Lynn’s expression did not change; he merely kept his eyes on the folds of the robes draped over his knees.
Resisting was useless.
The harder he pushed, the more chaotic it would become.
A Spectator does not rush onto the stage.
A Spectator sits in the audience, seeing where the actors stand, understanding every line, and knowing exactly when not to applaud.
Slowly, he relaxed his shoulders, allowing the magic to draw close.
He did not absorb those sharp emotions; instead, he merely watched where they came from and where they went.
What was fearful, he returned to the darkness.
What was excited, he left to the first-years.
What was resentful, he let sink into the depths of the lake.
Bit by bit, he isolated the tranquility that belonged to Hogwarts itself.
The pain remained, but it began to take on an orderly fashion.
Beside him, Harry said, “Look, the castle is getting closer.” Ron replied, “It’s even more beautiful than my brothers said.
They actually weren’t exaggerating.” Hermione whispered, “I’ve never seen anything like this place.” Lynn looked up.
The castle’s lights reflected in his eyes.
The previously chaotic details suddenly became clear.
In a boat ahead, a boy tried to appear calm, but his hand gripped his trunk’s strap tightly; in another boat, a girl was reciting something under her breath, her lips moving rapidly; further away, Malfoy sat rigidly straight, though his eyes darted away from the water, clearly startled by the giant squid as well but refusing to admit it.
Lynn could even discern an undeniable protectiveness from the way Hagrid turned to look at Harry.
His vision seemed to expand.
It wasn’t that his eyes were physically seeing further, but rather that details were presenting themselves with absolute clarity.
At this moment, people’s anxiety, anticipation, and pretenses seemed washed clean by the rain.
Lynn slowly let out a breath.
This was the first welcoming gift Hogwarts had granted him.
It wasn’t gentle or polite, and it had nearly dragged him under, but it was undoubtedly effective.
“Lynn?” Harry suddenly looked at him.
“Are you alright?” Ron also turned.
“Your face went a bit pale just now.
You’re not seasick, are you?
The boat’s barely rocking.” Hermione leaned in slightly.
“Are you feeling unwell?
Do we need to tell Hagrid?” Lynn removed his hand from his sleeve, his tone steady.
“I’m fine.
Just now, when I saw that big fellow under the lake, I was seriously wondering if being fished out by a tentacle on my first day of school would affect my sorting impression.” Ron chimed in immediately.
“It would.
The Sorting Hat might put you into Soggy House.” Harry burst into laughter.
Hermione corrected him with a stiff face, “There is no such house.” “Fortunately,” Lynn said.
“I’m not built for long-term soaking.” Ron cast another glance at the lake, quickly pulling his eyes away.
“Seriously though, it won’t suddenly flip the boat, will it?” “If it wanted to, it would have done so already,” Lynn said, looking at the water.
“It is far more of an old resident here than we are.
We’re just newly arrived guests.” Hermione’s eyes flickered.
“Are you saying the creatures in the Black Lake share some sort of connection with Hogwarts itself?” “Perhaps,” Lynn replied, keeping his answer open.
“When a school has existed for a thousand years, it’s bound to leave many things in its wake.
The portraits, the ghosts, the castle, and the creatures in the lake—they aren’t just background elements.” Hermione immediately slipped into study mode.
“The library must have books on the history of Hogwarts and records concerning the Black Lake.” Hearing the word ‘library’, Ron’s shoulders slumped.
“We haven’t even gone through the front doors yet.” “There’s no harm in being prepared,” Hermione said.
“Yes, there is,” Ron said in all seriousness.
“It ruins the purity of the start-of-term feast.” Harry’s laughter grew more relaxed.
Lynn didn’t speak further.
He directed his gaze back to the water, the tranquility from moments ago having settled deep into his mind.
The Spectator imprint hadn’t grown sharper, but it was now shielded by a layer of quiet lake water, filtering out any extraneous noise.
This was crucial.
If anyone tried to pry into his mind in the future, the first thing they would see would be a quiet, studious, newly enrolled first-year.
As for what slept beneath the lake, what lay dormant in the castle, or what his old family name had left behind—those were concerns for another day.
The small boats passed through a curtain of ivy covering the cliff face, and an underground harbor appeared ahead.
The stone steps were wet and slippery, lit by torches from above.
Hagrid leapt ashore and reached out to steady several of the boats.
“Everyone out, watch your step!
Don’t leave your luggage in the boats, and don’t leave yourselves behind either!” One by one, the first-years stepped onto the shore.
Neville held his toad, his face finally wearing the relaxed expression of someone who had recovered a lost treasure.
Hermione let out a visible sigh of relief upon seeing this.
Ron carried Scabbers’s cage, complaining about the water leaking into his shoes as he walked.
Harry looked up at the top of the stone steps, a look in his eyes that Lynn found familiar.
It was the expression of someone who had finally arrived at the place they belonged.
Lynn lingered a few paces behind.
He cast a glance down at the Black Lake.
The water had returned to its silent state; the shadow of the giant squid was gone, and the castle’s reflection was no longer distorted.
Yet he knew that the sensation from before had been no illusion.
The Black Lake remembered too many things.
It could not speak, but it was far more honest than many of the portraits.
The group made their way up the stone steps.
The wind blew from the hillside, flapping the edges of their robes against their legs.
The oak front doors ahead grew closer, their towering height causing the first-years to instinctively lower their voices.
Standing before the doors was a familiar figure.
Professor McGonagall.
She wore dark robes, her gaze sweeping over the first-years from beneath her brimmed hat.
The crowd instantly went mostly quiet.
Ron whispered, “She looks like she knows every bad thing you’ve ever done before coming to school.” Lynn said, “You can rest assured.
She probably only remembers the major offenses.” Ron became even more anxious.
“That’s even worse.
My brothers are definitely on that list.” Just as Harry was about to speak, Professor McGonagall’s gaze landed on them.
She looked at Harry first, then at the rat cage in Ron’s hand—her brows twitching slightly—and finally, she looked at Lynn.
Lynn stood in the crowd, dressed in his black robes like any other first-year, his face carrying a suitable blend of anxiety and curiosity.
Very ordinary.
At least, he had tried his best to appear ordinary.
But Professor McGonagall’s eyes did not move away immediately.
It was as though she had sensed something.
Not his wand, nor his clothes, nor his old family name of Prince.
What she saw was the aura of Lynn himself.
In Diagon Alley, Lynn’s composure had resembled the overly mature intellect of a young wizard; now, that calm held a deep stillness, much like the surface of the Black Lake.
Professor McGonagall’s fingers paused at the edge of her sleeve.
Lynn sighed inwardly.
Brilliant.
On his very first day, before even entering the Great Hall, he had already set off a professor’s radar.
Professor McGonagall did not question him in front of everyone.
She simply withdrew her gaze and spoke in a clear voice, “Welcome to Hogwarts.
The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you must first undergo the Sorting Ceremony.” The first-years immediately grew tense.
Some swallowed hard, others adjusted their robes.
Ron’s face paled, and Harry instinctively looked at Lynn.
Lynn offered him a reassuring look, signaling there was no need to worry.
Professor McGonagall turned and pushed open the heavy oak doors.
Light flooded through the parting doors, and the sounds from inside the castle drifted closer.
At that moment, the lake deep within Lynn’s mind, which had just settled, suddenly rippled.
It wasn’t the Black Lake.
It was something within the castle itself responding to him.
And as Professor McGonagall walked ahead, her back straight, she suddenly turned her head just before stepping through the threshold.
At an angle only Lynn could see, she cast him a look.
It was a brief look, yet filled with warning.
As if to ask: *Mr.