The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 528, Section 537: Believers in Deep Space 2

What exactly did Ian discover?

It's not a big deal.

Instead, Ian noticed a very faint but definitely present and peculiar fluctuation emanating from the abdomen of the smiling brown-haired girl who had struck up the conversation.

It is a new kind of "life halo" that is closely connected to the girl's own life energy yet independent.

Common name.

Human cubs.

The aura was still very immature and unstable, meaning it hadn't been developing for long, perhaps only a few weeks. What made Ian's gaze sharpen even more was that the energy characteristics of this new life's aura were clearly different from, and somewhat alienated from, the girl before him and her blonde companion. It wasn't a sense of continuity inherited from either of them.

"A profession involving surrogacy?"

Ian was stunned.

At the same time, Ian also detected an extremely subtle energy fluctuation emanating from the girl, a mixture of excitement, a thirst for stimulation, and a hint of barely perceptible fatigue and contradictions.

This fluctuation didn't quite match the calm, reserved, and protective state that a newborn mother should typically possess. A split-second realization dawned on Ian. This seemingly cheerful and bold girl, trying to strike up a conversation with a handsome stranger outside the art museum, was not only pregnant, but... judging from the "alienation" in her energy field, the child in her womb was probably not directly related to either of the two girls before him.

More likely, she is merely a "vessel." And her current behavior clearly shows no restraint due to her pregnancy, even suggesting a "live for the moment" attitude.

"Tsk tsk tsk."

A faint, almost imperceptible, feeling crossed Ian's mind. Open-mindedness, thrill-seeking behavior, and a certain...indifference or helplessness regarding the consequences of their actions—it seemed these things truly had no absolute connection to the times. In any era, there are always shadows beneath the sunlight, and the complexity of human nature has never changed. "What's wrong?"

The girl was still confused by Ian's gaze.

"It's nothing."

Ian smiled slightly.

His gaze lingered on the brown-haired girl's face for less than half a second.

His eyes remained calm and unwavering, revealing not a trace of anything amiss. He nodded slightly again, said nothing more, and turned to continue along the path. The two girls seemed to whisper something behind him, a laugh tinged with regret and a hint of resentment, but they didn't follow. Ian quickly forgot about this little incident. He crossed the edge of St. James's Park, glancing at the imposing grey walls of Buckingham Palace and its fluttering flags in the distance.

They did not approach.

The trees in the park are tinged with autumn colors, waterfowl swim on the lake, and couples taking walks and jogging in twos and threes.

He sat for a while on a bench facing the lake, watching the sunset paint the clouds golden red and gild the lake with shimmering gold. An elderly gentleman in a wool coat, leading a corgi, sat down beside him. The dog curiously sniffed his shoes, and Ian reached out and gently stroked its fluffy head.

The old gentleman responded with a friendly smile.

As dusk settled and the city lights began to twinkle, London's streetlights illuminated the buildings, outlining their silhouettes. Ian rose, feeling a pang of hunger in his stomach. Remembering his earlier plan to try the steak pie, he headed towards Covent Garden, a place renowned for its markets and theaters, as well as its many authentic little restaurants.

"It's still early before the agreed time." Walking through the streets gradually shrouded in twilight, neon lights began to flicker, and faint music and noise emanated from bars. Passing a record store, the window plastered with posters of currently popular bands, Ian stopped to look and recognized a few names. The music of this era certainly possessed a unique vitality.

"But I still prefer eating." Finally, Ian found a small pub called "Anchor and Oar" on a back street that was said to make very good pies.

The storefront was low, with warm yellow light streaming in from the windows. Pushing open the door, the interior was small, with wooden tables and chairs, and various bottles of liquor piled behind the bar. The air was filled with the rich aroma of beer, grilled meat, and pies. It was dinner time, and the place was almost full of local regulars, bustling with activity. Ian finally found an empty seat in a corner of the bar. The bartender, a burly man with a thick beard, boomed, "What would you like to eat, buddy?"

"Signature steak and kidney pie, a serving of potato wedges, and a light beer," Ian ordered quickly. He was meeting a mysterious person tonight, so he naturally needed a little drink to bolster his courage.

"Alright! Wait here!" the bartender called out, taking the order towards the kitchen. Thanks to Ian's disguise magic, he didn't realize that Ian was actually a fifteen-year-old boy.

While waiting, Ian listened to the lively conversations of the other customers, ranging from football results and union strikes to newly released movies and everyday family matters. The atmosphere was vibrant and full of life.

Ian's beer arrived first, its foam fine and its malty aroma rich. Soon after, steaming hot pies were brought out on heavy earthenware plates. The crust was baked to a golden brown and crispy perfection; when gently broken open with a fork, it revealed thick, dark brown gravy encasing large chunks of tender beef and... kidneys.

"It's no use for me to replace this thing now."

Ian had no prejudice against kidneys. He took a bite and found that they were stewed until extremely tender and flavorful. The unique flavor of the kidneys was perfectly blended with the rich meat juices and spices, with no unpleasant odor.

The pie crust soaked up the broth and was incredibly delicious.

The fried potato wedges were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, sprinkled with salt and herbs—a perfect combination. This dinner was simple and rustic, yet incredibly satisfying, soothing the fatigue and energy depletion from an afternoon of shopping.

He ate slowly and deliberately, enjoying the pure pleasure that the food brought him.

The pub's noise seemed to provide the perfect backdrop for his meal. An elderly man sitting next to him, wearing a baseball cap and looking like a dockworker, struck up a conversation, probably because he was a stranger and seemed to be enjoying his food: "Young man, is this your first time here? Their pies are the best in the neighborhood!" "They really are," Ian said with a smile, raising his beer glass.

"Right! I've been eating here for twenty years!" the old man said proudly, then started complaining about prices and the weather. Ian just listened with a smile, occasionally chiming in. This kind of brief, selfless exchange between strangers felt real and interesting to him.

After eating and drinking to their hearts' content and paying the bill, Ian was once again struck by the affordable prices of this era.

"Alright, soon I'll be facing the real, cruel magical world." Ian walked out of the tavern. Night had fallen, and London's night lights shone brightly, a stark contrast to the hazy daytime, possessing a unique charm. A cool breeze brushed his face, carrying the dampness from the direction of the Thames. He wandered aimlessly along the street, digesting his food and sorting out his thoughts. The raven's invitation, the hints from Jorgins, the possible mastermind, and the undercurrents swirling in the magical world of this era… all these required his careful consideration. But at this moment…

He was still somewhat reluctant to leave behind this last stretch of leisurely time that belonged to "ordinary tourists".

Ian walked through the brightly lit theater district, posters advertising the latest plays and musicals; past the still bustling market square, where many stalls had closed but the cafes and food stalls were still lit; through some quiet, upscale residential areas, warm lights emanating from windows and the flickering blue glow of televisions…

Before he knew it, he had arrived at a relatively open riverside area.

This is not a famous tourist spot. There are no noisy tourists or crowds taking photos. There are only a few strollers and couples walking slowly in the night.

As if afraid of disturbing the river's whispers.

of course.

It's also possible they're looking for an opportunity to play.

It all depends on whether or not you use literary descriptions to depict it.

In Ian's eyes, he was currently being incredibly artistic, so he forced himself not to think about it in a negative light. He looked at the river, its waters swaying and breaking with the waves.

Like a scattered galaxy.

"This kind of place was already in disrepair by my time." Ian slowed his pace, his shoes making a soft, rhythmic sound as they crunched on the slightly damp cobblestones.

Not far ahead, an old man was walking slowly with a golden retriever on a leash. The dog would occasionally stop to sniff the lampposts by the roadside, its tail wagging lazily. Further ahead, a young couple sat side by side on a bench by the water. The girl rested her head on the boy's shoulder. Neither of them spoke, but simply gazed at each other in silence.

Perhaps she is enjoying love.

It could also be that they are planning their marriage.

"Will I run into Harry Potter's mom in this era?" Just as Ian was wondering about others, a young man on a skateboard sped past.

The other person's headphone cord swayed gently in the wind.

A mother and daughter walked by, talking in hushed tones. The little girl pointed at the water and exclaimed, "The stars have fallen into the river!" Further away, a street performer gently played a melody on his guitar, but no one could hear it.

The river flowed silently, and the city's light and shadow intertwined in his eyes.

In the distance, the outlines of several bridges were clearly visible in the night, with traffic flowing like a river, and lights outlining flowing bands of light on the bridge cables and bodies. One of the bridges had ancient piers and dim lighting, casting a long shadow on the dark water, which swayed, twisted, broke, and then reformed violently with the waves.

It truly deserves the description of "swaying bridge shadows".

Ian stopped and looked at the bridge.

Could it be there?

"As night falls, the bridge's shadow sways."

The time hadn't come yet, so he wasn't in a hurry.

Ian leaned against a stone railing along the riverbank, gazing at the water and the lights on the opposite shore, letting the night breeze caress him. His mind replayed the events of the afternoon.

The innocent smiles of children and the hardships of fundraising in the flea market, the quiet moments in the café, the enthusiasm of tourists in the square, the girls' bold advances and the stories behind them, the rustic food and straightforward conversations in the pub, and the flowing river and the play of light and shadow under the night sky...

This is London decades before his time, a city with history, vitality, predicaments, hope, ordinary warmth, and the dark side of humanity.

Real and complex.

Ian enjoyed half a day immersing himself as an "outsider." But now, it's time to reclaim his identity as "Raven" and confront those extraordinary puzzles and challenges.

"Why!"

He let out a soft breath, and the white mist quickly dissipated in the cold night sky. Just then, as if sensing something, he looked up at the southeastern night sky.

Ian saw nothing.

but.

Almost at the same moment.

Somewhere very, very far away.

The top floor of an ancient stone tower, far from the hustle and bustle, hidden within a complex spatial magic. There are no windows here, only a few floating crystals emitting a soft, moonlit glow.

The interior furnishings are extremely simple.

There was only a stone table, a high-backed chair, and ancient scrolls and books piled high on the surrounding bookshelves. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the scent of parchment, dried herbs, and some kind of chilling potion.

A figure sat in a high-backed chair, with his back to the entrance.

He was wearing a dark gray cloak of peculiar texture, the hood covering his head and face, with only a wrinkled but remarkably steady hand visible as he gripped the armrest of the chair.

On the stone table beside him lay a huge, heavy book. The pages were not paper, but rather some kind of animal hide, with complex and incomprehensible text and patterns on them.

It emitted a faint magical glow.

"Hehehehe~"

Suddenly, from the only ventilation window at the top of the tower, came the extremely faint sound of wings breaking through the air.

Immediately afterwards, a dark shadow, like a drop of ink blending into the night, silently slipped through the imperceptible magical barrier and into the room. It was the magical raven with jet-black feathers and wingtips that shimmered with a ghostly blue light.

Without making a sound, it flew straight to the stone table and landed gracefully next to the wrinkled hand, just inches away from the open ancient book.

The crow tilted its head, its beady black eyes looking at the figure under the cloak, as if reporting that the mission was complete.

"Did you agree?"

The figure beneath the cloak seemed to move slightly.

The strong yet aged hand resting on the armrest slowly rose and gently stroked the crow's smooth, satin-like back feathers. The crow obediently nuzzled his fingers.

Then, a strange thing happened.

With that gentle touch, the crow's body suddenly began to become transparent and blurred from the edges, like pencil lines erased by an eraser.

The process was silent and incredibly fast. In the blink of an eye, the living, breathing, and incredibly intelligent magical raven was right next to the hand.

It has completely disappeared.

Where it disappeared, on the smooth, cool surface of the stone table, appeared out of thin air a steaming hot pie, neatly wrapped in oil paper...

The square-shaped pie, wrapped in parchment paper, offered a glimpse of a freshly baked steak pie with a golden, crisp crust. A wisp of enticing aroma, a blend of beef, gravy, and toasted flour, rose gently, creating a strange fusion with the cool parchment and herbal scents inside the pie. Yes.

Ian was right about the aroma of the food he smelled earlier.

The crow was truly a product of transfiguration.

It's still the food that's changed.

It was clear that the spellcaster's skill level was exceptionally high in the magical world. The hand that had just stroked the raven paused in mid-air for a moment, seemingly unsurprised by the disappearance of the lingering feather sensation in its palm and the appearance of the steaming pie before it. The old man's fingers twitched slightly, as if sensing something. Then, the hand slowly reached for the pie that had appeared out of thin air and picked it up. The oil paper wrapping conveyed a genuine, warm touch.

Beneath the cloak, a whisper, so soft it was almost inaudible, seemed to carry a mixture of ancient wisdom and a hint of amusement, echoing through the silent top of the tower:

"That guy... actually has a pretty good appetite in this era."

As the words fell, silence returned to the tower. Only the clear light of the crystal illuminated the ancient books spread out on the stone table, and the oil-paper wrapping that had been picked up and placed back on the edge of the pages, still radiating the warmth of food. The warmth rose and twisted slowly in the cold light, like some silent message.