“I suggest calling Mom first,” Lynn said, his tone steady as he held his wand and looked at the quiet notebook on the desk.
Silence reigned outside the door for two seconds before Arthur lowered his voice to ask, “What about the frying pan?” “You can bring it,” Lynn said.
“Mainly for your emotional support.” After a few more seconds, Arthur’s footsteps echoed as he walked downstairs.
He hadn’t pushed the door open.
This was a tacit understanding within the Grey family: if the son said everything was fine, the father might not understand, but he would trust him first.
Lynn closed the notebook and shoved it into the bottom of the drawer.
The writing didn’t reappear.
Yet from that day until the morning of September 1st, he checked the notebook once every day.
It remained as quiet as if it had never backstabbed its owner.
That made it even more troublesome.
Danger that barked was easy to deal with; danger that stayed silent was best kept under the pillow.
On September 1st, the weather in London was normal—unreasonably normal.
King’s Cross Station bustled with people.
Announcements echoed overhead time after time, trolley wheels clattered over the floor, and the aroma of coffee drifted from nearby shops.
The Muggle world ran as usual, with no one suspecting that a few paces away, a group of children would be pushing luggage straight into a wall.
Arthur pushed a trolley stacked with Lynn’s trunk, owl cage, textbooks, and the wand box he had checked three times.
He tried hard to act experienced, though it wasn’t working particularly well.
Mainly because he was asking for the third time, “Son, between Platform Nine and Platform Ten, is there really an…
entrance?” Helen adjusted Lynn’s scarf, her fingers lingering on his shoulder rather than letting go right away.
“Professor McGonagall said so,” she said.
“You just walk through.” Arthur stared at the wall between the two platforms with a dead-serious expression.
“My dear, I believe Professor McGonagall.
But I also believe that walls generally don’t yield the right of way.” Lynn slipped his ticket into his pocket.
“Dad, if I knock myself unconscious in a moment, you can tell the doctor I did it in pursuit of higher education.” Arthur’s face turned even paler.
Helen patted Lynn gently.
“Don’t scare your father.” “I’m helping him adapt to the wizarding world in advance.” Lynn scanned his surroundings.
“From the looks of it, we aren’t the most nervous family here.” His gaze swept through the crowd.
A man wearing robes while pretending to dress normally.
A witch holding an owl with a newspaper draping over its cage.
A croak coming from a boy’s trunk while his mother apologized, physically shielding the lid.
Another family who had stuffed an old cauldron into a plain paper bag, its bottom stretched almost to bursting.
Muggles hurried past, giving them little more than a second glance.
Lynn committed these details to memory.
The wizarding world’s disguise relied less on technique and more on Muggles simply not wanting to pry.
“Over there,” Lynn stopped in his tracks.
Between Platforms Nine and Ten, a family of redheads was hurrying over with a mountain of luggage.
Molly Weasley led the way, her voice carrying clearly: “Hurry up, Ginny, don’t run off!
Percy, you go first.
Fred, George, no fooling around on the platform!” Two identical red-haired boys exchanged a look, and one immediately spoke up: “Mom, I’m George.” The other chimed in, “No, I’m George.” Molly didn’t even turn around.
“Both of you, quiet!” Arthur Grey watched, wide-eyed.
“It looks as though they send their children into walls every single day.” “Seasoned professionals,” Lynn remarked.
One by one, the Weasley children vanished before the wall.
No collision, no gasps, no Muggle onlookers.
It was as if the wall were simply bowing politely to let them pass.
Helen’s fingers tightened slightly again.
“Lynn…” “I’ll walk slowly,” Lynn said.
“No running.” Arthur nodded right away.
“Right, no running.
We Greys don’t race against walls.” Lynn almost laughed.
Then, he saw him.
A small, skinny boy stood not far away, pushing a trolley far larger than himself.
Round glasses, oversized hand-me-downs, and distinctively messy hair.
The scar on his forehead was partially hidden by his bangs, but still recognizable enough.
Harry Potter.
Right on schedule.
He stood at the edge of the crowd, clutching his ticket, his eyes darting back and forth between Platforms Nine and Ten.
Awkward, guarded, and weighed down by a forced, familiar silence.
Lynn didn’t walk over.
He merely paused.
History was still marching along.
The Weasleys were right where they were supposed to be.
That was good.
Helen followed his gaze and spotted Harry as well.
“Does that boy not know how to get in?” she asked softly.
“There aren’t any adults with him.” Arthur glanced over, his voice softening.
“He looks even thinner than Lynn.” Lynn didn’t respond.
He knew Molly would spot Harry.
But knowing was one thing; seeing an eleven-year-old child standing alone in a busy station, pushing all his earthly belongings while clueless about which wall to run into, turned a sentence from a book into reality.
Helen took a small step forward.
Lynn reached out and pulled her sleeve.
“Mom, someone will help him.” Helen looked at him.
“Are you sure?” “Certain,” Lynn said.
“And the people helping him are far better suited than we are.” Helen didn’t understand.
In the next moment, Molly Weasley indeed turned back, as though finally noticing the bewildered boy.
“First time at Hogwarts, dear?” Harry looked up and nervously gave a response.
The distance was too far to catch every word, but Lynn saw Harry’s shoulders relax slightly.
Molly didn’t judge his oversized clothes, nor did she ask why no adults were accompanying him.
She simply explained what to do in a matter-of-fact way, treating him just as she would any other child entering the platform for the first time.
Watching this, Lynn felt one of his assessments click into place.
What the Savior lacked wasn’t a guide.
He lacked someone willing to treat his confusion as a completely normal, ordinary matter.
That was far more useful than worship.
Arthur muttered softly, “That lady is remarkably kind.” “The Weasleys,” Lynn said.
“One of the few families in the wizarding world who don’t check your wallet before deciding how to treat you.” Arthur blinked.
“How do you know?” Lynn thought for a second.
“Their trunks are battered, but the kids stand straight.” Helen glanced at him without asking further.
She was used to it by now.
Lynn always managed to observe things others overlooked, drawing conclusions that were hard to refute.
The Weasley family passed through the wall one after another.
Harry followed their advice, pushing his trolley forward.
He paused for a fraction of a second, as though still worried he might crash embarrassed.
Then, he vanished.
Lynn made a mental note of it.
Key node unshifted.
Yet the notebook’s warning remained.
*Don’t sit in the Savior’s compartment.* This wasn’t a reminder to “avoid meeting Harry,” but rather to “avoid sharing a closed space with Harry.” There was a significant difference.
“It’s our turn,” Lynn said.
Arthur took a deep breath, pushed the trolley up to the wall, and then drew his hands back.
“I feel like I could walk through with you.” Helen immediately looked at him.
“Are you sure?” Arthur stared at the wall, silent for three seconds.
“I feel that moral support is equally important.” Lynn took over the trolley.
“Dad, you’ve done wonderfully.
At least you didn’t try testing the wall’s attitude with the frying pan first.” “I gave it serious thought,” Arthur said.