However, the lack of potency was evident.
"How will they test if my items are genuine?"
Ian asked curiously.
Snape frowned and gave him a glare. He didn't really want to answer such questions, but after thinking it over, he decided that Ian was already at a point where it was hard to make him any worse.
"Appearance, smell, and even texture can be used to identify the authenticity of magic potion materials." The good uncle spoke up after all, picking up another piece of Sopophorous Beans from the ground, intending to continue discussing the identification of finished magic potions.
"Good!"
Ian suddenly clapped his hands.
While Snape was a bit bewildered.
"You touched my stuff! If you touch it, you have to buy it! Once touched, I can't sell it!" Ian was not concerned about recognizing fake goods; he was simply demonstrating his sales strategy to Snape.
"..."
Of course, Snape could see what Ian was demonstrating. Precisely because he realized how thick-skinned the little wizard was, he fell into a speechless silence, finding himself unable to speak.
"Do you want to force a sale? Do you think the ruffians in Diagon Alley would obediently pay up because of such nonsense?" Snape's mouth twitched slightly.
"Of course they won't."
Ian nodded in agreement and then pulled out his magic wand, "So, isn't this the reason we study magic? It definitely can make the Dark Wizards in Diagon Alley pay up."
As Ian finished speaking.
Snape's eyes started twitching again.
He added another line.
"Seriously, I'm being quite conscientious by selling them things that have some effects." The little wizard's tone was filled with unmistakable assurance, "I bet even if I sold them sugar water as a Blessing Potion, they wouldn't dare go to the Ministry of Magic or elsewhere to report me."
"That's Diagon Alley; they are Dark Wizards…" Ian, while spending Christmas with Aurora today, had clearly already tasted the joy of skimming profits from the Dark Wizards.
"That's not something someone your age should be doing!" Snape said with a sense of earnestness, his voice filled with helplessness toward Ian.
This must be inherently rotten.
Even Voldemort probably wasn't this bad when he was in school.
"Of course, so I plan to entrust it to Aurora's elders, they have their own shops in Diagon Alley." Ian's words were clearly just made up on the spot.
He was fishing.
And the fish did bite.
"I also have a shop in Diagon Alley…"
Snape spoke in a soft tone, his expression seemed a bit twisted and unnatural. He didn't hold Grindelwald's Saints in any regard, so there was no way he would watch Ian cooperate with the Saints.
As a renowned Master of Magic Potions.
Without a doubt.
He was, of course, also an expert in the art of forgery, and one who had practiced it many, many times. After all, if one could sell fake potions, who would think of brewing real ones?
He understood the reasoning Ian spoke of as well.
"Alright, alright, alright! This way, no need to ask anyone else! You just take the trouble to brew them all, and we'll split the profits fifty-fifty!" Ian didn't wait for Snape to respond and immediately dumped all the remaining largely ineffective materials from his money bag. If someone else could do it, why would he bother to do it himself?
"..."
Snape wanted to scold Ian, but there were just too many fake potions on the ground—he quickly took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and gave himself a bit of psychological pep talk.
This was all to prevent Ian from getting closer to those Saints.
Definitely not because he wanted to earn some gold coins.
Nor because his hands were itching to experiment with these unknown fake potions for some innovative fake potion experiments. Yes, that's it, convincing himself, Snape opened his eyes.
However.
The little wizard had already vanished.
"That little rascal, how did he manage to make these fake potions?" Snape collected all the materials lacking in potency but didn't plan to directly swallow or confiscate them.
After all, just like how the little wizard knew his preference for dealing with students, he knew how serious and vengeful the little rascal could be when it came to Golden Galleons.
A sum of gold coins tempting even to himself, Snape didn't dare gamble; winning only increased his stockpile of gold coins, but losing would likely destroy not only his reputation but more.
There's Amortentia.
This nephew of his might really feed it to a Fantastic Beast and then sneak it into his bed late at night—Snape had already learned a lot about Ian.
"Strange…"
Back in his office, after researching for quite a while, Snape couldn't figure out the method of making fake potion materials. The obvious lack of potency and the deceptive appearance seemed rather contradictory and out of place.
"How was it done?" Snape suspected that Ian simply extracted the potency from the real materials, but after checking, he found no traces of potency being extracted.
They seemed naturally weak in potency but looked quite similar to those with enough potency. Snape opened his cabinet, took out a shriveled fig for comparison.
"How can even the patterns be identical?"
Snape's expression showed a bit of amazement.
It was clear.
Some low-probability coincidence had occurred.
He looked at the shriveled fig in his hand, identical in every way except for the lack of effect, his expression extremely shocked as if witnessing the impossible.
"Just like there aren't two identical people, there shouldn't be identical materials." Snape was about to take them to the candle-lit desk for careful comparison when—
"Hiss~"
He suddenly inhaled sharply.
Feeling a sharp pain as if his head was seizing up.
"Crash~"
Many reagents on the table were knocked over as Snape quickly grabbed the table to keep himself from falling, some corrosive potions began to bubble up and hiss.
"What's going on! I'm cursed!?"
Snape didn't handle the spilled magic potions on the floor. His mind felt like it was pulsating, as if vibrating, with fragmented scenes continuously emerging.
They all related to him.
But events he hadn't experienced.
...
Hogwarts Village.
The chess player under the shade, as if always seated there.
The hands of the middle-aged drifter lightly brushing, the ring on his finger emitting a unique resonance, yet nothing happened around him.
"This is interesting."
Under the tranquil shade.
The middle-aged man seemed to murmur softly to himself. Winter snow continued to fall from the sky, but where he sat, there wasn't even the slightest wetness.
Not only devoid of snow invasion, but the temperature within the circle wasn't low either; it even carried the scent of blooming spring flowers, with the entire atmosphere feeling completely separated from the surrounding winter.
"After all, fairness must be maintained."
The middle-aged man seemed to murmur to someone.
His eyes reflected a chess piece on the board.
Albus Dumbledore.