Late Night.
Outside Snape's Office.
Snape stared at the wooden door that should have been grim, terrifying, and adorned with bat specimens. Instead, it was now pulsing with a high-tech, ghostly blue light.
A sign hung on the door, written in elegant script: "Slytherin R&D (Research & Development) Center · Unauthorized Personnel Keep Out · Beware of Dog (Literally)."
"Potter!" Snape's voice trembled, not from fear, but from rage. "What have you done to my office?! Where are my potion specimens? Where is my private library?!"
Ivan sat on a levitating sofa by the door, holding a tablet (parchment modified by alchemy), and said without looking up:
"Professor, I threw away those moldy rat tails and expired Mandrake roots for you. As for the books... they're all here."
Ivan snapped his fingers.
The office wall suddenly became transparent, and the cluttered bookshelves instantly transformed into a wall-sized holographic projection screen.
Thousands of out-of-print Dark Arts books were neatly arranged on the screen. As long as Snape focused his gaze on a specific book, it would automatically fly into his hand and flip to the page he most wanted to read.
"This... this is..." Light reflected off Snape's glasses, mimicking data streams. "Undetectable Extension Charm plus Magical Artificial Intelligence?"
"Low-spec version." Ivan stood up and pushed open the futuristic door. "Please enter. Experience what 'Aristocratic Enjoyment' truly means."
Snape took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.
Hum—
The carpet under his feet instantly recognized his footprints, gently wrapping around his soles and beginning a foot massage.
The air no longer smelled of bitter potions, but a faint, cool cedar scent (Ivan's custom-made "Slytherin · Heartthrob Scent").
"Is this my cauldron?" Snape pointed to the large pot bubbling in the center of the room.
The pot was no longer a black iron lump. It hovered in mid-air, an unextinguishable blue alchemical flame burning beneath it. The potion inside stirred automatically, and the heat adjusted itself based on Snape's heart rate.
"It's connected to your pulse now," Ivan explained. "If your heart rate spikes, it knows you're about to blow the cauldron and automatically adds a sedative. You'll never have to worry about exploding students in Potions class again—because the cauldron will dodge on its own."
Snape's fingers stroked the sleek operating table (formerly a desk piled with dirty test tubes), the fanaticism in his eyes overflowing.
"Auto-cleaning function? Auto-dispensing function? And... voice control?"
"Try it." Ivan crossed his arms. "Say to the air: 'I want a cup of hot black tea, no sugar, two drops of Felix Felicis residue.'"
Snape swallowed and tentatively spoke: "I... I want a cup of hot black tea..."
Whoosh!
Magic in the air instantly condensed, and a cup of tea at the perfect temperature, complete with latte art, appeared out of thin air, landing steadily by his hand.
Snape took a sip, and his eyes lit up instantly.
It was the best tea he had ever tasted in his life!
"This... this is simply..." Snape couldn't find the adjective, finally squeezing a word out through his teeth: "...Genius."
Just then, the rapid click of high heels echoed from the end of the corridor.
"Professor Snape! Potter!"
Professor McGonagall swept in like a storm, clutching a roll of parchment, her face written with the fury of "I'm going to deduct points."
"I heard an explosion! And magical fluctuations! Potter, did you blow up Snape's office again? Fifty points from Gryffindor! Twenty points from Slytherin!"
McGonagall rushed to the door, ready to continue her scolding, but suddenly froze.
What did she see?
Snape was lying on a leather sofa that rocked automatically, eyes closed in enjoyment, holding a steaming cup of tea.
And that dungeon, which used to be dark and terrifying, was now as bright as... a high-end Muggle club?
"Minerva," Snape said flatly without even opening his eyes, "if you're here for tea, there's an auto-dispenser by the door. If you're here to deduct points... I suggest you sit down and experience 'Full Body Relaxation Mode' first."
McGonagall felt her authority was being challenged.
She took a deep breath and pointed at Ivan: "This is against regulations! Hogwarts is an ancient castle, not... not a Muggle tech expo! Ivan Potter, this is unauthorized modification of facilities using magic! I'm confiscating your wand! And detention!"
Ivan sighed and snapped his fingers at the ceiling.
"Jarvis · Magic Edition, activate 'Roast Mode'."
The office lights suddenly turned red, and a mechanical, indifferent voice echoed in the room:
"Unreasonable biological entity detected. Suggested disposal protocols: 1. Throw into Black Lake to feed Giant Squid; 2. Silence using 'Muffliato'; 3. Forcibly broadcast photos of the target wearing a pink lace dress in her youth."
McGonagall's face instantly turned liver-colored. "What did you say?! Dumbledore forced me to wear that!"
He casually picked up a stack of parchment (first-year Potions essays Snape hadn't finished grading) and stuffed them into a machine.
Whir— Buzz—
The machine operated for three seconds.
The parchment it spat out not only had a grade but was also filled with red ink comments:
"Logic is chaotic here; suggest retaking primary school grammar."
"Stirring order incorrect. Trying to blow up the classroom? Idiot."
"Handwriting looks like troll footprints. Points deducted for presentation."
Neat handwriting, venomous tone—it was a carbon copy of Snape himself!
McGonagall picked one up, glanced at it, and her hand started to shake.
"This... this grades faster than I do! And more accurately!"
As a Gryffindor, what she hated most was grading homework. If Hogwarts had this thing, she could save half her time to coach Quidditch!
Ivan saw the wavering look in McGonagall's eyes and knew she was hooked.
"How about it, Professor? As long as you admit Slytherin's renovation fits 'Aesthetic Progress', I'll gift you a mini version, specifically for grading Transfiguration homework."
McGonagall looked at the buzzing machine, then at Snape, who was looking blissful in the massage chair.
Reason told her to refuse, but her body was honest.
"Ahem," McGonagall cleared her throat, hugging the stack of graded essays. "Since it is to improve teaching efficiency... I will reluctantly test it out. But! Only for testing! If it dares to deduct points randomly, I'll dismantle it!"
"Deal." Ivan smiled slightly.
Just then, the office's alarm light suddenly flashed red.
The mechanical voice sounded again:
"Warning: Abnormal magical fluctuation detected 300 meters underground. Target: Philosopher's Stone. Status: Being stolen."
Snape sprang up from the sofa, the comfort in his eyes instantly replaced by killing intent.
"Quirrell..."
Ivan remained calm; he was even pouring himself more tea.
"Don't rush, Professor."
Ivan pointed to the holographic map on the wall.
It showed the pipe leading to the third-floor corridor.
A troll wearing Quirrell's clothes was being bitten on the butt by a dozen palm-sized "Mechanical Spiders."
"I installed a tracker on Fluffy... oh no, Mecha-Fluffy long ago." Ivan took a sip of tea. "Quirrell got electrocuted into an afro three minutes after entering by my 'Anti-Theft System'. He should be figuring out how to reattach his hair right now."
Snape looked at the screen showing Quirrell, charred on the outside and tender on the inside, foaming at the mouth, then at Ivan's "I planned this all along" face.
He suddenly felt that being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was really easy.
With this student around, the Dark Lord probably couldn't even touch the castle door.
"Potter," Snape donned his black robes and picked up his wand, a cruel smile on his lips. "Since we have a guest, shouldn't we go 'entertain' him? Using some... high-tech methods?"
Ivan put down his teacup, a flash of excited red light in his eyes.
"Of course. Professor, bring your new toys. Tonight, we give Professor Quirrell a class in 'Physical Exorcism'."
Professor McGonagall looked at the two Slytherins with evil grins and suddenly began to pray for Quirrell.
"Merlin's beard..." she muttered softly. "I hope they don't actually blow up the castle... at least not my tower."