Chapter 43: An Ominous Arrival—Slaughter!

As the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, the world stirred. The sky, once steeped in darkness, now blushed with soft hues of gold and rose. It was as if nature itself had delicately brushed away the remnants of night, welcoming the dawn with a quiet warmth.

Ian woke with the world.

[Successfully read Latin—Language Proficiency +1]

[Successfully read an Indigenous Dialect—Language Proficiency +1]

[Successfully read Mandarin—Language Proficiency +2]

His morning reading was as much a ritual as the rising sun. No matter how chaotic his days became, Ian never neglected his pursuit of Language Mastery.

There were no shortcuts to understanding the voices of all things—only patience, discipline, and the relentless accumulation of knowledge. Even revisiting a language he had long mastered still yielded unexpected insights.

"Syrup-drenched pancakes and yesterday's tea… Another step closer to diabetes," Ian muttered dryly.

He took a sip of the tea he had brewed the night before. Dumbledore had only taken a single cup, leaving the rest untouched.

Beyond the wooden cabin, the village had come alive. Wizards and witches bustled about, and as always, the latest town gossip filled the air.

"That old codger Tom—you know, the pumpkin farmer? His house was making those noises again last night. How does a man his age keep finding witches to fall for him?"

"Maybe he's got… exceptional talents?"

"You hear about the fight at the Hog's Head? Two groups threw down, and one poor bloke walked out with a pig's tail stuck to his arse! The Aurors couldn't even catch the guy who did it!"

"Oh, and someone stole Jenny's underwear again! Left them out to dry, and poof—gone!"

Ian listened without reacting.

It was almost laughable. These old wizards could pick up on the slightest hint of scandal, yet somehow, not one of them had noticed when he had raised an army of corpses just nights ago.

Curious.

Perhaps it wasn't that they hadn't noticed. Perhaps they simply didn't care.

After making his usual rounds and ensuring there were no whispers about the fire, Ian finally relaxed. His secret remained safe.

Back at his cabin, he rummaged through the stack of borrowed books.

"It's about time I return these."

Keeping promises was one of his few virtues.

He cobbled together a wooden crate using leftover planks, carefully stacking the potions textbooks inside.

Then, with practiced ease, he balanced the crate atop his head, steadying it with both hands. It wasn't the most dignified method, but given his small frame, carrying it in his arms would've been even more awkward.

Following the winding cobblestone path, Ian passed the quill shop—the same one where the owner had been rather disgruntled with him. His enthusiasm for studying had cost them a sale, after all.

Soon, the bookstore came into view, as desolate as ever.

However, Ian didn't enter immediately.

Instead, he lingered at a nearby street corner, waiting.

Sure enough, just as he had observed for the past few days, Kraft, the bookstore's owner, emerged right on time.

Trench coat.
Hat.
Moving with purpose.

Ian had no idea where the man went every day, but it was always at the exact same time.

The moment Kraft disappeared via Apparition, Ian adjusted the crate and stepped inside the store.

The air inside was thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and dust.

Behind the counter, a German girl sat quietly, engrossed in her book. She hadn't even noticed his arrival.

"Miss Grindelwald, as promised, I've come to return the books."

The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his steps, breaking the silence.

Aurora Grindelwald's heterochromatic eyes lifted from her book—piercing, luminous, carrying an intensity that made her otherwise porcelain-like features seem almost otherworldly.

"I'm surprised," she remarked.

Ian feigned shock.

"We're friends, aren't we? Did you really think I'd run off with a stack of second-hand books?" He scoffed in mock offense.

"Sure, they're valuable, but they're not worth betraying our short yet unwavering friendship."

He was adaptable, quick to tailor his words to his audience.

Aurora studied him in silence. Then, finally:

"I simply didn't expect you to finish copying them before the school term even started."

She hadn't denied the friendship.

Ian smiled inwardly.

She was someone who craved companionship—he had sensed it the moment they first met.

Even though he deliberately kept his Mind Perception under control, it still granted him glimpses of truth.

Placing the crate on the counter, Ian lifted his hand.

Aurora leaned in slightly, examining it with an analytical gaze.

"Slender fingers. Prominent knuckles. Nothing particularly remarkable," she observed.

Ian smirked.

"Oh, but you see—this hand is all about efficiency. Seven years' worth of potions textbooks? Child's play compared to what these hands have accomplished."

For a brief moment, his mind drifted back to the long summers of his previous life.

Aurora's expression darkened slightly.

"To rise from the dead… now that is a true miracle."

Her voice carried a trace of something raw—a wound that had never quite healed.

Ian fell silent.

Aurora, ever composed, changed the subject.

"That book—how did you find it?"

It was clear which one she meant.

The gift she had given him.

"Advanced Secrets of Dark Magic."

Ian's grin returned.

"Brilliant. I love it. Best present I've received in years."

He gave her a thumbs-up.

Aurora's expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something almost expectant.

"And… what about my gift?"

A pause.

Ian blinked.

Oh.

He had completely forgotten about that.

"Uh… next time, I swear."

"OK."

Aurora simply nodded.

She didn't seem disappointed—just patient.

"I should hurry and scatter these books into the piles before your elders suddenly come back."

Ian grabbed the wooden box and began stuffing books into the already messy stacks, blending them in seamlessly.

It wasn't a difficult task.

Before long, he was left holding an empty box, ready to return to the counter and bid farewell to Aurora. He also planned to tell her that he would prepare a meaningful gift for her when school started.

But then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound of footsteps echoed on the wooden floor.

Ian, standing by the bookshelf on the left, instinctively looked up.

A man entered the bookshop.

He was clad in a black robe with a hood drawn over his head, his face marred by deep scars. A wand rested firmly in his grasp, his sharp and menacing gaze sweeping across the room.

His eyes briefly landed on Ian, filled with dismissive disdain.

But then—

His focus locked onto Aurora.

"The intel was correct. You're here."

Raising his wand, the man pointed it directly at Aurora.

"The Grindlewald brat. Step forward and come with me. Your grandfather owes me something, and I intend to collect."

This was clearly no friendly visit.

Hiding behind the bookshelf, Ian felt his heart hammer in his chest.

A vendetta? Seriously?

Of all the times to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, he had to stumble into this mess?

Yet Aurora, rather than appearing afraid, looked entirely unimpressed.

"My grandfather owes a lot of people things," she remarked coolly. "But those who dare to come knocking for payment... aren't exactly the respectable sort."

She didn't even bother to stand, her demeanor detached and unreadable.

The scarred man's face darkened with irritation.

"Sharp-tongued brat. Do you really think I won't take action? You're not in the safety of Hogwarts right now!"

The tip of his wand glowed faintly, magic surging.

Ian, still crouched behind the bookshelf, felt an unexpected thrill rush through him. Excitement? And… a strange urge to act.

He clamped down on the impulse with reason.

Would a sneak attack work?

If he cast a stunning spell—or, hell, even a weaker curse—it might just be enough to tip the scales. But then again, the whole "hero saving the damsel" cliché felt almost laughably ridiculous.

Still, one thing was certain.

I'm a witness.

That man saw me.

Ian's fingers instinctively tightened around his wand.

If he had a choice, he'd rather stay out of other people's grudges.

But letting this moment pass—letting the man continue to ignore him—meant throwing away the only window where he had the advantage.

Counting on a wizard's mercy?

He might as well put his faith in his own wand.

Just as Ian made up his mind—

"AAAAH!"

Without warning, a brilliant blue flame erupted over the man's body.

The adult wizard had no time to react.

In an instant, he was completely engulfed, the fire consuming both him and his wand in mere seconds. His screams were brief—cut off as his form crumbled into nothing but gray ash.

Ian's eyes widened in shock.

"Fiendfyre…?"

His gaze snapped toward the counter.

Aurora stood there, lowering a wand Ian hadn't even seen her draw. Her expression remained utterly calm as she watched the lingering embers flicker and die.

"Could you hand me the broom?" she asked, her voice as composed as ever. "It's just behind the bookshelf."

She had just incinerated a man alive.

And yet, her tone was no different than if she had asked him to pass the salt at dinner.

For a moment, Ian simply stared.

A child—no, a first-year—just cast one of the most dangerous spells in existence.

"Why not just use Scourgify?" he blurted out, still processing the absurdity of what had just happened.

Aurora's response was simple.

"Haven't learned it yet."

…Right.

Another prodigy with a clear case of academic imbalance.

Ian could relate.

"Well… uh… let me find that broom."

In truth, he wasn't as unaffected as he tried to seem. Watching someone die right in front of him—even someone who had been a threat—wasn't exactly something he could just brush off.

But he also wasn't the type to self-righteously demand explanations or throw around moral outrage.

That man had come here with clear intent to harm.

Mercy wouldn't have solved anything.

And besides—

Interrogating the girl who just burned someone alive didn't seem like the smartest survival strategy.

Taking the broom, Ian walked over to the remains of the intruder, hesitating only slightly.

"So… just to be clear," he muttered, "I didn't see anything, and you're not planning to kill me to keep it that way… right?"

Aurora tilted her head, amusement flickering in her otherwise impassive gaze.

"I don't hurt my friends," she stated matter-of-factly. Then, kneeling down, she picked up Ian's wooden box from the floor and set it beside him.

She gestured toward the ashes.

"Help me sweep them in."

Ian blinked.

"Wait. Are we—are we seriously just shoving him into a box?"

Aurora nodded.

"We're accomplices now."

The words carried an unsettling finality.