Chapter 4: Port and Quirrell
A lone traveler was struggling through the marsh.
He was hopelessly lost.
"Oh, God, please save me," he prayed, his voice weak and cracking with exhaustion. "Please show me the way." He collapsed to his knees in the mud. "The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles."
Ryan, still under his Disillusionment Charm, froze. For a moment, he was caught between helping and not helping. He remembered the intel about a lost traveler and, after emerging from the ruin, had begun searching for any sign of life.
He had been just about to reveal himself, to guide the man out with a bit of magic and offer him some food and water. Who would have thought he'd stumble into a scene like this?
If he didn't help, it would go against his own conscience. The moral compass of the wizarding world hadn't yet degraded to the point where the Wizengamot would accuse him by saying, "You didn't cause it, so why did you help?"
But if he did help…
It was common knowledge that a certain all-powerful being could be a bit… possessive. What would happen if a wizard answered a prayer directed at Him?
Ryan had never seen or heard of any genuine divine miracles during his years in the wizarding world, but then again, he'd never heard of anyone being reborn into another world, either.
What if?
Silence hung in the air.
The poor man, his prayers unanswered, tried a new tactic. "Allah, my Lord, I pray for all people, that they may live their lives in peace."
Well, this fellow certainly covers all his bases, Ryan thought, struggling to keep a straight face. He watched as the man proceeded to pray to every deity he could think of, from God and Allah to buddhas and celestial immortals.
Ryan waited patiently until the man's pleas finally turned to legendary magical figures like Merlin and the Lady of the Lake. At last, as a wizard, Ryan had his justification.
His prayers to every major religion having failed, a desperate Louis Evans was running on fumes. Suddenly, a orb of light, like a divine apparition, materialized before him. It circled him, and in his dazed state, he thought he felt a shower of light rain down, like a cool drink after a long drought, instantly filling him with strength.
"Merlin's beard, Merlin's beard, Merlin's beard," he stammered.
When faced with profound shock, the human brain often defaults to repetition. Confronted with this sudden miracle, Louis Evans turned into a broken record, his mind fixated on the last name he had called out: the legendary archmage, Merlin.
Louis twisted his head stiffly, scanning the marsh for the sight of a wise old man in tattered robes with long, flowing hair. A flicker of childish fantasy sparked in his heart. The legend of King Arthur was a story every child loved, a world they dreamed of at night.
But he saw nothing. Only the orb of light, which was now dancing in a single direction, as if pointing the way.
Having no other choice, Louis followed the light, pushing his way through the bog. Ahead, he saw a round wooden table and a single chair. On the table sat a plate of fragrant lamb chops and toast, alongside a large pitcher of pumpkin juice.
"Thank you, Merlin," Louis said with sincere reverence before sitting down and devouring the meal.
The Lumos charm really works wonders as a special effect. Tricked him instantly, thought Ryan. He had just used a type of Encouragement Charm to give Louis an adrenaline boost. Still Disillusioned, Ryan focused his magical senses on the man who was now stuffing his face.
He was intensely curious as to why an ordinary human with no magic could have passed through the ruin's magical barrier.
Under a magical scan as detailed as a Muggle ultrasound, Louis's entire physiological structure was laid bare before Ryan's eyes.
His anatomy is no different from a normal human's, aside from a few kidney stones and some unusually resilient muscle tissue. The reason must be hidden in a structure on the magical plane. I don't yet have the ability to see that without dissecting him, so I'll have to save it for later.
Ryan quietly placed a magical tracer on Louis, a simple mark to find him again in the future. After leaving enough supplies and a hand-drawn map to get the man out of the marsh, Ryan Apparated away with a soft pop.
London. On a deserted side street in the foggy city, Ryan appeared out of thin air.
He hadn't Apparated directly into Diagon Alley, not because it was protected by an Anti-Disapparition Jinx, but because the Ministry's Apparition laws required all wizards to pass a test and acquire a license. Ryan, being underage, was not licensed to Apparate. Appearing in the middle of a crowd of wizards would only lead to endless trouble.
He strode toward a shabby, narrow pub that most people on the street seemed to completely ignore. This was the Leaky Cauldron, the gateway to Diagon Alley.
After exchanging greetings with a group of wizards who stood to welcome him, Ryan found himself shaking hands with Professor Quirrell.
"Professor Quirrell, a pleasure to finally meet you. I look forward to your lessons," Ryan said smoothly. "Tom, my good man, a glass of your special Port for the professor, if you would." Ryan tossed a Galleon to the old barman, who grinned a nearly-toothless smile.
He hadn't expected to run into next year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor here. Their first encounter had been a brief one at Hogwarts during the holiday, when Quirinus Quirrell had arrived for his interview. They had merely nodded as they passed each other, one heading to the library, the other to the Headmaster's office.
Now, with the arrival of the saviour Harry Potter just around the corner, and remembering that Professor Quirrell was the DADA teacher who ran into "trouble" this year, Ryan's years of playing the part of a mysterious Seer kicked in instinctively. He ordered Professor Quirrell a glass of "Port."
Whether his hunch was right or not, it was always best to lay the groundwork. By creating associations with symbolic objects and acting cryptic, he was simply fulfilling the basic requirements of a master prognosticator.
It made everyone believe you were a professional.
Quirinus Quirrell stammered, his words tripping over each other. He wore a thick, purple turban and had a complicated expression on his face, as if he wanted to refuse Ryan's offer.
But the moment Ryan's Galleon hit the counter, old Tom moved with astonishing speed. With the best service, using the finest quality spirits and the most ornate goblet, he presented a large glass of Port wine.
It was a white Port, sourced from the rugged Douro Valley. The wine was a rich golden color that deepened with age, and it had a smooth, easy-to-drink quality with notes of spice and honey. It was a drink that symbolized status and honor.
At that moment, however, Professor Quirrell felt neither status nor honor. On the contrary, he looked lost, his face growing even paler as he shakily accepted what was probably the single most expensive glass of Port ever sold at the Leaky Cauldron.
"M-Mr. Welles..." Quirrell stammered, clutching the potentially "hot" glass of Port. "As th-the greatest Seer of our c-century, what are your th-thoughts on my new p-position?"
"Please, Professor, call me Ryan. And I am far from the greatest Seer. Professor Trelawney is a remarkable Seer in her own right." Ryan put on his professional, mysterious smile. He first deflected the professor's praise to close the distance between them, then continued, "Port is a fine drink, is it not? I personally recommend pairing it with a sweet dessert or cheese. For example, Honeydukes' new Weasel Cheese has a wonderfully creamy texture."
He then turned to the barman. "Tom, my good man, do you happen to have any of Honeydukes' Weasel Cheese? If you do, please bring a portion for Professor Quirrell."
"My apologies, Mr. Welles," Tom said, shaking his head. He did, however, produce a small plate of sweet cheese from behind the grimy counter and placed it in front of Quirrell.
"W-Weasel cheese..." Quirrell murmured. He took a sip of the sweet Port, nibbled on the cheese, and managed to force a pained smile.
"I have some business to attend to with the goblins," Ryan said, his expression inscrutable. "Please, enjoy yourself, Professor. I look forward to seeing you at the Start-of-Term Feast." With a slight bow, he left the bar and walked out into the small, walled courtyard behind it.
He tapped a sequence of bricks on the wall, which began to shift and fold away, revealing a bustling, magical street.
As Ryan headed towards the most prominent, snow-white building, he muttered to himself, hoping Quirrell had understood the hint. One of the main characters in the Harry Potter stories is Percy's younger brother, right? The name Percy Weasley was famous at Hogwarts.
He held a genuine respect for the brave line of wizards willing to take the cursed DADA position. They were people who truly disregarded life and death, possessed of a fearless spirit. That was why, based on his hazy memories of the characters, he had given Quirrell the hint: Weasel, as in Weasley.
Wait, wasn't Quirrell the villain in the first story? Ryan's memory was uncertain. He seemed to recall someone calling Quirrell "two-faced."
He shrugged it off. No one could cause any real trouble right under Dumbledore's nose.
This was a conclusion he had reached after years of exploration. The masters of the ruins he had uncovered were all great wizards in their own right, individuals who, if alive today, would undoubtedly become titans of the modern magical world.
But from Ryan's current perspective, not a single one of them exuded the same feeling as Headmaster Dumbledore.
It was a sense of incomparable power, something that placed him in a different category altogether, not just from ordinary wizards, but even from the four Heads of House. They felt like two completely different species.
Ryan decided that, at most, he would keep a passive eye on the "main characters." If any of his daily intel involved them, he would communicate it to his Head of House in advance, just to prevent any real disasters from happening.