Chapter 44: In Memory of the Departed Professor

 Perhaps, in the girl's mind, being accomplices is even closer than being friends.

Such a view might very well stem from her family legacy.

Ian, recalling what he'd heard that morning from other villagers, said worriedly, "If someone vanishes so suddenly here in the village, the Aurors are sure to come asking questions soon."

He remembered how a mere bar brawl could bring the Aurors running. It sometimes felt as if those wizarding law-enforcers had eyes everywhere—maybe they didn't always know exactly what had happened, but they invariably sensed that something had.

"Kraft will deal with everything."

Aurora helped Ian secure the wooden box's lid. She seemed entirely unfazed, as though she had done all this before. Killing someone and erasing the evidence looked like second nature to her.

"That's good," Ian murmured, still uneasy.

He recognized he had no power to influence the situation; from the moment he walked into this bookshop, it had been impossible to avoid getting caught up in events. He mentally cursed the day's bad luck. If only he'd eaten breakfast a few minutes longer, or lingered a few moments more in the loo. But now it was far too late.

He glanced at the floor, then asked for reassurance. "Was that Fiendfyre just now? That blue flame you used to—"

He didn't finish the sentence, but Aurora understood. She had just obliterated an intruder in the blink of an eye, and Ian wanted both clarity and comfort.

"You want to learn it?" she asked. She seemed to see right through him. It was hardly surprising; the curiosity and excitement in his eyes were impossible to miss.

"Yes. But I've heard Fiendfyre is very hard to control, isn't it?" Ian vividly remembered how, in the original story, one of Draco Malfoy's cronies nearly burned himself to death with [Fiendfyre]. He suspected it was far more terrifying than any enhanced flames he had attempted before.

"You'll find it in the book I gave you—my grandfather's explanations are always thorough." Aurora returned to the counter, taking her usual seat on a backless chair.

"I doubt it will pose much difficulty for you."

Her voice was calm, as though nothing had happened. She opened a magical script notebook, letting her attention drift back to its contents.

"Thanks. I'll look at it as soon as I get home," Ian said. To be frank, he couldn't wait to leave.

"Remember to take out the trash before you go," Aurora added, still not glancing up from her reading. By "trash," she clearly meant the wooden box that now held a dead man's ashes, alongside a few charred remains.

"You really enjoy giving orders," Ian complained, reluctant to carry something so dangerous around the village.

"I'm not allowed to leave the shop yet. Think of it as a personal favor," Aurora explained with a trace of resignation in her voice.

"All right, fine. I guess that's what friends do. But next time, you owe me something in return." Ian fetched a piece of cloth, carefully wrapped the box so it wouldn't leak ash, and headed toward the door.

"We're accomplices," the girl corrected him firmly.

"…"

The word "accomplices" made Ian shiver; it sounded a little too close to "Azkaban." He quickened his pace out of the dim bookshop, grateful to breathe fresh air untainted by the smell of scorched remains.

***

He had arrived with a box of newly acquired knowledge and left carrying a box of human ashes.

It was the same wooden box, only its purpose had changed drastically.

Walking back through the village, Ian remained on edge, half-expecting to be stopped for questioning. Fortunately, nobody paid him much attention. The only interruption came from a cheerful greeting by a street vendor who tried to sell him magical chess pieces.

As the school term drew near, Hogsmeade became increasingly populated with strangers. Though not as thriving as Diagon Alley, the village was still one of the rare gathering spots for English wizards—rich in history and steeped in tradition.

"Professor."

"Good morning, Professor."

Several grown wizards greeted a woman bustling through the village, arms full of shopping. Ian recognized her as Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor and the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. Possibly she owned a home in Hogsmeade, like Snape did.

Ian overheard snippets of her conversations:

"You have a child already, Henry?"

"Richard, congratulations on passing your Auror exam!"

"Daisy, your story about transforming your wand into a pig's hoof is still my favorite to tell in class."

It seemed that Professor McGonagall remembered all her former students, whether they'd been in Gryffindor or not. She could call out each name and recall embarrassing incidents. Only someone who truly loved teaching would hold onto such fond, detailed memories of their past pupils.

She's not as stern as she looks in the movies—maybe because we're not on Hogwarts grounds right now, Ian thought with a slight smile.

Still, he had no desire to approach her while carrying a suspicious "box." A direct encounter with a sharp-eyed professor was the last thing he needed, so he slipped down a different path.

He couldn't just dump the remains somewhere random, lest someone dig them up later. Burying them in the garden might risk Snape eventually discovering them. Disposing of them in a river could be just as risky if anyone spotted him.

The old ways are best! Ian decided.

Upon returning to the wooden cabin, he pried up the new floorboards and dug into the soil beneath. Once more, he buried the entire box—ashes and all—under the floor.

"There's room for at least ten more people down here, if it comes to that," he muttered wryly, hammering the boards back in place. After restoring the floor, there was no sign of disturbance. Only then did he breathe out in relief and reward himself with a small meal of cauldron-baked cake.

Once he felt comfortable again, Ian retrieved Secrets of Advanced Dark Magic from its hiding place inside his toilet tank.

"I'm still way too weak!" he admitted to himself.

Before today, Ian had felt pretty satisfied—after all, how many other nearly-first-year students could use [Avada Kedavra]? He couldn't deny a certain level of pride.

But seeing Aurora silently cast [Fiendfyre] on an adult wizard made him realize there were other prodigies in this world, not to mention people who'd resort to violence at the slightest provocation.

In the brutal wizarding world, strength alone guarantees survival; weakness leads swiftly to a box beneath the floor. Merely avoiding trouble wouldn't necessarily keep trouble from finding him.

"I'm skating on thin ice in a savage world," he mused, remembering the sight of that adult wizard burned alive mere hours ago.

He understood that he had to redouble his efforts if he wanted to stay safe. Peace and security, as someone once said, existed only within the "firing range" of a well-cast Avada Kedavra…

He opened the book and, by wandlight, immersed himself in its cursed knowledge. The seeds of ambition took root under the glow of that dark wisdom.

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