion materials he had collected over the past few days, some of which were items marked with an asterisk on Severus's list and were extremely difficult to obtain.

"Merry Christmas, Severus." Ian handed over the supplies package. "A little replenishment of stock."

Severus took the heavy package of materials but did not open it immediately.

His gaze lingered on Ian's face for a moment before settling on the small bottle containing the soothing agent. Finally, he nodded, his voice low and hoarse: "...Merry Christmas, materials, thank you."

"To the Great Hall?" Ian stretched. "The house-elves' Christmas breakfast should be good, at least there's plenty of pumpkin pie."

Severus nodded, carefully put away the dragon-skin bag, and followed Ian out of the quiet dormitory.

……

The tranquility of the castle was quickly shattered by the influx of people returning to school.

The corridors were once again filled with the sounds of footsteps and conversations, and the common room returned to its usual bustling atmosphere.

Kevin returned laden with candy from home and endless stories of his holiday adventures; Aris, on the other hand, brought back even more academic journals and a new round of sharp critiques of the "inefficiency" of the Hogwarts library.

Severus looked much the same as before he left, still silent, still immersing himself in his books and instruments most of the time.

But Ian noticed that Regulus Black's words at the Christmas party seemed like a pebble thrown into a deep pool. Although they did not create obvious ripples, they left some barely perceptible ripples in Severus's usually calm and unwavering black eyes.

He began to borrow books more frequently that dealt with ancient magic, pure-blood lineages, and even the fringes of the Ministry of Magic's power structure, his expression becoming almost solemn as he read them.

Of course, most of the time was spent on the crucibles and materials.

As the Quidditch season enters its second half, the competition becomes increasingly fierce, and the training intensity of each college team continues to rise, resulting in muscle soreness and minor injuries becoming commonplace.

The reputation of "Severus Brand" soothing and healing ointment circulated quietly among the players of the four houses and even some upperclassmen who were keen on nighttime "adventures."

Ian controlled the channels, maintaining only small-scale and non-public transactions. The Galon, Sico, and useful materials obtained in exchange mostly flowed into Severus's seemingly insatiable list of experimental material needs.

But the professor eventually found out about it.

That day, Severus once again completed his class assignment ahead of schedule with impeccable skill, earning Professor Slughorn's generous bonus and public praise.

After class, the professor called out to Severus, who was packing his things, with a smile.

"Ah, Severus, my dear child, could you please stay a moment? I have a small question about the stability of the moonstone extract you mentioned last time, and I'd like to hear your thoughts..."

Ian and his classmates walked out of the classroom and waited at the door for a while.

About ten minutes later, Severus came out of the classroom with no particular expression on his face, but he was carrying a small bag of pineapple preserves that smelled overly sweet.

"The professor gave it to you?" Ian glanced at the bag of candy that seemed out of place with his personality.

"Hmm," Severus replied briefly, casually stuffing the candied fruit into the bottom of his bag as if it were a hot potato.

The two walked side by side down the corridor back to the cellar, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the stone floor through the high windows.

"Did he mention our... 'small business'?" Ian asked casually.

Severus paused almost imperceptibly. "He mentioned it; he said he'd 'heard about it.'"

"Oh? What did the professor say?" Ian raised an eyebrow.

"He said..." Severus's voice was low, making sure only Ian could hear him.

"It's a good thing for young people to have a business mind, especially when that mind serves such a practical talent. Horace Slughorn never objected to students turning knowledge into a little harmless...reward," as long as "the measure is appropriate" and "the needs of the classroom and clubs are prioritized."

Ian chuckled, a hint of understanding in his voice. "Typical Slughorn-style talk, praising talent and 'ambition,' implying his knowledge and tacit approval, while also reminding you not to forget him as your 'mentor.' He didn't say he wanted a share, did he?"

"He didn't say it outright." Severus's lips curled into a mocking smile. "But he hinted that the Slug Club might prepare some 'special little gifts' for their distinguished guests at their next gathering to 'alleviate social fatigue.'"

"Got it, a high-end customized gift set." Ian nodded. "It's a good deal; we can use the club's resources and connections. Did he mention anything else?"

Severus was silent for a moment, and only the sound of their footsteps echoed in the corridor.

They were walking through a corridor with many portraits hanging on the walls, most of the old wizards in the portraits dozing off or pretending not to notice them.

"He asked me before if I had put together any ideas for improving that medieval remedy." Severus's voice was even lower, with a restrained tension.

He said he had an old friend on the editorial board of the journal "International Potions Innovation," which, although primarily aimed at senior pharmacists, never hesitated to give attention to "true sparks of genius."

Ian slowed his pace and turned to look at Severus. The setting sun cast a faint golden glow on his pale profile, revealing his long eyelashes and tightly pursed lips.

"You showed it to him?"

"He gave me a first draft," Severus said, his dark eyes gazing at the gradually darkening shadows at the end of the corridor. "He said he would 'polish it a little,' and then submit it to the Potions Society's annual Rising Star Paper Review in our joint name. Today he told me that the paper has entered the review stage."

Ian stopped in his tracks.

The Potions Association's annual review. Even if it's just a Rising Star paper, it signifies formal academic recognition, it means the name will come into the sight of some people, it means a narrow but real crack that may lead to a wider world.

He looked at Severus. The other man remained expressionless, but Ian could see that his fingers, hanging by his sides, were slightly curled. It wasn't nervousness, but rather a kind of focused vigilance in the face of unknown possibilities.

"That's a good thing, Severus," Ian finally said, his voice steady and certain. "You deserve it."