Chapter 20: The Professor’s Weakness! I’ve Got Him Now!

Ian hated dealing with cryptic people.

He only liked being the cryptic one.

Thankfully, the mysterious witch, despite sharing the wizards' bad habit of speaking in riddles, didn't indulge in it too heavily. After noticing Ian's confused, wide-eyed expression, she decided to provide a more detailed explanation.

"You and that little girl… over the years, you've often sat by the riverside, talking about a certain dark wizard named Tom. You've discussed how dangerous it would be to attend a school called Hogwarts… Perhaps next time, you should be a little quieter."

The witch's tone remained calm and knowing, as if she had long since adjusted to Ian's apparent "naïveté."

Ian hadn't expected this answer.

But at the same time, it made perfect sense.

Observation? More like eavesdropping!

He couldn't help but silently grumble to himself, but outwardly, he forced a stiff smile. "I didn't realize you had been observing me for so long."

What else could he say?

Of course, he could only rely on a classic response from The Civil Servant's Guide to Promotion! He had studied it before he transmigrated but never got a chance to use it. Who would have thought it would come in handy in such a bizarre situation?

"Observation… Yes, let's call it that," the witch replied, her eyes curving into crescent moons. But unlike an innocent girl's smile, hers carried a fox-like cunning.

"We've been talking for quite some time now, and I've answered many of your… less-than-brilliant questions. Yet, up until now, I don't believe I've heard you call me 'Professor' even once?"

Her voice remained soft and almost lazy, but beneath its smoothness lay an unmistakable sharp edge.

Ian's mind snapped into high alert. He immediately straightened his posture and gave a slight bow, proving that he was anything but the fool he sometimes pretended to be.

"That is because you have yet to grant me the honor of knowing your name."

The witch's lips curled into an amused smile.

"You may call me Professor Mara."

Professor Mara…

The name was unfamiliar.

Ian immediately ran through his knowledge of the well-known figures in the Harry Potter universe, but no renowned witch by that name came to mind.

A false name?

Or had history simply buried her existence?

If it was the latter, then she likely wasn't a wizard of great power. After all, the names of legendary figures like the Hogwarts Founders or Merlin never faded with time.

Of course…

She could have been from a much earlier era. Or perhaps this wasn't her original name—just something she adopted after losing parts of her past.

As Ian considered this, he recalled something Mara had said earlier. A thought stirred in his mind, and after a brief hesitation, he asked cautiously, "Professor Mara, you mentioned that you no longer possess the power and magic you had when you were alive?"

The moment the words left his lips, he felt the weight of her gaze settle on him.

"Are you doubting my ability to teach you?"

She smiled, but her eyes remained unreadable.

"Of course not," Ian quickly backtracked. "I was just curious about the enchanted cutlery from earlier. Weren't they moving because of magic?"

"The mortal world can strip away my magic, my power, even my very bloodline… but," Mara leaned back on her bench and tapped a finger against her temple, "knowledge never betrays its owner.

"Remember this, my student: knowledge is the greatest treasure we possess. It will accompany us through every journey."

She paused, her expression unreadable.

"Until… the very end."

It was the first time she had spoken to him with such seriousness, delivering what felt like a lesson filled with meaning beyond its words.

"The end?"

Ian studied her carefully.

"For me, and for every lingering soul here, it represents the unknown ahead."

There was a strange hint of anticipation in her voice.

Every soul trapped in the liminal realm of this Ethereal world carried an unfulfilled wish. Ian was deeply curious—what kind of lingering obsession was keeping Professor Mara here?

However, considering that such questions could touch upon painful memories, he refrained from asking.

Instead, he took a more practical approach.

"Professor Mara, what kind of knowledge can I learn from you?"

Now that he had officially addressed her as his teacher, he intended to take full advantage of the opportunity.

"Magic and potions. Which would you like to learn first?"

Ian raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"You're skilled in potion-making as well?"

He couldn't help but wonder—between Professor Mara and Professor Snape, who was the better potioneer?

Surely it had to be Snape, considering the advancements in potion-making over the centuries.

Mara gave a subtle nod but then added, "Potion-making is an art with high barriers to mastery. Few can truly appreciate the beauty of a gently simmering cauldron, the way its mist curls into the air with a fragrance only a skilled hand can produce. Even fewer can understand the sheer power of a single drop as it flows into one's veins."

Her voice carried an almost hypnotic quality, weaving a mystique around the craft.

And yet…

Why did that sound so familiar?

"Uh… are you about to tell me that, as long as I'm not an idiot, you can teach me how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death?"

He knew this speech!

That was Snape's opening lecture for first-year students!

Do all potions masters follow the same script?!

Mara blinked in surprise before chuckling softly. "It seems that, even in the mortal world, a trace of my existence remains."

Ian's brain clicked into overdrive.

Wait a minute.

Was she saying that Snape plagiarized this from her?

"Professor Mara… did you ever write something like that down?"

Ian's eyes gleamed with curiosity.

If Snape's famous words weren't originally his, then this was big.

"I believe I once wrote a book," Mara murmured, her voice laced with nostalgia. She seemed to be reaching for a memory just beyond her grasp, a flicker of sadness crossing her face.

Ian, however, was too absorbed in his newfound revelation to notice.

He had just uncovered one of Snape's biggest secrets!

It all made sense!

Snape must have found one of Mara's old potion texts!

Had he sought it out intentionally?

Given his love for potion-making, it wouldn't be surprising if he had hunted down ancient, forgotten manuscripts.

Perhaps Mara's book had inspired him—maybe even shaped his style!

It was just like how certain grandiose phrases—"A king must not be humiliated," or "Shoulder the burden of the world, and reign supreme for eternity"—could stir a person's heart.

Maybe Snape had stumbled upon Mara's words, felt his inner dramatic monologue awaken, and decided to borrow them for his annual first-year intimidation speech.

The more Ian thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.

Snape… a plagiarist?

Ian had just discovered the professor's greatest weakness!

After all…

There was no way Mara, a long-dead ghost, could have stolen Snape's words. But Snape? He very well could have taken hers.