“You’d better change into your robes quickly, the train is almost there.” Hermione’s voice was a bit more rushed than before as she pushed the compartment door open.
Holding her books, she looked first at Harry, then at Ron, and finally fixed her eyes on the dented box of Every Flavor Beans on the table.
“Did someone come by just now?
Did you get into a fight?” Ron immediately sat up straight.
“No.
Malfoy came by to show off his family name, and then the Every Flavor Beans made a contribution to peace.” Harry lowered his head, holding back a laugh.
Lynn closed his book and casually gathered the scattered candy on the corner of the table.
“To be precise, they prevented a rather undignified aristocratic exchange.” Hermione glanced at the three of them, clearly catching the drift.
She didn’t press further, only reminding them, “Hurry up and change.
Any later, and everyone will be crowding the corridor.” The door clicked shut.
Ron muttered as he fumbled for his robe’s sleeves, “How does she always seem to know what to do next?” “Because she read the instructions,” Lynn said, pulling out his own black robes.
“And she actually follows them.” Ron fell silent for two seconds.
“That’s scarier than Malfoy.” Outside the window, the rain had thinned, and the dark silhouettes of the mountains receded to either side as the train slowed down.
It was Harry’s first time wearing wizard robes, and his hem got caught; Lynn reached over to help him smooth it out.
Scabbers was still curled up in his cage, not showing his face.
Lynn glanced at the cage.
Peter Pettigrew was very well-behaved tonight.
He hadn’t run when Malfoy came, and he hadn’t budged when Hermione walked in, proving he only wanted to keep playing the part of an inconspicuous rat.
A good thing.
He didn’t want to turn his first night at school into a warm-up show for Azkaban just yet.
A long whistle pierced the night.
The train stopped.
Immediately, the corridor filled with the sounds of dragging trunks, rustling owls, and first-years shouting for one another.
Ron held his trunk in one hand and the cage in the other, nearly tripping over his robes.
Harry gave him a hand, and the two squeezed into the crowd.
Lynn followed behind, his fingers resting on the hawthorn wand concealed in his sleeve.
The moment they stepped off the train, the cold air clung to them.
The platform was narrow and dark, its lights half-swallowed by the fog.
The first-years looked around wildly—some excited, some shivering, and others already muttering about sorting.
“First-years!
First-years over here!” A booming voice rang out over the crowd.
Hagrid stood ahead, holding a lantern, towering far too high to be an ordinary wizard.
Seeing him, Harry immediately breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hagrid!” “Harry!” Hagrid grinned and waved.
“Over here.
Watch your step, it’s a bit slippery.” Ron looked up at Hagrid and whispered, “My brothers said he was tall, but they didn’t say he was a literal wall.” Lynn looked at the deep footprints in the mud.
“He’s a rather polite wall.
At least he warns you not to fall.” Harry laughed.
Hermione squeezed over from the side, her robes neatly on, though her hair had grown bushier in the fog.
“Where are we going?
The books say there’s a traditional ceremony for new students, but they don’t specify how.” Ron played mysterious.
“My brothers said it’s really exciting.” Hermione immediately grew wary.
“Are they reliable?” Ron thought about it.
“Only when it involves food.” Lynn didn’t chime in.
His attention was fixed on the small path ahead leading to the lake.
Mist drifted up from the tree roots and stone crevices; the further they walked, the heavier the magic in the air became.
Diagon Alley had been bustling, and the old brass mirror in the Leaky Cauldron had been chilly, but this place felt like a thousand-year-old stone wall submerged under water—silent, yet eternally present.
When Hagrid led the crowd of first-years to the edge of the lake, many of them stopped in their tracks.
The Black Lake stretched out at the foot of the mountain, its surface almost completely still.
Across the lake, Hogwarts Castle perched atop a cliff, its towers lit up, windows merging into vast sheets of gold.
The castle’s reflection fell into the lake, as if an inverted school lay beneath the water.
“Merlin’s beard,” Ron gaped.
“Is it always this awe-inspiring?” “Is that Hogwarts?” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper.
Hermione wasn’t looking at her books either.
She clutched them to her chest, her eyes wide and unblinking.
Lynn stared at the reflection, his breath hitching slightly.
Here it came.
It wasn’t a sound, nor was it the wind.
A massive wave of magic pressed down from the lake, the cliffs, the castle, and the woods all at once, carrying with it the emotions of countless people.
Excitement, fear, cheers, weeping, anger, regret, and, even deeper, remnants of feelings whose names could no longer be distinguished.
Ordinary young wizards would only feel a sense of awe.
But deep in Lynn’s consciousness, the Spectator imprint was struck as if by a mallet, jolting awake.
His temples began to throb.
As the reflection on the lake wavered gently, fragmented images flickered before his eyes: students in black robes running through a rainy night, portraits arguing in whispers, ghosts gliding through walls, a girl crying in a bathroom, and a cold laugh echoing from far away, only to be swallowed by the lake.
Lynn lowered his gaze, his fingers pressing against his sleeve.
He couldn’t afford to look recklessly.
Hogwarts was not an open book; it was more like an unorganized, ancient library.
Right now, it felt as if someone had knocked over all the bookshelves at once and expected him to stand in the middle and read the catalog.
This was not a gift.
This was a display of dominance on his first day.
“No more than four to a boat!” Hagrid called out loudly.
“Everyone climb in, be careful!” The first-years began climbing into the small boats.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione naturally huddled together, and Ron waved at Lynn.
“Over here!
Exactly four of us.” Lynn hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping onto the boat.
He shouldn’t have stayed in the same cramped space with the Savior.
But the grey handprint had already vanished, and the real issue didn’t lie with Harry.
Leaving at this point would only make him stand out more.
The small boat pushed off from the shore.
With no one rowing, the boat glided toward the castle on its own, its keel scraping softly against the lake.
Silence fell over them, broken only by the lapping of the water and hushed gasps.
Hagrid’s lantern bobbed ahead like a slowly drifting star.
Harry peered over the side.
“There seems to be something underneath.” Ron immediately pulled him back.
“Don’t fall in.
I’m not saving you—my robes will soak up water and drag me down.” Hermione looked nervously at the water.
“The books didn’t mention any dangerous creatures in the Black Lake.” “That was to ensure you’d actually enroll,” Lynn said.
“If the acceptance letters came with a list of hazards, many parents would back out on the spot.” Ron nodded.
“My mum wouldn’t.
She’d just make me wear an extra sweater.” Just as Harry was about to laugh, a massive shadow suddenly glided beneath the water.
Several thick, long tentacles unfurled from the depths before slowly retreating.
Soft cries of alarm immediately erupted from the neighboring boats.
Hermione gripped the gunwale.
“What was that?” “The giant squid,” Ron said in a hushed voice.
“My brothers said it sometimes helps students.” Harry was still staring into the water.
“Helps?” “If you fall in, it might fish you out.” Ron paused.
“Or maybe it just thinks you’re in the way.” Lynn watched the shadow, the stinging in his eyes intensifying.
As the giant squid passed, the magic in the lake water was stirred.
It wasn’t Dark magic, nor was it a spell left behind by some wizard; it was more like something that had slept in nature for a very long time.
The water, the castle, the students’ emotions, and the giant squid’s presence all intertwined, forming a stable equilibrium.
He suddenly realized something.
The Spectator pathway didn’t necessarily require explicit potion ingredients.
This world had no record of Sequences, and no one would prepare the answers for him.
Yet, certain places could act as substitutes for some of the materials.
For instance, the water of the Black Lake.
For instance, the collective emotions of all the first-years beholding Hogwarts for the first time on opening night.
For instance, the tranquility left behind by a thousand-year-old castle after welcoming students countless times.
These things could not be drunk directly, nor could they be bottled at will.
But they could be observed, understood, and slowly digested.
Provided he could withstand it.
In the next instant, the reflection on the lake rippled again.
The sound of water grew distant in Lynn’s ears, and the imprint deep within his consciousness felt as though a hand had gripped it, pulling it outward.
Those chaotic emotions surged in, trying to force him to fear, cheer, weep, and laugh along with them.