Lynn did not stir.
Deep within his consciousness, the Black Lake silently unfurled.
The surface of the water was devoid of wind, light, or boats.
There was no laughter from the Hogwarts Express.
No bustle of Diagon Alley.
No golden gleam from the Prince vault.
And not a single shadow of his past-life memories.
All his thoughts lay submerged in the deepest depths.
They did not float up.
They did not respond.
They offered no path forward.
The Sorting Hat’s voice echoed in his mind, carrying a trace of surprise.
“Oh?” Lynn responded politely, *”Good evening.”* The Sorting Hat fell silent for a moment.
It apparently hadn’t expected to hear such a greeting first.
That ancient consciousness crept slightly closer, attempting to bypass the surface of the lake to find something more distinct.
It wanted to see fear.
It wanted to see desire.
Ambition.
Talent.
And it wanted to see where this child would fit best.
But it saw only water.
Extremely still water.
*”Such deep defenses,”* the Sorting Hat murmured, its voice low.
*”You keep yourself locked up tight, child.”* Lynn replied, *”I suppose I just prefer quiet.”* *”First-years are rarely like this.
An eleven-year-old’s mind is usually as noisy as a Christmas feast.”* *”Then consider me exceptionally considerate.”* *”I cannot see your fear.”* *”That is a good thing.”* *”Nor can I see your desire.”* *”That sounds more like a compliment.”* The Sorting Hat paused.
A touch of dissatisfaction crept into its tone.
*”Everyone desires something.
Knowledge, honor, friendship, power, recognition, safety.
You cannot have absolutely nothing.”* Lynn answered calmly: *”I want to study, I want to survive my seven years here, and I want to understand this world without getting caught up in too much trouble.”* The Sorting Hat seemed to circle the surface of the lake.
The Black Lake remained without a single ripple.
It could sense something, but it couldn’t grasp it.
This child was indeed clever and exceptionally calm.
He possessed a desire for knowledge, sharp judgment, and a deeply hidden caution.
Yet the deepest parts of him were completely shrouded by the dark.
*”Ravenclaw would love you,”* the hat said.
*”Clever, calm, and observant.”* It paused.
*”But you also possess the caution and ambition of a Slytherin.”* Lynn corrected it: *”I’ll claim the caution.
But ambition?
We might need to redefine that term.”* *”You have no wish to stand out above others?”* *”None.”* *”You do not wish to be remembered by everyone?”* *”I’d prefer not to be.”* *”You do not wish to change anything?”* Lynn paused inwardly.
Deep within the Black Lake, a faint ripple spread before quickly smoothing over.
He knew too much of the future.
He knew who would die.
Who would defect.
Who would lose their families in the war.
And he knew that this Great Hall would one day be filled with the wounded and the dead.
He couldn’t say he had absolutely no desire to change things.
But changing things did not mean standing in the spotlight.
*”I simply dislike senseless sacrifice,”* Lynn said.
*”If I can make things slightly less terrible, I will consider it.”* He paused.
*”But I do not like being pushed around by fate.”* The Sorting Hat fell silent for an even longer stretch.
In reality, perhaps only a dozen seconds had passed.
But beneath the hat, the passage of time felt stretched.
Lynn could feel the weight of the gazes from the staff table.
He could also feel the first-years below becoming restless.
Dragging this out for too long wasn’t wise.
He spoke up proactively: *”Sir, if you require a reason, Ravenclaw is highly suitable.”* *”I like knowledge, and I like the library.”* *”Most importantly, it seems like a good place for quiet observation.”* The brim of the Sorting Hat twitched.
*”Are you giving me a way out?”* *”I am respecting your judgment.”* *”Slippery fellow.”* *”Thank you.”* The hat gave a soft huff.
That ancient consciousness finally withdrew from the surface of the lake.
It wasn’t afraid.
But it maintained a rare distance.
Because it realized that looking further down might not yield any answers.
Instead, it might stir up things at the bottom of the lake that were best left undisturbed.
The next moment, the Sorting Hat bellowed: “RAVENCLAW!” Applause rang out.
Lynn took off the hat.
The light of the Great Hall rushed back into his eyes.
He stood up, wearing a look of perfectly measured relief.
He looked just like any other first-year who had finally passed the Sorting Ceremony.
Welcoming applause drifted over from the Ravenclaw table.
It wasn’t a thunderous roar, but it was genuine.
Several older students shifted down to make room for him.
As Professor McGonagall took the hat back, she cast a brief glance at him.
This time, she didn’t offer a warning or an inquiry.
But Lynn understood her look perfectly: *Mr.
Grey, you had better truly be just a clever first-year.* Lynn offered a polite, innocent expression in return.
*Don’t worry, Professor.* *I didn’t even draw my wand today.* *Extremely fitting for the school’s image.* He walked toward the Ravenclaw table.
As he passed Gryffindor, Harry smiled at him.
Ron raised his fork in congratulation.
Hermione clearly wanted to ask why the hat had hesitated for so long, but she held back given the setting.
Lynn sat down at the Ravenclaw table.
A senior girl wearing glasses nodded to him.
“Welcome to Ravenclaw.
I’m Penelope Clearwater.” “Lynn Grey,” Lynn said.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Penelope looked toward the staff table, then back at him.
“The Sorting Hat rarely hesitates that long.
Did you give it a hard time?” Lynn smoothed out his napkin, his tone entirely natural.
“Perhaps it was wondering if someone who loves reading but hates writing long essays counts as a qualified Ravenclaw.” A boy sitting nearby let out a chuckle.
“If that’s the case, half our house would need to be resorted.” The atmosphere eased.
Ravenclaw wasn’t as boisterous as Gryffindor.
But they were observant, and they were perfectly willing to accept a first-year who seemed interesting.
Lynn said no more, quietly settling in.
The remaining names were called.
Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment.
Dumbledore stood up, and the Great Hall fell silent.
He opened his arms and delivered a few short, eccentric words of welcome.
The odd terms left the first-years looking at each other in confusion.
The older students, however, were thoroughly used to it.
After listening, Lynn confirmed one thing: When the great Leader of the Light wanted to control a room, he was indeed very good at playing the fool.
Food appeared out of thin air on the long tables.
The platters piled high, the rich aromas instantly driving away the first-years’ lingering nerves.
Over at the Gryffindor table, Ron had already entered full battle mode.
Harry stared at the sudden feast, unable to hide the awe in his eyes.
Hermione held back her composure at first, but it wasn’t long before she picked up her knife and fork.
Lynn cut into a roast potato, taking his time.
He used his peripheral vision to sweep the staff table.
Quirrell sat there, his turban wrapped tightly, his head bowing low from time to time.
His movements carried the cowering air of someone under long-term, immense pressure.
Snape’s gaze occasionally drifted over Harry, and occasionally over Lynn.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, chatted with the professor beside him, appearing to have completely ignored the brief interlude where the Sorting Hat had lingered far too long.
*Appearing to.* That distinction was important.
Lynn took a bite of his potato.
It tasted quite good.
The Hogwarts start-of-term feast never disappointed when it came to food.
If one didn’t consider the Dark Lord, the Horcruxes, the Chamber of Secrets, the Dementors, and the various yearly surprises, this place was indeed an ideal school.
Halfway through the feast, the conversation at the Ravenclaw table turned from classes to the professors.
Some warned the first-years not to make Professor Flitwick worry.
Others mentioned that Snape’s Potions class was notoriously difficult.
A few spoke in hushed tones about the Savior joining Gryffindor.
Penelope asked, “Grey, were you in the same compartment as Potter on the train?” Lynn paused his fork.
“For a while.” “Did Malfoy go looking for him?” News traveled fast.
Before classes had even officially begun, gossip had already run half-lap around the castle.
Lynn said, “It was just a normal conversation.” A boy nearby raised an eyebrow.
“So normal that Malfoy looked like he’d swallowed a whole unpeeled lemon when he walked into the Great Hall?” Lynn thought about it seriously.
“Perhaps he simply had strong opinions about the Great Hall’s decor.” Penelope laughed softly and didn’t press further.
Ravenclaw did not lack clever people.
And the greatest virtue of clever people was knowing when to ask questions and when to wait for others to speak.
After the feast ended, Dumbledore stood up once more to announce the school rules.
The Forbidden Forest was out of bounds.
Certain corridors were not to be approached.
First-years were not permitted to use magic in the corridors between classes.
Lynn listened very attentively.
The rules of Hogwarts possessed a rather peculiar style.
They would tell you where danger lay.
But they usually wouldn’t explain exactly how dangerous it was.
It was much like hanging a sign at the edge of a cliff: *Please do not jump.
Reason omitted.* The students stood up.
The prefects of each house began to lead their groups away.
The Ravenclaw first-years followed their prefect out of the Great Hall.
Lynn walked in the middle of the crowd, deliberately slowing his pace by half a step.
As they passed the front of the staff table, his back tensed.
A gaze fell upon him.
Cold, sharp, and scrutinizing.
There was also a trace of annoyance stirred by a certain old family name.
Lynn did not look back.
He knew exactly who it was.
Snape.
It wasn’t the look mixed with old hatred that he directed at Harry.
Nor was it the cold indifference shown to ordinary first-years.
That gaze was more like a silent question: *The Prince family is already enough trouble.
Why must a Grey walk into Hogwarts as well?* Lynn kept walking, his expression unchanged.
Yet, inside his sleeve, the hawthorn wand grew slightly cool.
As if it, too, had sensed that unfriendly gaze.
The Ravenclaw group turned into a corridor.
The noise of the Great Hall was left behind.
Torches on the stone walls flared to life one by one.
The prefect began pointing out the trick steps of the moving staircases and explaining the location of the common room.
The first-years listened intently, trying their best to memorize the way.
Just as Lynn stepped onto the first flight of stairs, the Muggle notebook in his pocket suddenly twitched against his clothes.
It was very faint.
Like someone tapping lightly from the inside of the pages.
Without stopping, Lynn pressed his hand against the edge of his pocket.
In the next second, a line of fine ink seeped slowly through the inner lining of the cover.
It wasn’t written for anyone else.
It was written only for him.
*The Sorting Hat did not see you.* *But the castle did.*