HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Ian instinctively sounded the alarm, and he gently tugged at Severus, signaling with his eyes: retreat.

Severus nodded, his movements as light as breathing.

The two moved back along the path they had come from, taking each step very carefully, avoiding all the dead branches and fallen leaves.

Ian never loosened his grip on Severus's wrist; he could feel the pulse beating rapidly beneath his skin, almost in sync with his own.

Only after retreating more than a hundred meters and being enveloped by dense forest again did they quicken their pace slightly.

No one spoke.

They stopped at the same time when they saw Hagrid's cabin, leaning against the tree trunk to catch their breath.

"...Who is that?" Ian released his grip, his voice still a little hoarse.

Severus pulled down his sleeve to cover the red marks on his wrist. "Those two, dark wizards, their forces are unknown."

"The third one?"

Severus was silent for a few seconds. "A werewolf, and a leader at that."

Ian recalled his father occasionally mentioning the Ministry of Magic's warnings about "abnormal gatherings of werewolves," which he hadn't paid much attention to at the time, but now those words suddenly carried weight.

"What are they doing near Hogwarts?"

"I don't know." Severus turned to look into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, his eyes filled with complex emotions. "And I shouldn't know."

The meaning is clear: curiosity can be deadly.

That evening, they unusually did not go to the lab.

The two sat in a corner of the common room, books spread out in front of them, but neither of them could concentrate on reading.

"The collection plan is postponed," Severus suddenly said.

"Wait for them to leave?"

"Once the full moon has passed, we'll adjust the formula using the remaining materials." Severus closed the book in his hand. "The venom of the eight-eyed giant spider isn't the only option, but it's the best choice."

Ian looked at him.

This is not Severus Snape's style; he always seeks the optimal solution.

"...Did you see that werewolf clearly?" Ian asked.

Severus's fingers unconsciously traced the spine of the book. "Fenrir Greyback, the wanted poster has been up in the Ministry of Magic's hall for three months. Bounty: five hundred Galleons."

He spoke calmly, but Ian sensed a chill beneath his words.

A werewolf for whom the Ministry of Magic has a bounty of 500 Galleons is no ordinary dangerous individual.

Will they come back?

"Yes." Severus glanced at the fireplace. "The Forbidden Forest is too convenient for them; it's far from the crowds, the Ministry of Magic's oversight is weak, and..."

He paused for a moment, then added, "Hogwarts has what they want: students, resources, or something else."

Neither of them pursued the topic further.

At the end of the holiday, they finally managed to get a small bottle of decent-quality octopus venom from an inconspicuous middleman in Knockturn Alley, at a price 30% higher than the market price.

The cost was Ian's remaining summer allowance and a small sum of money Severus had saved for his thesis.

"I lost money." Ian sighed, looking at his deflated purse.

"The data is more important." Severus carefully put the venom bottle into the temperature-controlled box. "It's owed to you."

"Just remember that, with interest." Ian waved his hand and said no more.

The day before the start of the semester, they thoroughly cleaned the borrowed laboratory and restored it to its original state.

Lying in bed that night, Ian turned over, looked in Severus's direction, and suddenly said, "I'll be in fourth grade when school starts."

"Um."

"The coursework is more difficult, and OWLs need to prepare in advance."

"Um."

"And..." Ian paused, his voice lowering, "some people, some things, might become more... direct."

"I know."

He didn't say "Don't worry," nor did he say "I can handle it." He simply stated it calmly.

This calm actually settled Ian's restless mind.

"That's true. Anyway, we'll deal with whatever comes our way."

……

On the first night of the new school year, a deliberately created calm enveloped the Slytherin common room.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, and the younger students huddled around a few tables, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes occasionally glancing toward the area where the older students were gathered, especially the largest carved armchair by the fireplace.

Everett Travers graduated.

The man sitting in that chair now is Malcolm Flint, the newly appointed barracks commander.

He was taller and broader than Ultraman, with short, light-gold hair and cold, gray-blue eyes. He was listening to a seventh-grader talk, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest.

When Ian and Severus walked in, their deliberately hushed conversation paused subtly for a moment before quickly resuming.

Several gazes swept over, lingering a little longer than usual, before casually looking away.

"Something's off." Kevin leaned closer, his voice barely audible. "Flint suggested this afternoon that all fourth graders and above come to the common room after dinner to discuss their plans for the new school year."

"Is this a suggestion?" Ian tossed his backpack into the corner of the sofa where they usually sat.

"What do you think?" Kevin scoffed. "He talks like a command even more like Travers."

Aris was already sitting there with a book open in front of him, but his eyes weren't on the book.

"The Flint family and the Malfoy family are very close. His uncle works in the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters and is an old friend of Lucius Malfoy's father."

Severus didn't say anything, but sat down next to Ian and took out his Potions textbook from his bag.

When most of the people had arrived, Sergeant Flint stood up.

He didn't need to clap; he simply glanced around, and the lounge fell silent.

"New semester," he began, his voice detached. "The honor of the college rests on everyone's shoulders. The dean hopes that we, especially the upperclassmen, will not only focus on our studies, but also set an example for the lowerclassmen in all aspects."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Setting an example means having a clear attitude and a firm stance. Slytherin values ​​legacy, but also values ​​choice—choosing who to associate with and what values ​​to pledge allegiance to."

"During the holidays, some alumni showed great interest in the development of the college and expressed their appreciation for promising juniors."

Flint continued, his gaze sweeping intentionally or unintentionally in Severus's direction, but not lingering.

"They are willing to provide resources and guidance, but this requires... a corresponding level of sincerity and awareness."

"I don't like beating around the bush," he said finally, his fingers stopping typing. "This academic year, there will be some adjustments within the college, and all resources will be prioritized for those who have proven their 'worth' and 'belonging.' Think about it carefully."

He did not specify the exact method of "proof," nor did he specify where "attribution" refers.

But everyone understood.

Flint sat down, and immediately several seventh-graders surrounded him, whispering something, their faces displaying just the right amount of respect.

Whispers broke out in the lounge again, this time tinged with more speculation and tension.

"Much more direct than Avery," Kevin muttered. "Not even pretending."