32: A Pack of Lies! Snape’s Furor!

The curtains were drawn tight.

Tattered oilcloth and scattered corpses littered the room. Had he not known for a fact that this was a property registered in his own name, Snape would have certainly assumed he had blundered into the lair of some Dark wizard.

"So you are telling me that you were walking down the street, and quite by accident, you bumped into a Dark wizard, and this Dark wizard, quite by accident, dropped a scrap of paper?"

"And this scrap of paper happened to contain a piece of Dark Magic, which you did not recognize, but out of pure curiosity, you also, quite by accident, managed to learn the Dark Magic recorded upon it?"

Snape fixed his grim, piercing gaze upon Ian. His face was as crumpled and unpleasant as a wadded-up piece of parchment, and his brows were knit into a knot that seemed impossible to untie.

"Yes, that is exactly how it happened."

Ian nodded his head like a bobblehead.

"Professor, I am innocent. I am a victim! My young, fragile heart was so terrified that I couldn't even sleep a wink last night!" Ian widened his green eyes as much as he possibly could.

His words were, of course, half-truth and half-fabrication.

Even though he wasn't a wizard born and bred in the magical world, Ian knew well enough that a book like *Secrets of the Darkest Art* was treated with the same sort of severity as something forbidden or cult-like.

Claiming Aurora had given it to him?

Leaving aside whether that would actually clear his own name, that limited-edition study guide would undoubtedly be confiscated, and there was no telling if he would then be pursued for the crime of possessing *Secrets of the Darkest Art*!

After all.

Aurora had a grandfather named Grindelwald.

He did not!

If Aurora held *Secrets of the Darkest Art*, it could be called a family legacy, but if he held it, he would likely be branded as Voldemort the Second!

"I had no idea this place used to be a graveyard, Professor. You don't know—when those corpses started crawling out from under the floorboards, I was nearly scared out of my wits!"

Ian continued to play the victim with an exaggerated tone, doing his best to appear as innocent as possible.

However.

Snape was clearly not buying it.

"Boy, do you think I am as easily fooled as the children in those orphanages?" Snape’s complexion remained ghastly, his voice laced with the sound of gritted teeth.

"Do you really think Dark wizards are lurking around every corner?"

He clearly did not believe Ian’s tall tale.

"It must have been a Dark wizard! I encountered one when I was in London—he kept tailing me, trying to snatch me away for some evil experiment. Who’s to say it isn’t the same one who showed up in this village!"

Seeking to bolster the credibility of his story, Ian brought up his past encounter.

Little did he expect.

Snape’s expression only darkened further.

"Shut up! You imbecile!"

He barked at Ian directly.

"Tell me the truth!"

The pressure radiating from Snape intensified significantly.

"It really is like that..."

Ian’s confidence began to waver. There was no helping it; before he transmigrated, he was just a naive college student—the kind who would get swindled with counterfeit bills while selling jelly noodles at a street stall during summer break.

If it weren't for the fact that after Snape burst in, the violent fluctuation of his emotions allowed Ian to perceive a trace of his true feelings, he probably wouldn't have dared to keep playing dumb and sticking to his story.

"Do you think I would believe that, without anyone to instruct you, a young wizard walking out of a Muggle orphanage who didn't even know what magic was could successfully self-teach a complex piece of Dark Magic?"

"Hah, the Corpse-Raising Curse—a spell of this caliber, even fourth or fifth-year students wouldn't dare claim they could master it in just a few days!"

Snape let out a mocking sneer.

"Perhaps you do have a gift from the heavens, a natural Legilimens..." Snape began to pace back and forth in the dilapidated living room.

His eyes remained fixed on Ian the entire time. "But there are many, many people in this world with more talent than you. You don't actually think you could be more powerful than the Dark Lord, do you?"

Classic Snape-style sarcasm.

"I never said anything of the sort, Professor," Ian retorted in a low voice.

"It seems you have been flipping through your *History of Magic* textbook after all, knowing who the Dark Lord is... that is good." Snape continued to observe Ian's reaction.

Suddenly.

He shifted his tone, raising his voice.

"Since that is the case, you shouldn't use your troll-like brain to weave such a foolish lie, attempting to make me believe that you can accomplish what even the Dark Lord could not."

"I can tell you right now, at your age, the Dark Lord did not know this kind of Dark Magic." Snape’s gaze was fierce, as if he intended to devour Ian alive.

"Hiss, you know the Dark Lord's true identity?"

Ian attempted to use shock to change the subject.

But Snape did not take the bait.

He continued to glare at Ian fiercely.

"I could send you to Azkaban right now, let the Aurors use the very Legilimency you are so proud of to dig out your secrets, and then you would spend the rest of your life there, keeping company with the Dementors."

"The only reason I haven't done so is to give you a chance... you must understand, it is your status as a Hogwarts student that has earned you this opportunity!"

Snape threatened Ian sternly.

"Professor, I don't want to go to Azkaban."

Ian looked at Snape with a face full of panic.

This was half-genuine, half-acted.

He was certainly panicked.

But not to the point of fearing he would truly be sent to Azkaban—he wasn't a fool, and he could certainly see that there was some kind of connection between himself and Snape.

If not for that.

Forget about money or housing arrangements; even being taken to Diagon Alley to buy some second-hand textbooks would likely have been considered a sign of Snape being in a good mood that day.

"If you don't want to go to prison, then tell me who taught you the Dark Magic."

Snape stared unblinkingly at Ian.

"It was a Dark wizard. He had a slip of paper, and it just happened to drop right in front of me."

Ian persisted with his initial claim. He couldn't help it; he truly couldn't bear to part with *Secrets of the Darkest Art* annotated by Grindelwald himself.

Knowledge is innocent!

"Bang!"

Snape was so incensed that he slammed his hand onto the table.

"Fine! Very well! You think that because I cannot find this Dark wizard, I cannot verify your utterly ridiculous story, is that it?" Snape spoke as if he had something stuffed in his mouth.

Gritting his teeth.

Every syllable sounded as if it were being squeezed out from between his teeth.

"I am telling the truth."

Ian once again assumed an innocent, slightly bewildered expression.

Well.

The truth was indeed a form of truth, just not the entire truth, and perhaps it had been embellished with a little artistic flair... how could that not be called the truth?

"Clever little brat!"

Snape sneered.

Then.

He grabbed some paper and a quill from the table and scribbled a long string of text in a flurry.

"What are you doing?"

Ian asked with curiosity.

"This is a scrap of paper dropped by a Dark wizard. Go on, Mr. Prince, prove your talent—the talent that is greater than the Dark Lord's, perhaps even greater than Dumbledore's... Talent!"

Snape thrust the paper in front of Ian.

His voice was dripping with venomous sarcasm.

His eyes had also turned mocking and derisive.

"Are you teaching me magic?"

Ian's eyes lit up.

He immediately turned his gaze to the paper in his hands, unable to contain his eagerness.

Sure enough.

The slip of paper recorded the detailed principles of a spell.