Their dark red compound eyes reflected the wandlight with a demonic gleam.
Hermione's scream caught in her throat; she didn't even have time to cry out before Snape's wand swept through the air in a sharp arc.
No incantation.
The spell struck instantly, and the three spiders fell dead on the spot.
"This! This is incredible!"
Hermione gasped sharply, staring at Snape in disbelief. She hadn't expected him to be this powerful, honestly, few young wizards would have imagined it.
"Don't look at me with that idiotic expression," Snape snapped, flicking his wand to shake off the residual glow. "Miss Granger, if flattery could help you pass Potions, Hogwarts would have turned into a nest of frauds long ago. Flattery won't earn you a any favor; it only exposes you as insincere."
His voice was, as always, cutting and merciless.
"…"
Hermione was left speechless, her words choked back down her throat. Whatever faint admiration she'd just felt for him evaporated instantly. No matter how powerful the professor was, a sharp tongue like his made it nearly impossible for students to actually like him.
"Stupefy!"
Snape fired off another spell.
A shadow in midair froze for a split second, then crashed heavily to the ground. Hermione focused on it and realized it was a venomous viper, now lying limp among the leaves.
It was completely unconscious.
Snape hadn't used lethal force; the species was rare and classified as a protected magical creature. Besides, he often collected venom from this very type of snake for his potions.
For a true Potions Master, sustainability was a practical philosophy.
The two continued forward. Snape's strides were steady and confident, as though the dangers of the Forbidden Forest were no more than passing scenery during a casual stroll. Hermione followed close behind, eyes darting around nervously.
Then, something caught her attention.
A plant glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"That's… Moonlight Grass?" Hermione asked instinctively.
Snape paused, glancing sideways at her without much concern for Ian. "Wrong. That's Nightglow Fungus. Moonlight Grass has serrated leaf edges, this one doesn't."
It had to be said, As the Potions professor, Snape did have some appreciation for Hermione's talent. That was why he took the time to correct her mistake. Every Potions Master was, after all, a skilled herbologist as well.
However, Hermione froze for a second, then frowned, unwilling to yield.
"But, Professor Snape, I remember the description from the Herbology textbook, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi! It clearly says, "
Before she could finish, Snape cut her off. His tone was cold and final.
"If you'd actually read the latest edition of Revised Illustrated Compendium of Potion-Brewing Flora, you wouldn't make such an error."
Hermione's eyes widened.
"There's… a revised compendium?" she asked, startled.
Snape gave her a mocking look that said more than words ever could, his silence full of ridicule for her supposed ignorance. Then, without another word, he resumed walking.
"…Alright, Professor. I was wrong," Hermione muttered, biting her lip and silently committing the title of the new book, Revised Illustrated Compendium of Potion-Brewing Flora, to memory.
Their pace didn't falter, and despite the occasional interruption, they were still making good progress in their search for Ian.
Perhaps admitting mistakes really did have its benefits, Because when a metallic-leaved Poison Tendril Vine slithered up from the rotting leaves ahead, Snape actually continued his impromptu lecture.
"Tell me," he said coolly, crouching down to harvest the sample with practiced precision, "the correct way to handle this mutated potion herb."
To him, clearly, his nephew's safety came second to collecting valuable potion ingredients.
That guy really deserved a lesson!
"Uh…" Hermione stared at the twisting tendrils before her, her memory of the textbook's description clashing violently with what she saw in front of her. "It should be… cleaned with a diluted moonstone solution?"
She ventured cautiously.
But she saw the professor's lips curl into a cold, mocking smile.
"Outdated theories belong locked away in Gringotts vaults," Snape sneered mercilessly. To him, what the textbooks said often was outdated nonsense.
"If you were even slightly clever, you'd know to use, " Snape began explaining as they walked on, continuing his impromptu lecture.
When they finally stepped into a scorched clearing, Hermione's breath hitched sharply.
"This is it!" she exclaimed, pointing at the charred ground. "Ian-senior conjured the flying carpet right here to send us back to the castle! Look, there! That's still his magical residue!"
Snape's gaze fell to the ground, his pupils narrowing slightly. The burnt earth still pulsed faintly with strong magical fluctuations, so intense that even he felt his heart tighten.
The area scorched by Fiendfyre had precisely avoided a small section, the exact spot where the three students must have stood. That level of control was extraordinary; even he would struggle to manage it.
After all, it was Fiendfyre.
Very few wizards could wield it with such precision.
"Dumbledore's teaching, then…" Snape muttered, his perception of Ian's power shifting once again. In his mind, such mastery could only have come from Dumbledore's personal tutelage.
It had to be said, Even as an elite spy, Snape still lacked a certain perceptiveness. Perhaps because he had never personally witnessed Grindelwald's use of Fiendfyre, he couldn't recognize the faint traces of that influence.
Otherwise, He likely would have realized that Ian's Fiendfyre bore Grindelwald's shadow. Though Ian's magic had already evolved into his own distinct style, faint traces of "inheritance" still lingered.
Of course, Even without recognizing that detail, Snape still felt some relief as he sensed the residual magic. Perhaps the dragon lurking in the Forbidden Forest truly wasn't Ian's match after all.
"With power like this… even Dumbledore in his youth couldn't have managed it," Snape muttered, unsure whether he should be furious or impressed. One thing he was sure of: it was fortunate that Dumbledore had taken such an unreasonably soft spot for Ian.
That kind of indulgence was highly irregular.
Still, it was a blessing for Ian, because if Dumbledore had ever suspected him of being a second coming of Riddle, Snape doubted the boy would've survived to adulthood.
He understood his old headmaster far too well.
"Which way did he go?" Snape asked, turning to Hermione again. She thought for a moment, recalling the direction from which they'd last heard that terrifying dragon roar.
"Ian went that way…" Hermione said, her memory sharp as ever, pointing in the direction. She had barely begun to speak further when, "ROAR!"
A deafening bellow split the clouds apart.
The distant treetops trembled violently.
It was a terrifying dragon's roar, so powerful that it made Hermione's very soul quiver. Even Snape's expression changed drastically, his heart pounding a sudden, panicked rhythm.
"That's, damn it! That's not a dragon at all!"
Snape's face twisted in shock and alarm.
Before Hermione could react, Snape seized her wrist and sprinted toward the source of the roar. The night wind howled, shadows whipping past. She had never seen Snape so uncomposed.
His black robes billowed behind him like a raging tide.
The cold sharpness in his eyes had been replaced by something else, urgent alarm, even fear.
Hermione's heartbeat thundered in her chest.
Even the professor was scared? Could Ian… still be alive?
(End of chapter.)
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