9: A Gift of Fate

Not only was there no Dumbledore, but there was also no delightful surprise of owls delivering letters.

Ian felt that his path in magic was undeniably somewhat twisted. While others’ beginner guides were either the gentle Professor McGonagall or the big-hearted, easily likable Hagrid, why was his guide none other than Hogwarts’ most unpopular Half-Blood Prince?

Indeed.

The man sitting now in the orphanage director’s office, dressed in a broad black robe resembling a worn-out mop and sporting greasy hair long neglected by shampoo, was none other than Severus Snape, the current head of Slytherin House.

This professor carried many titles: potion prodigy, a chronic sufferer of middle-aged angst, and an ultimate, undefeated pure-love warrior with all buffs stacked.

Of course, the most widely known label attached to Snape was that he had once been a Death Eater loyal to the Dark Lord—Ian knew that Snape was now a double agent for Dumbledore, but this fact could not erase his former Death Eater identity.

The aura that instilled fear was genuine and impossible to fake.

Because of this, Snape becoming Ian’s guide was hardly good news.

“Ian, come in quickly!”

The orphanage director, seated facing the door, was the first to see Ian surrounded by a crowd; she quickly smiled and beckoned him inside.

Ian entered, closing the door behind him.

Outside, the children’s wails echoed.

“The poor little Ian is finally about to embark on a better life. Thank God,” Ms. Elena murmured happily as she introduced Ian to the dark and brooding Snape. “This is Ian, the most sensible and heart-tugging child here.”

“I believe that although his origins are humble, he will become one of the finest among your students. Honestly, I think Ian is even smarter than those noble-born children.”

Ms. Elena was generous with her praise of Ian.

This made Ian slightly embarrassed; after all, he was a transmigrated adult soul, and comparing him to ordinary children was somewhat unfair.

“Hopefully, that is true.”

Snape, sitting opposite Ms. Elena, studied Ian intently.

From the moment Ian entered, Snape’s gaze never left his face, his expression a complex mixture of sternness and something else that puzzled Ian.

Was that... guilt?

Ian’s extraordinary ability, “Mind Perception,” derived from psychology, allowed him to detect the most intense emotions and deepest desires of others.

At this moment, sensing Snape’s inner turmoil, Ian immediately detected his unsettled emotion. This anomaly reminded Ian of something Dumbledore once said.

The professor coming to see him felt deeply indebted to him?

Was this professor Snape before him? Ian felt bewildered; he was clearly not Harry Potter, nor could he be Lily Potter’s illegitimate son.

So where did Snape’s emotions come from?

“What are you doing?! How is this possible?!”

Suddenly, just as Ian’s mind was filled with questions, Snape’s eyes flickered with disbelief, his face shifting to a troubled, suspicious expression. His gaze sharpened, piercing Ian like a blade lodged in the throat.

“Ah?”

Ian stepped back, startled.

Ms. Elena also wore a puzzled look at Snape’s reaction.

“Legilimency! Mr. Prince, Dumbledore never told me you possessed this talent!” Snape’s eyes trembled violently.

Was it surprise? Anxiety? Worry?

His expression remained icy as he fixed Ian with a penetrating stare, but the emotional fluctuations betrayed his cold facade. This only deepened Ian’s confusion.

What exactly was going on with this potions master?

Surely Ian wasn’t some half-blood child of Snape and a Muggle, abandoned in the orphanage because Snape couldn’t get Lily Potter and settled for a Muggle like her instead?

That was impossible!

This... was too explosive, too illogical!

The more curious Ian became, the stronger his perception grew.

Therefore—

“I said! Enough!”

Snape’s tone abruptly rose several octaves.

His voice was stern.

---

“I... I can’t control it...”

Ian was incredibly nervous; he didn’t expect Snape to detect his Mind Perception ability and mistake it for Legilimency.

“Professor, perhaps if you control your emotions, the situation might ease?” Ian whispered, as Snape seemed on the verge of exploding.

Snape took a displeased, long breath. After closing his eyes and composing himself briefly, Ian’s perception gradually dulled.

“What did you see?”

Snape’s eyes reopened, disbelief still lingering.

“I didn’t see your memories; I only sensed your emotions. Your mind is likely unsettled?” Ian answered honestly.

Since Snape already detected something unusual about him, hiding this ability was futile. For wizards, possessing special talents was not necessarily a burden.

“A natural Legilimens... very well... Mr. Prince, do you think that having such a gift means you can do whatever you want with pride?”

Snape’s eyes were filled with obvious irritation.

His tone was colder than ice.

He seemed to be grinding his teeth as he spoke, his voice loud enough that Ian glanced at Ms. Elena, who smiled serenely and nodded from the side, entirely detached from the tension.

Clearly, the scene Ms. Elena witnessed and heard was far from the reality unfolding between Ian and Snape.

“Confundus Charm...”

Ian looked at Ms. Elena, who seemed isolated in another world.

For some reason, a strange tightness gripped his heart.

“I’m asking you, Mr. Prince! You dare ignore a professor before even enrolling? If this were Hogwarts, I would definitely assign your house—”

Snape’s voice took on a sarcastic tone but abruptly cut off, his sullen face twisted as if something got stuck in his throat.

“Sorry, professor, I really can’t control it.”

Ian looked helpless.

“Then learn to control it!”

Snape snapped sharply.

“Uh...”

Perhaps Ian’s innocent, pitiful expression softened Snape’s tone as he clenched his jaw and spoke more gently.

“As a professor, I’m only warning you kindly this once: until you’re strong enough, any actions that provoke other wizards are foolish provocations.”

“Hogwarts is usually lenient with students, but only if you’re a well-behaved little creature—unlike those troublesome Gryffindors who constantly cause trouble.”

Snape’s voice was grave.

However, when mentioning Gryffindor, his tone brimmed with undisguised contempt.

“What’s Gryffindor?”

Ian tried to change the subject, feigning ignorance and confusion.

“Heh, just a bunch of simple-minded, brawny fools. At Hogwarts, the smart ones keep their distance, or else misfortune follows immediately.”

Snape’s mockery was vigorous.

But his reply was classic—he never bothered to explain that Gryffindor was a house.

“Alright, professor.”

Ian neither pressed nor argued but adopted a studious demeanor.

This eased the deep furrow between Snape’s brows considerably.

“Madam, I must take this boy ahead to complete some necessary formalities,” Snape said, turning to Ms. Elena without looking at Ian.

At that moment, as if rebooting from a long lag, Ms. Elena’s expression returned to normal; smiling broadly, she responded to Snape.

“Of course, of course. The headmaster has already completed all the paperwork. Ian can leave with you now.” She then urged Ian to pack up his belongings.

He had been preparing all along.

---

Most of Ian’s things were already packed into a large suitcase.

Soon, he dragged the bulky luggage out.

At eleven years old, Ian was just a bit taller than the suitcase.

As he stepped out of his bedroom, he saw Ms. Elena, several orphanage staff, and nearly all the children waiting for him in the yard.

Snape stood distantly on an open patch, radiating an aura that warned strangers to keep away—probably even acquaintances wouldn’t dare approach.

“Ian, Ian, will you bring us back some chocolate?”

“Don’t worry, Ian, I’ll help you tidy your room and your little cart.”

“Waaah, Ian big brother, please don’t die, okay? They say we’ll never see you again.”

The children expressed heartfelt reluctance at Ian’s departure.

As the leader among the orphans, everyone had deep affection for Ian—even the five-year-old girl who mistook ‘never seeing’ for ‘dying’ held him dearly in her heart.

Perhaps one day, with time’s passage and their scattering paths, these bonds would fade.

But at this moment, their sorrow was palpable and genuine.

“Ian, don’t look back. Your future will be bright,” Ms. Elena said, wiping tears as she gently touched his cheek, her words laden with profound meaning.

The other children couldn’t grasp the full implication, but Ian clearly understood.

“Professor, I can come back during holidays, right?”

He called out loudly to Snape in the distance.

“That’s your business. Don’t bother me with such nonsense.”

Snape’s tone was impatient, yet he remained quietly standing in the shadow by the wall, not urging Ian onward.

“I will come back, of course. This is home, isn’t it?”

Ian stepped forward to embrace Ms. Elena. “If not for your dedication and changes here, this orphanage wouldn’t be so full of joy and laughter.”

“We all have a future. I promise,” Ian said earnestly.

“Ian... you don’t have to be like this...” Ms. Elena’s voice choked as she hugged him tightly.

The children around began chattering excitedly.

“It’s my turn to hug Ian!”

“Anna! You’ve hugged him too long!”

“Allen! You got your snot on Ian’s clothes!”

Ian bid farewell to nearly everyone.

He declined help and dragged his suitcase toward Snape.

Under everyone’s watchful eyes, Ian exchanged a few words with Snape, then the professor led him through the large iron gate, disappearing into the fog-laden streets of London.

“Ian will surely make a name for himself; he’s a sensible child who tugs at your heartstrings,” the kitchen chef wept openly, his voice filled with unwavering faith.

“Yes, I have never doubted that,” Ms. Elena affirmed, wiping tears from her eyes. Turning to comfort the children, she suddenly felt a heavy weight in her pocket.

As if sensing something, she quickly reached in.

A thick envelope was pulled out.

“When did this arrive?”

Ms. Elena was stunned.

She opened the envelope.

Her hands began trembling uncontrollably.

“This child...”

Her voice quivered.

Inside the pristine envelope were scattered British pounds—not large denominations, but enough in sum to be a considerable amount.

Enough for the orphanage children to have a warm and well-fed winter.