Hogwarts Raven

Perhaps, in the girl's heart, being accomplices felt like a closer relationship than mere friendship. Such is the depth of her family's influence.

"If this person suddenly disappears from the town, the Aurors will likely be alerted soon," Ian recalled the wizards on the street discussing how a bar fight could attract the attention of the Aurors. 

It seemed like the police of the wizarding world had eyes everywhere. They might not know exactly what happened, but they could always sense when something was amiss. Did the wizarding world have something akin to a surveillance system? Perhaps something like the Trace?

"Mr. Kraft will handle everything," Aurora said, helping Ian secure the lid of the wooden box. She seemed accustomed to such situations as if the entire process of killing and disposing of the body was second nature to her.

"That's good," Ian replied, still feeling somewhat uneasy. But there was clearly nothing he could do. From the moment he stepped into the bookstore, he had been drawn into this situation. 

He cursed his bad luck. If only he had stayed home a few more minutes to eat or spent a little longer in the bathroom... but now it was too late. The shadow of his identity as an orphan from Wool's had grown darker.

"Was that Fiendfyre you used earlier?" Ian asked, watching as Aurora first cleaned the floor with water, then destroyed the broom and mop along with it. He felt he needed some comfort for his soul.

"Do you want to learn it?" Aurora seemed to see through Ian's thoughts. It didn't take much insight; his bright eyes were filled with curiosity and a desire for Fiendfyre.

"Yes, but is it easy to lose control?" Ian remembered from the original story that one of Malfoy's lackeys had burned himself to death with it. This magic was terrifying, likely far more dangerous than the magic he had tried to enhance the night before.

"It's in the book I gave you. My grandfather's explanations are always detailed." Aurora walked back behind the counter and sat down on a backless chair. "I think it shouldn't be too difficult for you."

She acted as if nothing had happened, picking up the magical book again and flipping through it.

"Thanks, I'll check it out when I get back," Ian said, already eager to leave.

"Remember to take out the trash for me." Aurora didn't look up, her attention already back on her notes. The "trash" she referred to was clearly the box left on the floor, with traces of ashes still clinging to its edges.

"You really know how to boss people around," Ian replied, not keen on carrying such a dangerous item around in public.

"I haven't been given permission to leave the shop yet. Consider this a request, okay?" Aurora's tone from behind the counter was somewhat helpless.

"Alright, since I'm always happy to help a friend. But next time, you owe me something." Ian looked around, found a piece of burlap, and wrapped the wooden box in it. After making sure no ashes would leak out, he picked up the tightly wrapped box and headed for the door.

"We're accomplices," The girl reminded him again, her tone serious.

Ian felt like this title was one step away from Azkaban. He quickly sped up and stepped out of the dark wizard's den, breathing in the fresh air outside the bookstore, free of the stench of burning.

Ian came, and then he left. He arrived carrying a box full of fresh knowledge and left with a box full of a dead man's ashes. The box was still the same, but its purpose had changed slightly.

On the way back, Ian felt a bit nervous. Fortunately, no nosy wizards stopped him for questioning. Only a street hustler wizard chess player greeted him warmly.

As the start of term approached, Hogsmeade Village was filled with many unfamiliar faces. While this place might not be as bustling as Diagon Alley, it was still one of the few gathering spots for English wizards—rich in history and steeped in tradition.

On his way back, Ian even saw a few same-gender couples, clearly attracted to each other. Like the other wizards on the street, he wasn't fazed by it. Though it's the wizarding world, it's still England. As everyone knows, England has a reputation akin to a smaller city.

"Professor."

"Good morning, Professor."

...

Along the way, Ian spotted a few clearly adult wizards greeting a woman shopping in the village. He recognized her as a teacher from Hogwarts— the Head of Gryffindor House, Minerva McGonagall.

She was the Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts. Ian wasn't sure why she was shopping in Hogsmeade. Maybe she had a residence here, like Snape's cabin?

"Do you already have children, Henry the crybaby?"

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

"Daisy, the story of you turning your wand into a pig's trotter is still my favorite to tell in class."

...

Professor McGonagall seemed to remember every former student, whether they were from Gryffindor or not. She could accurately name each one and recall their embarrassing moments. 

Perhaps only someone who truly loves their profession could remember every detail of their career.

"She doesn't seem as strict as in the movies. Maybe it's because we're not at school," Ian observed from a distance. Carrying a box that could land him in Azkaban, he dared not approach a sharp-eyed professor. The wisest choice was to take another route and avoid the Hogwarts alumni.

Simply disposing of the ashes wouldn't do. If someone dug them up, it would be a disaster. Maybe he could scatter them in the garden, but there was no guarantee Snape wouldn't find out later. Dump them in the river? If someone saw, that would also be trouble.

"Looks like the old-fashioned way is still the most reliable!"

Back at the cabin, Ian pried open the newly laid floorboards, dug up the soil Snape had filled in, and buried the entire box along with the ashes beneath the cabin. "There's plenty of space here. I could probably bury ten more people without a problem."

Ian covered the soil again, nailed the floorboards back in place, and compared the layout to before. Seeing no abnormalities, he finally relaxed and started filling his stomach with cauldron cakes.

After eating his fill, Ian retrieved 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' from the toilet tank. "I'm still too weak!"

Before today, Ian had been somewhat self-satisfied. After all, at such a young age, he already wielded the Killing Curse. It was impossible not to feel a little inflated. However, witnessing the silent casting of Fiendfyre by his peer made him realize that this world was not lacking in geniuses, nor in conflicts that could escalate at a moment's notice.

Only the strong survive. The weak end up buried in boxes. Not wanting trouble doesn't mean trouble won't find you.

"In this cruel wizarding world, I'm walking on thin ice!"

Recalling the adult wizard who had been burned alive, Ian understood that only by striving harder to improve himself could he gain a sense of security.

"As the great man said, peace and stability only exist within the coverage of Killing Curse..."

The book opened under the glow of his wand, and forbidden knowledge unfolded for the budding idealist.

(End of chapter)

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