“Mr.
Grey, what you did just now was very dangerous.” Professor McGonagall finally spoke after they left Madam Malkin’s.
She didn’t stop walking, her pace as steady as if she were stepping up to the podium in her classroom.
The noise of Diagon Alley pressed in from all sides: several wizards were haggling outside a cauldron shop, the rustle of wings beating against cages drifted from Eeylops Owl Emporium, and in the distance, a child was badgering their parents for a broomstick.
Arthur and Helen walked in the middle.
One had yet to recover from the expressions of the Malfoys, while the other clutched the old letter so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Lynn walked by Professor McGonagall’s side, holding his newly purchased textbooks, his tone very gentle.
“Professor, I was merely pointing out a few facts.” “In the wizarding world, facts are sometimes more troublesome than spells,” Professor McGonagall said, casting a glance at him.
“Especially when the target’s name is Malfoy.” “Understood,” Lynn nodded.
“Next time, I’ll use a safer approach.” Arthur let out a sigh of relief.
Professor McGonagall also seemed to let out half a sigh.
Then Lynn added, “Like only saying it to the party involved.” Arthur’s foot slipped, and he nearly collided with a wizard in front of him.
Professor McGonagall paused for half a second, as if trying to decide whether she should dock points from her future student.
But there was no defiance on Lynn’s face, only seriousness—so earnest that it was difficult to stay angry.
“Mr.
Grey,” she said, “you are very clever, but cleverness shouldn’t only be used to embarrass others.” “I know,” Lynn looked ahead.
“That’s why I didn’t say anything more to Mrs.
Malfoy.” Once those words left his mouth, Professor McGonagall fell silent.
Helen looked up at her son, her lips parting slightly, but she ultimately lowered her head again.
Her grip on the letter tightened.
Lynn noticed.
Professor McGonagall’s silence was caution.
Helen’s silence was fear.
The two were entirely different.
A cautious person weighs the consequences, while a fearful person remembers the past.
Lynn was in no hurry to ask.
To him, many answers weren’t obtained by questioning, but by waiting for the other party to break and let them slip.
They made their way back through Diagon Alley and into the Leaky Cauldron.
The bar was dimly lit, with beer stains on the wooden tables and a few wizards whispering in the corners.
Tom, the landlord, looked up at Professor McGonagall and then at the Greys, wisely refraining from asking questions.
Professor McGonagall requested a private parlor on the second floor.
The parlor was small, with dusty glass windows looking out toward Diagon Alley.
Once the door closed, the bustle outside was reduced to a muffled hum.
A candle burned steadily on the table, casting a warm glow on the yellowed edges of the letter.
“Have a seat,” Professor McGonagall said.
Arthur pulled out a chair for Helen first, then looked at Lynn as if wanting to say something, but ultimately only managed: “Son, if you feel uncomfortable, we can go home.” “Dad, I’m perfectly fine,” Lynn sat down, setting his books aside.
“It’s just a lot of information.
I need to organize it.” “Information?” Arthur was stunned.
“We just found out we have a vault, and it belongs to the Prince family, and you call that *information*?” “Wealth is merely the outcome,” Lynn looked at the letter in Helen’s hand.
“The cause is what matters.” Helen’s face turned even paler.
Professor McGonagall placed her wand on the edge of the table.
She didn’t point it at anyone, but the action itself signaled she was getting serious.
“Mrs.
Grey,” she began, “how much do you know about the surname Prince?” Helen shook her head.
“Very little.
My great-grandmother’s diary mentioned it a few times, but she forbade her descendants from looking into it.
She only said that if a wizard ever appeared in the family again, we were to hand this letter over to them.” “Did she mention any kin?” “No,” Helen paused.
“Or rather, she did, but she was always very vague.
She wrote, ‘Kin are not necessarily family.'” Arthur’s brow furrowed.
“What is that supposed to mean?
Family is family, isn’t it?” Lynn glanced at his father and said softly, “In many ancient families, bloodlines are ledgers, not affection.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but remembering the attitude of the Malfoy boy just now, he swallowed his words.
Professor McGonagall did not deny it.
Removing her hat and placing it beside her, she spoke in a lower tone than she had in Diagon Alley.
“The Prince family was once highly prestigious in potions and ancient magic.
They were not the most prominent pure-blood family, but they were by no means ordinary.
In recent decades, the name Prince has rarely appeared in public, and the family branches have become…
complicated.” “How complicated?” Lynn asked.
Professor McGonagall looked at him.
“Complicated enough that I would advise against telling anyone that you inherited an old Prince vault.” The parlor fell silent.
Arthur tapped his fingers on the table before stopping himself.
“Professor, do you mean this inheritance will bring trouble to Lynn?” “It might,” Professor McGonagall replied directly.
“Wealth itself attracts attention.
Even more so when it comes from an old surname.” Helen closed her eyes.
“I knew it,” she whispered.
“Great-Grandmother didn’t just leave the wizarding world.
She was hiding from something.” Lynn looked at her.
“Mom, when you saw the keys in the vault, you weren’t surprised—you were afraid.
You know something, don’t you?” Helen didn’t answer right away.
She placed the letter on the table, her fingertips pressing against the edge of the parchment as if afraid it would fly away.
“I don’t know if you could call it knowing,” she said.
“A few pages of Great-Grandmother’s diary were torn out, leaving only a single sentence.” “What sentence?” Arthur asked.
Helen read in a low voice: “Never let the children hear the mirror speak.” Lynn’s fingers paused.
A mirror.
A talking mirror.
In this world, there was no shortage of things that could speak.
Portraits spoke, ghosts spoke, and a diary could even lure someone into the Chamber of Secrets.
But a mirror feared enough by the Prince family to be written into a deathbed warning was clearly no ordinary decoration.
Professor McGonagall frowned as well.
“Mrs.
Grey, may I see that letter?” Helen pushed the letter over.
Professor McGonagall first tapped the envelope lightly with her wand and checked the wax seal.
There were no curses, no residual jinxes, and no obvious traces of Dark magic.
Only then did she unfold the letter.
Lynn had already heard Helen read the letter’s contents at Gringotts.
The general gist was that Eileen Prince Grey was leaving the vault to her descendants, with the first child to awaken magical talent inheriting it.
The letter was devoid of overflowing familial warmth or boasts of wealth; it contained only a few dry arrangements.
It read like the words of someone who was still on guard even on their deathbed.
Professor McGonagall finished reading the front and flipped it over.
The back was blank.
“There is nothing else,” she said.
Lynn reached out his hand.
“May I have a look?” Helen handed the letter to him immediately.
Lynn took the parchment.
The moment his fingertips brushed the back, he felt a very light chill.
It didn’t feel like a curse, but rather like an old key finally fitting into its proper lock.
Letters slowly emerged on the blank back.
The ink was very faint, yet every stroke was perfectly clear.
[Do not trust any who claim to be kin, and do not let the children near the talking black mirror.] Arthur leaped to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“That wasn’t there a moment ago!” Helen covered her mouth, her face a mask of panic.
Professor McGonagall’s hand had already gripped her wand, but she didn’t cast a spell immediately.
She stared at the line of writing, her expression turning graver by the second.
Lynn looked down at the letter, his heart growing calmer instead.
Finally, a concrete clue.
Compared to “ominous secrets,” a defined danger was far easier to handle.
Kin, a black mirror, and children.
Placing these three terms together indicated that Eileen had not simply retired from the wizarding world; she had cut off some trouble that risked passing down to her descendants.
And such trouble was highly likely related to the mind, memory, or manipulation.
To Lynn, this was both dangerous and valuable.
He had always known that the Spectator pathway in his mind had no ready-made answers in this world.
No one would tell him where to find the ingredients, and no Hogwarts textbook would ever write “How to advance as a Spectator.” Yet the Harry Potter universe was never short on ancient magical items.
Mirrors that influenced minds, portraits that preserved memories, diaries that carried lingering thoughts, dark objects that could rip a soul apart…
These things might be the first path to finding his answers.
Provided, of course, that he didn’t get himself killed first.
“Lynn,” Helen said, her voice tight.
“Let’s not take this inheritance, alright?
The vault, the keys—let’s return them all.
We’ll go home and pretend none of this ever happened.” Arthur nodded immediately.
“Yes, we don’t need the money.
I can keep working, and if you want to buy books, we’ll find a way.
There’s no need to touch this kind of stuff.” Lynn looked at his parents.
They were truly terrified.
They weren’t afraid of being dragged down themselves; they were afraid of him being pulled into a world they didn’t understand.
He set the letter back on the table with a very gentle motion.
“Dad, Mom, wealth isn’t dangerous.
Not knowing what lies behind the wealth is what’s dangerous.” Helen froze.
Lynn continued, “We won’t show it off, but we won’t pretend it doesn’t exist either.
The safest position is never with your eyes closed, but taking half a step back after seeing everything clearly.” Arthur frowned.
“But you’re only eleven.” “Which is why I won’t overreach,” Lynn smiled.
“I will go to school first, read first, and learn to protect myself first.
As for the Prince family’s mess, since the key has already been pushed into my hands, it means it cannot be avoided.” Professor McGonagall watched him, silent for a long moment.
She had taught so many children.
Some were impulsive, some cowardly, some weighed down by their family’s reputation, and others who grew arrogant the moment they received a little benefit.
Lynn was none of these.
He was too calm—calm to a degree that did not belong to a child who had just learned he had inherited an ancient vault.
“Mr.
Grey,” Professor McGonagall said, “Hogwarts will protect its students.
But I must warn you: do not contact any magical items of unknown origin on your own, especially anything your great-grandmother specifically warned you about.” “Of course,” Lynn replied quickly.
“I have no interest in danger.” Professor McGonagall was not comforted by those words.
She already knew this boy usually followed up with another sentence.
Sure enough, Lynn added, “I’m just a little curious about *why* danger is dangerous.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Son, that doesn’t sound like a promise at all.” “Dad, promises are too absolute.
Things that are absolute are usually unreliable.” Helen wanted to be angry, but she felt he made sense, which made her feel even more frustrated.
Professor McGonagall refolded the letter and handed it to Helen.
“Mrs.
Grey will keep this letter for now.
Do not let the child carry the keys with him, either.
Before term starts, I suggest you leave your assets, other than the necessary tuition fees, inside Gringotts.
As for the Prince surname, do not bring it up on your own at school.” Lynn nodded.
“Especially not in front of Slytherin students?” Professor McGonagall gave him a look.
“Especially not in front of anyone who likes to pry into ancient family history.” Lynn understood.
This was a very broad category, encompassing almost half of the wizarding world.
The candlelight in the parlor flickered slightly.
Lynn was about to pack up the textbooks on the table when he suddenly froze.
He felt something amiss.
It wasn’t malice—it felt more like someone was watching him.
Lynn raised his head, his gaze landing on the corner of the parlor.
A copper mirror hung there, its frame rusted and its surface covered in dust.
It had been completely inconspicuous when they first walked in, resembling any other old relic found around the Leaky Cauldron.
But now, the reflection in the mirror was slightly off.
Lynn saw himself sitting at the table, his parents beside him, and Professor McGonagall standing opposite.
Yet behind him…
there seemed to be a blurry old woman standing as well.
Lynn didn’t turn around.
He simply stared at the mirror, his tone as calm as if he were asking what was for dinner.
“Professor, does the Leaky Cauldron’s private parlor always charge for an extra guest’s tea?” Professor McGonagall followed his gaze, and her expression shifted dramatically.
She gripped her wand tightly and lowered her voice.
“Everyone, don’t move.
Mr.
Grey, what do you see in the mirror?”