Lynn pushed his trolley up to the barrier.
He didn’t go through immediately, turning back instead to glance at his parents.
Arthur reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small object, and pressed it into Lynn’s hand.
It was a Muggle compass.
Its brass casing was somewhat worn around the edges.
Beneath the glass, the needle spun gently before settling steadily toward the north.
Lynn looked down at it, saying nothing.
Arthur scratched his head, as though suddenly realizing the gift might be a bit out of place.
“I know the magical world probably doesn’t have much use for this.
Professor McGonagall said that Hogwarts’ staircases move on their own, portraits talk, and ghosts walk through walls.
A compass might not be very useful in a place like that.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly.
“But if you ever get lost, at least you can remember that an ordinary person’s sense of direction once guided you.” Lynn closed his hand around the compass.
The metal casing felt cool against his palm.
He suddenly recalled the frying pan by the front door, Helen checking the windows at night, and the taste of hot cocoa that day.
The wizarding world had wands, vaults, old letters, lingering phantom memories, and a black mirror that shouldn’t be touched.
The Muggle household had frying pans, compasses, and parents whose worries were impractical yet deeply sincere.
In a way, the latter was even rarer.
“I’ll keep it with me,” Lynn said.
Arthur let out a breath of relief.
“If anyone laughs at you for carrying it, just tell them it’s a Grey family heirloom.” Lynn nodded.
“Then they’ll think the Grey ancestors were seafarers.” “Or chronic lost wanderers,” Arthur added.
Helen finally cracked a smile.
She stepped forward and drew Lynn into a hug.
This time, she didn’t tell him not to go, nor did she tell him to come back if he got scared.
She simply placed her hand on his back, holding him for a few seconds.
“Remember to write.” “I will.” “Don’t just write ‘I’m fine.'” “Should I write ‘I’m still alive for now’?” Helen released him and pressed her hands onto his shoulders.
“Lynn.” “Alright,” Lynn immediately corrected himself.
“I’ll write in detail.
What I ate, what I learned, and whether I encountered any danger.
I’ll polish the dangerous parts appropriately.” Arthur was about to nod when he caught on.
“What do you mean by ‘polish appropriately’?” Lynn wheeled his trolley back half a step.
“Meaning whatever lets you get a good night’s sleep.” With that, he turned and walked toward the wall.
The closer he got, the more like ordinary brick the wall appeared.
No ripples, no seams, no welcome prompts of any kind.
Lynn didn’t close his eyes.
He pushed the trolley and stepped straight through.
The next instant, the announcements of King’s Cross Station dropped behind him.
The smell of coal smoke, steam, and owl feathers hit him all at once.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters materialized before his eyes.
A red steam engine sat parked along the tracks, the words *Hogwarts Express* painted on its side.
Students were hauling trunks as they wove through the crowd, owls flapped inside cages, parents gave last-minute instructions through train windows, and kids leaned out to search for their friends.
Masks were no longer needed here.
Robes, wands, cauldrons, strange pets, and various accents blurred together.
Everyone looked like a side character from a story, yet each was earnestly living through their own troubles.
Lynn stood near the edge of the platform, his hand still gripping the compass.
He suddenly realized something.
He hadn’t walked into a story already written.
He had stepped into a real world.
Here, Harry was not the Savior printed on paper pages, but a boy who had just learned to walk through walls.
Ron was not a generic red-haired friend, but a freshman currently being teased by his older brothers.
Hermione was not an answer machine, but a young witch nervously preparing for the start of term.
Even Malfoy was not just a villainous label, but a child pushed along by an old surname, family expectations, and vanity.
Of course, that didn’t mean Lynn would go soft.
A real world merely implied that everyone had their reasons.
It didn’t mean everyone deserved forgiveness.
“Excuse me, coming through!” A red-haired boy squeezed past, nearly colliding with Lynn’s trolley.
He glanced back with an apologetic look.
“Sorry!
I’m looking for my stupid rat.” Ron Weasley.
Lynn glanced at his empty shoulder, then at the dilapidated cage in his hand.
“If it’s smart enough, it’s probably already found a seat.” Ron blinked, unsure whether to take that as comfort or sarcasm.
“I hope so.
It’s usually only smart when it’s time to eat.” He hurried off.
Lynn didn’t follow.
He pushed his trolley along, avoiding the busiest carriages.
According to his plan, the best choice was a compartment toward the middle-back section.
Close enough to the crowd to observe easily.
Yet not so close to the Savior that destiny could casually drag him into trouble.
It was quite sensible.
Lynn located an empty compartment and pushed his trunk to the door.
Just as he was about to hoist it aboard, a familiar commotion came from behind.
“Mum said no fireworks on the train!” “She only said no setting them off on the platform.” “Those two statements are vastly different!” Fred and George passed by, followed by Molly’s sharp scolding.
Lynn silently shifted his trunk a bit further inside.
The most dangerous thing on the Hogwarts Express wasn’t necessarily Dark Magic.
It could very well be the Weasley twins’ experiments.
Just as he settled his owl cage into place, a slight stir broke out at the far end of the platform.
Harry and Ron walked side by side.
Ron was speaking while pointing toward the carriages, seemingly showing Harry where there were open compartments.
Harry dragged his trunk along, the lightning scar on his forehead more visible this time.
A few surrounding students stole glances at him; some recognized him, though none immediately stepped forward.
Lynn placed his hand on the door handle of his compartment, remaining still.
According to memory, Harry would sit with Ron.
This was one of the most critical interpersonal nodes of the opening act.
He shouldn’t interrupt it.
Nor did he need to.
Yet just as Harry and Ron walked toward an empty compartment up ahead, Lynn’s focus suddenly tightened.
It wasn’t intense malice.
It felt more like someone in the dark quietly pulling a string taut.
Lynn raised his eyes, looking at the door of that compartment.
A faint gray handprint was affixed to the door.
The handprint was light, looking almost like a smudge of dust.
The passing students paid it no mind; Ron didn’t notice, and Harry certainly didn’t either.
Only Lynn saw it.
The handprint was positioned slightly high on the doorframe, five slender fingers with a broken line running through the center of the palm.
He had seen similar traces before.
Not in Diagon Alley.
On the margins of those remnant Prince pages.
Memory Echo Placement Technique.
Lynn’s fingers rested on the door handle as the line of text resurfaced in his mind: [On September 1, do not sit in the Savior’s compartment.] So it wasn’t advising him to stay away from Harry.
Someone had already left something behind at the spot Harry was meant to sit in advance.
Ron reached out to slide open the compartment door.
Harry stood beside him, still listening.
Lynn didn’t rush over immediately.
Rushing over would expose too much.
If he didn’t, Harry and Ron would step right inside.
And whether that gray handprint was a warning, a trap, or some invitation aimed solely at bystanders, he didn’t know yet.
Lynn pushed his trunk inside his compartment and took two steps back out.
His face remained calm, his tone entirely natural.
“Mr.
Weasley.” Ron turned back, looking a bit bewildered.
“You calling me?” Harry looked over as well.
Lynn pointed near Ron’s feet.
“Your rat seems to be over there.” Ron snapped his head down.
There was nothing near his feet.
Yet with that pause, his hand released the compartment door handle.
At that exact instant, the gray handprint tightened slightly in Lynn’s field of vision, as though someone on the other side of the door had gently made a fist.
Harry didn’t see the handprint.
He merely looked at Lynn in confusion.
“Do you know Ron?” Lynn looked at the door, then back at Harry, offering a polite smile.
“I suppose I do now.” Ron crouched down, searching around for a while before looking up with an even more bewildered expression.
“But I don’t see Scabbers.” Before Lynn could answer— A soft knock suddenly resounded from inside the untouched compartment door.
Both Harry and Ron froze at the same time.
Lynn’s fingers tightened around the wand concealed in his sleeve, his voice kept very low.
“Mr.
Potter, Mr.
Weasley…
are you sure this is an empty compartment?”