“Professor, so do we really not need to worry about that chess piece?” “Mr.
Grey, making sure it is dealt with and dealing with it yourself are two entirely different matters.” Professor McGonagall stared at Lynn, emphasizing the word “yourself.” Once back at The Leaky Cauldron, she did not let the Greys linger.
Boss Tom had barely raised a hand in greeting before she had already prepared the fireplace.
Green flames swept over them.
Arthur carrying the book bag, Helen clutching the old letter, and Lynn tucking his wand box under his arm, the three of them returned to the living room of the Grey home.
The blanket on the sofa was still unfolded, and turned-over cups rested on the dining table.
A car passed by outside, and a neighbor’s dog barked twice.
Nothing had changed.
Arthur stood quietly for a few seconds, set down the book bag, and turned to walk into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Helen asked.
“To get the frying pan.” Lynn watched his father place the same frying pan he had dropped that morning by the door, adjusting its angle twice.
“Dad,” Lynn said, “if a wizard really breaks in, a frying pan probably won’t block a spell.” Arthur straightened the handle so it pointed outward.
“Son, at least it makes me feel like I’m doing something.” Lynn didn’t respond.
It wasn’t funny.
Helen began checking the windows—living room, kitchen, stairwell, second-floor hallway.
At every stop, she bolted the latches, drew the curtains, and turned to glance back at Lynn.
It wasn’t that she believed windows could stop magic.
She just couldn’t sit around waiting.
Standing by the stairs, Lynn recalled breakfast that morning.
His father holding the newspaper upside down, his mother switching her fork three times.
Back then, they were worried about how to tell their son that magic existed.
Now, they were terrified that magic truly did exist—and that someone would try to snatch a letter right off the street.
“Mom, Dad.” Lynn set the book bag beside the sofa.
“I’d like some hot cocoa.” Helen stopped.
Arthur turned around as well.
Lynn added, “Too much happened today, and I need some sugar.
Besides, with the frying pan standing guard at the door, someone in this house needs to sit down.” Arthur looked at the pan, then at his wife.
“Fair point.
Even night watch has shifts.” Helen let out a long breath.
Ten minutes later, all three were sitting around the dining table.
Steam rose from their mugs of hot cocoa, and textbooks were stacked beside their chairs.
Lynn was in no hurry to go upstairs, nor did he touch the joke book tucked with parchment.
He slid a mug toward Helen first.
“Hogwarts isn’t Knockturn Alley,” Lynn said.
“There are professors, school rules, and students.
Professor McGonagall wasn’t brushing us off today, which means the school won’t just let a new student be casually cursed.” Arthur frowned.
“Won’t just let?
That doesn’t sound very reassuring.” “Dad, absolute safety is usually a myth.” Lynn picked up his mug.
“Relatively speaking, though, the school is safer than Diagon Alley.
That person dared to move today because he thought we were complete novices to magic, ignorant of the rules, and incapable of striking back.” Helen held her mug without drinking.
“What about later?” “Later, he’ll find out that while the Greys may not know the wizarding world’s rules, we’re very good at keeping tabs.” Arthur nearly choked.
Lynn handed him a napkin.
“Keeping tabs legally and reasonably.
For instance, appearances, personal items, slips of the tongue—and then handing that over to adults who can handle it.” Arthur wiped his mouth.
“You sound like you’ve done this before.” “I haven’t.” Lynn thought for a moment.
“I’m just used to sitting in the back row first.” Helen didn’t laugh.
She rubbed the rim of her mug with her thumb, tracing it three times before speaking softly.
“I’ve been thinking all day…
if we hadn’t gone to Gringotts and hadn’t taken those keys, would none of this have happened?” “It still would have.” Lynn answered too quickly.
Arthur paused.
Helen looked up.
Lynn looked at them.
“It just would have come later.
Maybe once I got to school, maybe when I received a letter from a stranger, or maybe when I stumbled upon some old item.
Mom, danger doesn’t leave just because we shut our doors; it only changes when it knocks.” The dining table fell quiet.
The radiator hummed.
Lynn softened his tone.
“But today wasn’t all bad.
We figured a few things out.
Prince Vault Seven has issues.
Someone is watching the keys.
The black mirror shouldn’t be touched.
We need to keep an eye out for Malfoy and snakes.
Most importantly, we all made it back.” Arthur nodded.
“And we learned that a joke book can block curses.” “And that Dad almost bought a teapot that sings out of key,” Lynn added.
Arthur corrected him, “That teapot was merely exercising freedom of artistic expression.” Helen finally let out a small smile, her shoulders relaxing.
Lynn noted this down in his mind.
Emotions couldn’t be suppressed by logic alone.
Sometimes, a bit of nonsense was more useful than ten sentences of comfort.
Helen stood up, pulled the old letter from her bag, and placed it in front of Lynn.
Lynn didn’t touch it.
“Mom?” “You keep it,” Helen said.
“I don’t understand magic, nor do I know what’s hidden behind these words.
I only know one thing.” She paused.
“You won’t pretend you aren’t curious just because we’re afraid.” Arthur wanted to speak, but in the end, he merely pushed his mug forward a bit.
Helen looked at Lynn.
“But promise me you won’t touch old, talking things by yourself.
You can investigate, you can learn, you can ask the professors.
If you dare go to Knockturn Alley behind our backs, I’ll lock your trunk in the attic.” Lynn fell silent for a moment.
He could say “I promise I won’t.” But that would be a lie.
So he put the old letter into his book bag.
“I’ll be curious, but I won’t recklessly hurl myself into danger.
If I can look through a door, I won’t open it.
If I can get a professor, I won’t fight alone.
If I can let someone else step into the pit first, I’ll just stand by taking notes.” Arthur had a complex expression.
“Son, that promise has your signature written all over it.” “At least it’s honest.” Helen gently patted his head.
Lynn didn’t pull away.
He wasn’t quite used to it, but he knew full well that pulling away now would only make his mother feel worse.
Later, Mr.
and Mrs.
Grey went upstairs.
Before leaving, Arthur nudged the frying pan half an inch closer to the door.
Helen checked the windows once more before closing the bedroom door.
Lynn waited ten minutes.
Confirming his parents were not coming back down, he returned to his room, turned on the desk lamp, and laid out his things on the desk.
Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Course textbook list.
Wand box.
Old letter.
Joke book.
Parchment.
Coin purse.
He pulled out a hardcover notebook.
Purchased from a Muggle stationery shop—no magic, no hidden compartments, and incapable of shouting insults.
Perfect.
On the first page, he wrote down the title: [Pre-Hogwarts Intelligence Notes] Category One: Enrollment.
Professor McGonagall is trustworthy, but still requires observation.
Hogwarts offers protection, but also harbors danger.
Do not fight for a spot next to the Savior.
Do not approach forbidden areas on my own initiative.
Minimize exposing anomalies before Sorting.
Category Two: Prince Family History.
Eileen Prince Grey left behind Vault Seven.
Warnings against the black mirror, against relatives, and against Malfoy and snakes.
The Prince family researched thoughts, memories, and item remnants.
Such content is related to the Spectator pathway; high danger.
Category Three: Knockturn Alley.
The bounty originates from the antique shop, or someone further behind the scenes.
The black snake chess piece could be a mark or a provocation.
Malfoy might not be the mastermind, but someone wants to draw attention toward Malfoy.
Category Four: Mental Magic Fragments.
Lynn spread out the parchment.
Under the desk lamp, words floated on the surface.
[Emotion-Calming Spell Formula.] [Memory Echo Placement Technique.] [Do not recite your true name in front of a mirror.] [Hogwarts is not a sanctuary; it merely locks danger away longer.] Lynn stared at it for a long time, then wrote down Category Five in his notebook: [Hypothesis on Substitute Materials.] This world had no records of the Spectator pathway.
There were no ready-made potions, no safety manuals, and nobody to tell him which materials were usable and which would cause disaster upon contact.
However, this place had ghosts, portraits, Pensieves, diaries that preserved thoughts, Horcruxes, Dementors, and a vast array of ancient magical artifacts.
All of them were connected to the mind, memory, emotions, and the soul.
Cannot directly copy.
Cannot rely on them.
Cannot expose myself.
Lynn added another line: [Similar materials must be tested with caution.
Better slow than insane.] He set down his quill and opened the wand box.
The hawthorn wood wand lay quietly inside.
Thestral tail hair, with a residual core of unicorn tail hair.
It sounded entirely unsuited for bedtime comfort.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Lynn said softly.
“You’re responsible for casting spells, not for dreaming.
Especially not dreaming on my behalf.” The wand didn’t react.
Good.
Lynn picked up the wand and tapped its tip against the first piece of parchment.
He didn’t chant an incantation.
He just touched it.
The writing on the paper sank beneath the surface.
Deep within Lynn’s mind came a light settling feeling.
It wasn’t an attack.
Nor was it an inducement.
It was closer to a response.
His hand holding the wand stilled.
His Spectator instinct offered no definitive answer, producing only a single judgment: Emotions could be observed.
Once observed, they could be sorted out.
Once sorted out, they could be temporarily parked away.
Wizards called it a spell formula.
Prince had recorded it as fragments.
To Lynn, this might be a stepping stone.
He didn’t proceed further.
He withdrew his wand, pressed the parchment back into the book, and added another line to his notes: [Minor resonance between fragments and wand.
Can be researched, but do not probe deeply.] After writing this, he looked at the line and let out a faint smile.
Others spent the time before school studying how to make the Levitation Charm more stable.
He spent it studying how to prevent his ancestral fragments and cursed wand from teaming up to send him to the afterlife.
That was very Hogwarts.
And entirely unsuitable to tell his parents.
Lynn put his materials away.
The old letter went into a drawer on its own.
The parchment was tucked back into the joke book, separated by his class schedule.
The wand box was placed on the nightstand near his pillow—within arm’s reach, but not pressed against him.
Finally, he closed the notebook.
The moment his fingertips left the cover, the notebook flipped open on its own.
The window was closed.
Lynn didn’t move.
The open page was blank.
In the next second, ink bled onto the page.
[September 1st: Don’t sit in the Savior’s compartment.] Lynn stared at the writing.
After a few seconds, he picked up his wand and pointed it at the notebook.
“Great,” Lynn whispered.
“Now even my notebook is making friends?” Arthur’s hushed voice sounded from outside the door.
“Son, was someone speaking in your room just now?” Lynn kept his eyes on the sentence.
“Dad, if I told you a piece of paper was advising me not to sit with Harry Potter, would you grab the frying pan first or call Mom first?”