Ian had already collected two pieces of the witch's gown today. At this rate, he suspected he would eventually witness the unsettling sight of her shivering from the cold.
"Strange, I seem to recall you once saying you were an orphan."
The witch shot him a sidelong glance.
It wasn't an insult.
It was worse than an insult.
"..."
Ian didn't even dare to curse in his mind. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the strip of fabric in his hands, upon which was inscribed an incredibly intricate potion formula.
"After looking through your textbooks, I now have a fair understanding of which ingredients have survived from my time to yours."
Her voice remained composed as she gestured toward the notes.
"You should be able to find everything listed there in your era. I've adjusted the formula— substituted some materials that may have become rare and refined the effects. This will be a particularly… long-lasting happiness potion."
Ian glanced at her, noting the ever-growing absence of fabric from her robes. Yet she appeared utterly unconcerned.
"How long-lasting?"
He tucked the fabric carefully into his robes, his tone casual.
"Don't keep your friend waiting."
The witch didn't answer his question. Instead, she turned and began walking toward the castle.
Ian watched her retreating figure, a lonely silhouette against the gloom.
The Twilight Zone was a desolate place.
Perhaps, he thought, while repairing the castle's guardians, he could create a few magical pets for her as well. The days here must be unbearably dull— perhaps a bit of companionship would help.
An alchemized cat that could weave stories on its own… Yes, she might enjoy that.
"My alchemy is the most meaningful of all," Ian murmured under his breath, repeating a mantra of sorts. "It benefits the living… and aids the dead."
He didn't dare defy her warning. He left a generous pile of food on the long table, taking only Ariana's portion. His bag felt significantly lighter as he dashed out of the castle's empty, shadowed halls.
"Pandero will likely curse my name for this," Ian muttered. "But if Morgan finds out, she might actually turn me into a Pigwidgeon just to teach me a lesson."
Faced with a choice between betraying his friend and ensuring his own survival, Ian chose the latter.
He pressed on.
The ancient path stretched before him, winding through the eerie landscape.
Up ahead, the twilight gloom parted. The still, sky-lit forest was not far now.
Each patch of land in the Twilight Zone was interconnected, yet divided, like territories marked by magical creatures. The souls who resided here had long claimed their own domains.
Each spirit shaped the world around them, their presence altering the very atmosphere. Even the temperature fluctuated between one step and the next.
Though the scenery remained unchanged.
Ian crossed from barren, lifeless grassland into softer, richer terrain. The stark contrast was almost disorienting.
Professor Morgan's domain had been steeped in shadow— shrouded in mist, withering under darkened skies. But here…
A fresh breeze stirred.
Leaves whispered in the wind.
The transition felt as though he had stepped from the pages of a grim cautionary tale into a storybook illustration.
"Such a place would do wonders for one's mood."
Somewhere ahead, he heard the gentle murmur of running water.
Towering trees loomed over him, their lush green canopies stretching high above, filtering the sunlight into fractured beams. Patches of golden light scattered across the forest floor like a celestial mosaic.
Wildflowers in shades of crimson, amber, and sapphire swayed in harmony, painting the landscape in vibrant hues.
"This is what a proper fairy tale setting looks like," Ian mused.
And then, his gaze landed on a particularly tall fruit tree.
"Professor Morgan's domain doesn't have wild fruit growing all over the place!"
Ever since he had tasted the Golden Apple that Pandero brought back, Ian had nurtured a lingering hope of discovering more magical fruits in the Twilight Zone.
Without a second thought, he set off toward the towering tree, climbing without hesitation.
"The color of this fruit looks like it enhances one's skill with the Killing Curse… should I call it the Avada Kedavra fruit."
Ian, still in the stage where he couldn't cast spells without a wand, clung precariously to the high branches of the tree. Balancing himself with difficulty, he stretched out and managed to pluck the fruit.
However.
The moment he took a bite—
He spat it out immediately, gagging, and hurled the fruit away in disgust.
"This should be called the Bitter Fruit!"
Just as he was about to climb down, Ian noticed something unexpected— his discarded fruit had struck someone on the head.
"Huh?"
It was a young man.
The half-eaten fruit had landed squarely on him just as he was crouching down, picking up something small and gleaming— a scrap of fabric that had fallen from Ian's robes.
"Is this yours?"
The young man glanced up as Ian slid down from the tree. Instead of looking annoyed, he simply smiled and held out the fabric.
"Sorry," Ian apologized quickly, taking the scrap back. "I didn't realize someone was down there."
He tucked the "text" given to him by Professor Morgan securely into the inner pocket of his robes, making sure it wouldn't slip out again, and turned his full attention to the ghostly figure before him.
The young man was much taller than Ian, with sharp features, a straight nose, and a healthy, sun-kissed complexion— an unusual sight among wandering souls. There was something oddly familiar about him.
Yet Ian was certain they had never met before.
"Do you live around here?" Ian asked, cautious.
Though wary that this soul might be hiding something, Ian couldn't help but be curious.
"You're quite different from the others," The young man mused, studying Ian with keen interest. "Such a unique and terrifying talent."
He didn't answer Ian's question immediately. Instead, his expression shifted into something like recognition— though Ian wasn't sure what the ghost had recognized.
Just as Ian was wondering how to explain, or perhaps avoid explaining, the fact that he was a living, breathing wizard—
"I don't live here," The young man finally replied. "In fact, I'm preparing to move on to the next part of my journey."
His voice carried no particular surprise at Ian's presence. For a spirit who had already released his earthly attachments, encountering a living boy in the Twilight Zone was hardly cause for alarm.
"Before I leave," The young man continued, his gaze shifting, "I wanted to see my mysterious aunt one last time."
Ian followed his line of sight. The young man's eyes lingered on Ian's hand for a moment before turning toward the distant horizon.
"She was once more wretched than I," He murmured. "But now, it seems… fortune is finally on her side."
Another ghost speaking in riddles. Ian idly wondered what this one had done for a living while alive— Was he a Seer, Unspeakable, mad poet?
"Does your aunt live nearby?"
A thought struck him.
Could this be a relative of Professor Morgan?
After all, he was looking for his aunt…
"I've already seen her," The young man said simply. "Now, it's time I found the courage to move forward."
He turned to leave but hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder.
"By the way, little friend… you're still in school, aren't you?"
Ian blinked. The young man had long since let go of his past and was far stronger than Professor Morgan— so why did he care about Ian's age?
"I am a First year at Hogwarts."
'Would the name mean anything to him? Hogwarts had been around for over a thousand years, but in a place like this, that wasn't particularly impressive.'
"Indeed. You are quite young." The young man nodded with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"I can understand the stirrings in your heart. But if you happen to fancy a girl… love potions are never the answer."
His voice was mild, but the warning in his tone was unmistakable.
"That's a crime," He added lightly, "And Azkaban would be the first to beckon you. If I were you, I'd have a bit more confidence in my striking good looks."
And with that—
He turned and continued walking without looking back while lifting a hand in farewell.
And then, in the fading twilight—
The air twisted, space folding in on itself as a brilliant flash of fiery red burst into existence.
A Phoenix.
It appeared from nowhere, wings beating with quiet grace as it followed after the young man, as if escorting him just a little farther on his journey.
Under the green fruit tree—
Ian stood rooted to the spot. His mouth opened. Then closed. His mind scrambled for an appropriate reaction.
And settled on—
"Holy Merlin!"
His face twisted in horror as he yanked out the scrap of Professor Morgan's fabric.
"Happy potions!?"
(End of this chapter)
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