“Rain wets the eyes, year after year standing by the well longing for home…”
He wasn’t quite used to the dizziness caused by the Portkey.
Humming a tune no one else could understand, Raven forced himself to stand firm and followed Nicolas Flamel through the front door of The Leaky Cauldron.
The light inside was dim and gloomy, and the bar counter was covered in grease and scratches.
A one-eyed bald man, an old wizard with matted hair, and a hag with only a few rotting, yellowed teeth sat scattered in small groups around little tea tables.
Old Abbott, working part-time as a bartender, was mechanically wiping down glasses.
He paid little attention to the newly arrived guests; at this time of year, plenty of Muggle parents passed through his pub to reach Diagon Alley.
Clearly, however, these two were not dressed like Muggles, so there was even less need for him to bother warning them.
Even the Dark wizards in Knockturn Alley knew that old codgers looking like this were best left untouched.
Most likely, they had drained too much of their own life force while researching Dark magic.
As for the rare few who truly lived to such an age…
Ha, an old timer who managed to live until his beard and hair turned snowy white could flick away three or five Aurors with a single finger.
“Three up from the trash can, then two across. Tap it three times with your wand.”
As if remembering what caused the last wall repairs, the pub owner—balding to his last few strands and looking like a shriveled walnut—spoke up after all.
Last time, that old man from the Wylde family didn’t know the brick location had changed in recent years and cast a [Bombarda Maxima] straight at it, blowing the entire wall to dust.
And he was an honorary member of the German Wizengamot, no less.
In the end, he only had to pay a minor fine, while re-enchanting the wall took the pub owner an entire month.
Raven tipped his hat in a polite bow to Old Abbott.
This guy was practically an immovable fixture here.
This was the first character from the books Raven had encountered in this life besides Madame Maxime and Fleur.
Afterwards, he led his master toward the courtyard in the back.
Although his house was a mess, Nicolas Flamel was a total germaphobe; he had enchanted both his manor and his clothes with magical sterilization charms.
“Let’s go, let’s go. There must be rats here, and I despise rats…”
Old Nicolas urged with an expression of deep disgust.
Raven knew the reason, of course: Black Plague PTSD.
In the entire world, he was the only surviving sufferer.
Tap, tap, tap.
Glowing magic lit up Raven’s fingertip as he tapped the designated brick three times.
The wall shifted and reassembled itself.
Merlin pulled back his beard, and the hustle and bustle of the wizarding world crashed over the master and apprentice like a wave.
Dancing cauldrons clinked and chimed.
In front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, a crowd of young witches and wizards pressed against the glass window, marveling at the newly released Nimbus 2000.
Raspy screeches of Strigiformes echoed from Eeylops Owl Emporium.
The air was thick with the strange aroma of potion ingredients.
*The last time I felt this kind of bustle was when I first started school in my previous life,* Raven reminisced.
In this life, he had mostly shuttled between school and the manor.
In his previous life, he had transmigrated straight into his fifth year, released Chinese Chomping Cabbages to bite Ranrok to death, put down the Goblin rebellion, monopolized ancient magic, bred magical beasts on a massive scale, and wiped out poachers.
The result of his speedrun was that graduation felt utterly dull, so he decided to head off to the world of the dead to cause trouble.
And now, not long ago, he had been sent back to reality by them to experience a New Game Plus.
*Sigh…*
*In this life, I’ll definitely enjoy a proper, normal wizard life.*
He then pulled out a massive parchment spellbook.
Stamped on its cover was a large Hogwarts crest.
*Field Guide*
This was originally the remedial workbook Professor Weasley had given him in his last life.
After monopolizing ancient magic, he had modified it into an opportunity left for future generations.
The holder could collect pages like Dragon Balls, raise their level, upgrade talents, and become a legendary mage.
That was how it was supposed to be.
But since he had been persuaded to live another life, Raven didn’t stand on ceremony either.
Right after passing his sleepy infancy, he used his soul bond to have his phoenix, Phineas Nigellus Black, retrieve it from the Hogwarts Restricted Section.
To keep things fun, he had no intention of using those game-breaking powers.
This little trinket he left behind was already enough to walk unimpeded in this world.
Besides, it was also the key to opening his own base.
According to that dumb bird Phineas Nigellus Black, the magical beasts he had collected back then were living pretty well in the base.
Though the shorter-lived Puffskeins and Nifflers were getting a bit too numerous.
Umm…
Old Deek must have had a rough time.
He mentally wiped a bead of sweat for his house-elf butler.
Sweeping his right hand across, he pulled out the Hogwarts acceptance letter tucked inside the *Field Guide* and handed it to Nicolas Flamel.
Old Nicolas held the letter in his left hand while transforming his wand into a quill, asking Raven while jotting things down:
“Pewter cauldron, telescope, balance scale—we’ll bring those from home. Clothes… do you need clothes?”
Raven thought about it and answered,
“Undergarments, yes. After all, I used an alchemical body before, with clothes created directly. Outer robes won’t be necessary; I already have some prepared.”
Old Nicolas didn’t say much, merely nodding as he read on.
“Textbooks… let’s see. We have these at home too, all first editions sent over by publishers and authors. They might be a bit old, but the contents are identical. Revised editions aren’t strictly required, so we’ll just use those.”
He folded the acceptance letter back up and handed it back to Raven.
Looking at Raven, Old Nicolas continued,
“Next, let me take you to buy a wand first. A wand is a wizard’s second life. There’s no rush for the owl or undergarments.”
Hearing this, Raven showed a look of surprise.
“Master, didn’t you custom-order a wand from Mykew Gregorovitch? He was very optimistic about this purely mineral wand crafted from Philosopher’s Stone powder and Misty Dust. As a former owner of the Elder Wand, he was looking forward to the day his creation would defeat a Deathly Hallow.”
The afternoon breeze scattered Nicolas Flamel’s thoughts, as if returning him to that afternoon conversation with Albus Dumbledore.
Then, he drew a wrapped metal box from his spacious robes, handed it to Raven, and said,
“Yes, of course you could use this powerful wand to defeat the wielder of the Elder Wand. If you wished, you could even accomplish it within a few years. But that would be rather boring. I still hope you can live a few more ordinary days—before you become extraordinary.”
Looking at Old Nicolas’s face full of expectation, Raven thought for a moment and replied,
“Alright. Are those Dumbledore’s words? Dumbledore really is a scary fellow, managing to persuade me from afar while persuading you.”
Accepting this gift that could easily reshape the era, Raven spoke earnestly to Nicolas Flamel:
“I will only use it when necessary. I promise you, Master.”
The master and apprentice walked up to a shabby shop window where a faded wand rested on display.
[Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC]
Pushing open the door of the old shop, Raven looked around.
*Even though they moved locations, this shop is still so tiny and shabby,* Raven thought.
Boxed wands were stacked row upon row on the shelves—not messy, but not particularly neat either.
A layer of dust had gathered on some of the boxes.
In his previous life, he had chosen his wand at Ollivanders in Hogsmeade.
It seemed that due to the Goblin rebellion, their descendants had relocated the shop to Diagon Alley.
Clinking sounds came from the back room.
Hearing new customers arrive, the shopkeeper put down the half-finished wand in his hands and stepped out to the front counter.
“Good… afternoon!” The shopkeeper’s soft voice shot up several pitches, clearly struck by immense shock.
“W-Welcome to Ollivanders! Master. I am Garrick Ollivander. I have seen your portrait in my family’s records. My grandfather was fortunate enough to receive your guidance.”
As if seeing his idol, the shopkeeper stumbled over his words.
Indeed, this was the legendary alchemist.
The only alchemist to ever create the Philosopher’s Stone.
An alchemist who had lived for six hundred years.
As a magical craftsman, meeting Nicolas Flamel was practically no different from meeting Merlin.