HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Although Ian said he would pick him up in five days, he showed up at Severus's doorstep on the morning of the third day.

When the door was knocked on, Severus was squatting on the living room floor with an old wooden box spread out in front of him. Inside were some household items, a chipped teapot, a few old books with curled edges, and a stack of yellowed Muggle newspapers.

Ian stood outside the door, wearing a light gray Muggle shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, holding nothing in his hands, just standing there.

The morning light fell on his shoulders, breaking the shadows of Spider's End.

"Good morning," Ian said, his voice casual, as if he were just passing by.

Severus was silent for a few seconds, then opened the door.

Ian walked in, his gaze sweeping over the excessively empty, dusty living room before finally settling on the open box in the center of the floor. "Packing up?"

"Um."

"schedule?"

"...At the very beginning."

Ian nodded, didn't ask any more questions, and naturally walked to the box and squatted down as well.

He picked up the herbal guide and flipped through it, then glanced at the teapot beside him. "Should we keep these?"

Severus stood two steps behind him, his fingers unconsciously brushing against the seam of his trousers. "Shuliu, the rest... get rid of them."

"What should we do?"

"The Muggle way: throw it away or... sell it."

Ian put the book aside, picked up the teapot, and looked at the cracks at the bottom.

"What a pity, the pattern was quite interesting." He put down the teapot, stood up, and said, "Let's sort them first. Keep what we need, sell what we need, and throw away what we need. Let's get this done quickly, two people."

He didn't say "I'll help you," nor did he say "You can't do it alone."

He simply started doing it as if it were a matter of course, as if it were part of the plan all along.

Severus stood in the middle of the living room, watching Ian wave his wand, sending a pile of empty bottles and moldy old newspapers flying into the trash bag on their own.

His movements were swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.

"Should we keep these?" Ian pointed to several tilted photo frames on the mantel. Inside were photos of a younger Tobias and an old photo of Erin from her student days, her smile blurred.

Severus walked over and picked up his mother's picture. The glass in the frame was cracked. He looked at it for a few seconds, wiped the dust off with his sleeve, and put it in the wooden box at his feet.

Ian nodded, turned and pushed open a creaking window.

"Let some air out. It's so stuffy in here, it's hard to breathe."

Severus didn't respond. He went to organize the bookshelves. Most of the books were unremarkable, but there were a few old manuscripts left by Eileen.

He brushed the dust off the cover very gently.

"What about this one?" Ian appeared behind him at some point, holding a book titled "Advanced Potion Making" with curled edges and dried stains on the back cover.

Severus glanced at it. "Throw it away."

"Are you sure? There seem to be notes inside." Ian casually flipped to a page, and sure enough, there were small handwritings in the blank space. It was Eileen's handwriting, a conjecture about a substitute material for moonstone powder.

Severus reached out and took the book. The handwriting made his fingertips pause for a moment.

But he eventually closed the book, stuffed it into a trash bag, and said, "Outdated assumptions are wrong."

Ian looked at him but didn't insist. "Okay."

The cleanup was carried out silently.

Severus was in charge of screening, and Ian was in charge of execution; what needed to be thrown away was thrown away without mercy, and what needed to be kept was carefully stored away.

The cramped room gradually appeared more spacious than ever before, and also seemed even more shabby.

Finally, all that remained was the peeling paint on the wardrobe in Severus's bedroom.

Hanging inside were several ill-fitting adult coats, as well as clothes that Ian had given him for various reasons. Some of the clothes were already too small, but they were still hanging there.

Severus packed a few wearable clothes into his suitcase. "That's about it."

Ian leaned against the doorframe, watching him stuff two notebooks into the suitcase. "That's all?"

"Um."

"Where are the books?" Ian pointed to the box of Eileen's handwritten copies in the corner.

Severus closed the suitcase strap. "Leave it here for now, we'll talk about it later..."

After that, the word made the air momentarily still.

Severus straightened up and looked around the room where he had lived for more than a decade.

The light shone on the peeling wallpaper, revealing old stains in the corners.

This place once offered him warmth, but it was mostly filled with coldness, arguments, and long silences.

Now, even that's gone; all that's left is an empty, soon-to-be-abandoned silence.

My wrist suddenly felt warm.

Ian appeared in front of him without him noticing and took his wrist.

It wasn't a tight grip, just the palm against the skin, the warmth transmitted through the slightly cool pulse.

Severus froze, neither moving nor pulling back.

He looked up and met Ian's gaze.

Ian's gray eyes looked calm in the dim light. He just looked at him without saying anything, but his grip on Ian's wrist was very firm.

The distant, indistinct sounds of the city drifted in from outside the window, and dust particles slowly rose and fell in the beams of light.

After a long time, or perhaps only a few seconds, Ian released his grip and instead picked up the old leather suitcase.

"Let's go," he said calmly, "home."

Severus took one last look at the room, turned around, and followed Ian out of 19 Spider's End Alley without looking back.

They did not use Floo Net or any other magic.

Ian said he would take the Muggle bus home to get some fresh air.

The bus swayed and rattled through the gray streets of London. Severus watched the unfamiliar shops and pedestrians rushing past the window in silence.

Ian didn't say anything, his shoulder occasionally brushing against Ian's as the carriage swayed.

Back home, Leah hugged Severus in the entryway without asking any questions, only saying that the notes he had left there last time were in the right drawer of his desk.

That guest room has become Severus's private room, but Ian's family has no objections.

They spent most of their time in the lab, with Severus researching potions and Ian tinkering with his various plant nutrient solutions.

One evening in July, a sudden downpour hit London.

When they returned from the laboratory, Leah was using magic to direct knitting in the living room, while John was reading an internal Ministry of Magic communication, his brow slightly furrowed.

After dinner, Ian said, "Shall we go for a walk? The rain has stopped."

The air was humid after the summer rain, and the streetlights cast shaky light in the puddles. They wandered aimlessly along the Muggle streets, their conversation gradually fading, and the silence didn't seem awkward.

Reaching the fence of a small park, Ian suddenly stopped and pointed inside: "Look."

A ginger cat was sitting on a wet bench, slowly licking its paws.

Sensing their gaze, it glanced at them, jumped off the bench, and disappeared behind the bushes.

"Doesn't it look like that one from Hogwarts? The one that's always circling around the greenhouse?" Ian said.

"It was a darker color," Severus said, recalling the cat that once slipped into the cellar and rubbed against the hem of his robe at the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

The night wind carried the scent of rain and earth. On the way back, Ian's hand occasionally brushed against Severus's. The first time they touched, they both paused; the second time, Severus didn't pull away; the third time, Ian's fingers lightly hooked around Severus's little finger, just for a moment, then released it, as if it were merely an unintentional touch.

But the air has changed.