My Little Pony: Another World Adventure

Latan stared at the old man who called himself Gandalf with his newly grown right eye. He searched through his memory but could not find an image that matched this person. The other person exuded an obvious wizard's temperament - mysterious, wise, and insightful.

Much like Dumbledore, but with more dignity and authority than the headmaster.

It reminded him of the immortal old man beside "him" who was leaning on a burning eagle staff.

He instinctively did not want to trust this old man whom he had never met, but Gandalf's temperament convinced his soul, so he nodded, removed the soul-devouring claw on his right arm, and revealed the index finger holding the magic ring.

Latan tried to pull it, but surprisingly, it retreated very docilely, without any sign that it had just put itself on his finger with the greed of a predator.

He looked at the ring lying quietly in his palm, and for a moment he wanted to throw it away, or combine the power of the golden lion on his shoulder to destroy it completely.

But he had just heard the whimpering of the figure in the giant eye in the darkness, and out of a mixture of pity and disgust, he put it into the pocket of his plain black robe.

Just ignore it for now.

Come to think of it, Leon's spirit didn't react to the ring at all. He would withdraw his consciousness from his spirit from time to time before. What did this old lion do when he wasn't supervising me?

If I ask him, he won't tell me, Latan thought sarcastically, after all, this old lion has more secrets than the sand in the desert. Great, another unsolved mystery, I really need these useless things now.

"Tom, if there are any strange faces or strange people in your bar, please tell me on the intercom, okay?" Latan greeted the bar owner and tried to smile. "But don't shout. It's good for your blood pressure and my eardrum."

Old Tom nodded repeatedly. He watched Latan and Gandalf walk towards the back door of the bar, one of the few paths leading to Diagon Alley. After hesitating for a moment, he asked, "Mr. Magnus... Is there anything wrong with Hogwarts?"

Latan paused and turned to Tom with a smile on his face. "Of course I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"There are some... rumors, Mr. Magnus." Old Tom rubbed his hands repeatedly and sucked his few remaining teeth nervously. "You know, all British wizards will send their children to Hogwarts to study. The castle symbolizes the future and hope of our British wizarding world. But you also saw that the warm snow paralyzed the Floo Network and owls could not deliver letters, so... so people think..."

Gandalf stood at the back door of the bar, holding the door with one hand, and turned his head to wait patiently - or rather with interest - for Latan, who stood like an iron tower in the small bar.

Latan's right eye began to sting again. It took him only a nanosecond to deduce the content of the rumor, but he still forced himself to hear it with his own ears. He said in a calm tone that even surprised himself: "Tell me, Tom, what people say."

"It's just some rumors, Mr. Magnus." Old Tom added in a panic. With his experience, he could certainly see the turbulent undercurrents under Latarn's calm expression. "Some people think that Professor Dumbledore wants to control the entire wizarding world by kidnapping children. They... they think that the white wizard caused this snow!"

As if spitting out a fishbone stuck in his throat, Old Tom shouted out the last sentence in a resounding voice. His old face, which was as wrinkled as a walnut, was twisted with pain and relief. He closed his eyes and waited for Mr. Magnus's anger.

His own inference was confirmed, but Latan found that he could not feel angry at all, and instead wanted to laugh.

Dumbledore is certainly not a good man in a one-sided sense. This white wizard had a relationship with the first generation of Dark Lord in his youth, and even killed his own sister because of it. Even though everything he did later was to atone for this sin, it is clear that there are still many old people who have experienced that era who remember this stain.

But a flawed warrior is still a warrior.

Dumbledore was a staunch anti-time traveler, and he almost unconditionally supported all of Ratan's sanctions against time travelers. It would be ridiculous to pin the crimes committed by the time travelers on this white wizard simply because he had a personal relationship with the first generation of the Dark Lord!

"How many people, Tom?" Latan asked. "How many people, including you, think this is true?"

"A lot, sir." Old Tom supported himself on the bar with both hands, his hunched body swaying, "A lot..."

The power of language is sometimes more terrible than spells. Latan clearly realized this, and was glad that he had arranged for Lucius to discuss cooperation with Xenophilius (Luna's father), the editor-in-chief of The Quibbler.

You must seize the high ground of public opinion as soon as possible, even if you are one step slower than your opponent from the moment you make the decision.

Bringing them together... that's something only I can do.

"No matter what Dumbledore does, I will always stand on the side of the people." Ratan knew that he was not a top politician. Fortunately, what people need nowadays is not political lies. "Protect yourself, Tom. The night is still long."

It's so long that even I can't see the end.

How on earth did "he" lead a credulous, suspicious, stupid, and irritable human race to rise from the ruins of a previous civilization? The possibility of this happening is so small that it can be ignored, and it is simply a pure miracle.

Latan followed Gandalf into the familiar yet unfamiliar Diagon Alley. The street lights were still bright, but most of the shops were empty. Occasionally, a few masked wizards passed by on the cobblestone road. It was obvious that there was stealth and evil hidden under the masks used to isolate themselves from the warm snow.

Gandalf walked forward with a brisk gait that was totally inconsistent with his appearance. He cast a cold glance at the robbers and bandits who lived in the darkness. At the thud-thud sound of the wooden sticks hitting the ground, the masked wizard and bandit froze for a moment and retreated unwillingly.

He calls himself the Servant of Eru, Ratan thought. Who is Eru... or the name of a deity?

The street lights were dim, and the paving stones reflected the phosphorescent light of will-o'-the-wisp. Madam Malkin's robe shop, Latan's favorite, was locked shut, Ollivander's Wand Shop, which had been making fine wands since 382 BC, was empty, Florin Fosco's ice cream shop, which created sweetness, looked like it had been blown up by a bomb, and the exquisite glass window of Flourish and Blotts Books was shattered to the ground.

Gringotts was still brightly lit, and two goblins in scarlet uniforms stood in front of the towering silver gate. Under the terrified gaze of the two guards, Latan could hear the crisp clinking of coins coming from inside Gringotts through the door, as if his last massacre of goblins had never happened.

Capital never sleeps.

Even if all capitalists were hung on street lamps, it would only kill the people who have been alienated by capital, and would not have any effect on this cancer that is deeply rooted in human society.

Latan took a deep breath, thinking of the merchants who drove ships between human colonies and possessed power far beyond their class.

Does “he” think so too?

In a state of confusion and anxiety, Latan followed Gandalf around several corners and came to a single-family building with square walls that looked like it was carved directly out of the rock - the Mineral Sales Office in the Lonely Mountain-Moria Tunnel. Latan had bought the crystal bottles needed for the Potions class in this store before.

"Here we are," said Gandalf, knocking three times with his stick on the heavy steel-clad wooden door. "Hindleigh! Open up! It's me."

The door opened immediately, and the dwarf boss who had argued with Professor McGonagall over the price of a set of crystal bottles appeared in front of Ratan's knees. He had the low forehead unique to the dwarf race, a pair of watery brown eyes, a thick dark brown beard tied with exquisitely carved gold rings and hanging in front of his chest. He wore a set of intricately crafted golden plate armor, and both hands were covered in leather gloves fastened with ropes.

"Gandalf!" the dwarf boss shouted in surprise, but there was more fear in his voice.

Then he spoke a long string of words in the dwarven language of Krakara. This ancient language sounded like the collision of rocks in the earth's core. According to legend, the first dwarf in the world was born from stone.

Gandalf understood. "I know this is a bad time to visit, and I know how hard it is for you to guard that thing. But these are desperate times, old friend, and desperate measures must be taken."

The dwarf Hindley grumbled a few words and finally his eyes, full of emotion, fell on Latan.

"I remember you, kid!" His expression showed bad memories of Professor McGonagall. "That witch is amazing. She actually bought a set of Moria crystals from me for less than four Galleons!"

Latan bent down with a dead look on his face and extended his right hand to the dwarf boss: "It's nice to meet you again, Mr. Hindley."

"Uh - no!" Hindley raised his hands to his ears and saluted in the French military style of World War II as if avoiding snakes and scorpions. "I don't shake hands with people! Please forgive me, this is my quirk. But you also know that everyone's palms are crawling with tens of billions of small creatures that can wriggle, and they even excrete and reproduce on the skin! Disgusting... too... too disgusting..."

The nervous and sensitive dwarf looked like he was about to vomit, and Latan looked at Gandalf expressionlessly.

"We can't stand at the door and chat, old friend." Gandalf took off his hat and walked into the mineral sales office. He naturally found a comfortable chair under the shelves full of mineral samples. "Come in, Latan, let's sit down and chat. Hindley, where is the thing you are guarding?"

Latan closed the door of the mineral sales office, walked over to Gandalf, and watched the old man pull out a thin pipe from his dirty traveling cloak. As he stuffed tobacco into it, Hindley muttered in Dwarven language and walked behind the counter - a counter that even a seven or eight-year-old human child could reach - picked up a silver-gray rope and pulled it hard.

This was like turning on a switch, and a resentful hissing sound gushed out from behind the counter. Hindley's face was ashen, and it seemed that he would open his mouth and spray his dinner at any moment, but the desire to get rid of the thing behind the counter overcame his mysophobia, and he leaned back and pulled with all his strength, and the taut rope pulled out a pale mass.

For a moment, Latan thought he saw a giant cockroach that had just shed its shell, or a centipede with only four legs.

But unfortunately, although the twisted thing had a sticky, transparent skin, it undoubtedly had a head similar to that of a human.

No wonder old Tom was so scared that he almost had a heart attack. There was probably nothing uglier in the world than this.

It - Latan was reluctant to use the humanized "he" to refer to this thing - had a round skull, deeply sunken gray cheeks, a nose that was a shapeless mass of flesh with two holes, a mouth that was spewing saliva and pus, with only a few black rotten teeth left, and a few cursed greasy hairs hanging from its scalp, falling next to its round eyes that were the size of tennis balls like those of a house-elf.

The moment it saw Latan, its eyes immediately locked onto the circular protrusion on the pocket of his robe, revealing a staggering greed and fear that seemed to be turning into reality. It even forgot the rope tied tightly around its neck and uttered a disgusting "Gulu!"

"Allow me to introduce you," Gandalf lit his pipe and puffed on it. "Latan, this lovely little creature is called Gollum. It was he who brought the ring in your pocket and I caught him while he was escaping. That chase was not a suitable sport for an old man, but I still caught him when he was almost escaping. Just almost."