From Hogwarts to Strixhaven.

Chapter 582 Rainy Night
Summer is drawing to a close, and most parts of the Northern Hemisphere are under the scorching sun. People who have installed the greatest invention of the last century at home are reluctant to go out, while most people who cannot enjoy it wish they could peel their skin off.

Although the mainland of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, or the British Isles in the conventional sense, is indeed in the Northern Hemisphere, London experienced what is arguably its darkest August on record this year due to the influence of maritime climate conditions.

"Damn this gloomy weather!" A drunken Humphrey walked out of the bar, intending to go home to be met with his wife's furious roar. When he left, it was only drizzling outside, so he took a chance and didn't go back to get an umbrella.

However, London's weather always punishes anyone who disrespects it, regardless of their status.

The rush of water vapor mixed with the cold wind made Humphrey, who was dressed in thin clothes, shiver, and the lively atmosphere in the tavern seemed to have drifted away from him.

In almost all capitalist societies, subscribing to sports programs is nearly a waste of money for ordinary people with low incomes. They are not die-hard sports fans, and watching a game alone at home with an ice-cold beer and cold pizza is hardly a pleasant experience.

It's nowhere near as good as watching the game in a lively pub with a group of equally enthusiastic friends, sipping frothy beer and enjoying hot fish and chips. Not to mention, watching the game in a pub means you don't have to pay for a sports subscription; it's all included in the drinks.

Humphrey reached under the eaves of the pub and scooped up a handful of rainwater, splashing it on his face to clear his head. The pub on the corner wasn't far from his house; if he planned his route carefully and weaved through the storefronts of the closed shops, he could probably find a dry pair of underwear at his doorstep.

The bell hanging on the tavern door rang, and another customer, reeking of alcohol, came in. Humphrey shifted his feet slightly to make room for him.

"Damn weather!" The man who came out last waved the bottle of liquor in his hand; it was Scotch whisky, the cheap kind.

"Who would choose to leave the tavern in this weather and go home covered in mud and rain?" The last bit of whiskey disappeared into the bottle.

Maybe five seconds, maybe ten seconds, Humphrey realized that the drunkard next to him was trying to talk to him, after all, there were only two of them under this roof.

“I think…maybe he’s the husband about to be greeted by his wife’s hairdryer.” Humphrey put his hands in his jeans pockets, hoping to ease the awkwardness.

"Ha." Humphrey chuckled as he saw the man beside him, tossing his bottle into the rain. "Our overall score wasn't bad, was it?"

Humphrey knew he was referring to the international sporting event held in the Far East. Britain hadn't won any medals today, but the event was nearing its end, and most countries' rankings wouldn't change much. It was a foregone conclusion that the host country would surpass Great Britain in the number of gold medals: "51 medals, fourth place, which is in line with our international standing. It's just that the continental countries across the Channel aren't doing so well."

The best way to bring two British men together is always to go bald, and the second best way is to have breasts.

"Can't they even maintain their status as permanent members of the Security Council?" The man gave a knowing smile. "I really don't know why we put them in the Security Council in the first place."

“Perhaps it’s because of the continental balance policy?” Humphrey tightened his coat, ready to rush into the rain at any moment. “I only know that if I don’t go home soon, I might have to have a head-splitting with Louis XVI.”

"Goodbye, it was a pleasure talking to you." Humphrey extended his hand to the stranger, but just before the other person dropped the empty bottle and took his hand, he realized his hands were covered in rainwater. "Humphrey."

“Jim.” Jim shook Humphrey’s hand dismissively. “Take good care of your head, Humphrey.”

Humphrey didn't say much, turned and rushed into the rain. After only a few steps, Jim could no longer see him.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Humphrey realized he had underestimated the downpour. He had only just crossed an intersection, and he hadn't even managed to protect a single piece of fabric, let alone dry underwear.

A cold wind blew by, and Humphrey, who was hiding under the bus stop, couldn't help but shiver again. He realized that he had to get home as soon as possible. There were only two more blocks to go before he reached his destination. If he was lucky, his wife might hand him a cup of hot tea amidst her grumbling.

He began to regret not bringing an umbrella, or even just grabbing one from the pub. After all, many drunks would stay there until dawn and wouldn't even realize they were missing an umbrella.

I was too much of a gentleman.

Humphrey thought to himself with a self-deprecating smile.

Just then, he spotted another figure on the empty street. Thanks to the area's poor public infrastructure, the streetlights at these intersections were always on and off, and the heavy rain was also severely hindering the spread of light.

Humphrey strained his eyes to see if the man had an umbrella; he would feel a little comforted to see another soaked man on such a rainy night.

However, he was disappointed. Despite being soaked in the rain, the man standing under the flashing streetlights was tall and straight, exuding a sense of power that even the towering oak trees could not match.

Strangely enough, just seeing that person gave Humphrey a sense of comfort, like being bathed in bright sunlight, which is very rare in the rain.

"Hey!" Humphrey called out, tilting his head. He saw a pair of bright eyes looking at him. "There's a shed here! Let's take shelter here!"

There was no impatient sprint or the man lifting his shirt to cover his head, as Humphrey had imagined. The man standing under the streetlamp nodded to him before stepping away from the flickering light.

His leather shoes must be of very good quality.

Humphrey couldn't help but wonder what level of shoemaker could make a pair of leather shoes soaked in rainwater make a crisp sound, like stepping on a marble floor.

The raindrops that had previously stung Humphrey seemed to have no effect on him, unable to disrupt his firm and leisurely pace.

"This is the true gentleman of the British Empire," Humphrey couldn't help but think.

When the man finally stepped onto the bus stop, Humphrey truly realized he might have encountered someone extraordinary. The heavy rain hadn't dampened a single inch of the man's clothing; his black trench coat, perhaps made by a master tailor, remained perfectly dry. A dark green tie was hidden beneath his impeccably tailored vest, with only a sliver of his bow tie peeking out from the collar of his white shirt. A silver snake emblem adorned the wide lapel of his trench coat, mysteriously flicking its tongue.

More importantly, it was that face. Humphrey couldn't even feel a trace of jealousy; his mind was completely blank.

Humphrey, snapping out of his daze, blinked and realized the man was staring intently at him. He awkwardly tugged at his wet T-shirt, thinking of tucking it into his pants, but then abandoned the idea, thinking that it might add unnecessary weight to his already cumbersome boxer shorts.

However, his new discovery soon put him at ease: the man opposite him wasn't looking at him, but at the advertising wall of the bus stop behind him.

Humphrey glanced at it and said, "I heard Apple's new product uses several revolutionary technologies, but I think it's all hype. A phone just needs to ring; people don't need all that fancy stuff."

“The consumerist trap uses all sorts of sensational gimmicks to take up personal time and divert public attention from what really matters.” Humphrey heard the person in front of him speak, but found that he was still standing in a place that the small shed at the bus stop could not protect him from.

“You look like a top student from Oxford University, a true pillar of our British Empire. Don’t stand outside in the rain, come in a little!” Humphrey invited warmly, even as he let half of his shoulder protrude beyond the roof of the bus stop.

"When does the British Empire ever need any pillars of society?" Ivy stepped forward and stood inside the bus stop.

After being banished from the world of Toril by his own magic, he wandered for a long time.

Since the concept of time does not actually exist between the various crystal systems of the world, Ivy has no idea how long she has been drifting.

The reason he appeared in London on a rainy August night was because he sensed a familiar spiritual presence there.

Noticing the vehicle information on the bus stop and the Apple phone advertisement on the billboard, he was able to determine the time and location, but he didn't know which timeline this was.

Is it Hogwarts more than a decade later, or the real Earth without wizards?

“Those guys who rise to power by shouting slogans and attacking political enemies are nothing but parasites on the country, and they only ever lead our country astray!” Humphrey, soaking wet and reeking of alcohol, complained to Ivy.

However, through a brief eye contact, Ivy had almost completely seen through Humphrey's thoughts. Based on his original [Wizard] level, the psionic abilities of the [Mind Scholar] were far more effective than Legilimency in mind reading and thought interpretation, and were also more covert.

The man in front of me had just finished watching a football match in the pub—a broadcast from the East, featuring two relatively unknown national teams. Humphrey was simply there as an excuse to have a drink.

The international sporting event was ending in a day, so the timing was self-evident to Ivy.

This man named Humphrey was a sales representative for an instrument company. He earned only a modest salary and lived in an old house in the suburbs of London. His life was stagnant, and the only thing that brought him solace was reminiscing about the former glory of the British Empire with his drinking buddies in the pub.

During the decline of the British Empire, there were fewer and fewer people like him who always held unrealistic expectations for the country.

"...They now want to upgrade all the railways in the country to high-speed rail, and they've even set up a company specifically for this! It's called H2S (High Speed ​​Rail Two Limited)!"

Ivy snapped out of her reverie and blurted out, "You think it won't work?"

"It might work, it might not, but it'll cost the public a lot of time and money!" Humphrey shook his head. "You know the Elizabeth Line, right? The subway that recently started acquiring land for, its company was established back in 01! And that was just a 70-kilometer-long railway! Who knows if this H2S will be able to complete the land acquisition before I become a grandfather... You didn't know that many railway operating rights are held by private individuals! To build high-speed rail, the government has to buy them all from capitalists first—I suspect this is another major corruption case involving collusion between officials and businessmen!"

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Ivy thought of the Hogwarts Express, a train operated by the Ministry of Magic, specifically for young wizards to travel from London to Hogwarts in the Scottish Highlands. It was built at the tail end of the Victorian era, and when Ivy first stepped through the gates of Hogwarts, the railway had only just received approval from the Ministry of Magic.

“The British Empire has its own way of doing things. How can we move forward without first filling the pockets of the knights?” Ivy said something that was sure to be true.

“That’s true,” Humphrey sighed. “Where are you going? Gentlemen like you don’t often appear on the streets of London on rainy nights.”

"Whitehall." Or more accurately, the underground of Whitehall, which is the location of the British Ministry of Magic. The best way to confirm the existence of the wizarding community is either Diagon Alley or the Ministry of Magic.

Humphrey was filled with respect: "Are you a civil servant there? I had an opportunity to enter Oxford Bailey College when I was young, but..."

"Not really, just a few acquaintances in the Ministry." If the Ministry of Magic still existed in this world, then no matter which timeline it was, Ivy would have a few acquaintances there.

Judging from Ivy's tone, he seemed quite familiar with Whitehall, so Humphrey felt it inappropriate to ask any more questions and turned to talk about the weather: "I wonder when this rain will stop. I'm soaked to the bone... I really hope tomorrow will be a good day."

Ivy glanced up at the pitch-black night sky and casually replied, "I believe it will be a good day, Mr. Humphrey. Goodbye."

"Ah, oh! Goodbye, sir..." Before Humphrey could figure out why this young man he had never met could call him by name, he saw Ivy pull a small silver-white wooden stick out of the rain and point it at him.

An inexplicable warmth enveloped him, and Humphrey found that a large amount of moisture was rapidly rising from his body. His T-shirt and jeans, which were originally damp, suddenly became as dry as if they had just been taken out of the dry cleaners, and even his boxer shorts, which were stuck to his buttocks, were as dry as the midday sun in July.

"What kind of magic is this?" Humphrey had just waved away the water vapor in front of him when Ivy, who had just been there, had already disappeared.

Ivy knew he no longer needed to go to the Ministry of Magic to confirm the existence of the wizarding world, because he sensed a rather familiar spell nearby—the Avada Kedavra curse.

(End of this chapter)