Snape might be proficient with the "Inverted Hanging Bell," but he definitely didn't possess the ability to reverse cause and effect. Ian believed he had uncovered the truth.
Snape was a plagiarist!
This was undoubtedly Professor Snape's biggest weakness—perhaps not as scandalous as his past with Lily Potter, but certainly a truth that could make him die of embarrassment on the spot at Hogwarts.
Its impact was no less than a middle schooler being exposed for having an online username like [King's Contempt] with the signature [Let the World Feel Pain].
"You're smiling foolishly."
The witch didn't understand why Ian was standing there grinning.
"I was just thinking about something happy."
Ian noticed the witch's gaze and quickly snapped out of it.
"Does threatening others make you happy?"
The witch's deep gaze seemed to pierce through everything.
"Teacher Mara! And you say you can't read minds!"
Ian was shocked again.
"You just asked me about that sentence, and now you're grinning like a fool. Anyone with common sense could guess what you're thinking."
The witch rubbed her temples helplessly, as if she couldn't stand Ian's cluelessness.
"Tell me—who got my book?"
She still seemed attached to remnants of the mortal world.
"It's one of my professors. Every year, he opens his class with the same line—the one you wrote in your book."
Ian quickly answered.
"The professor who teaches you Potions at that school, Hogwarts?" The witch saw Ian nod and replied with an indifferent tone.
"It's not exactly a disgrace."
What had been disgraced was obvious.
It was the knowledge written by this proud witch.
"Can potions really stop death?"
Ian asked a question that had haunted many Hogwarts students.
"Of course. But your professor certainly can't do it."
The witch chuckled, her tone filled with certainty.
"Why?"
Ian pressed further.
"Because I already cut down the last golden apple tree in the mortal world. And the key ingredient in any potion that can halt or even reverse death is the golden apple."
The witch explained patiently. "Of course, if your professor is talented enough, he might find a substitute in the mortal world."
Though she said that, her tone was dismissive—she clearly didn't believe that later-generation potion masters could find a worthy replacement.
Ian didn't believe it either.
After all—
If Snape could truly stop death, he wouldn't be ridiculed as someone who only bragged. It's clear from the original story that Snape never made such a potion.
But now, Ian knew the origin of that cliché opening line. Snape didn't come up with it.
He couldn't do it.
But once... someone did.
"Teacher Mara, why did you cut down the golden apple tree?" Ian had heard her mention it more than once. He wondered if it had something to do with her attachment to the Misty Illusion.
"Because I wanted to."
The witch smiled.
Her expression was completely unbothered.
"Alright."
Ian knew he wouldn't get the real reason.
"Potions and magic are different. Ingredients constantly change. If you want to learn, bring me some potion books from your era."
The witch changed the subject.
"Don't you need raw materials?"
Ian blinked.
"My dear apprentice, though I've been dead a long time, I believe potion ingredients are still worth more than a few coins—even in your time."
"So, even if I need them, can you afford them?"
Lies don't hurt.
Truth is a knife.
Ian's young face flushed slightly—exposed for being poor.
"As long as the school has them, I should be able to get some."
Ian admitted he was broke, but Hogwarts was not!
"Heh. I don't want your professor chasing you down."
The witch was obviously a potions master and understood how potion ingredients were valued.
"Professor Snape is good to me. Maybe... if I beg, he'll lend me some. I already owe him a lot."
Ian replied uncertainly.
"He's so good to you, and you still want to blackmail him? Tsk tsk... you really have the makings of a dark wizard."
The witch gave Ian another surprised look.
"..."
Ian didn't know how to explain. He just felt that this secret was like a nuclear weapon—better to have it and not use it than not have it at all.
"Forget it. I won't tease you anymore."
The witch waved her hand, smiling. "Don't underestimate your teacher. I just haven't touched modern knowledge in a long time. Just bring me some books."
"It won't be long before I catch up with your era—and then surpass it."
Her confidence was unmistakable.
Ian felt a rush of excitement.
Who wouldn't want an awesome teacher?
The better the teacher—
The more the student could learn!
He could already see his bright future.
"Praise to you, Teacher Mara!"
Ian clapped and showered her with flattery.
"Heh. You'll achieve great things."
The witch smiled and made a prediction.
"Of course! With such an excellent teacher, how could I not?"
Ian responded immediately.
Naturally.
However—
"I meant your talent for flattery. It'll serve you well on your path to power."
The witch grinned.
Was that a compliment?
It didn't sound like one!
"How can heartfelt praise be called flattery...?"
Ian widened his eyes with an innocent look, as if he'd been wronged.
"See? I told you—you're talented."
The witch didn't buy it.
Even Ian, thick-skinned as he was, felt a bit embarrassed.
"Study magic well. When you're strong enough, you won't need to hide behind a mask."
The witch offered a meaningful warning.
"I understand."
Ian's expression turned serious.
"Then, my dull apprentice—let's learn some magic."
The witch stood from her chair, moved her slender legs, and walked over to Ian.
"You're far too weak."
Standing next to Ian, she was more than a head taller, her aura radiating dominance.
"I don't have a wand."
Ian said nervously.
"A wand is just a tool."
The witch looked at Ian's confused face and sighed.
"Your era... really is baffling."
She made a quick judgment, then raised her hand and broke off the metal frame of a painting.
Without any incantation—
Without any gesture—
The metal frame morphed into a standard wand as she handed it to Ian. It was impossible to tell what kind of wood it was supposed to be.
"Magic?"
Ian was stunned.
"It's knowledge."
The witch's voice was calm and steady.
Just as Ian wondered whether this eccentric teacher was lying to him, she stepped behind him and placed her finger on the back of his head.
"Let's start with something simple."
And as the words fell—
Ian felt a wave of fear ripple through him.
"Feel this killing intent."
The witch's gentle voice sent a chill down his spine.
What kind of simple magic involves killing intent?!
"Feel it with your heart. And now, repeat after me…"
Her finger touched the back of his head, transmitting a forceful impulse to his mind.
"Avada Kedavra."
Inside the grand hall—
The fire roared in the hearth.
And the witch began teaching her apprentice his first spell.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------If you are enjoying this story please consider voting with power stones and add to your collection. This will motivate me to keep going with this serialization.