To be perfectly honest, Ian hadn't enjoyed such a peaceful night in a very long time, not since that Female Titan started tormenting him.
A long-forgotten sense of pure security enveloped him. Since entering the Cthulhu Dreamscape and enduring one unnatural battle and devouring after another, this was the first time he had truly rested without any burden weighing on him.
His body relaxed, his mind unwound, and it felt as though an immense weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. He needed neither a Sleeping Draught nor a spell. The simple comfort of an ordinary, safe room was enough to send him into a deep sleep.
Soon, his eyelids grew heavy, and the warm glow of the wall lamps blurred in his vision.
And so, on the eve of Halloween in 1979, the legend of Hogwarts, the one who had brought an end to the Old Ones, fell peacefully asleep in an ordinary Muggle hotel in London.
Time passed.
Morning light slipped through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains, grudgingly casting a few pale golden patches across the carpet.
London's morning air carried its familiar damp chill. Even inside the well-insulated hotel room, Ian could faintly hear the streets awakening outside: the distant rumble of cars, an occasional birdsong, and the soft scraping of street sweepers at work.
Ian Prince awoke feeling unusually peaceful and completely refreshed.
There had been no nightmares, no dizziness from temporal turbulence, and none of the palpitations that had accompanied his recent increase in power. All he felt was the abundant energy that came after a night of deep sleep, along with the steady, substantial sense of control that belonged to the Legendary realm.
Unlike an ordinary wizard, he had no need for morning meditation or to settle the magic within him. The power formed from the fusion of two Authorities flowed through him as naturally as breathing. It was perfectly balanced and had become an inseparable part of his existence.
"That felt amazing. I'm completely refreshed!"
Ian remained in bed for a while with his eyes closed, letting the final traces of sleep and fragments of his dream recede like the tide.
He seemed to have dreamed for a very long time. The dream hadn't been bizarre or chaotic; instead, it had been remarkably clear and warm, filled with ordinary details.
He had dreamed of Hogwarts' Great Hall, with its floating candles and enchanted ceiling full of stars. The long tables were piled high with food, while students in the robes of all four Houses chatted noisily around him.
Ian had been seated at the Gryffindor table beside several classmates whose faces were indistinct yet somehow familiar. They argued about Quidditch tactics, shared jokes, and complained about homework. The air smelled of sweet pumpkin juice and freshly toasted bread.
Then the scene changed. He was sitting beside the library's warm fireplace, reading a copy of 'A History of Magic' that kept trying to bite him. When Madam Pince's severe gaze swept over him, he pulled a face at the librarian.
"Ugh. Everything else was fine, but dreaming that I was a Gryffindor? That really was a nightmare."
Ian promptly withdrew his earlier claim that he hadn't suffered any nightmares. For a Ravenclaw, becoming a Gryffindor certainly qualified as one.
There had been other scenes as well. Ian had stood beside the Black Lake, watching the giant squid lazily wave its tentacles while a breeze rippled across the water, carrying the fresh scents of grass and moisture.
It was the Hogwarts of Harry Potter's era, a time when the fairy tale had not yet been completely swallowed by its darkest shadow, when everyday life still sparkled with small moments of joy and hope.
Those were memories of the era Ian had experienced soon after arriving in this world, the same era he had eventually protected as Raven.
The dream had felt so real that even after waking, he could almost taste the rich sweetness of butterbeer on his tongue. The flutter of owls' wings and the carefree laughter of his classmates still seemed to echo in his ears.
"I miss Hogwarts. That's all there is to it. What occupies the mind during the day finds its way into dreams at night."
Ian slowly opened his eyes and stared at the ornate but slightly dated plasterwork on the ceiling. Once the brief confusion of waking faded, a faint, almost transparent melancholy settled over him like the morning mist outside.
That era had already passed. Or rather, it had yet to arrive in this timeline, or perhaps it was taking shape in an entirely different, much harsher way.
In the wizarding world of 1979, Voldemort's shadow hung over everyone like the darkest of storm clouds. Hogwarts might still be a fortress, but its relatively carefree atmosphere, where students could focus on learning and growing up, had probably suffered greatly.
"I won't be able to go back for a while…" Ian sighed silently.
The melancholy soon faded like ripples on still water.
"That damned Titan!"
He sat up and threw off the soft down duvet. The cold air against his skin made him fully alert. He had things to do today.
Ian got out of bed and opened the curtains. Pale grey daylight flooded into the room, revealing the same quiet courtyard outside.
After washing up, he changed into a neat set of casual clothes. They were dark, understated, and made from high-quality fabric, spares he had produced the night before with Transfiguration and stored in his magically extended luggage.
Once he had carefully put away the small oil painting from the previous night, he went downstairs for breakfast.
The hotel served a typical full English buffet. The selection wasn't especially broad, but it was certainly substantial: fried eggs, sausages, bacon, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and black pudding. There were also cereals, yoghurt, fruit, toast, coffee, tea, and juice.
"That stuff is awful."
Ian wisely avoided the black pudding. He took some fried eggs, sausages, grilled tomatoes, and several slices of wholemeal toast, then poured himself a cup of hot black tea.
There weren't many people in the dining room. Most were business travellers quietly eating and reading the newspaper. The peaceful atmosphere felt like a different universe from the tension gripping the wizarding world.
Ian slowly worked his way through breakfast. The food was nothing exceptional, but having something hot in his stomach felt good.
As he ate, he listened to two middle-aged men at the next table quietly discussing "Mrs Thatcher," "the unions," and "the state of the economy." The Muggle world had its own problems, every bit as real and immediate as those of wizards.
"They even provide newspapers. Not bad."
Ian picked up a copy of 'The Times' left beside the table and quickly skimmed the front page and several other sections, further familiarizing himself with the mood of Muggle society in this era.
By the time he finished breakfast, he was full of energy. It was time to make contact with this era's wizarding world.
After considering his options, Ian decided to disguise himself and visit the Leaky Cauldron first. It was a natural gathering place for news.
There was always a chance of encountering Death Eater informants or fanatics, but with his current power and disguise, he could handle them easily enough. Perhaps the rumors and newspapers there would also help him piece together a clearer picture of the current situation.
Ian stepped outside into the weak morning sunlight. London's streets were much brighter than they had been the night before, though the sky remained grey and overcast. Low clouds hung above the city, seemingly preparing for another spell of rain. The air was cold, and pedestrians hurried past.
"If I remember correctly, it should be that way."
After getting his bearings, Ian headed toward Charing Cross Road. He walked at an unhurried pace like a genuine tourist, occasionally stopping to examine a shop window or study the details of the buildings along the street.
As he walked, Ian reviewed the basic facts of the era and adjusted his mindset. He intended to approach the wizarding world as a young wizard who had recently returned to Britain, someone reasonably capable, but largely unfamiliar with the current situation.
Fate, however, or perhaps the unique chaos and danger of this period, had no intention of giving him time to adapt and quietly blend in.
Ian had barely gone two streets from the hotel when he turned onto a broad main road lined with old brick buildings and shops. Without warning, something happened ahead.
Boom!
About fifty metres away, where the pavement met the road, the air split apart with a shriek like glass being crushed by an invisible force. Two figures tumbled from a violently distorted fold in space amid a spray of broken stones, crashing heavily onto the wet tarmac.
Ian narrowed his eyes. 'Wizards. A botched Apparition?
No, they had been forcibly displaced in the middle of a fight.' He understood the situation at once.
One of them wore a heavy black travelling cloak. His hood had slipped aside during the violent landing, revealing the pale, twisted face of an enraged man. Sickly green light gathered at the tip of his wand, the Killing Curse, but the light flickered unsteadily. Something had disrupted his casting.
The other wizard was in far worse shape. He was a grey-haired, middle-aged man in slightly worn dark-green robes, panic written all over his face.
"Damn Death Eater!"
He rolled desperately aside, narrowly avoiding the green beam. The curse struck a cast-iron lamppost beside the road. Instead of exploding, the post instantly lost all colour and vitality, crumbling like stone weathered over a thousand years and collapsing onto the pavement in a cloud of dust.
"Jorkins, you stubborn rat! Hand it over!" the black-robed wizard roared, his voice warped by excitement and bloodlust.
He raised his wand again, firing a blazing red Reductor Curse toward Jorkins, who had only just scrambled to his feet.
Jorkins frantically slashed his wand through the air. "Protego!"
A translucent shield barely stopped the curse, but the impact sent him stumbling backward into a wooden flower stand, scattering soil and petals everywhere.
"Stupefy!"
"Crucio!"
"Reducto!"
Spells flashed, collided, and exploded across the Muggle street.
The Death Eater showed no restraint whatsoever. Every attack was vicious, and every spell was meant to kill or maim. Jorkins might have looked terrified, but he clearly had plenty of combat experience. Using Shield Charms, Impediment Jinxes, and Disarming Charms, he managed to defend himself and launch the occasional counterattack.
For the moment, the two were evenly matched.
Their spells tore chunks from the pavement. Shop windows shattered in rapid succession, and the alarms of parked cars began shrieking.
The sudden supernatural battle, far beyond anything ordinary Muggles could understand, plunged the entire street into chaos.
"My God! What is that?!"
"An explosion? Is this a terrorist attack?"
"Run! Get away from them!"
"My shop! My window!"
Screams, sobs, and angry curses erupted all at once. The orderly flow of pedestrians scattered like a kicked anthill. People shoved past one another, tripped and fell, and abandoned their belongings across the street.
Tyres screeched as cars braked sharply. Drivers stared open-mouthed at the inhuman battle ahead. Some tried to reverse and escape, only to cause further collisions and congestion.
"Oh God! Who are those people?!"
The street had descended into utter pandemonium, fear spreading through the crowd like a plague.
Worse still, the two wizards were too absorbed in their duel to care about their surroundings. Shock waves, fragments of stone, and shards of glass flew toward fleeing pedestrians and vehicles like deadly stray bullets.
A Severing Charm went wide and sliced through the roof of a car as easily as a hot knife through butter. The driver inside nearly fainted from terror.
A heavy stone slab blasted loose by a Reductor Curse hurtled toward the back of a young mother clutching her child, leaving her no time to dodge.
Several razor-sharp pieces of shop-window glass flew like a volley of arrows toward a group of elderly customers cowering beside a doorway.
"Stop it, you lunatic!"
Jorkins threw himself aside to avoid another Killing Curse. The spell struck where he had been standing and blasted a crater into the ground. Chunks of stone and tarmac sprayed across a wide area like buckshot, straight toward several students trying to climb over a fallen bicycle.
"Tch."
Ian stood at the corner farther down the street, taking in the entire scene without even frowning. All he felt was a faint mixture of resignation and absurdity.
"I haven't even started looking for you yet… How did trouble come charging straight to me?"
His voice was calm, almost emotionless, but his eyes had already grown sharp and focused. He didn't hesitate.
Just as the slab was about to strike the young mother, the glass was about to tear through the elderly customers, and the spray of debris was about to engulf the students, Ian raised one hand.
He didn't draw his wand. His fingertips merely traced several quick, almost imperceptible patterns through the air. There was no flash of light and no spoken incantation, yet time itself seemed to slow and shift around those few critical points with astonishing precision.
The heavy slab hurtling toward the mother's back suddenly trembled in midair, as though it had struck an invisible cushion. Its trajectory rose by a single inch, carrying it just over the mother's hair and the edge of her baby's blanket. It crashed onto an empty stretch of pavement behind her and broke into several pieces.
The deadly shards of glass abruptly changed direction less than six inches from the elderly customers' terrified faces. They collided in midair before clattering harmlessly around their feet.
The stones and chunks of tarmac flying toward the students struck what seemed to be an invisible, angled shield. Most were deflected or robbed of their momentum and sent bouncing into an empty space or against the nearby walls. Only a few tiny fragments, their force greatly reduced, struck the students.
"Ah!"
Several of them cried out in pain, but none of the debris posed a fatal threat anymore.
It all happened too quickly and subtly for anyone to notice.
To the panicked crowd and the two battling wizards, the deadly debris appeared to have missed its targets through incredible luck or some miraculous coincidence. A handful of unusually observant people might have sensed that the objects' trajectories had looked strange, but they were far too terrified to give it any thought.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The Death Eater was still attacking without restraint.
(End Of This Chapter)
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