31: No time to explain! Get into the coffin, quick!

The sun rises and sets, and time flows onward. Hogsmeade Village always seems to remain tranquil and serene.

Outside the village, the trees are lush and vibrant, their trunks entwined with vines that seem to embody the passage of time. Ian, clutching an axe he had just purchased, was busily chopping at a tree that was not particularly thick.

"Little Ian, do you need my help?"

Madam Puddifoot, the proprietor of Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, was just returning from outside the village. She was a stout woman with a shiny black bun pinned at the back of her head. Seeing the small boy chopping wood, the tea shop owner did not scold him; instead, she pulled out her wand and asked with a cheerful smile.

"Madam Puddifoot, that would be troublesome for you, but I do indeed need your help." Ian had not only underestimated his talent for Dark Magic, he had also overestimated the physical stamina of a boy just past ten years old. Who would have thought that after half an hour of chopping at a single tree, it still hadn't fallen? This was not just because the axe was too small, but because Ian lacked the strength and endurance of an adult.

"Your tongue is as sweet as ever." Madam Puddifoot was quite pleased with the address. In fact, one could discern something of the stout witch's inner state simply by looking at how she had decorated her tea shop with such girlish flair. "Do you need me to break it into smaller pieces for you?"

Without chanting a spell, Madam Puddifoot simply gave her wand a gentle flick. The notch Ian had hacked into the wood snapped open, and then, using a Levitation Charm, she suspended the tree in mid-air.

"If it’s not too much trouble, I would like it in planks," Ian said, gazing at the spectacle with envy. The wizards who lived near Hogwarts and ran shops there might not be world-renowned masters, but they were certainly the elite among their kind.

"As you wish." Madam Puddifoot gave her wand a light shake, and the raw timber began to split, eventually transforming into neat, uniform planks that were stacked tidily before Ian.

"You really are a master of magic!" Ian exclaimed with genuine admiration.

"Hahahaha, I was the top of my year, you know," Madam Puddifoot boasted, not without pride.

"I truly hope I can be as excellent as you one day." Ian quickly offered a flattering remark, making the stout witch beam. Her laughter was hearty and unpretentious, possessing the spirit of a true heroine.

"Hufflepuff would certainly welcome you," Madam Puddifoot revealed the house she had attended.

"I also hope to become an outstanding Hufflepuff." Ian was the type to say what people wanted to hear, though, in truth, he had no objections to being in Hufflepuff. Who wouldn't want to live next to the kitchens, where one could eat hot pot or beef whenever the mood struck?

"Do you need me to help you take these planks back?" Madam Puddifoot was very happy and became even more eager to help.

"It’s not a long walk; I can take them in batches... it’s good exercise." Ian didn't want to trouble others too much. He pulled out his wand and chanted a spell at a portion of the planks.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The spell was successful, and a portion of the wood floated up. Ian’s status panel flickered with a notification: *[Successfully cast Levitation Charm, Magic Proficiency +3].* Having such exceptional talent for Dark Magic meant his aptitude for other branches of magic could hardly be poor—after all, Dark Magic is still a form of magic.

Of course, because his time spent learning was so brief, a Level 1 Levitation Charm could not help Ian manipulate excessively heavy objects.

"A truly commendable piece of spellwork." Madam Puddifoot watched as Ian carefully steered the floating planks toward the village, and she couldn't help but marvel. "You will surely become an outstanding wizard in the future." This was her honest opinion; after all, while casting a Levitation Charm wasn't particularly difficult, maintaining it with such precision was a challenge—let alone for a young wizard who hadn't even started school. Many second-year students couldn't manage it.

"I hope so, and thank you for your help." Ian focused all his attention on controlling the spell. He gave a wave of goodbye to Madam Puddifoot with his free hand and began to walk cautiously toward the cabin.

The house Snape had arranged for him was on the edge of the village, not far away. Along the way, another notification appeared: *[Successfully maintained Levitation Charm, Magic Proficiency +1].* After four or five trips back and forth, he finally managed to get all the planks into the cabin. However, he was still missing a shovel, disinfectant, plastic sheeting, and most importantly, nails.

***

Hogwarts, Office of the Potions Master.

Snape’s expression was ghastly. As a Hogwarts Potions Professor and a world-renowned Potions Master, he had somehow managed to ruin a batch of Felix Felicis today—a potion so simple it was practically trivial—just like those foolish Gryffindors!

"It’s all Dumbledore’s fault!" Snape hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Because of this, he had missed the crucial stirring time for the Felix Felicis, and a potion that should have been perfect was now destined to have irreparable flaws. He blamed Dumbledore entirely for this mistake. The reason was simple: his sleeplessness was caused by a single sentence Dumbledore had said to him a few days ago: "It is not that he needs you; it is that you need him."

Although Snape had dismissed Dumbledore’s words as nonsense at the time, the sentence had been haunting his mind for days, impossible to shake off.

"I don't need anyone!" Snape stubbornly insisted. But he also knew that if he wanted to banish the nightmare plaguing him, he had to do something to prove his worth. Looking at the imperfect Felix Felicis still simmering in the cauldron, Snape’s expression shifted repeatedly. Finally, as if he had made up his mind, he put on his coat—that black robe that seemed as if it were never washed.

"If you can't even take care of yourself, how can you talk about learning magic..." Snape seemed to be justifying his neglect over the past few days. He hurried out of his office, encountering Argus Filch, the caretaker, on his way. Filch, the night-patrolling Squib who fancied himself a disciplinarian—a man who might be considered pathetic, but certainly not worthy of pity—greeted him.

"Good morning, Professor Snape." Filch was always overly enthusiastic when facing a professor. However, Snape didn't even glance at him, walking straight past. The smile on Filch’s face stiffened, but he dared not react, only muttering to himself as he clutched his cat and continued his work once Snape had moved on.

"I hope he hasn't starved to death yet."

Snape arrived in Hogsmeade and stood before the cabin. He didn't need a key; with a wave of his wand, he easily unlocked the deadbolted door... It had been locked three times? Snape was somewhat puzzled by the caution of the occupant. The security in Hogsmeade had always been fine.

He walked in, expressionless. The next moment, the Slytherin Head of House understood exactly why the door had been bolted three times. His perpetually stoic face contorted in disbelief.

"What are you doing!!?" Snape’s voice turned shrill, like an oboe. He couldn't be blamed. He was staring at a scene he never could have imagined seeing in this small cabin: the floor had been dug into a massive, deep pit!

A young boy was hunched over a lopsided, makeshift coffin, struggling to cram two horribly decayed corpses into it. In the dilapidated room, there were three or four other corpses in various states of rot lying quietly on the floor—damn it! Was this the kind of horrific scene one was supposed to see in Hogsmeade!?

"Mr. Prince!" Snape’s face turned deathly pale. He watched as the boy looked up in terror, accidentally snapping the arm off a corpse in his fright, which only made Snape’s complexion turn even more livid.

"I demand a reasonable explanation that doesn't involve me sending you to Azkaban!!"

It was practically a roar.