Chapter 98: The Old Wizards’ Quarrel
At dusk, on the eastern bank of the Danube River.
The streets near the cruise ship dock were fairly wide, with a steady stream of people coming and going, the road covered in wheel ruts, quite prosperous.
Melvin sat in the hotel next to the Opera House, eating Hungarian-style stew, with chicken as the main ingredient, onions and tomatoes as sides, bay leaves and paprika as spices, slow-cooked until the meat and bones were tender, drizzled with sour cream before serving for extra flavor.
Thought it was dark cuisine, but it turned out to taste pretty good.
Kettleburn and Hagrid sat right beside him, the Isle of Dragon temporarily stabled in the hotel’s backyard, heartily drinking the local specialty plum brandy, faint sounds of their wing flaps and hoof stomps audible.
This was a wizard hotel, the restaurant filled with passing wizards and other intelligent beings, the noise a bit loud, various languages spoken, many in English.
“Have you heard? The Dark Lord in England is back!”
“Merlin’s boots! Real or fake?”
“News from Hogwarts, all the taverns in Britain are buzzing, saying he’s plotting a comeback… Everyone knows Dumbledore’s reputation, he hasn’t publicly denied it, and he even emphasized it in a meeting with students, can’t be fake.”
“And then? The Dark Lord got defeated again?”
“It’s complicated, seems his injuries from last time haven’t fully healed, last year he controlled a dark wizard to sneak into the school to steal the Philosopher’s Stone to heal, but Harry Potter and his friends saw through it. Three first-year students faced the dark wizard head-on, no casualties at all, just the Dark Lord escaped again.”
“Merlin’s pants! That’s incredible, any details? Tell us!”
“Taverns in Britain all have projection mirrors, go see it yourself sometime, usually screened on weekends, if one tavern doesn’t have it, check a few more, anyway you’re heading there to offload goods.”
“Movies? That Muggle stuff, and the Ministry of Magic tolerates it, not banning it?”
“They did prosecute, but Dumbledore rejected it, the school made this stuff.”
“…”
“Crunch.”
Melvin bit into the crispy baked chimney cake.
The dough is wrapped around a conical mold and baked, forming a hollow chimney shape, the outer crust caramelized, sprinkled with sugar, cinnamon, walnuts, and coconut, one bite and the sweet aroma overflows.
Maybe from staying too long in England, surprisingly found these things tasty, unsure if they were always good or if the dutiful house-elf chefs improved them.
Also baked goods, but way better than that gamekeeper’s rock skin cake.
“Hagrid, how’s the taste?”
“Excellent!”
“…”
Professor Kettleburn couldn’t help but show a smile, the half-giant had good teeth, loved gnawing tough things, but normal taste buds, knew what was good.
“Professor, what kind of wizards are the Cabal exactly?” Hagrid asked indistinctly.
“It’s a wizarding association founded by Grindelwald in the early 20th century, aside from a few die-hard wizards, most young people were actually bewitched and manipulated by Grindelwald’s extraordinary personal charm, believing in unrealistic hegemonic ideals, calling themselves his followers, saints…”
Professor Kettleburn explained in great detail.
Those wizard merchants and travelers were still discussing the Dark Lord, outside came Muggle horn sounds.
Melvin had been a bit surprised upon arrival, but gradually adapted, eating while recalling the materials he’d flipped through on the road.
Local wizards abided by the Secrecy Law, never leaking any magic news to Muggles, but not isolated, instead actively integrating into the city, working and living like ordinary residents, creating a harmonious ecosystem different from London and New York.
Budapest, actually two parts: Buda and Pest, the calmer Pest on the east bank of the Danube River, mostly Muggle residents, more prosperous, the hilly Buda on the west bank, tricky terrain making movement less convenient, mainly a wizard settlement.
The Cabal remnants chose Buda, perhaps considering the mountains easy to defend and hard to attack.
As for the local Ministry of Magic?
No need to worry at all.
Not every country in the world has a Ministry of Magic, or the conditions to establish one. Many places are small in area, with few wizards, not even matching one English county, no taxes, no mines, no natural resources to exchange for galleons, impossible to build a stable wizard government.
Places like Albania are almost dark wizard settlements, yet no local wizard organizations to clear them out.
After the Austro-Hungarian Empire disintegrated and shattered, this region was similar.
Romania has favorable conditions, relying on the dragon sanctuary’s natural resources for stable profits, breeding fire dragons attracts tourists and fire dragon material merchants worldwide, also drawing wizards in supporting businesses, gradually growing to establish a Ministry of Magic.
Hungary has fire dragons but no nature reserve, no solid wizard government.
Local wizards with means emigrated to other countries, those without moved nearby to Durmstrang or Romania, no one wanted the thankless task of building a Ministry of Magic.
The Cabal remnants, wanted and hunted by the International Confederation of Wizards, had nowhere to go, originally aimed for Albania, but the dark wizards there were worse than the Cabal, murder and robbery routine, nights lit by killing curse green light and Fiendfyre, making the Cabal seem almost innocent by comparison.
After years of hiding and fleeing, they naturally eyed Buda, a defensible spot ideal for escapes.
No Ministry of Magic before, after Cabal remnants arrived they kept a low profile, no more preaching greater causes, gradually stabilizing.
Near Durmstrang, Ukraine, and Romania, gathering wanted wizards, it naturally became a not-so-legit trade transit hub, taverns, restaurants, clothing stores slowly appearing, wizard ecosystem gradually perfected.
Barter or goblin money, the remnants chased for years weren’t picky, no rigid rules set, dutifully maintaining the business environment, no dark wizard killing and robbing, forced buys or sells.
The market here sold all sorts of things, from alchemy items, ancient magic antiques dug from who-knows-where, various fire dragon materials, to potions from famous potions masters of recent decades, singer Cetina’s albums, even assorted Muggle appliances, everything.
Prices and transaction methods up to both parties’ wishes.
Word of its safety and reliability spread, building up year by year, scale gradually growing.
Once a wizard tried initiating a purge at the International Confederation of Wizards, but since the Cabal nominally disbanded, even their leader imprisoned in Austria’s Nurmengard, most countries took a wait-and-see attitude, watching the president’s stance.
And President Dumbledore expressed respect for the vote result.
In the end, it fizzled out.
Melvin found those remnants quite interesting.
Before Grindelwald fell, the Cabal aimed to expose the wizarding world, incite war, overthrow the Secrecy Law, and reduce Muggles to house-elf-like slaves.
After his fall, the Cabal disbanded, yet the expelled and wanted wizards found haven in Muggle cities, creating a unique mixed city like Budapest.
Environment and vibe more open than Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, no wizard-Muggle ideological clashes, no pure-blood prejudice.
In a sense, they were ahead of the British Ministry of Magic and American Ministry of Magic.
Opening the projection mirror market here would open the world market, the challenge getting them to follow Magic Mirror Club rules, no good ideas yet.
Take it one step at a time.
“Crunch!”
The last chimney cake tossed into Hagrid’s mouth like a snack, chewed twice with soup drizzled in sour cream and swallowed. Melvin and Professor Kettleburn waited for him to eat and drink his fill, then went to the front desk to settle the bill.
Total: 2 galleons, 7 sickles.
The hotel owner doubling as front desk was a kindly old wizard, speaking with a London accent, chuckling as he teased the trio: “Without the big guy, three ordinary wizards wouldn’t spend over 1 galleon.”
“Abo, don’t recall your place ever being this affordable?”
“Because there are three big guys in the backyard!”
“Haha…”
Professor Kettleburn laughed and caught up with him, old friends.
“Abo?”
Melvin’s mind stirred, this surname, this accent, this owner must be related to Old Tom, family chain of wizard hotels?
Hagrid thought of it too, lowering his head to stare at the owner, eyes flashing with curiosity, trying to spot resemblances to Old Tom on his face.
Hair and sideburns snowy white, eyes somewhat protruding from thinness, eyeballs slightly cloudy, gaze mild, aged features yet spirited.
Professor Kettleburn, very familiar with him: “Let me introduce, my colleague, Professor Levent, this is Hagrid.”
“So young! Welcome to Budapest!”
“Nice to meet you, Mister Abo.”
“…”
Hearing the address, Abo’s eyes showed a bit of oddness, casually shook his head, smile still kindly: “Just call me Abo, not sure how long you plan to stay, besides fire dragons there’s lots of fun stuff, that Turkish bath at the street’s end is great, go try it.”
“Sure, sir.”
Melvin didn’t pry rashly, greeted as an old patron friend, left an impression, did nothing extra.
The old professor exhausted from a day of travel, body couldn’t take more, so no special evening activities, market tour and fire dragon viewing set for tomorrow, after dinner strolled streets for half an hour, experienced the Turkish bath, back to hotel, each to their rooms to rest.
Fresh from a hot bath, Melvin changed into local-style pajamas, slightly loose fit, soft fabric, body still steamy, very comfortable.
Adjacent rooms, leaning against the wall he could hear Hagrid and the old professor’s snores, steady snores syncing in rhythm over time.
As Melvin was drifting off, faint argument noises from the corridor outside, one mild and slow voice the owner Abo, the other sharp, seemingly a witch.
Melvin opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling.
This was someone else’s turf, every place had its rules, Mister Abo had run the business here for decades, no need for outsider help, if local dispute, a visitor meddling would just cause trouble.
“Are you just going to watch him rot in that tower!?”
“If that’s his wish…”
“Bullshit wish! That old coot cast the Imperius Curse on him!”
“You know no Imperius Curse lasts decades, that gentleman isn’t the type.”
“Want to try my Imperius Curse?”
“Don’t fool around, Vida.”
“Soul out…”
Feeling clear magic power fluctuations, Melvin couldn’t sit still, got up and paced twice, making clear footsteps, paused at the door until the arguing stopped, then opened it, seeing at the corridor corner terrace a gray-haired old witch in the moonlight, shadowy.
Though looking very old, still glimpses of her youthful charm, black satin robe, narrow waist, hair neatly combed, deep emerald bright eyes, even facial and neck wrinkles exuding elegant poise.
Wonder if there was some emotional entanglement between the two old wizards.
Meeting their gazes, Melvin feigned sleepy eyes, mumbled: “Mister Abo, need any help?”
Hearing the address, the witch glanced sideways at the owner, expression showing sarcasm.
The hotel owner paused, apologetic: “Sorry, our two old fogeys’ bickering disturbed your rest, nothing serious, we’re old friends.”
“Alright then, good night.”
Melvin yawned sleepily, shook his head, closed the door.
Listening from behind the door, only footsteps fading, seemed truly just old friends’ spat, but speaking of which, casually casting Imperius Curse over normal arguing, locals sure fierce.
Melvin lay back in bed, but no sleepiness.
Not because of that witch’s Unforgivable Curse.
But recalling how they reacted oddly each time he called the owner Mister Abo, not like Voldemort’s unnameable type, so some untold story behind the name, these old wizards all had secrets.
To open the market, this might come in handy, but prying into others’ secrets feels off.
Wonder if Professor Kettleburn could help.
Listening to the neighboring snores rising and falling, Melvin unknowingly fell asleep.
Late at night, faint arguments and magic fluctuations from the backyard, but hushed, rustling, not disturbing hotel guests.
