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As the saying goes, crows are black wherever you go.
At its core, the British Ministry of Magic was no different from the African Ministries of Magic. Perhaps the only difference was that the British Ministry was more discreet.
After all, they prided themselves on 'gentlemanly conduct'. But that certainly didn't mean that the people inside the Ministry were true gentlemen. Most of them were hypocrites like Cornelius Fudge... sanctimonious frauds with respectable appearances.
Officials like Arthur Weasley, Ron's father, were ultimately in the minority. Otherwise, why would he alone be pushed aside and excluded? It was because he refused to go along with the corruption, of course.
Ian understood all the twists and schemes within the Ministry of Magic perfectly well precisely because of this. So he wasn't surprised that Newt Scamander had been detained by the local Ministry for something that wasn't particularly serious.
The real issue was whether Newt would be able to escape again.
After all, in some places, Ministry of Magic officials didn't just want bribes; they wouldn't stop until they had squeezed a person dry.
The Indian Ministry of Magic was exactly that kind of place.
"Where is he now?" Ian asked.
"In the Ministry of Magic's 'Silent Tower,'" Babua replied. "That's where they interrogate major criminals. People who go in there rarely come out unharmed."
Ian's gaze deepened as he looked towards the horizon.
Newt was in trouble.
Ian needed to determine just how serious this so-called 'trouble' really was. If the accusation was indeed false, he might intervene personally to get Newt to help him.
Even though they had not yet met and doing so might alter the future, time in the world of Harry Potter was mysterious. If you put on a disguise and changed your appearance, you could evade a time paradox.
In other words, you could deceive time itself.
Many wizards never grew tired of attempting this.
Albus Dumbledore wasn't the only wizard to have researched such matters. Ian himself was an expert in the field. After all, he had extensive experience of crossing through time, in this domain, he was already a seasoned veteran.
"Your information is good," Ian said calmly, revealing nothing on the surface.
Babua carefully studied Ian's expression. Seeing that he had confirmed Newt's identity and was asking about the details of the problem, Babua's mind began to race.
Tentatively, he asked, "Honoured sir, if you require more precise information or wish to know the Ministry's attitude towards this matter and how they intend to handle it, I may be able to help arrange something."
"I know a few people inside the Ministry who have some influence. Their positions aren't high, but gathering information shouldn't be a problem."
He rubbed his hands together, subtly implying that he could obtain inside information through bribery or favors.
His words had two meanings: first, to show off his connections and capabilities; and second, to find out how Ian intended to handle the matter... whether he was planning to investigate peacefully or had something else in mind.
However, Ian simply shook his head.
"No need," he said flatly, though his tone carried unquestionable authority. "I'll personally look into the Ministry's situation."
Babua's heart skipped a beat, and he dared not ask any more questions.
He secretly guessed that such a powerful figure's "personal investigation" would hardly involve politely paying a visit with a letter of introduction.
Recalling the terrifying strength that Ian had revealed so casually the previous day, Babua could already foresee a massive 'storm' descending upon the Nairobi branch of the Ministry of Magic.
However, that wasn't something a mere information broker like him could concern himself with. In fact, part of him was rather eager to see those arrogant officials finally get their comeuppance.
Besides,
Information like this could earn him a fortune.
An information dealer always knew how to profit from chaos and upheaval.
Thinking of this...
"Yes, yes, yes, I spoke out of turn," Babua hurriedly said with repeated bows. "With abilities like yours, sir, naturally you wouldn't need small fry like us to gather intelligence for you."
His eyes shifted as he changed tactics, simultaneously probing Ian further while promoting his own 'additional services.'
"Would you perhaps require manpower? I know some capable men, experienced desperados who'll do anything for money and leave the area immediately after the job is done, ensuring there are no loose ends."
"Whether it's creating chaos to draw attention away, or covering a retreat, they're more than capable."
As he spoke, he carefully observed Ian's reaction.
He wanted to know if this powerful figure intended to confront the Ministry of Magic directly.
Even on a small scale.
Accurate intelligence was extremely important to him.
This time, however, Ian did not answer immediately.
Instead, he slowly turned his head, and his calm gaze settled on Babua.
The instant Babua met Ian's gaze, his entire body felt as though it had been struck by lightning!
He felt as though his soul had been torn from his body and cast into an endless, cold, boundless void of space. All sound and vision vanished, leaving only infinite darkness and distant, indifferent stars revolving silently in the void.
He was instantly swallowed whole by a crushing sense of insignificance and fragility... like dust before the universe.
"What is happening?!"
He could no longer think, breathe, or perceive the passage of time. It felt as though an eternity had passed, yet perhaps it was only a single instant.
"I never needed those people's help."
It was only when Ian withdrew his gaze that Babua suddenly snapped back to reality. His legs gave way and he nearly collapsed to the ground.
He gasped for breath, cold sweat pouring from his forehead and back like a waterfall and instantly soaking his clothes. His gaze at Ian was now filled with an unprecedented terror and dread born from the depths of his soul.
That single glance allowed him to truly understand what it meant to be worlds apart.
To face an insurmountable gulf.
They were both wizards, yet the gap between them was greater than that between a human and an ant. His little schemes and probing attempts must have seemed laughably transparent to Ian.
Forcing himself to stand, Babua spoke in a dry, trembling voice filled with reverence.
"I-I understand now… It seems someone like you has no need for burdens. I was presumptuous, ignorant of the immensity of heaven and earth..."
This flattery came from the bottom of his heart and was entirely sincere.
"Don't be nervous."
Ian was not surprised by Babua's reaction. Sometimes, intimidation communicated far more effectively than words.
No longer dwelling on the issue of manpower, Ian stated his requirements directly.
"I need the exact location of the African Ministry of Magic branch office. The more detailed, the better."
Still shaken, Babua immediately straightened up. This was his chance to make up for his earlier mistake and prove his worth.
"No problem! I have the most precise coordinates and surrounding maps right here!"
He hesitated briefly, as though making up his mind, before adding:
"However… sir, if you wish to go there 'quietly,' perhaps a Portkey would be a better option?"
"Ordinary Apparition or flying can easily trigger the Ministry's defensive barriers."
It wasn't that he doubted or underestimated Ian's magical ability. He simply believed that this service was the easiest and most convenient method.
It could save Ian a great deal of trouble.
For someone with Ian's powers, time was probably a very precious commodity.
"A Portkey?"
Ian glanced at Babua in surprise.
"You can even get your hands on something like that?"
He truly had not expected this. After all, the creation and use of Portkeys were strictly regulated by the Ministry of Magic, especially those leading to important institutions.
Such places were never casual sources of information. Regardless of the Ministry of Magic, they strictly monitored everyone entering and regularly carried out 'marker inspections' throughout the area.
Under normal circumstances, it would be impossible to secretly place Portkey coordinates inside a Ministry of Magic facility.
Ian instantly realized what was going on because of this.
There was most likely a mole inside the African Ministry of Magic itself, particularly among the inspection teams.
Otherwise, information brokers like Babua could never have placed markers inside the Ministry.
Ian didn't look down on him. Rather, he clearly understood exactly what level of magic Babua possessed.
Only a wizard of Gellert Grindelwald's caliber could accomplish this. It was not something that a talented passer-by, someone who would merely be considered an excellent Hogwarts graduate, could pull off.
Ordinary wizards simply could not do this.
The only explanation was that someone on the inside was providing these information brokers with a helping hand.
Perhaps the Portkeys had already been prepared and were simply being sold to them directly.
"How fitting," Ian thought to himself. "Who says the wizarding world doesn't have its own Inspector Smiths?"
Noticing the surprise in Ian's gaze, Babua felt a flicker of pride, though he kept his expression humble.
"Well, this is how I make my living. One has to have a few hidden channels in reserve to provide the best possible service to distinguished guests like you. It is this humble one's honor to be able to serve you."
His words were half true and half false.
The Portkeys were indeed an important source of income and a symbol of his network, but more importantly, he genuinely wanted to build a relationship with such a powerful figure as Ian.
Ian nodded, then took out another pouch of gold coins, which was heavier than the last one.
"How much for the Portkey?"
Babua stared at the glittering wizard gold, a flash of greed crossing his face before he suppressed it.
A sincere smile spread across his face as he waved his hands.
"You are too generous, sir! The payment you gave me earlier far exceeded the value of the information itself. Consider this Portkey an additional gift from me to you! I only hope that, in the future, you might show me a little favor if you remember this humble one."
This time, he was indeed making a significant investment.
A safe Portkey near the Ministry of Magic was extremely valuable, but he valued the potential return on that investment even more.
When dealing with someone like Ian, even greed had to be exercised at the right time. Now was the critical moment to offer help in someone's darkest hour and establish a favorable impression.
Information brokers understood such calculations better than anyone.
"Hm?"
Ian genuinely looked surprised.
He looked at this slick and crafty information broker again, not expecting him to have such foresight and determination.
After all, there was no guarantee that the two of them would ever meet again.
This was essentially an investment with no guaranteed return.
"You've got principles," Ian commented, with a hint of appreciation in his voice.
He understood Babua's intentions perfectly, it was simply a long-term investment. However, the fact that Babua could resist such an enormous and immediate temptation proved that he wasn't completely shortsighted.
"Hehe, just trying to make a living. You've got to understand a few rules of the trade," Babua replied modestly, though inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he had made the right move.
"How long do you need to prepare?" Ian asked.
"As soon as tonight! I'll make the arrangements immediately and make sure everything goes smoothly!" Babua assured him. "I'll personally deliver the Portkey to you at this same time tonight, right here!"
"That works." Ian nodded in agreement.
Babua bowed deeply to Ian once again, his attitude incredibly respectful.
Then he took several steps backwards, his figure gradually becoming blurred as though merging into the shadows beside the wall. Within a few breaths, he had disappeared completely, leaving only a faint fluctuation of magical power in the air.
Ian stared thoughtfully at the spot where Babua had vanished.
"Shadow stealth? Looks like this guy's pretty skilled at survival and concealment, too."
He muttered softly to himself.
This seemingly ordinary information broker appeared to be far more interesting than Ian had initially imagined.
But the most important thing for now was to obtain the Portkey and pay a "visit" to the African Ministry of Magic to find out what kind of trouble Newt Scamander had got himself into.
Before that, however, Ian still had several hours to wait before his meeting with Babua, so he decided to sort out lunch while wandering through the marketplace.
Although the inn's ugali and flatbread had tasted decent enough, the portions were clearly little more than starters for someone still growing, like him.
As a wizard who cared about quality of life and who naturally wanted to grow taller and become a six-foot-three heartthrob, Ian certainly had no intention of mistreating himself when it came to food.
And so...
Ian strolled leisurely through the bustling bazaar, his gaze sweeping across the food stalls and makeshift restaurants that lined the streets.
Most of the vendors had horrifying sanitation standards. Flies buzzed endlessly around exposed slabs of meat, making Ian, who was accustomed to the refined service of the house-elves at Hogwarts, hesitate in disgust.
At last, in a relatively clean side alley, he found a small shop that looked somewhat acceptable.
A wooden sign painted with colorful images of a steaming cauldron and a grinning antelope skull hung outside the entrance. Beside them were several crooked characters.
Ian guessed it probably meant something like 'Delicious Meat Soup'.
Inside, there were several rough wooden tables and benches. Though simple and shabby, the floor was made of packed earth and appeared to be regularly cleaned, with no obvious filth.
By the standards of a magical marketplace, this counted as a fairly decent dining environment.
Just look at the Leaky Cauldron and you'll see what I mean.
Ian walked in and sat towards the back.
A heavily built proprietress wearing a greasy apron approached him and asked him in heavily accented English what he wanted.
As there was no menu on the wall, Ian simply pointed to the large wooden bowl of steaming soup being enjoyed by the customers at the next table, a rich, milky broth with large chunks of meat and bone inside... and indicated that he wanted the same.
The proprietress nodded and quickly brought over a wooden bowl larger than Ian's head.
Inside was a steaming meat stew, accompanied by a hard slab of bread that resembled naan.
"That smells pretty good."
The meat in the stew was extremely tender, practically falling off the bone. The rich aroma carried an enticing blend of strange spices that immediately stimulated the appetite.
"This is actually pretty good."
After taking a bite, Ian's eyes lit up instantly.
The soup tasted unexpectedly delicious!
Although the meat fibers felt somewhat unusual and overly soft, they practically melted in his mouth. The broth was rich and full-bodied with a distinctive wild flavor that far exceeded his expectations.
He picked up the hard bread, dipped it into the soup, and began eating enthusiastically.
Perhaps the food truly was excellent, or perhaps he was simply starving after wandering around all morning, but Ian ate with complete focus, finishing the entire bowl of soup and bread until not a drop remained.
He even felt somewhat unsatisfied afterwards.
Contentedly, he wiped his mouth and prepared to pay and leave.
At that moment, however, he noticed a young worker carrying a large metal crate out of the kitchen.
The crate looked ancient and was covered in rust.
Faintly visible on its side were several Cyrillic letters and numbers, along with a faded emblem that Ian found oddly familiar...
A hammer and sickle.
"…Holy crap! Thirty-year-old Soviet meat? This thing's older than I am!"
(End of Chapter)