Chapter 44: In Memory of a Fallen Professor

Perhaps...

In the girl's mind, being an accomplice was a bond even closer than friendship.

Some legacies ran deep in the family.

"This person suddenly disappearing from town will probably attract the Aurors soon." Ian still remembered what those wizards on the street had said earlier—just a bar fight could bring the Aurors running.

To the enforcers of the wizarding world, it seemed like they had eyes everywhere. They might not always know what had happened, but they could always sense when something was wrong.

Did the wizarding world have something like an all-seeing eye?

Something similar to tracking spells?

"Kraft will handle everything."

Aurora helped Ian secure the lid of the wooden box. She acted as if this were routine—disposing of a body was something she handled with practiced ease.

"That's… reassuring."

Ian still felt uneasy, but there was nothing he could do about it. The moment he'd stepped into this bookstore, he'd been dragged into something far beyond his control.

Blame it on the bad luck of the day.

If only he'd stayed home for a few extra minutes. If only he'd delayed leaving just a little longer. But it was too late for regrets now. As an orphan with a complicated background, his already precarious status had just gotten even more tangled.

"Was that Fiendfyre you used just now?"

Ian watched as Aurora first cleaned the floor with water, then incinerated both the mop and broom. He felt the need for some emotional reassurance.

"You want to learn?"

Aurora seemed to see right through him—not that it was hard to guess. Ian's eyes were practically glowing with curiosity and desire.

"Yes. Is it really that hard to control?"

He still remembered that in the original story, one of Malfoy's lackeys had burned himself alive with it. This magic was terrifying, far more dangerous than anything he had experimented with the night before.

"The book I gave you covers it. My grandfather's explanations are always thorough."

Aurora returned to the counter and sat back down on a chair without a backrest.

"I doubt you'll struggle with it."

She spoke as if nothing had happened, casually flipping through a book of runic notes.

"Thanks. I'll check it out once I get home."

Ian was already itching to leave.

"Take the trash with you."

Aurora didn't even look up, her focus still on the notes. The "trash" she referred to was obviously the wooden box, its edges still carrying traces of burnt remains.

"You really know how to make use of people."

Ian had no desire to carry such dangerous evidence through town.

"I haven't been granted permission to leave this store. Consider it a request, if that helps?" Aurora's voice carried a note of helplessness from behind the counter.

"Fine. I do enjoy helping a friend... but next time, you owe me."

Ian wrapped the wooden box tightly in a coarse cloth, making sure no ashes would spill out. Only after confirming it was secure did he pick it up and head for the door.

"Accomplice," Aurora corrected him, her tone precise and unwavering.

"..."

Ian couldn't shake the feeling that this was a title far too close to an Azkaban sentence. He quickened his pace, stepping out of the dark wizard's den and into the fresh air beyond the bookshop's threshold.

Ian had arrived carrying a box filled with knowledge.

Now, he was leaving with a box filled with ashes.

The box was the same.
Only its contents had changed.

---

On his way back, Ian felt a nervous tension gnawing at him. Fortunately, no curious wizards stopped him for questioning. The only person who even acknowledged him was a street vendor playing wizard's chess for money, who waved at him with exaggerated enthusiasm.

With the start of the school year approaching, Hogsmeade had become a temporary home for many unfamiliar faces. While it lacked the sheer grandeur of Diagon Alley, it remained one of the few gathering places for England's wizarding community.

Ancient in history.

Steeped in tradition.

As Ian made his way through the village, he noticed several young couples, their affections unrestrained. Like everyone else, he paid them little mind.

After all, this was England. And England, as everyone knew, had a certain... reputation.

"Professor."

"Good morning, Professor."

…

Along the way, Ian spotted several adult wizards greeting a woman who was shopping in the village. He immediately recognized her.

Minerva McGonagall.

The head of Gryffindor House.

Hogwarts' Transfiguration professor.

He wasn't sure why she was in Hogsmeade. Perhaps, like Snape, she owned a house here.

"You have children now? I still remember you as the sniffling Henry!"

"Richard, I heard you passed your Auror exam. Congratulations."

"Daisy, I still tell my students about the time you turned your wand into a pig's hoof."

…

McGonagall remembered every student who had ever passed through Hogwarts. Not just their names but also their most embarrassing moments.

Perhaps only someone who truly loved their profession could recall such details from years of teaching.

"She doesn't seem as strict as she did in the films. Maybe it's because we're not at school right now," Ian mused, watching from a distance.

Holding an urn filled with human ashes, he had no intention of approaching a sharp-eyed professor. The wisest choice was to take another route entirely.

Disposing of the ashes carelessly was out of the question. If someone dug them up, that would be a nightmare. Scattering them in a garden? That still ran the risk of Snape discovering them later.

Dumping them in the river?

Too many witnesses—it wasn't worth the trouble.

"Guess I'll go with the most time-tested solution."

Back at his cabin, Ian pried open the newly laid floorboards. He dug up the section Snape had so carefully restored in the sitting area, then buried the entire wooden box—ashes and all—deep beneath the earth.

"There's plenty of space down here. I could probably bury ten more bodies before it became a problem."

Satisfied, he replaced the soil and nailed the floorboards back into place, carefully aligning them with their original pattern. Once everything looked undisturbed, he finally exhaled in relief and went to grab a cauldron cake to fill his stomach.

After eating his fill, Ian retrieved Advanced Secrets of Dark Magic from its hiding place in the water tank.

"I'm still too weak."

Before today, Ian had felt a degree of pride. After all, being able to cast the Killing Curse at his age was no small feat. It was only natural that he had felt a little… superior.

But watching a peer cast Fiendfyre without an incantation?

That had been a wake-up call.

This world wasn't short on talent.

It also wasn't short on people willing to use deadly force at a moment's notice.

Power was survival.

Weakness led to a shallow grave.

Avoiding trouble didn't mean trouble wouldn't find him.

"In this brutal wizarding world, I'm barely staying afloat."

Thinking back to the man who had been burned alive, Ian knew that the only way to feel safe was to grow stronger.

"That saying was right. A peaceful life only exists within the reach of an Avada Kedavra chain reaction."

He flipped open the book.

By the glow of his wand, forbidden knowledge unfolded before him.