Snape's heart might have lurched, but he had not forgotten why he came.
"My Lord, Dumbledore just left Hogwarts," he said, lowering his voice. There was real hatred grinding through his teeth now. "I followed him and discovered he went to see that so-called Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter, the boy who stole his fame through sheer luck and cheap theatrics."
The hatred was genuine.
But the real reason Snape had come, and worked up the courage to come, was to keep Harry Potter safe. He had to know what the Dark Lord intended for that damned boy.
"My Lord... is Dumbledore planning to use him against you?" Snape raised his head and looked at Iain. The concern in his eyes was completely sincere.
He was worried about Harry Potter, not the Voldemort sitting in front of him.
Now that Voldemort had returned and Harry was about to start school, how could Snape not panic? He had paced Dumbledore's office for hours before finally choosing to come here and probe for answers.
Harry's birth might not have owed Snape anything, but he was still the child of the woman Snape had loved most in the world. The title of Hogwarts' greatest romantic was no exaggeration.
"Just Harry Potter?" Iain sounded faintly disappointed. Still, he remembered he was currently using the Role Method to play Voldemort.
"I have absolute faith that my Lord can defeat that boy," Snape said immediately, displaying his loyalty. His tone carried the humility of complete submission.
Iain was very pleased.
But by the law of opposites, whenever Iain was pleased, there was always at least one other person in the room who was not.
The wand hovered over the cauldron and stirred three times clockwise.
Its tip paused in the potion.
Inside it, Voldemort heard every word Snape said, and each one stabbed him like a needle in ears he no longer had.
So this was Snape.
Not only could he no longer tell who the real Voldemort was, but in his eagerness to flatter his new master, he had already begun quietly belittling the original.
I had one unlucky defeat against a baby, and suddenly your new lord can never lose? So I'm the washed-up relic, and your new master is the future?
"Damn you, Snape! Don't tell me you can't see through this child's flimsy lies! You're just too afraid of him to expose him!"
"I'm Voldemort! I'm the real one!"
Voldemort, sensitive to the point of absurdity, had already flayed Snape alive in his mind several dozen times.
He still did not lash out.
Meanwhile, Iain continued with his performance.
"A lion does not concern himself with the opinion of sheep. If Dumbledore thinks Harry Potter can beat me, then let him send Harry Potter to try."
"I am the Dark Lord. I will suppress every enemy in this world."
He said it with lazy arrogance, with all the ease in the world. If it wasn't five-in-a-row, why should he fear Harry Potter's edge?
Actually, wait. Harry Potter and I are supposed to be future best mates.
Same House and all.
Iain suddenly realized that immersing himself too deeply in the Voldemort role might not be ideal either.
"This..." Snape was shaken. He had no idea what kind of strength Voldemort had gained to become even more arrogant than before.
Had he really defeated Death and stolen its power?
Doubt rose again in Snape's chest. His throat tightened. For a moment he could only stare at Iain, and Iain stared right back.
"In any case, ignore him. Let him mess about. You just keep lying low and watch how I handle things." Iain was already trying to send away this second-rate spy who had failed to bring him any of Dumbledore's hidden treasure.
But seeing Snape hesitate, clearly wanting to say more, Iain's super-brain clicked into gear. He more or less understood what the man really wanted.
"Oh? So you're hoping I'll do something..." Iain deliberately dragged out the words and looked Snape up and down with careful interest.
"I wouldn't dare! Never!" Snape instantly looked ready to drop the mushroom soup and fall to his knees again.
Unfortunately for him, Iain's invisible wizard hand steadied both him and the bowl.
"Don't be afraid to think boldly! You're a potions master yourself. You ought to know that turning Harry Potter into Harriet Potter isn't exactly impossible."
"Is that what you want me to do for you?"
Perhaps something in Iain's British DNA had stirred, because he sounded weirdly eager.
"No!"
Snape's shriek was immediate and piercing.
His whole body locked up. It felt as if someone had poured molten lead into his ears, burning through his skull and straight down his spine.
This was no ordinary suggestion.
This was eldritch nonsense.
"You don't need to, my Lord, you really don't... no... no need..." Snape was pale as paper. Realizing his reaction had been far too violent, he frantically tried to soften his tone while shaking his head over and over. "I'm not worth my Lord doing anything of the sort."
"Absolutely not."
His face had gone whiter than it ever had before. At that moment, Snape understood very clearly: the Dark Lord was still the Dark Lord. Whatever else had changed, that had not.
Or perhaps the corruption of Dark Magic had already seeped all the way into his soul.
How else could he suggest something that deranged?
Iain sighed and nodded.
He pointed at the soup in Snape's hands.
"Fine. You know I'm always willing to help my followers. But if that isn't what you want, then forget it. Drink the soup and go. I still have a very evil, very evil experiment to finish."
He had officially issued the order to leave.
Much as Snape wanted to find out what experiment even Voldemort considered very evil, the Harriet Potter comment had rattled him too badly.
"Yes, my Lord."
Snape tipped back his head and poured the soup straight down his throat.
He didn't try to taste it. He just drank, fast and hard, and then bowed respectfully before fleeing the Dark Lord's lair like a man escaping a burning building.
The cabin door shut behind him.
After running ten paces, Snape darted into a narrow alley beside the hut, yanked out a potion, and induced vomiting on the spot. He emptied every drop of mushroom soup into the weeds.
"Not enough!"
Then he began desperately scavenging through Hogsmeade's hedges, kitchen gardens, and herb patches, stuffing antidotal plants straight into his mouth.
Potions?
There was no time to brew any now.
Snape had no desire to die of poisoning.
He was trying very hard to save himself.
...
Inside the cabin, all was peaceful.
Iain ladled himself a bowl of soup, blew on it, and took a huge swallow. The broth slid down his throat and the rich mushroom flavor burst all through his mouth.
"This one is unbelievably fresh. My cooking's improved again!"
After ten bowls of meat soup, Iain lay flat on the floor of the main room and patted his swollen stomach.
He saw Harry Potter flying around the ceiling on a broomstick.
"Fly, fly, fly~"
Iain had not lied to Snape. He really was experimenting with mushrooms on a child to test toxicity and build up the child's resistance. Wasn't that evil enough?
"Man, my body is pathetic. Why am I still not desensitized?" Iain sighed in disappointment.
So the sofa came over to comfort him.
"??????"
Inside the wand, Voldemort, sensing the outside world, went completely and utterly blank.
"The sofa is moving now? Even the plates and knives are alive? What kind of monster is he?!"
Voldemort shrieked silently inside the wand.
Exactly like his former servant Snape.
Because yes, Iain really was being comforted by the sofa.
Which strongly suggested that some things might not be hallucinations after all.
Iain had always been good at talking people around. Not just persuading Snape to be moved by his concern.
He could also persuade things that had never been alive to start living of their own accord.
That was the sort of miracle fairy tales were made of.
And fairy-tale miracles had always worked that way.