The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 517, Section 526: The Eternal Gamble

Say something.

Ever since Ian got involved with that female Titan.

He hadn't enjoyed such a peaceful night in a long time.

A long-lost, pure sense of "peace" enveloped Ian. This was the first truly unburdened rest he had experienced since entering the Cthulhu Dream and undergoing a series of irrational battles and devouring. His body relaxed, his mind soothed, as if a tremendous burden had been lifted. He didn't need any additional sleeping potions or spells. This simple, safe, and comfortable environment alone was enough to lull him into the deepest sleep.

"Whoosh whoosh~"

My eyelids grew heavy, and the soft glow of the wall lamp blurred and diffused in my field of vision.

then.

The legend of Hogwarts, the terminator of the old, slept soundly in an ordinary Muggle hotel in London on Halloween eve in 1979.

Time passed little by little.

The morning light peeked through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains, sparingly casting a few pale golden spots onto the carpet.

London mornings are characterized by their damp chill, and even in well-soundproofed hotel rooms, one can faintly hear the sounds of the streets gradually waking up outside the window.

The distant hum of vehicles, the occasional chirping of birds, and the rustling of street sweepers. Ian Prince awoke in an unusually tranquil, saturated state. There were no nightmares, no dizziness from the turbulence of time and space, and no initial palpitations from the increase in power. Only the abundant vitality of his body and mind, refreshed after a deep sleep, and a heavy, solid sense of stability and control befitting the legendary realm.

He didn't even need to perform morning meditations or magical cleansing like ordinary wizards; the power within him, which combined the two authorities, flowed and balanced naturally like breathing, becoming one with his very being.

"Ah! I feel so refreshed!" Ian lay quietly for a while, closing his eyes, letting the last vestiges of sleep and fragments of his dream recede like the tide. The dream… he seemed to have had a very long dream. The dream wasn't bizarre or fantastical; on the contrary, it was unusually clear and warm, filled with ordinary details. He dreamt of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the floating candles and starry ceiling, the long table piled high with sumptuous food, and the chattering students around him in their house robes.

He sat at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by several classmates whose faces were indistinct but who seemed familiar. They were debating Quidditch tactics, sharing jokes, and complaining about homework. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of pumpkin juice and the tantalizing scent of toasted bread. Then the scene shifted, and he was by the warm fireplace in the library, flipping through a magical history book that could bite. Mrs. Pince's stern gaze swept over him, and he made a face at the librarian.

"Ugh, anything else is fine, but I dreamt I was a Gryffindor, that was a nightmare." Ian changed his previous statement that he didn't have nightmares.

For Ravenclaw students, becoming a Gryffindor is truly a nightmare.

Of course, besides these, there was also Ian watching the giant squid lazily waving its tentacles by the Black Lake, with a gentle breeze blowing across the lake, carrying the fresh scent of water vapor and grass.

That was Hogwarts in the Harry Potter era, a time before the darkest shadows completely shrouded "fairy tales," a time when everyday life still shimmered with fragments of joy and hope. It was a snapshot of the era he experienced at the beginning of his journey, and the era he ultimately protected as the "Raven." The dream was so real that even after he woke up, the rich taste of butterbeer from the dream seemed to linger on his tongue, and the flapping wings of owls and the carefree laughter of his classmates still echoed in his ears.

"I'm thinking about Hogwarts, I know. What you think about during the day, you dream about at night." Ian slowly opened his eyes, gazing at the exquisite but slightly outdated plaster patterns on the ceiling. After the initial disorientation of waking, a faint, almost transparent melancholy, like the morning mist outside the window, quietly permeated his heart. That era… is over. At least, on this timeline, it hasn't arrived yet, or rather, it's brewing in another, perhaps more difficult, way.

In the wizarding world of 1979, Voldemort's shadow loomed over everyone like the darkest cloud.

Hogwarts may still be a bastion, but the relatively relaxed atmosphere focused on learning and growth has likely been greatly diminished. "There's no going back for now..."

He sighed silently.

of course.

The melancholy was like ripples on the water, quickly subsiding.

"Damn Titans!" Ian sat up and threw back the soft down comforter. The cold air against his skin made him even more awake. He had things to do today.

He got up and drew back the curtains. A pale gray light flooded in, illuminating the room. The courtyard remained quiet. He washed up briefly and changed into a clean, simple set of casual clothes—still predominantly dark-colored, ordinary in style but of superior quality, clothes he had "generated" last night using a Transfiguration Charm combined with spare items from the Seamless Stretch Charm.

After carefully putting away the small oil painting from last night, Ian went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast.

The hotel breakfast was a typical English buffet. The selection wasn't particularly extensive, but it was substantial enough: fried eggs, sausages, bacon, baked beans, roasted tomatoes, mushrooms, and black pudding.

There are also various cereals, yogurt, fruits, and toasted bread. Beverages include coffee, tea, and juice.

"This stuff is awful." Ian wisely avoided the black pudding and took some fried eggs, sausages, roasted tomatoes, and a few slices of whole wheat bread, and poured himself a cup of hot black tea.

The restaurant wasn't crowded; most of the patrons were business travelers, quietly dining and reading newspapers. The atmosphere was peaceful, like a parallel universe to the tension of the magical world.

"Smack, smack."

Ian slowly enjoyed his breakfast; the taste was average, but the hot food was comforting.

As he ate, he listened to two middle-aged men at the next table discussing "Mrs. Thatcher," "labor unions," and "economic situation" in hushed tones. The troubles of the Muggle world were just as concrete and real.

"They even provide newspapers, that's nice."

Ian picked up a copy of The Times left on the table and quickly scanned the front page and some sections to further confirm the atmosphere of Muggle society in this era.

After breakfast, he felt full of energy. It was time to explore the magical world of "this world."

After much deliberation, he decided to disguise himself and head to the Leaky Cauldron first. It was a hub of information, and although he might encounter Death Eater spies or fanatics, his current strength and disguise were more than enough to handle it. Perhaps he could even piece together a clearer picture of the situation from rumors or newspapers. Once outside, Ian basked in the thin sunlight. The streets of London were much brighter in the morning than the previous night, but the sky remained overcast, with low-hanging clouds seemingly brewing another rain.

The air was crisp and cool, and pedestrians hurried along.

"If I remember correctly, it's over there."

Ian determined his direction and headed towards Charing Cross Road. He walked slowly, like a true tourist, occasionally stopping to look at the shop windows.

Or observe the architectural style and details on the street.

Ian mentally reviewed some common sense about this era, adjusted his mindset, and prepared to approach the issue from the perspective of a "young wizard who has just returned to England, is not very familiar with the situation, but has some ability."

However, fate—or rather, the chaos and danger unique to the magical world of this era—did not seem to intend to give him the opportunity to slowly adapt and quietly infiltrate. Just two blocks after he left the hotel and turned onto a relatively wide main street lined with old-fashioned brick buildings and retail shops, a sudden change occurred!

"Boom!"

About fifty meters ahead, at the intersection of the sidewalk and the roadway, a piercing cracking sound suddenly rang out in the air, as if glass had been shattered by an invisible force! Immediately afterward, two figures, accompanied by distorted light and flying debris, stumbled out from a suddenly torn fold of space! Then, they crashed heavily onto the wet asphalt road!

"Um?"

Ian narrowed his eyes.

It's a wizard!

A phantom appearance malfunction?

No, it was a forced displacement during combat!

He immediately made the most accurate judgment.

One of the figures wore a heavy black travel cloak, the hood of which was lifted slightly during the vigorous movement, revealing a pale, distorted male face filled with shock and rage. A ghastly green light was shooting from the tip of his wand—the Killing Curse! But the light was unstable, clearly indicating that the spell was being interfered with.

The other figure appeared far more disheveled, wearing a slightly worn dark green robe; he was a middle-aged wizard with gray hair and a terrified expression. "Damn Death Eaters!"

He tumbled and rolled awkwardly, narrowly avoiding the off-track green light. The light struck a cast-iron lamppost by the roadside. The lamppost didn't explode; instead, it instantly lost all color and vitality, crumbling and collapsing like a thousand-year-old weathered stone, raising a cloud of dust as it hit the ground.

"Jorgins! You stubborn rat! Hand over the stuff!" the black-robed wizard roared, his voice distorted by agitation and bloodlust. He raised his wand again, this time unleashing a blazing red beam of light—a shattering spell—directed at the wizard known as Jorgins, who had just risen to his feet. Jorgins frantically waved his wand: "Protect Yourself!"

A semi-transparent barrier barely blocked the shattering spell, but the enormous impact still sent him staggering backward, knocking over a small wooden stand displaying flowers by the roadside, scattering petals and dirt all over the ground.

"Fainted and collapsed!" "Excruciatingly painful!" "Pulverized to pieces!"

The light of the spells began to flash, collide, and explode wildly across the Muggle street! The Death Eaters were clearly unrestrained, their attacks ruthless and deadly, while Joggins, though seemingly panicked, appeared to have considerable combat experience, managing to hold on with a defensive and limited counterattack using the Ironclad Charm, Barrier Charm, and Disarming Charm. The two were temporarily evenly matched, their spells exchanging blows that shattered the sidewalk tiles! "Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!!" Shop windows shattered, and car alarms were triggered, emitting piercing sirens.

This sudden, supernatural battle, far beyond the comprehension of Muggles, instantly plunged the entire street into extreme chaos!

"My God! What is that?!"

"Explosion? Terrorist attack?!"

"Run! Get away from them!"

"My shop! My window display!"

Terrified screams, cries, and curses erupted instantly. The once orderly flow of people scattered like an anthill bursting open, fleeing in panic.

They pushed and shoved each other, fell down, and scattered their belongings all over the ground.

"Sizzle!"

There were also sudden car brakes, with drivers staring dumbfounded at the inhuman battle ahead. Some tried to reverse and escape, but this caused even more congestion and collisions.

"Oh my God! Who are they?!"

Chaos reigned, and fear spread like a tangible plague through the air. Worse still, the two wizards were locked in fierce combat, oblivious to their surroundings. The aftershocks of their spells, along with flying shards of rock and glass, rained down like deadly stray bullets on the fleeing crowd and vehicles. A veiled beam of slicing magic swept across, slicing a corner off the roof of a car as easily as a hot knife through butter, terrifying the driver inside.

A thick stone slab, blasted away by a shattering spell, hurtled towards the back of a young mother holding her child who was unable to dodge in time.

Several sharp shards of shop window glass rained down on a few elderly customers who were crouching shivering at the shop entrance.

"Stop! You madman!" To avoid a killing curse, Jorgins scrambled to the side. The spot where he had been standing was struck by the curse, creating a large crater. Flying rubble and asphalt blocks covered a large area like shrapnel. Just then, several young people who looked like students were trying to climb over the overturned bicycles to escape.

"Tsk." Ian stood at a street corner a little further away, taking in the whole scene. He didn't even furrow his brow much, only a very slight sense of helplessness and absurdity swept through his mind.

"I haven't even gone out of my way to find you... how come you've already come all this way?" he muttered to himself, his tone calm and revealing little emotion.

But his gaze had become focused and sharp.

Without the slightest hesitation. Just as the deadly rubble was about to strike the young mother, shards of glass about to pierce the old woman's body, and hail of asphalt about to engulf the group of students...

Ian raised his hand. He didn't draw his wand; his fingertips merely traced a few invisible paths in the air with extreme light and swiftness. There was no burst of light, no incantation.

But time, as if centered around those few "key points," experienced an extremely subtle, localized, and precise "stagnation" and "deflection." The heavy stone slab flying towards the mother's back trembled slightly in the air, as if it had struck an invisible, highly elastic, soft cushion. Its flight path was forcibly raised by an inch, grazing the mother's hair and the edge of the child's swaddling clothes, before "whooshing" past and crashing into the deserted sidewalk behind, shattering into several pieces.

Those deadly shards of glass, less than half a foot from the terrified faces of the elderly, abruptly changed direction, colliding with each other and clattering as they fell to the ground at their feet, shattering even more, but no longer causing harm.

The gravel and asphalt that rained down on the students like shrapnel seemed to encounter an invisible, tilted shield in mid-air. The vast majority were cleverly deflected and neutralized, bouncing off into the open space and walls nearby. Only a very few small fragments, their force greatly reduced, struck them. "Ah!"

It elicited a few cries of pain, but no longer posed a fatal threat.

Everything happened so fast, so secretly. To the panicked crowd and the two wizards locked in fierce combat, the deadly aftershocks seemed to have merely brushed past them with "extreme luck," or been averted by some incredible coincidence. Only a very few people, in their extreme fear, managed to retain a sliver of observational ability, perhaps vaguely sensing that the trajectories of those flying objects were "a little strange," but there was simply no time to ponder it deeply.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The Death Eaters are still running rampant.