Needless to say, Ian had been responsible. He wasn't helping a thief; with the values of someone raised in China, Ian understood that anyone desperate enough to steal food had probably been driven into a corner by life.
The boy hadn't reached for the easily accessible cashbox; he had only wanted something to eat, and that alone told Ian how desperate he truly was.
"Daily good deed complete!"
Ian withdrew the nearly imperceptible traces of magic he had used. He had condensed moisture and dust into a slippery patch beneath the vendor's foot while moving the coin into the boy's pocket from a distance.
Without showing anything on his face, he finished the last bite of his chicken pie and threw the paper bag into a nearby bin.
For him, it had been effortless, a tiny intervention no one would ever know about. The boy might have been wrong to steal, but hunger was a far more primal urge.
A single coin and a conveniently timed "accident" had given him another choice while sparing him the potentially disastrous consequences of being caught in public. Of course, it was merely one insignificant episode in a long night.
Ian's attention was soon captured by another tempting aroma. He spotted a stall selling mulled wine and hot cider, steam rising from a large copper pot where cinnamon sticks and cloves floated in the dark liquid.
"The mulled wine earlier was rather good." It was the perfect drink for a cold night.
Ian promptly bought a cup of hot cider. The heated ceramic warmed his palms, while sweet steam carrying the aromas of alcohol and spices rose to his nose. One sip filled his mouth with a warm, sweet-and-sour flavor that traveled down his throat and settled comfortably in his stomach, driving away every trace of cold.
Carrying the drink, he stopped at a German-style stall selling grilled sausages. Thick sausages sizzled on an iron rack, their skins browned, crisp, and beginning to split.
"As long as I stay away from British food, especially anything like stargazy pie, I should be safe."
Ian ordered one in a sliced bread roll with fried onions and mustard. The first bite released an abundance of savory juices.
The bread had absorbed the fat and sauce, while the sweetness of the onions blended perfectly with the sharp mustard. It was a simple, unapologetic kind of deliciousness, and thankfully, not a culinary disaster.
Ian continued weaving through the night market like a genuine young traveler blessed with an extraordinary appetite, sampling one snack after another. He discreetly used magic to conceal just how much he was eating.
With a legendary wizard's metabolism and energy requirements, digesting all that food was effortless, but he simply didn't want to cause a scene by being mistaken for some kind of competitive eater.
Although no one in this era could really control him, Ian still preferred to keep a low profile and avoid unnecessary attention.
He also kept searching for opportunities to build up good karma. When an elderly man's heavily loaded handcart became stuck in a crack beside the curb, Ian used a gentle, breeze-like force to lift it free.
The old man merely muttered, "Well, that wheel suddenly decided to cooperate," thanked no one in particular, and shuffled away.
Ian also "accidentally" kicked a broken brick out of the middle of the road, saving an office worker who was reading the newspaper while walking from an embarrassing fall. He even used an extremely faint thread of magic to adjust one of the strings on an old guitar belonging to a street performer.
The man's next song immediately sounded far more harmonious. The performer raised an eyebrow in surprise, then threw himself into his singing with renewed enthusiasm, earning several extra coins from the crowd.
These tiny, unnoticed interventions were like scattered points of starlight along Ian's walk through the market. They brought him a peculiar sense of quiet satisfaction.
It was nothing like battling the overlords of the Old Ones or wielding great Authorities; this was another form of existence and influence, smaller, gentler, and much closer to ordinary life. Yet it still touched something deep inside him: his principles of protection and order.
Nor did the Ministry of Magic come looking for him. Not everyone feared the Ministry, and in any case, its methods couldn't detect Ian's spellcasting.
The night market gradually began winding down, and some vendors started packing away their stalls. Ian finally felt satisfied, not only physically but mentally as well. This warm glimpse of ordinary life had temporarily washed away the oppressive atmosphere he had carried back from R'lyeh.
"All right. Just one more thing, and then I'm done."
With that thought, Ian stopped at a hot chocolate stall and ordered a thick cup topped with marshmallows. Holding the sweet drink, he slowly left the market as it settled into silence and returned to the brighter, quieter main road.
Now it was time to find somewhere to rest. After experiencing the warmth and energy of the night market, Ian's stomach was full, and the lingering comfort of food and crowds clung to him. He began considering his options.
Hogwarts was probably the place most familiar to him, but these were no longer his school days. He also had no desire to go there recklessly before fully understanding the details of the current timeline.
The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley beyond it were gateways into the wizarding world, but they were far too conspicuous. He might run directly into someone he knew from this period and inadvertently alter history.
Until he had gathered enough information, Ian preferred to remain an unobtrusive observer.
"Not every wizard is as trustworthy as Dumbledore. The wizarding world has plenty of idiots too."
Ian therefore turned his attention to the Muggle world. A comfortable hotel with proper service would give him somewhere to rest while also serving as a relatively discreet base of operations. More importantly, staying there would have little effect on the world around him.
"I really am clever."
In a prosperous commercial district nearby, he found an impressive-looking traditional hotel with granite walls, heavy revolving glass doors, and smartly uniformed doormen. An elegant sign above the entrance read:
The Royal Catherine Hotel.
It wasn't one of London's grandest or most historic establishments, but it looked clean, respectable, and well managed.
"This will do!"
Ian adjusted his clothes, making sure he looked like nothing more than a well-off young student traveling alone, then calmly walked inside. His youthful appearance and composed manner made the impression easy to maintain.
The lobby was spacious and brightly lit, with thick carpets beneath his feet and crystal chandeliers casting a gentle glow overhead.
The air carried faint traces of cologne and furniture polish. Behind the front desk stood a middle-aged manager in a dark suit, his hair immaculately combed, along with a young female receptionist.
The receptionist immediately offered Ian a polished, professional smile. "Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Royal Catherine Hotel. Would you like a room?"
"Yes, please. A quiet single room, preferably with a good view," Ian replied evenly as he approached the desk.
"Certainly, sir. May I see your passport or another form of identification?"
Ian had already prepared for that. Naturally, he possessed no legitimate Muggle identification from this era. But for a legendary wizard proficient in the Confundus Charm and memory magic, not to mention one with a limited ability to distort reality, it was hardly a problem.
He casually removed a plain leather document holder from his inner pocket and opened it. Inside was a finely made passport containing complete and convincing information.
Name: Ian F. Stone.
Nationality: British.
Age: Seventeen, matching his youthful appearance perfectly.
The address listed was somewhere in a respectable-sounding county, vague enough that it would be difficult to verify.
The instant Ian handed over the passport, he cast an extraordinarily subtle composite Confundus Charm.
It affected both the document and the receptionist's perception without producing any noticeable magical fluctuation. She examined the passport carefully, then looked up at Ian's face. Nothing in her expression suggested that she had noticed anything unusual.
"Thank you, Mr. Stone. How many nights will you be staying?"
"Three for now," Ian replied.
"Very good. One single room with a view for three nights, including breakfast. Here is your key for Room 312. The lift is on your right. Would you like someone to handle your luggage?" She completed the check-in efficiently and returned his passport along with an old-fashioned key attached to a brass tag.
"No, thank you. I don't have any large luggage." Ian accepted them with a faint smile.
"We hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. Stone. If you need anything, dial zero on your room telephone to contact reception."
"Thank you." Ian nodded and headed toward the lift.
He sensed the middle-aged manager's gaze lingering briefly on his back. The man might have found it unusual for a seventeen-year-old to check into a hotel alone, but Ian's composed manner and flawless identification had clearly dispelled any doubts. The Confundus Charm continued to do its work.
The lift had an old metal gate, moving smoothly, if somewhat slowly.
The third-floor corridor was silent, lined with dark red carpet and understated wallpaper. Ian found Room 312 and unlocked the door with the brass key.
The room was more spacious than he had expected. It featured typical British décor, with dark wooden furniture and a four-poster bed covered in crisp white sheets and a thick down duvet. Heavy velvet curtains framed the window. There was also a desk, an armchair, and a wardrobe, while the private bathroom had white tiles, a bathtub, and a shower.
The window overlooked a relatively quiet courtyard behind the hotel. The view wasn't spectacular, but the room was certainly peaceful. Ian nodded in satisfaction.
He set down the oil painting he had been carrying, closed the door, and casually placed several minor alarm and soundproofing charms around the room. It wasn't that he distrusted the hotel's security, he was simply cautious by habit.
"The décor is rather nice."
Ian began with a long, comfortable shower, washing away the smells of the night market and his faint fatigue. The warm water flowed over him, allowing his body to relax completely. After changing into the hotel's soft bathrobe, he walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside slightly. Illuminated shrubs and stone paths filled the courtyard below.
"Beautiful."
No stars were visible above London; the city lights cast only a dark reddish glow across the night sky.
Ian was already feeling slightly hungry again. A legendary wizard's metabolism, combined with the snack-like nature of his previous meal, meant that everything he had eaten was digested quickly. He picked up the room-service menu and looked through its limited selection before ordering a club sandwich and a cup of hot milk.
While waiting, he sat in the armchair and absently tapped his fingers against the armrest as he considered his next steps.
Halloween, 1979. Harry Potter wouldn't be born for more than another year, but Voldemort's reign of terror should already have reached its height. The Ministry of Magic would be in turmoil, and the 'Daily Prophet' was probably filled with reports of disappearances and attacks designed to spread fear. Hogwarts remained a relatively safe stronghold, but the tension must have been everywhere.
Ian needed to learn more about the current situation as soon as possible, especially Dumbledore's movements and the activities of the Order of the Phoenix. He also needed to discover whether the repaired timeline had produced any unexpected changes.
The doorbell rang while he was still thinking.
A smiling young waiter entered with a room-service trolley, his movements polished and professional. After placing the food on a small round table, he politely asked whether Ian needed anything else.
"No, thank you," Ian replied.
"Enjoy your meal, sir."
The waiter withdrew.
The late-night meal was simple but satisfying, the sandwich was generously filled, and the hot milk was warm and soothing. Once he finished, Ian pushed the trolley outside and closed the door.
He was about to organize his thoughts and perhaps use magic to search the hotel and surrounding area for magical activity when the room's old rotary telephone suddenly rang.
'Ring, ring!'
The sound was startlingly loud in the quiet room. Ian walked over and picked up the receiver.
"Good evening, Mr. Stone. This is reception." It was the same young receptionist, her voice still sweet and professional. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I was calling to make sure that you're satisfied with your room. I also wanted to ask whether you might require… any special evening services."
There was a tiny but unmistakable pause on the word "special," accompanied by a subtle shift in her tone. Any adult who had stayed in enough hotels would understand exactly what kind of service she meant.
Ian simply hadn't expected it to be so common in this era. He immediately understood the implication; such offers weren't exactly unheard of in many hotels.
"Excuse me?"
Keeping his expression calm, he answered in a clear, unquestionable tone. "The room is excellent, thank you. I don't require any special services. I also prefer to sleep early, so unless there is an emergency, please don't disturb me again."
Although his voice sounded young, it carried such steady authority that the receptionist fell silent for a moment.
"Oh… of course. I'm very sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Stone. Good night."
Her voice immediately returned to complete professionalism, now accompanied by a hint of apology.
"Good night."
Ian hung up and shook his head. Even after adjusting his apparent age, his overly youthful face could still attract certain kinds of additional attention. Still, it was only a harmless little interruption.
He returned to the window and took one final look at London after dark.
The city continued to breathe as its lights flickered in the distance. Somewhere beyond his sight, the hidden currents of the wizarding world were probably already surging. But for now, he was alone in a quiet, comfortable hotel room at the beginning of an uncertain journey home.
"What in the world have I gotten myself involved in this time?"
It was time to rest. Tomorrow, there would be much more to do, and much more to learn.
Ian changed into comfortable pajamas and climbed into the large, soft four-poster bed. The down duvet was light and warm.
With a wave of his hand, the main lights went out, leaving only a dim wall lamp beside the bed. Ian didn't fall asleep immediately. He lay quietly, emptied his mind, and felt the vast yet peaceful magic deep within his body, along with his unique Authority of Will.
There were no nightmares. No whispers. No disturbances from beyond time and space, nor from the depths of chaos. There was only the room's gentle, steady warmth and the faint sounds drifting in from the distant streets, the dull, rhythmic white noise of a living city.
(End Of This Chapter)
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