44: In Memoriam: The Departed Professor

Perhaps.

In a girl's heart.

An accomplice is a relationship even closer than friendship.

Family traditions certainly run along these lines.

"That person suddenly vanished from the small town; I'm afraid the Aurors will be drawn here very soon." Ian still remembered the wizards on the main street earlier mentioning that even a bar brawl could summon Aurors.

To these police officers of the wizarding world, they seemed to have informants everywhere. Perhaps they didn't always know what was happening, but they could invariably sense when something was amiss.

Did the wizarding world have some kind of all-seeing eye?

Something akin to the Trace?

"Klafoutis will handle everything."

Aurora helped Ian snap the lid of the wooden box shut. She seemed entirely accustomed to such matters; her handling of murder and the disposal of the body was a routine executed with practiced ease.

"That's good, then."

Ian still felt a lingering knot of anxiety in his chest, but clearly, there was nothing he could do. From the moment he stepped foot into that bookstore, becoming entangled in this predicament had been inevitable.

If anyone was to blame, it was today's inauspicious date.

He should have spent two minutes less eating at home, two minutes less lingering on the toilet... it was useless to dwell on it now. Another layer of gloom had settled over his already sensitive background as an orphan from Wool's.

"Was that Fiendfyre you used just now?"

Watching Aurora first clean the floor with water and then incinerate both the broom and the mop together, Ian felt he needed a little spiritual solace.

"Want to learn?"

Aurora seemed to see right through Ian's thoughts. Not that it required much insight; after all, Ian's shining eyes were filled with curiosity and a desperate longing for Fiendfyre.

"Yes. Does it easily spin out of control?"

Ian still remembered how, in the original story, one of Malfoy's lacklings had perished by his own fire. It was a terrifying spell, undoubtedly far more dangerous than the magic he had tried to enhance last night.

"The book I gave you covers it. My grandfather's annotations are always detailed." Aurora walked back behind the counter and sat down once again on the backless chair.

"I imagine it shouldn't be too difficult for you."

Acting as though nothing at all had happened, she picked up her runic journal and resumed reading.

"Thanks, I'll flip through it when I get back."

Ian was already bursting with eagerness to slip away.

"Remember to take the trash with you."

Without raising her head, Aurora shifted her focus back to her notes. The trash she referred to was clearly the box left sitting on the spot, its edges still bearing traces of corpse ash.

"You really know how to boss people around."

Ian was rather reluctant to parade through the streets carrying such a hazardous item.

"I haven't been granted permission to leave this shop yet. May I consider this a favor?" The girl behind the counter asked with a helpless tone.

"Fine. Who am I to refuse helping a friend? But you owe me a perk next time."

Ian looked around, found a piece of burlap to wrap the wooden box in, and made sure no ash could leak out before hoisting the securely wrapped package and heading for the front door.

"Accomplices."

The girl offered a rigorous and serious reminder from behind.

"..."

Ian couldn't shake the feeling that this was a title dangerously close to a one-way ticket to Azkaban. He quickly quickened his pace, stepped out of the dark wizard's lair, and breathed in the fresh air outside the bookstore, free of any burnt stench.

Ian had arrived.

And now he was leaving.

He had come carrying a brand-new book box filled with knowledge.

He was leaving while lugging an urn containing the ashes of the dead.

The box was still the same box.

Only the nature of its contents had undergone a slight alteration.

All the way back.

Ian's heart remained somewhat tense. Fortunately, no bored wizards stopped him for questioning, save for the scam-artist wizard's chess player on the street corner who greeted him enthusiastically.

With the start of term approaching.

Hogsmeade Village had also seen an influx of many unfamiliar faces. Perhaps the place could not hold a candle to Diagon Alley in terms of prosperity, but it was, after all, one of the few gathering and trading spots for British wizards.

Rich in history.

Ancient in heritage.

On his way back, Ian even spotted a few young couples who, despite their tender ages, were already displaying the mutual attraction of the same sex. He reacted to this with the same casual acceptance as the other wizards along the road.

Though it was the wizarding world, this was still Britain, and as everyone knew, Britain had long enjoyed the reputation of being a rather unconventional place.

"Professor."

"Good morning, Professor."

...

Along the route.

Ian even spotted a few visibly adult wizards greeting a woman who was purchasing supplies in the village. He recognized her as a teacher from Hogwarts.

The Head of Gryffindor.

Minerva McGonagall.

She was the Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts; he wondered why she had come to Hogsmeade to shop. Perhaps this professor kept a residence in Hogsmeade during her spare time?

Much like Snape's little cabin.

"Do you actually have a child now? Tearful Henry."

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

"Daisy, the time you turned your wand into a pig's trotter is still one of my favorite stories to tell in class."

...

Professor McGonagall seemed to remember every single student who had ever graduated, regardless of whether they hailed from Gryffindor, correctly naming each one and recalling their past embarrassing moments.

Perhaps.

Only by holding a genuine, passionate love for one's profession could one retain every single detail spanning a career.

"She doesn't seem nearly as stern as she appears in the films. Perhaps it's because we aren't at school right now." Ian only caught sight of the scene from a distance.

Clasping a bone-chilling urn that practically guaranteed a life sentence in prison, how could he dare approach such a sharp-eyed professor? The wisest choice was naturally to give these Hogwarts seniors a wide berth and take a different route.

Disposing of the urn carelessly was certainly out of the question; if someone were to unearth it, things would blow up into a massive scandal. Burying it in the garden might work, though there was no guarantee Snape wouldn't discover it in the future.

Throwing it in the river?

If anyone witnessed it, that would spell trouble too.

"Looks like the ancestral methods are the most reliable after all!"

Back in the cabin.

Ian pried open the newly relaid floorboards, dug up the patch of living room floor Snape had repatched, and buried the entire wooden box, along with the dead man's ashes, deep beneath the earth beneath the cabin.

"There's plenty of space down here. You could easily bury another eight or ten people without a problem."

Ian smoothed the dirt back over, nailed the wooden planks of the living room back into place, and compared the layout to how it looked before. Seeing no trace of abnormality whatsoever, he finally let out a sigh of relief and filled his stomach with cauldron cakes.

Well-fed and satisfied.

Ian retrieved the hidden copy of *Secrets of the Darkest Art* from the toilet cistern.

"I'm still far too weak!"

In truth, before today.

Ian had harbored a trace of self-satisfaction. After all, wielding the truth of Avada Kedavra at such a tender age—it would be a lie to say his heart hadn't swelled just a tiny bit.

Yet.

The silent execution of Fiendfyre by a peer had abruptly reminded him that this world was in no short supply of geniuses, nor was it lacking in conflicts that escalated to violence at the drop of a hat.

Only the strong survive.

The weak end up boxed and buried.

Not wanting to invite trouble did not mean trouble wouldn't come knocking on your door.

"In this cruel wizarding world, I am treading on thin ice!"

Recalling the adult wizard who had been burned alive before his very eyes, Ian understood that only through relentless self-improvement could he secure a sufficient sense of safety.

"The great man was right: a peaceful and stable life exists only within the striking range of an Avada chain lightning..."

The book opened.

In the fluorescent glow of his wand.

Forbidden knowledge unfolded for the sprouting seeds of ideal.