The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 227, Section 226: A Crazy Imagination – This is a Lie!

Chapter 227, Section 226: A Crazy Imagination – This is a Lie!

Bright candlelight flickered on the ceiling.

Candlelight spilled into the room, illuminating the exquisite silverware and porcelain plates on the dining table. The Duke's mansion's dining room was spacious and opulent, with portraits of family members from past generations hanging on the walls. The air was filled with the aroma of roasted meat and the rich scent of wine, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere, though the current mood was somewhat subtly different.

"Really, you must have misunderstood me." The Duke remained seated at the head of the long table, a glass of red wine in his hand, his expression somewhat stiff. His fingers unconsciously traced the rim of his glass, his gaze occasionally shifting to Ian sitting opposite him, a hint of unease in his eyes.

The Duchess sat beside him, seemingly elegantly cutting a piece of roasted lamb chop, but her movements were noticeably slower than usual, and the clinking of her knife and fork against the plate was exceptionally clear in the quiet dining room.

"Heh." Riddle sat to the side, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. His eyes gleamed with pleasure, as if he thoroughly enjoyed the Duke's timid and cowardly demeanor. One could only say that Riddle's mentality was exactly the same kind of enjoyment Voldemort had for the fear of others.

Voldemort's true nature began to emerge at this time.

"that."

Seeing that the young wizard remained silent.

Sweat beaded on the Duke's forehead. He couldn't help it; although he had already thought much highly of Ian, he had just received some shocking news from his daughter, Morgan.

The forest that was horrified this morning turned out to be the site of a battle between my daughter's teacher and the legendary wizard Merlin, and the outcome of the battle was a 50/50 split.

five minutes.

Merlin was wounded in five places and fled along the road to Vorum. Upon receiving this news, and discovering that the other party was Medivh, how could the Duke not be alarmed?

This is definitely not an emotion that can be controlled by shrewdness and composure.

"Actually, I only heard it secondhand. Yes, the information I heard was all from others who fed it to me. It was a rumor circulating from Count Leon and Uther Pendragon." The Duke was clearly eager to shift the blame, and even tried to pin it on his enemy.

have to say.

This might be the cunning characteristic unique to old-school nobles. He might indeed be quite flustered inside, but as the saying goes, "seek victory in chaos," he must also have the idea of ​​using Ian to deal with his enemies.

Ian was speechless.

His silence was not due to anger.

Instead, they didn't know what to say.

Blame?

Is this a performance of "The Return of the Dragon King"?

That doesn't seem to be in his nature. He only likes to take advantage of others. But when it comes to Morgan's family, he is also worried that the young, wicked woman might secretly hold a grudge against him.

after all.

That's just the kind of person he is; how could he not judge others by his own standards? They say birds of a feather flock together, and when it comes to holding grudges, he's exactly the same as his dark witch teacher. And seeing that Morgan's residence in the dreamlike realm is this castle, Ian also believes that this castle must have special significance for Morgan.

"Father, please stop making up explanations." Morgan remained standing there, head bowed, her cheeks slightly flushed, clearly still embarrassed by what had just happened.

A few minutes earlier, the Duke had been furious upon discovering Medivh's privately owned works, even making sarcastic remarks about Medivh in front of Ian. However, when Morgan blurted out, "My teacher was Medivh," the Duke's face turned deathly pale, and she nearly dropped her wine glass.

That's how it turned out to be what Ian sees now.

"Ahem—" The Duke cleared his throat, trying again to break the awkward atmosphere. "Your Excellency, please don't take what happened earlier to heart. My understanding of Master Medivh is limited, and I was indeed misled by a villain. I sincerely apologize to you for this."

talking.

He even stood up and bowed deeply, demonstrating a rather advanced level of craftsmanship in his dedication to the spirit of craftsmanship.

"Your Grace, there's no need to be so tense. I don't care." Ian considered his words for a moment, but still didn't smile crookedly. His eyes were calm and deep.

"The name Medivh is indeed controversial, but I'm used to it." Ian was telling the truth.

However, he is now intentionally guiding others to believe that he is different from the rumors.

That's all I can say.

Whether the Duke and Duchess believed it or not, they at least outwardly appeared to agree, with the Duke even using some of his own "gossip" to draw parallels to Ian's situation.

They still have to be old nobles.

They really do seize every opportunity.

Ian sensed the Duke's emotions and was quite certain that if there was even a hint of falsehood in these so-called rumors, he would dare to perform a feast in the Hogwarts bathroom! The Duke clearly wanted to use this to prove that he believed Ian's words, while at the same time trying to subtly convince his wife that the rumors outside were also false.

"These old men really know how to play psychological warfare!"

Ian couldn't help but give the Duke a thumbs up in his heart.

Of course, perhaps Duchess Igraine didn't believe it either, or perhaps she felt guilty for some reason.

She interrupted and changed the subject while her husband was still rambling on.

"Speaking of which, the lives of the people around our territory have been quite interesting lately."

Farmers hold grand celebrations during the harvest festival, where they dance around bonfires and weave straw into various shapes to hang on their doors, praying for a bountiful harvest in the coming year.

Ms. Igraine seemed very interested in the celebration.

"The harvest festival is one of the most important festivals here. Farmers have worked hard all year, and on this day they can finally relax and enjoy the joy of the harvest."

"Of course, seeing the farmers' bountiful harvest is also a good thing for us lords," the Duke immediately echoed, continuing the conversation.

Morgan then struck up a conversation, saying, "Those wandering bards, they go from street to street during festivals, performing acrobatics and magic tricks and telling all sorts of stories."

"Although their skills are not comparable to those of real wizards, they still bring a lot of joy to ordinary people." Clearly, Morgan had also experienced the festivals and happiness of ordinary people.

And I quite like it.

The Duke nodded, indicating that Morgan no longer needed to stand as punishment, his tone tinged with nostalgia: "Yes, indeed."

Although those bards lived a hard life, their performances always made people forget their troubles. I remember once, a bard conjured a live dove out of a rope.

What seems quite ordinary to wizards is definitely something special to ordinary people, and the duke was clearly impressed by such performances.

Riddle sat to the side, maintaining an outwardly elegant demeanor, but a hint of disdain flashed in his eyes. He muttered something under his breath to Ian beside him.

"The 'magic' that those bards talked about was nothing but a bunch of deceptive tricks. True magic..."

It's not meant to be amusement for ordinary people.

Aside from the disdainful tone.

Riddle's voice still carried an arrogance towards his wizarding identity and a blatant contempt for ordinary people, which was exactly the impression Ian had of Voldemort.

"Tom, the lives of ordinary people are not without value. If you can't understand the beauty in them, I think even if I give you several more chances, you will never be a legend."

"You need to understand, the world doesn't function because of wizards, but because of the ordinary people you look down on." Ian rarely spoke so earnestly as to preach to someone.

Riddle's ideas were indeed difficult for him to agree with.

Say something.

Ian rarely preached such profound truths to others, but Riddle seemed not to have taken it to heart.

He didn't say anything more because of Ian's "silver might".

When his gaze swept over the Duke and Duchess, it still carried the disdain a wizard would have for ordinary people, only he concealed it more deeply because of their noble status.

"Rotten wood cannot be carved."

Ian sighed as he commented.

The banquet continued. Although the Duke and Duchess still seemed somewhat awkward, the conversation had at least shifted to more relaxed topics. Ian's occasional inquiries about the various cultural aspects and customs of the era greatly eased the previous tension.

of course.

Ian's seemingly otherworldly questions and curiosity caused the Duke and Duchess to exchange a glance, each of them unable to help but imagine what Ian was like.

Perhaps in the couple's eyes, Ian had just emerged from a long slumber and stepped back into the world, which was why he was quite interested in things that should be commonplace in this era.

The smarter a person is, the more they like to fill in the blanks with their imagination. After the banquet, the things the Duke and Duchess imagined could probably be pieced together into a long novel.

It's not hard to tell from their increasingly polite and reserved attitude that the end of the dinner was definitely a relief for the couple.

Ian had a similar feeling.

"I'm going to check on Malfoy. Do you want to come with me?" Ian said, making an excuse to leave the hall as musicians were about to perform.

"Of course, I am also very interested in his recovery." Riddle elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth, stood up, and bowed slightly to the Duke and Duchess without missing a beat.

The two walked out of the dining room one after the other, heading down the castle corridor toward Malfoy's room. Ancient oil paintings hung on the walls of the corridor, and candlelight cast flickering shadows on the stone walls.

"The meal tonight was alright." Ian walked briskly and calmly, while Riddle followed behind him, his gaze deep, as if he were deep in thought.

Pushing open the door, Malfoy was lying on the bed, looking much better than before. His breathing was steady, and his soul, which had been "contaminated" by Halpert, was recovering.

It's clear that Riddle's medical skills are indeed quite good. After all, he's a guy who does biochemical research and bloodline fusion, so he's obviously experienced and knowledgeable in treating injuries like this.

In fact, Ian could also do that. It's not that Ian couldn't save Malfoy, but he felt it would be too much of a drain on his resources, so he thought about going back to Hogwarts to treat the school doctor.

Mrs. Pomfrey was an expert at handling these kinds of difficult cases, and most importantly, the school was using its own resources.

Ian didn't like wasting his precious medicinal herbs on unfamiliar classmates—after all, the Malfoy family hadn't contributed much, and the fact that he could travel through time to save Malfoy already made him a model senior.

"Your potion-making skills are quite impressive." Ian praised without reservation. He walked to the bedside, looked down at Malfoy's condition, and then looked up at Riddle with a thoughtful expression.

He always lacked help when brewing potions at Hogwarts, and Riddle seemed quite suitable—professional and skilled enough, while Voldemort was indeed exceptionally gifted in terms of strength. He would definitely be a potion-making assistant with the potential to become a master, but Ian wasn't too keen on keeping the Dark Lord by his side long-term.

"Perhaps, I could find a way to turn Riddle into a Dementor, then I'd have two Dementor allies and avoid moral and legal condemnation!"

The young wizard's heart was stirring with anticipation.

He sometimes marvels at how sharp his mind is.

This is truly astounding wisdom!

"While I don't care about those accolades, my potions grades at school have always been top-notch." Riddle, unaware of Ian's thoughts—his sixth sense wasn't strong enough—simply smiled in response before walking to the bedside and taking out a bottle of potions from his pocket.

He casually lifted Malfoy's head and slowly fed him the potion. Every so often, he needed to feed Malfoy certain potions.

"You weren't caught when you stole the potion ingredients, were you?" Ian asked casually, leaning against the door. He remembered that Riddle's potions were all made from ingredients "found on-site" within the castle.

"I've never failed," Riddle replied cryptically. Clearly, he had stolen quite a bit at Hogwarts, given his orphanage upbringing and inability to afford expensive materials for his own practice and research.

Ian raised an eyebrow: "Theft doesn't suit your arrogant nature."

"Resources are limited, we have to find a way," Riddle said calmly. After feeding Malfoy the medicine, he gently placed him back on the bed and turned to look at Ian.

"To be honest, I'm really curious, who exactly are you?" His eyes flickered, and his tone was very cautious, as if he had thought about it for a long time before asking the question.

"Didn't you already investigate thoroughly when you were at Hogwarts?" Ian pursed his lips.

His tone was gentle; he still remembered the schemes this guy had plotted against him at Hogwarts.

"Just a tiny bit of understanding," Riddle chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I bet even Dumbledore doesn't really know the real you. Your dark magic—every single one of it is just stimulating that old man's nerves. Compared to you, what I've learned can even be considered innocent."

He genuinely believed it from the bottom of his heart, his tone filled with admiration.

"Ha, do you think I hold the same place in Dumbledore's heart as you do? Besides, I never learned Horcruxes, no matter what kind of magic I studied. Horcruxes are the real evil magic."

"Aside from Horcrux-related magic, other magic is only evil in the hands of the wrong people. As long as magic is used to do the right thing, even Avada Kedavra is just."

"Look, I used Avada Kedavra to kill your other Horcruxes. Who doesn't call me the embodiment of justice? Kind Ian?" Ian responded confidently.

Riddle was speechless.

Yet he was unable to refute Ian's sophistry.

He opened his mouth.

After a moment of silence, he finally sighed, "That's because you lack a fear of death. I didn't know why before, but now I understand."

"To bestow spells upon Morgan and name King Arthur—I think, in their eyes, you might be the true legend." Riddle's gaze at the young wizard was quite complex.

Upon hearing this...

Ian nodded slightly: "Thank you for the compliment. However, don't expect me to develop any goodwill towards you because of something like this. You are the Dark Lord, hated by everyone at Hogwarts."

"And I've always been very sociable; just ask any other student and you'll see." The young wizard wasn't pleased by the flattery; instead, he was wary of Riddle's sweet talk.

He felt that the Dark Lord had already figured out his weakness!

Riddle shook his head again, speechless, and said nothing more.

He turned and walked to the other side of the room, set up another large cauldron, and began brewing a new potion. Ian glanced at him, then also chose to leave the room, which was about to become very smelly.

In the corridor.

Ian's footsteps faded into the distance.

The castle night was quiet and deep, moonlight streaming through the high windows and casting dappled shadows on the stone steps. Ian slowly made his way up the stairs to his bedroom.

On the other side...

"The Dark Bible—Medivh—doesn't have Horcruxes? Ha, what a clumsy lie!" Riddle said, stirring the potion while staring in the direction Ian had left.

He was murmuring to himself.

tonight.

The young Dark Lord has obtained new information about the young wizard.

As for Medivh...

He was clearly familiar with them all.