Someone had sent a crow to find Ian.
That choice couldn't possibly be a coincidence.
"Let's see who's taken an interest in me."
With steady, nimble fingers, Ian gently undid the dark red silk bow. The silk was smooth and cool, carrying a faint, hard-to-place scent: something like aged parchment mixed with crisp pine needles and a hint of food.
"Did they write this while they were eating?"
He took the small parchment scroll from the crow's leg. The bird drew its leg back and remained where it was, watching him quietly as though waiting for a reply or further instructions.
Ian unrolled the parchment. It was unusually supple and smooth, clearly no ordinary material. There was no signature, only a single line written in elegant English script with dark green ink that seemed to glow faintly. The flowing letters had an old-fashioned grace, and a trace of magic appeared to stir within the strokes.
'When night falls low and shadows of the bridge sway,
To unravel the mystery, let the Raven come this way.'
The message was brief. Beneath it sat a simple symbol with an unmistakably ancient air: a shallow curve, like the outline of the heavens or an arched bridge, with three tiny, starlike dots above it. Below the curve was a plain rectangle resembling a doorway or a foundation stone.
There was something quiet and mysterious about the design, along with the suggestion of an invitation.
"Tsk. More riddles. Well, that figures. Everyone in the Hogwarts world loves being cryptic."
Ian studied the verse and the strange symbol for several seconds.
The meaning was clear enough. Whoever had sent it knew about the Raven.
They had even addressed Ian as the Raven.
That made this anything but ordinary. The Raven was an Old One hidden in history. No more than a few dozen people in the wizarding world could know of its existence.
And among those few, the people capable of connecting Ian to that name, a name bound to him across vast stretches of time and different dimensions, could be counted on one hand.
This was certainly no coincidence.
"Still, this isn't Voldemort's style."
The invitation had the flavour of old-fashioned mysticism, elegant but unsettling. It was entirely different from the Death Eaters' brutal, direct approach or the Ministry of Magic's stiff official correspondence.
It did bear a faint resemblance to the style he might expect from the figure in black robes, someone capable of planting subtle suggestions in another person's mind and leaving them to work over time.
Yet it also felt… different.
"So it isn't the one in black robes. Another mystery person, then?"
Ian slowly rolled up the parchment and wrapped the dark red silk around it again. The silk tightened by itself, returning to its original shape.
It was plainly enchanted.
He looked up at the magical crow, which seemed carved from obsidian.
"I'll be there."
"Heh heh heh…"
Seeing that he had finished reading, the crow apparently considered its task complete. It gave a clearer cry than before and took flight, its wingbeats stirring a much stronger breeze than an ordinary bird's.
"Heh heh heh…"
It circled halfway around Ian's head, gave him one last look with its small black eyes, then turned without hesitation and flew towards the Thames. Soon it was only a black speck, disappearing behind London's uneven skyline.
As the crow departed, the attention its arrival had drawn gradually faded. People exchanged a few comments, "Strange bird," "Must be trained," "Probably some rich person's pet", then returned to their bargaining and their errands.
Only the boy selling crafts was still watching. He stood behind his stall with the silver coin clenched in one hand and the other covering his mouth, his wide blue eyes full of astonishment and a little concern.
"Don't worry. Everything's fine. A friend sent me a message by carrier pigeon. Well, carrier crow."
Ian rose slowly and slipped the little parchment scroll into his sleeve. His expression remained calm, and a trace of the gentle smile he had given the boy still lingered on his lips.
But anyone who could look deep into his eyes would have found them as still as a deep pool, every thought and feeling carefully contained.
"When night falls low…"
He quietly repeated the phrase, his gaze drifting southeast, towards the winding Thames.
London had plenty of bridges. But how many suited the image of "shadows of the bridge sway" after nightfall and also had some connection to magic, secrets, or a particular atmosphere?
Tower Bridge?
Too much of a landmark.
Blackfriars Bridge? Waterloo Bridge? Or something more secluded, with legends attached to it, perhaps a small bridge said to have a connection to Merlin or ancient magic?
"This era really does give my brain a workout."
He had barely arrived here, yet one mystery was already piling on top of another. He had only just decided to investigate the hidden currents of this era's wizarding world. Before he could even take his first real step, someone seemed to have anticipated his movements and sent him an invitation perfectly suited to his identity, wrapped in layers of mystery.
Apparently, making himself known was far more "efficient" than quietly watching from the sidelines.
"Interesting."
The gentle curve of his lips gradually sharpened into a smile full of curiosity and a touch of cold amusement.
It seemed tonight's plans would need changing.
He gave the boy, who was still watching him, one last reassuring smile and a nod. Then he turned towards the market exit, walking with the same steady, unhurried pace he had maintained throughout his stroll.
He still carried the brightly coloured sunshine card and the neatly folded paper plane. They made a curious contrast to the invitation from an unknown, mysterious being tucked inside his sleeve.
The afternoon sun struggled through the thickening clouds, making his shadow lengthen and shorten across the worn paving stones. There were many bridges in London, but only a few might fit the image in the letter and have ties to magic or the hidden world. Several possibilities had already come to mind.
"Who could it be?"
His thoughts raced.
Dinner might really have to wait until after he attended this meeting and solved its riddle. Before that, though, perhaps he could stop by another street and try the steak pie he had heard was good.
It was still early. There was no need to dwell on any of this yet.
The crow's invitation had disturbed his thoughts like a stone dropped into a pond, but it hadn't disrupted his afternoon.
"No one's ruining my peaceful afternoon."
He held on to his leisurely mood, treating the mysterious letter as little more than an interesting interruption. Once he had made sure the scroll was safely tucked away, he lightly shifted the cheerful sunshine card and carefully folded paper plane in his hand.
"One afternoon off. Then I can go back to dealing with the strange ways of the wizarding world."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
He was an adult at heart. Crises and mysteries needed dealing with, certainly, but the everyday life of this old city deserved to be savoured too.
So instead of heading straight for the Thames or any of the possible bridges, he continued wandering through the old streets around the flea market.
"Nuts for sale!"
"Matches!"
"Anyone want a newspaper?"
The market's clamour gradually faded as Ian turned into a quieter lane. Dead vines covered the brick walls on either side, and tall Victorian terraced houses lined the street. Here and there, pots of hardy green plants sat on the windowsills.
The smell of fresh bread and coffee drifted from an old café at the end of the lane. Its wooden sign swayed gently in the wind.
'The Old Oak Café.'
"Smells pretty good."
He pushed open the door, setting the bell above it jingling.
Inside, the café was warm and dim. Years of use had worn the dark wooden furniture smooth. There was no fire in the hearth, but the heating kept the room comfortably warm. The rich smell of freshly ground coffee mingled with the sweetness of buttery pastries.
A few customers sat scattered around the room, reading or talking quietly. It was peaceful.
"Ma'am, one cappuccino, please."
Unfortunately, no one caught his joke, and they didn't serve cappuccinos here anyway. Ian settled into a window seat and ordered the house dark-roast coffee, along with a scone served with clotted cream and strawberry jam.
The coffee arrived fragrant, rich, and slightly bitter, balancing the sweetness of the scone nicely. He took his time over it, watching the occasional passer-by and the weathered wall of the building opposite. Soft jazz played from an old gramophone.
Time seemed to slow down here.
At another table, a grey-haired gentleman in glasses sat with a thick old book open before him. He occasionally sipped his tea, absorbed in another world.
Ian glanced at him a few times but sensed no magic. He was simply an ordinary, well-read old man.
This quiet little place put Ian at ease.
"Look at me. I'm becoming an artsy young man."
Having awarded himself that title, he eventually left the café. The afternoon sun was already edging westward.
He decided to walk past a few famous landmarks. He wasn't really sightseeing; he simply wanted to pass through and experience what these places felt like in this era.
He headed towards Trafalgar Square.
There were slightly more tourists than he had expected, though nowhere near the crowds of later years. Nelson's Column towered overhead, with imposing stone lions around its base.
Water splashed in the fountains, where people sat resting. Flocks of pigeons wandered fearlessly across the ground in search of food, occasionally taking wing in a fluttering mass. A few tourists who looked American or European were taking turns photographing one another with the bulky cameras of the time.
"The empire on which the sun never sets did have decent taste in architecture."
Standing at the edge of the square, Ian studied the column and the lions, taking in the history and national memory the place held.
A middle-aged man carrying a camera approached him, looking slightly apologetic. When he spoke, his American accent was unmistakable.
"Excuse me, sir. Would you mind taking a picture of my wife and me? Just over there, in front of the lion."
He pointed to a middle-aged woman nearby, smiling and waving at them.
"Of course."
Ian took the fairly hefty camera. It was probably some model of Kodak, though he wasn't particularly familiar with cameras from this era.
That didn't mean he couldn't use one.
He peered through the viewfinder and adjusted the angle with ease. The camera was different from what he knew, but the basic principles were the same.
"All set."
He motioned for the couple to get into position and pressed the shutter.
"Thank you so much! You did a wonderful job!"
The American took back his camera, gave it a glance, and thanked him warmly.
"Are you visiting London on your own?"
"More or less. Just having a look around," Ian replied with a smile.
"It's a beautiful city. So much history! Although the weather is a little…"
The man pulled a resigned face. They shared a laugh and said goodbye.
Ian lingered in the square a while longer, watching children chase pigeons and listening to snippets of conversation in different languages. Then he turned towards the National Gallery.
It wasn't that he had no interest in art, but he wasn't planning to go inside. Instead, he strolled around the columns and the open space outside. The gallery's stately neoclassical façade cast long shadows in the afternoon sun, and a few young people sat resting on the entrance steps.
He had just passed along a path beside the gallery when a cheerful voice called out.
"Hi!"
Ian turned and saw two young women standing nearby. They looked about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in checked skirts, thick jumpers, and ankle boots popular in this era. Both wore bright smiles and seemed to be local.
One of them, a pretty girl with curly brown hair, boldly stepped closer, her eyes shining as she looked at him.
"Good afternoon! We noticed you earlier. Are you visiting the gallery on your own? Want to join us? We know it really well. We could be your guides!"
Her tone was lively, with a playful hint of interest.
Her friend, a girl with short blonde hair, smiled and nodded too. Her gaze lingered on Ian's face. Clearly, his striking looks and quiet manner appealed to her as well.
Ian was briefly taken aback, then gave them a polite smile.
"Thank you. That's very kind, but I'm not planning to go inside right now. I'm just walking around. Besides, I'm meeting someone."
It was a small lie, delivered gently but clearly.
"Oh, right…"
Disappointment flickered across the brunette's face, but she quickly rallied and blinked at him.
"That's a shame. You're… not from London, are you? Your accent sounds different. Are you here to study or work?"
Such enthusiasm.
Clearly, they liked his face.
Looks had done all the work.
Ian maintained a polite distance and kept smiling.
"I'm only here for a short stay. Enjoy your visit."
He nodded and prepared to leave.
At that moment, he habitually extended his senses, letting them brush over the two girls like the gentlest breeze. It wasn't a deliberate attempt to pry, but more like passively taking in information about his surroundings.
Yet in that fleeting instant, he "saw" something.
Not with his eyes, but through their life energy, the traces of magic, and a more subtle awareness of their very state of being. They were Muggles, but every living creature had its own distinctive energy field.
"Hmm?"
Ian was surprised.
His expression gradually turned odd.
The reason was simple.
He had discovered something that left him unsure whether to laugh or shake his head.
(End Of This Chapter)
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