“Is Spinner’s End closely connected to the Prince family?” After Lynn asked, Professor McGonagall paused for half a step.
Carrying a paper bag, Arthur immediately lowered his voice.
“Doesn’t sound like a great vacation spot.” “It certainly isn’t,” Professor McGonagall said.
“Mr.
Grey, you do not need to concern yourself with that place right now.” Lynn nodded.
It wasn’t that it was unimportant—she just couldn’t talk about it for now.
Spinner’s End, Prince, old books, a black-haired wizard, hidden pages.
The threads weren’t fully tied together yet, but they were already drawing close.
Helen squeezed her paper bag.
“Lynn, what did you discover this time?” “That secondhand book channels in the wizarding world are very dangerous.” Lynn stuffed *One Hundred Wizarding Jokes* back into the bag.
“Mom, be careful when buying old books in the future, especially ones coming from quiet, black-haired wizards.” Professor McGonagall glanced at him.
Lynn offered a polite smile in return.
He didn’t mention the parchment.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust McGonagall, but Diagon Alley was crowded.
Corners, shop windows, and old signboards could all be hiding listening ears.
The wizard in gray robes hadn’t followed them out, and the brown cloak had vanished too quickly.
That was more troublesome than if they had followed.
“The shopping is nearly complete,” Professor McGonagall said, unrolling the list.
“Once we buy parchment, ink, and spare quills, I will see you back to The Leaky Cauldron.” Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.
“Wonderful.
I get nervous whenever I see moving things now.” In a nearby shop window, several teapots lined up and began singing the Hogwarts school song.
Arthur froze in his tracks.
Lynn looked at him.
Arthur coughed.
“I’m just checking to see if they’re dangerous.” Helen sighed.
“Arthur.” “Just one look.” Arthur hugged his packages tightly and shuffled toward the shop entrance.
“A singing teapot would be very practical in the kitchen.
Breakfast wouldn’t be too quiet.” Lynn didn’t stop him.
As his father veered off the main street, a prickle of warning stung the edge of Lynn’s awareness.
Someone was approaching, with clear intent.
He didn’t look back.
He simply stepped sideways, placing himself between Helen and the mouth of the alley.
Just a few steps to the side lay the entrance to Knockturn Alley.
The light dimmed there, the walls were damp, and the air smelled of cold herbs and metal.
Arthur was still looking at the teapots.
“It sings with even more confidence than my boss.” Helen was about to call out to him when someone bumped into her from behind.
The force wasn’t heavy, but it hit her right on the wrist.
The paper bag dropped, books slid out, and several Gold Galleons rolled toward the mouth of the alley.
“Apologies, ma’am!
So sorry!” A man in a dark brown cloak bent down to pick up the money.
His tone sounded panicked, but his hands were quick.
Helen squatted down as well.
Lynn didn’t move.
He saw it.
While picking up Gold Galleons with his right hand, the cloaked man slipped his left hand out of his sleeve and lightly touched the side pocket of Arthur’s coat.
That was where the Prince keyring was kept.
A single touch, then he withdrew it instantly.
An ordinary person would only think he was helping stabilize the books.
Lynn saw his fingers press against the rim of the key, before tucking a small item back into his sleeve.
Confirming the shape?
Taking an impression?
Or testing the feel of the key?
A black wax seal showed at the man’s cuff, its edge worn, leaving faint traces of a serpent crest.
Lynn didn’t shout.
Shouting “thief” in the open street would panic his parents and give the man a chance to run.
He bent down to pick up a book, casually gathering the joke book along with it.
The cloaked man picked up a Gold Galleon, apologizing profusely.
“Too crowded, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” As he spoke, his eyes were still darting toward Arthur’s pocket.
Having verified what he needed, he wanted to retreat.
Lynn spoke up: “Dad, don’t step on that slug.” Arthur froze.
“Slug?” He looked down, instinctively taking a step to the side.
That single step happened to block the cloaked man’s escape path.
The man’s shoulders stiffened.
Professor McGonagall, who had been inspecting ink a few paces away, looked at the ground the moment she heard this.
There was no slug on the ground.
But she caught a quick glimpse of a metal piece flashing in the cloaked man’s hand.
Slender, shaped like a key, but without bitting.
Professor McGonagall raised her wand.
“Stop right there.” The cloaked man turned to bolt.
But the heels of his shoes stuck fast to the cobblestones.
He pitched forward, and the object in his hand clattered down at Lynn’s feet.
*Clink.* Arthur jumped back half a step, nearly backing into the shop window.
“What’s this?” Lynn looked down.
A duplicate key.
Crude in craftsmanship, but its length closely matched one of the keys on the Prince keyring.
The man wasn’t stealing—he was testing.
He wanted to confirm whether the key to Vault 7 was truly in the hands of the Grey family.
The cloaked man’s face turned pale, his hand darting toward his wand.
McGonagall’s wand was already aimed at his wrist.
“Don’t do anything foolish.” A crowd began to gather.
The wizarding world’s eagerness for spectacle was no different from the Muggle world’s.
Arthur finally realized what was happening, his face pale.
“Was he just trying to steal from us?” “More accurately, he was checking whether we’re worth stealing from,” Lynn said.
Helen instinctively clutched the old letter.
The cloaked man saw it.
His expression shifted.
A moment later, he muttered an incantation under his breath.
His target wasn’t Professor McGonagall, nor was it Lynn.
It was the old letter in Helen’s hand.
The sting in Lynn’s sense deepened, sharp and urgent.
He didn’t shout or wave a wand; he simply thrust the joke book into Helen’s arms.
“Mom, hold this for a second.” Helen blinked in confusion, but her hands instinctively took it.
The joke book blocked the old letter.
A streak of gray spell-light grazed the spine of the book.
The jester on the cover opened its mouth and shrieked, startling Arthur so badly he nearly dropped his packages.
“Merlin’s beard!” The watching wizards scattered back.
Professor McGonagall’s face went cold, and she flicked her wrist.
The man’s wand flew from his hand, and he was slammed hard against the wall.
His cloak flew open, spilling the duplicate key, a small wax container, half a black seal, and a piece of parchment from his sleeve.
Lynn didn’t step closer.
He drew Helen back half a step.
“Mom, you’re safe.
The joke book blocked it for you.” The jester was still screaming.
Arthur stared at the book.
“I admit it’s useful, but could it shut up first?” Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and the jester fell silent.
She walked up to the cloaked man.
“Who sent you?” Pinned down and unable to lift his head, the man still tried to quibble.
“A misunderstanding, Professor!
I was just passing by…” “People who are just passing by do not carry duplicate keys, nor do they cast jinxes at a lady’s letter,” McGonagall said.
“Answer now, or wait for the Ministry of Magic to ask.” At the mention of the Ministry of Magic, the man panicked.
He touched the patch on his sleeve and gritted his teeth.
“I’m not working for the Malfoys!” Lynn made a mental note.
No one had even mentioned the Malfoys, yet he denied it first.
That meant he knew full well people would suspect the Malfoys.
Professor McGonagall caught the flaw as well.
“I didn’t ask if you were working for the Malfoys.” The man shut his mouth.
Professor McGonagall raised her wand slightly.
The collar of his cloak tightened around his neck.
“Knockturn Alley,” he gasped out with difficulty.
“A secondhand shop.
Someone put out a bounty for information on whether Prince Vault 7 was reopened.
I was just scouting to verify the key.
I don’t know anything else!” Helen turned pale.
Arthur wasn’t joking this time.
Holding a stack of textbooks, he stepped in front of his wife and son.
It offered little intimidation, but his stance was firm.
Lynn looked at the black wax seal on the ground.
The serpent design had been scraped, but not completely erased.
This didn’t seem like the Malfoys’ style.
If the Malfoys wanted to investigate, they would be far more dignified, arrogant, and disdainful of such crude street tricks.
A Knockturn Alley secondhand shop, a bounty, Prince Vault 7.
Whoever was truly targeting them was hidden even deeper in the shadows.
Patrolling wizards arrived quickly.
Professor McGonagall explained what happened and handed over the man along with the evidence on the ground.
The patrol wizards recognized her, so the report was filed swiftly.
Before being led away, the cloaked man cast a glance at Lynn.
There was no hatred in his eyes—only fear.
He wasn’t afraid of Lynn, but of the person he would have to face after failing his task.
Lynn kept that in mind.
Professor McGonagall walked back and checked on Helen first.
“Mrs.
Grey, are you unhurt?” Helen shook her head, her hand still pressing against the old letter.
“No.
Thanks to Lynn.” Professor McGonagall turned to Lynn.
“Mr.
Grey, why did you tell Mr.
Grey to look at a slug just now?” Arthur looked down searching as well.
“Right, son, where’s the slug?” Lynn pointed to a patch of gray mud on the ground.
“It probably ran off when Dad moved.” Arthur stared at the patch of mud for a long moment, falling silent.
Professor McGonagall didn’t expose him.
She understood.
The boy hadn’t cast a spell, hadn’t screamed, and hadn’t rushed forward.
With just a single sentence, he had used Arthur to block the retreat, exposed the evidence to her, and forced the attacker to reveal his hand.
Calm to a degree unheard of for a first-year student facing an attack for the first time.
“Mr.
Grey,” Professor McGonagall said.
“From this moment on, you will leave Diagon Alley immediately.
As for the remaining items, I will have the shops deliver them to your home.” Arthur nodded immediately.
“I agree.
We don’t need to buy the singing teapots either.
Breakfast at our house can stay quiet.” Helen took Lynn’s hand.
Lynn didn’t pull away.
Her hand was very cold.
Today had already been too much for her: the wizarding world, an old vault, an ancestor in a mirror, warnings from wands, hidden pages in old books, and now an ambush in broad daylight.
Lynn softened his voice.
“Mom, once we get home, I’ll sort today’s events into three categories: things we can handle, things we can’t handle yet, and things we should pretend we didn’t see but keep in mind.” Helen looked at him, temporarily at a loss for words.
Arthur patted his son’s shoulder.
“I just hope there aren’t too many in that third category.” Lynn gave it serious thought.
“That depends on whether the wizarding world cooperates.” Professor McGonagall turned to lead the way.
They headed back toward The Leaky Cauldron.
Lynn brought up the rear, looking back into the depths of Knockturn Alley.
A few old signboards hung near the entrance.
On the second floor of a secondhand shop deep inside, a curtain was pulled back just a sliver.
Behind the curtain was a pale hand.
The hand set down a black chess piece.
The piece landed on the windowsill.
Even from a distance, Lynn could clearly see its shape.
It wasn’t a king, nor a queen.
It was a coiled serpent.
Sensing that he had stopped, McGonagall turned back and asked, “Mr.
Grey, what is it now?” Lynn withdrew his gaze and held his paper bag tight.
“Professor, I’d like to confirm something.” Professor McGonagall frowned.
“What is it?” Lynn looked back toward the depths of Knockturn Alley.
“If a black chess piece appears on a windowsill all by itself, does it count as a relative of a talking black mirror?”