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— Perhaps Snape’s gaze was simply too intense, for Ian snapped back from his wandering thoughts as he sensed something amiss.
Following the line of sight, he discovered it was indeed Snape.
Even after eleven years of not seeing him, Ian recognized Snape at a single glance, thanks in no small part to that greasy, shoulder-length hair that had remained unchanged for over a decade.
Ian’s face instantly darkened.
He harbored little goodwill toward Snape.
After all, what brother could possibly tolerate a filthy, foul-smelling man harbouring creepy desires for his sister?
What was worse, during his school days, Snape had been a fanatical devotee of pure-blood supremacy, and upon graduation, he had promptly joined the ranks of the Death Eaters.
How could Ian possibly bring himself to admire someone like that?
Even now, though Ian was openly frowning, Snape kept his eyes locked firmly onto him.
Ian could read that gaze all too clearly: Snape was using those emerald-green eyes—so strikingly similar to Lily’s—to pine for her through him.
To be stared at by a man with such a clinging, twisted look made Ian’s skin crawl with goosebumps.
“Th-that is…
Professor…
Snape…” Right at that moment, Quirrell leaned close to Ian once more, “kindly” introducing Snape’s identity.
Inside, Ian was practically driven to distraction.
On one side was the greasy, unnerving glare of a middle-aged man; on the other was a stench of garlic far beyond normal human endurance.
Never in his life had Ian wanted a feast to end so desperately.
Fortunately, just as Ian was on the verge of losing his composure entirely, dear Professor McGonagall rescued him once again.
Without warning, a stern Professor McGonagall swept hurriedly into the Hall, striding briskly to Dumbledore’s side.
Her sudden entrance immediately drew the attention of everyone present.
She whispered something into Dumbledore’s ear while darting frequent glances toward Ian.
Ian felt a surge of confusion, but he knew instinctively that something must have happened.
Sure enough, before Ian could figure out what was going on, Professor McGonagall straightened up and marched directly toward him.
Seeing her approach, Ian quickly sat up straight.
Before Professor McGonagall could say a word, he beat her to it: “Professor, is there an emergency?
Do you need my help?” Her imposing momentum abruptly derailed, Professor McGonagall uttered a subconscious thank-you.
But the next second, realizing what had just happened, she shot Ian a fierce glare, her voice laced with displeasure: “Mr.
Evans, may I ask if you are currently Harry’s legal guardian?” Hearing those words, Ian’s heart skipped a beat, and his expression instantly turned grave.
What Ian failed to notice, however, was that when Professor McGonagall identified him as Harry’s guardian, the expressions of two other people in the Hall shifted dramatically as well.
Ian had long expected that something bound to happen around Harry, the story’s protagonist, so he had prepared himself mentally well in advance.
“Yes, Professor.
Harry is currently living with me, and I possess full rights to raise him.” Professor McGonagall clearly hadn’t expected Ian to admit his relationship with Harry so straightforwardly.
She pursed her lips, hesitated for a moment, and said, “Mr.
Evans, I think you ought to step outside and take a look.” With that, Professor McGonagall turned and swept out of the Great Hall once more.
Without a second thought, Ian immediately rose to his feet and followed her out.
As the heavy doors opened and swung shut behind them, the Great Hall instantly erupted into chatter.
Students leaned in across the tables, exchanging whispers about what could have transpired.
“I bet the Hogwarts Express blew up on the way here.
Otherwise, Professor McGonagall would never skip the Sorting Ceremony,” a sixth-year Slytherin declared.
The moment this dangerous theory was uttered, several students near him grinned with gloating expressions.
However, a Gryffindor who couldn’t stand Slytherin immediately shot back, “Marcus, even if something terrible happened to your house, the Hogwarts Express would still be running fine.” Hearing someone refute him, the Slytherin named Marcus snapped angrily, “Wood, then why don’t you tell us what happened?” “…” Wood had no answer.
“Tch!” Ian, of course, was oblivious to the minor squabble inside the Great Hall.
He stood atop the stone steps outside, gazing down from his vantage point at the two groups below.
Well, to be accurate, four kids were facing off against a whole crowd.
And Harry was by far the most striking among the four.
Because he was the only one holding his wand high, glaring coldly at the crowd opposite them.
The other three were a little girl with bushy brown hair, a red-headed boy, and a round-faced boy who looked somewhat dazed.
The girl was frantically pulling at Harry’s sleeve.
With just a single glance, Ian recognized their names: Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom.
Though there were only four of them, Harry’s imposing presence alone completely overwhelmed the group across from them—especially the handsome, blond-haired boy leading the pack.
That little blonde guy, however, looked exceptionally battered.
Not only was a large chunk sliced off his expensive-looking wizard robes, but his face was also bruised black and blue.
Seeing that Harry hadn’t taken the brunt of the beating, Ian breathed a sigh of relief, his tense expression relaxing instantly.
He simply stood atop the steps with a slight smile, watching the confrontation unfold below.
By this point, Professor McGonagall was visibly furious.
Her face had turned pale with rage as she swept down the steps in long strides, her emerald robes billowing behind her.
Her voice was icy, sending a shiver through everyone present: “Will someone please explain to me why the corridors of Hogwarts have been turned into a dueling ground right before the Start-of-Term Feast?” “This is completely unprecedented in the history of Hogwarts!” She whirled around sharply, locking her gaze directly onto Harry.
“Mr.
Potter, I believe I explicitly told you moments ago that magic is not permitted in the corridors of Hogwarts.” Under Professor McGonagall’s stern interrogation, Harry slightly lowered his wand.
Instead of offering an excuse, he glanced up at Ian before saying softly, “I’m sorry, Professor!” Seeing Harry yield, the blond boy opposite him instantly wore a triumphant smugness.
However, the moment Professor McGonagall turned her sharp gaze toward him, he instantly wiped the smug expression from his face, replacing it with an aggrieved, tearful look, sniffling pathetically every now and then.
Standing on the steps, Ian almost burst out laughing at the performance.
Ian’s amused reaction was a bit too noticeable; Professor McGonagall immediately shot him a threatening glare.
“Professor,” the blond boy spoke up now, his voice trembling with carefully calculated distress, “it was Potter!” “He attacked me out of nowhere!
He used a spell to rip my robes, and he…
he even used his fists!” He pointed at the dark bruises on his face, his eyes rimmed red.
“If my father finds out I was treated like this at school…” “Silence, Mr.
Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall cut him off sharply, turning her piercing gaze back to Harry.
“Mr.
Potter?” Harry took a deep breath and lowered his wand completely, keeping his spine straight as a ramrod.
He first glanced up at Ian, and seeing that Ian showed no signs of blaming him, he felt a weight lift from his heart.
“Professor, Malfoy insulted my friends first,” Harry said calmly, as though merely stating an irrelevant fact.
“He started by mocking Ron’s family and Neville, and then he used that word against Hermione.
So…” He glanced back at Ian on the steps, his voice growing firmer.
“I warned him, but he kept provoking us.” “I used a Severing Charm, but he dodged it.
Afterward…
afterward, I did hit him with my fists.” Harry’s voice dropped slightly, though his posture remained entirely devoid of regret.
“The spell might have been wrong, but the fists were right.” Hermione chimed in anxiously, “Professor, I can testify!
Malfoy started the verbal abuse first, and he even tried to cast a jinx on Neville’s toad!” Ron nodded vigorously beside her, while Neville clutched his toad tightly to his chest, his eyes reddening.
“Which word?” Professor McGonagall frowned.
“That ‘Mudblood’ word,” answered the red-haired boy—Ron.
He kept his voice very low, but everyone present heard the term loud and clear.
Apart from a few Muggle-born young wizards who didn’t fully grasp the meaning, everyone else’s brows furrowed in immediate distaste.
Even Ian, standing off to the side, dropped his amused, spectator grin.
Suddenly, he understood why Harry had reacted so explosively—after all, Ian had only just told him the story about Lily.
Still…
‘Why does the surname Malfoy sound so familiar?’ Ian rubbed his chin, lost in thought.
Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned into a tight line.
She looked from Harry to Malfoy, and finally turned her gaze back to Ian.
Ian was still standing on the steps, hands casually tucked into his pockets, with the ghost of a faint smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.
That very smile gave Professor McGonagall an even bigger headache.
In the end, she decided to hear Ian’s perspective: “Mr.
Evans, as Harry’s legal guardian, do you have anything to say?” Only then did Ian saunter down the steps at an easy pace.
He first clapped a comforting hand onto Harry’s shoulder before turning to Malfoy, his eyes filled with unreserved scrutiny.
Ian’s gaze was entirely calm, yet for reasons Malfoy couldn’t comprehend, he felt an unprecedented, suffocating pressure—far exceeding even that of his own father.
Malfoy opened his mouth, but under Ian’s half-smiling, unblinking gaze, he didn’t dare utter a single word.
After staring at him for a long moment, Ian turned back to Professor McGonagall and shrugged carelessly: “Professor, I consider this nothing more than a harmless little joke between classmates.” “Of course, given Mr.
Malfoy’s inappropriate language, and the fact that Harry’s hands were indeed a bit heavy,” Ian paused deliberately here, noticing someone in the crowd smothering a laugh behind their hand.
“I propose that after both boys are Sorted into their Houses, fifty points be deducted from each of them.
What do you think?” Gasp!
Professor McGonagall drew in a sharp breath mentally.
How ruthless!
To lose fifty points before the term had even properly begun—how on earth would they ever recover that gap throughout the school year?
Yet, it was undeniably an effective way to handle the situation.
Meanwhile, the young students who hadn’t yet been officially enrolled naturally had no concept of what House points meant.
Hearing that such a severe brawl resulted merely in a deduction of points, they felt it was almost unbelievable.
Only Hermione—the young witch who was an absolute overachiever through and through—wore an expression of sheer horror on her face, as though she were witnessing something truly catastrophic.
And just like that, on his very first day of school, Harry completed his debut.