The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 540-549: The Prelude to Destruction 5

Dumbledore felt the gaze upon him.

He thought the other person would come over and talk to him.

Unexpectedly.

But that's not the case.

The young man glanced at them, then turned back as if nothing had happened, and continued walking leisurely along the path on the opposite bank of the river, in the opposite direction from where Dumbledore and his companions were. His steps were steady, and his shadow stretched long under the dim streetlights, soon to merge back into the shadows of the buildings on the riverbank.

But Dumbledore was already certain that, although he couldn't see the exact face, the figure's outline, gait, and especially that unique aura, that detached calmness, perfectly matched the young wizard who had turned the tide as described by Jorgins! It was definitely the person Jorgins had described!

The so-called Raven!

"Hehe."

Grindelwald continued to watch the disappearing figure with great interest, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming, and he spoke in a low voice, each word clearly reaching Dumbledore's ears:

"It seems that our Mr. Raven... has not only noticed the 'audience,' he seems to be... pointing us in the direction of the 'next act' of the dance."

Grindelwald seemed to have guessed what the other was thinking.

"Is that so?"

Dumbledore gripped his wand tightly, his fingertips slightly cold. He gazed at the figure disappearing into the gloom on the opposite bank of the river, then looked at Grindelwald beside him, whose expression remained inscrutable.

In the darkness, a silent "invitation" transcending prophecy and time seemed to have been extended. The figure on the opposite bank receded into the dimly lit path, becoming merely a blurry silhouette in the night, soon to disappear into the deeper shadows cast by the buildings. However, both Dumbledore and Grindelwald clearly sensed that the figure's brief pause and "look back" before leaving was not unintentional. "He's waiting for us to follow," Grindelwald murmured, his tone certain. His heterochromatic eyes gleamed sharply in the dim light, like a hawk catching the scent of its prey.

Okay, this description might be a bit inappropriate, but it's true that even the kindest look in Grimm's eyes can scare a child to tears; he's not as benevolent as Dumbledore.

"it is good."

Dumbledore nodded without hesitation. Since the other party had already noticed and seemed to be intentionally guiding them, continuing to observe from the shadows was pointless. It would only make them appear cowardly or harboring ulterior motives.

He glanced at Grindelwald.

"Stay close to me and don't do anything unnecessary." Old Deng then waved his wand, and a gentle, invisible wave of magic enveloped the two of them, isolating them from most of the sounds and magical disturbances that might attract attention. At the same time, he cast a more sophisticated Muggle avoidance and ignore spell than before.

They were making sure that even if they walked briskly through the streets, they wouldn't attract unnecessary attention. Of course, Dumbledore was being quite cautious in doing so.

This also fully demonstrates how much importance Dumbledore attached to this matter.

The two maintained a respectful distance as they crossed the bridge adorned with black-clad monks, hurrying towards the direction where the figure had disappeared on the opposite bank. The darkness provided perfect cover.

Their steps were swift yet quiet.

The figure ahead seemed unhurried, maintaining a leisurely pace, occasionally pausing slightly at street corners, as if checking for direction, or perhaps confirming that the "tail" behind them was still following.

He walked through several relatively quiet residential streets, then turned into a brighter, busier street—there was an open-air night market that only came alive in the evening.

The night market wasn't large, stretching along both sides of a narrow old street. Various colored bulbs and simple decorative lights hung from the stalls, illuminating the diverse array of inexpensive goods sold: secondhand clothing, handmade jewelry, used books, pirated cassette tapes, counterfeit designer brands… and of course, a multitude of food stalls. The air was thick with the pungent aromas of cooking oil, spices, and grilled meat, mixed with the sweat and noise of the crowded streets. Locals in various attire, off-duty workers, thrill-seeking young people, and curious tourists huddled together, the sounds of bargaining, vendors' shouts, and laughter blending into a buzzing background noise.

"Freshly grilled sausages! Juicy and smoky, two for £1.50, piping hot and just out of the oven!"

The sausage vendor flipped the sizzling sausages on the grill, calling out to the crowd, his voice, thick with the aroma of smoke, cutting through the throng. "Hot salted peanuts! Freshly roasted chestnuts! Piping hot, perfect for a cold day!"

The nut vendor pushed his tin cart, the bell ringing softly, its sound particularly crisp in the cold wind.

Fish and chips! Crispy crust, fresh cod—available for dine-in or takeout!

The fish and chips shop worker stood at the door shouting, the aroma of oil mixed with vinegar wafting far and wide.

"Curry flatbread! Spicy lamb skewers! Freshly baked, hot and delicious!"

The vendors selling South Asian cuisine called out in accented English, and the aroma of spices filled the air.

This was clearly not a place wizards would usually frequent, especially not for figures like Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Yet the dark figure ahead blended seamlessly into the hustle and bustle, like a drop of water joining a river, natural and harmonious. Dumbledore and Grindelwald exchanged a glance, both seeing a hint of surprise in each other's eyes.

Why did this mysterious and powerful "raven" bring them to such an ordinary, bustling Muggle night market? Is it some kind of test? Or is there a deeper meaning?

of course.

Dumbledore breathed a slight sigh of relief at this—the fact that the other party liked to frequent Muggle-like places at least proved that the other party's attitude towards Muggles was certainly not bad.

Such wizards, supernatural beings, are generally not evil.

"He's over there."

To avoid losing him, they had to be even more careful to maintain their stealth spells, weaving through the throngs of people, their eyes fixed on the composed and calm figure ahead, who remained remarkably composed even amidst the crowd. The young man seemed quite familiar with the night market, occasionally pausing at one or two food stalls.

Buy something to carry in your hand, and then continue on your way.

Finally, the young man stopped in a relatively secluded corner deep within the night market. There, he found a makeshift food stall made of a few planks of wood and a tarpaulin, furnished with only two or three low folding tables and plastic stools. The stall owner was a taciturn, elderly Southeast Asian man, engrossed in frying some kind of meat pie.

There weren't many customers at the stall, and the lighting was relatively dim.

All I saw was...

The young man walked to an empty table, pulled over a plastic stool, and sat down. He didn't order anything; he simply placed the French fries he had just bought, packaged in a paper bag, on the table, and then… just sat there quietly, facing the direction Dumbledore and Grindelwald had come from, as if waiting. Dumbledore stopped, and across the crowd of about ten meters, his eyes met those calm, unwavering eyes in the dim light. This time, the distance was close enough; although the light was poor, it was enough for him to see the man's face clearly—just as Jorgins had described, very young, even with a touch of boyish handsomeness, black hair, clearly defined features, and skin that appeared somewhat pale in the chaotic lights of the night market.

Most striking were his eyes, the color of a deep pool, which calmly met Dumbledore's scrutiny without the slightest evasion or emotional fluctuation.

There was only a chilling depth.

"Tsk tsk."

Grindelwald also stood beside Dumbledore, his heterochromatic eyes slightly narrowed as he carefully examined the young man sitting on the simple plastic stool.

His face showed no particular expression, but Dumbledore could sense that his old adversary was highly focused, as if he were assessing a work of art he had never seen before, full of unknown variables.

A brief silence.

The noisy background sounds of the night market seemed to be separated by an invisible membrane, creating an eerie silence between the three. Then, the young man, Ian, spoke softly.

His voice wasn't loud, yet it strangely pierced through the surrounding noise, clearly reaching Dumbledore and Grindelwald's ears. It was calm, steady, and showed no signs of age.

"You two, aren't you tired after following me all this way? Why don't you come and sit down?"

There were no titles, no questions, as if they were simply inviting two travelers who happened to be on the same road to rest.

"Of course." Dumbledore took a deep breath; he knew the time for testing and hiding was over. He removed most of the concealment magic from his body.

Only the most basic Muggle-like effects are left.

He straightened his robes and strode over. Grindelwald followed closely behind, his steps still unhurried, as if he were not approaching an invitation from a mysterious powerful figure.

It was an afternoon tea that had been booked in advance.

This is true.

The two approached the small table. Ian pointed to the two empty plastic stools opposite him: "Please sit down."

Dumbledore didn't stand on ceremony and pulled out a stool to sit down. The plastic stool was small and simple, seemingly out of place with his tall stature and solemn robes, but he sat upright, his posture still composed. Grindelwald also sat down, adjusting his posture to appear more relaxed. However, his gaze never left Ian's face.

The elderly stall owner glanced up at them, and seeing that no one had ordered, he lowered his head again to continue frying his meat patties. The sizzling sound of oil and the aroma of the food filled the small space.

Ian's gaze first fell on Dumbledore, and he nodded slightly: "Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. I've heard so much about you."

His tone was flat.

It's like stating a fact.

Rather than flattery.

Yes, Ian is pretending to be an expert here.

No one noticed this.

Dumbledore nodded, his azure eyes filled with scrutiny and politeness: "You must be the Guardian Mr. Jorgins spoke of. Thank you for your assistance to him this afternoon."

"It was just a small favor."

Ian gave a brief reply, then turned his gaze to Grindelwald.

This time, there seemed to be a subtle, elusive ripple in his eyes, as if he had seen something unexpected yet perfectly reasonable.

"As for this..." Ian paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, before speaking directly, his tone carrying a rare, almost blunt surprise, "Mr. Gellert Grindelwald. To be honest, I expected someone to come looking for me, but it's you... I'm a little surprised." These words made Dumbledore's heart skip a beat. Not only did the other man recognize Grindelwald, but his words seemed to imply... he had anticipated someone would come looking for him because of Jorgins, but he hadn't expected it to be Grindelwald? What did this mean? Did he know Grindelwald should be imprisoned? Or did he have his own expectations regarding this "key figure" of the era? This was no simple matter; Grindelwald had been imprisoned for nearly half a century, and the younger generation of wizards barely knew him!

"Are you always paying attention to history?"

Dumbledore, being a clever man, began to fill in the blanks in his mind.

When Grindelwald heard Ian's words, instead of showing surprise or embarrassment at being recognized, a slow smile slowly bloomed on his face. The smile was not ostentatious, but rather somewhat restrained, yet it was full of complex and indescribable meaning—amused appreciation for the other party's "unexpected" reaction, and a certain understanding that his own "specialness" had been exposed.

There's also a subtle excitement... like meeting a worthy opponent.

"Surprised?" Grindelwald's voice was slightly hoarse and magnetic. He leaned forward slightly, his heterochromatic pupils seeming to gleam strangely in the dim light of the stall. "Perhaps it's because someone like me, a 'past tense,' shouldn't be here, disturbing your... plans?"

There was no smell of gunpowder.

It's just a joke.

Of course, he was careful with his words, but the words "past tense" and "stroll" were clearly meaningful, alluding to his status as a prisoner and Ian's seemingly leisurely but actually mysterious whereabouts.

Ian did not answer immediately.

He picked up a fry, slowly put it in his mouth and chewed it, his movements as natural as if he were really just eating at a night market. Only after swallowing did he look at Grindelwald again.

His gaze remained calm.

"In the grand scheme of things, there's no absolute right or wrong. Even a prisoner has the right to apply for a day off to get some fresh air, doesn't he? Especially... if the guarantor is influential enough." He said, his gaze sweeping over Dumbledore, the meaning clear. How to put it...

When it comes to pretending to be an expert, Ian has a lot of experience.

After all, we have the best teachers in this area—the two in front of us, but not the two in front of us now, but the two in front of us many years from now.

God knows how much Ian is trying to suppress his laughter right now.

This was especially true when they saw the old principal acting somewhat neurotic.

Intelligent people do think things through, but Dumbledore's mind wasn't on their witty exchange. He keenly noticed Ian's address to Grindelwald as "Mr. Grindelwald." The address itself wasn't anything special, but combined with the other's youthful appearance and apparent knowledge of the wizarding world's high-ranking secrets... an idea uncontrollably popped into his head.

of course.

On the surface, Dumbledore remained calm and collected.

He temporarily suppressed his deep thoughts about Grindelwald's conversation with "Raven" and, taking advantage of this brief moment, asked a question, his tone as calm as possible with a hint of reasonable doubt from an elder.

"Excuse my directness, young sir. You saved Jorkins, displayed extraordinary strength, and seem to be quite familiar with us. So, before continuing this... interesting meeting, shouldn't we introduce ourselves first? I am Albus Dumbledore, and this is Gellert Grindelwald. And you... how should we address you?" Dumbledore was also a master of feigning ignorance.

He knew Ian was a raven.

But he also knew.

It is very impolite to reveal this before the other party has disclosed it.