Eight o’clock that evening, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
Ron was extremely dissatisfied that Harry’s detention assignment was "helping Professor Gray copy reference materials," while he himself had been sent to Filch to polish trophies.
"Professor Gray, I’m here."
Harry knocked and stepped into Professor Gray’s office, greeting him while looking around.
Professor Gray’s office was arranged rather simply, but it felt warm and comfortable. Several soft magical light orbs floated freely through the air, and on the ceiling was a magical starry sky he had created in imitation of the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
Behind the desk, Lynn was directing several translucent creatures with indistinct features as they sorted thick stacks of parchment into neat categories.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter."
Without looking up, Lynn continued writing something on a sheet of parchment with his quill. "Sit wherever you like. Your detention is simple. Help me copy this manuscript."
Harry let out a sigh of relief. Compared to Ron’s detention, copying was practically paradise.
He walked over to the desk and picked up the manuscript.
Its title read: On the Awakening of a Spellcaster’s Bloodline: The Origin of Sorcerers.
"Sorcerers?" Harry asked curiously as he dipped his quill into ink. "Professor, can everyone become a ’classed individual’ like Hagrid?"
"Oh?"
Lynn stopped writing and took a sip from the dark brown fizzy drink beside him. "What is it? Interested in planning out your own class?"
Harry immediately recognized it as that Muggle drink Professor Gray liked so much, the one called Coke, and secretly found it a little amusing.
Embarrassed, he scratched the back of his head. Ever since seeing Hagrid demonstrate the astonishing Goodberry spell yesterday, and after hearing Lynn’s whole theory about "classes and talent," he and Ron had spent almost the entire night in the dormitory talking about it.
"Well... I have thought about it," Harry admitted after a moment’s hesitation, gathering his courage. "I think I might be suited to being a Fighter. I mean, you said in class that Gryffindor used a sword, and I’m pretty good at... well, what you called ’physical negotiation,’ right?"
"A Fighter? Because you have the courage to charge into the front line?" Lynn looked at him with an unreadable smile.
"Or... maybe a Rogue?" Harry added quickly. "I have the Invisibility Cloak, and I’m pretty good at sneaking around at night without Filch catching me. That counts as a talent for stealth, doesn’t it?"
"Not a bad line of thought, but neither is quite right."
"A Fighter requires very high Strength and Constitution. Do you think you’re someone with tremendous physical power, stronger and tougher than everyone else?"
Harry shook his head.
"Crabbe and Goyle might be better suited to Fighters than you. As for Rogues... yes, you are agile. I’ve heard you’re Gryffindor’s youngest Seeker."
Harry nodded, his eyes bright as he looked at Lynn.
"A Rogue would suit you well enough," Lynn said, smiling as he pointed to the manuscript Harry was copying. "But I think you may be even better suited to this."
"A Sorcerer...? But Professor, my magical talent isn’t anything like Hermione’s..."
"A common misunderstanding, Mr. Potter. Many people confuse Sorcerers and Wizards, but the two are entirely different."
"A Wizard depends on constant study and research. Your friend Miss Granger could not be more suited to that path. A Sorcerer, on the other hand..."
He paused.
"A Sorcerer is someone who brings out the power already sleeping within their bloodline. For them, magic is closer to instinct."
Lynn looked directly into Harry’s eyes and continued,
"If I’m not mistaken, even though you grew up in a Muggle household, you’ve used magic many times throughout your life, whether intentionally or not."
"Yeah..." Harry lowered his head and started thinking back.
The hair that refused to stay cut no matter how often Aunt Petunia trimmed it. Leaping onto a rooftop while running from Dudley and his gang. Vanishing the glass at the zoo.
"Your gift for magic is very strong, Harry. But you are not the sort of person who can sit quietly for long stretches of time, studying and researching. What you need is to grow through practice, and uncover your talent through adventure."
"So in my view, Sorcerer is the class that suits you best."
"Sorcerer..." Harry murmured, his heart suddenly pounding.
"But Professor, how am I supposed to..."
He had just been about to ask how to awaken that kind of power when, without warning, a voice that was cold, vicious, and horrifying enough to stop his breath crawled straight into his ears.
"Come... come to me... let me tear you... rip you apart... kill you..."
Harry jerked violently, splattering a large blot of ink across the parchment.
"What?" he shouted.
Lynn also sensed something was wrong. It was a sort of oppressive pressure, one that made him feel as though he had suddenly been dragged back to the Albanian forest, face to face with some monstrous creature.
"Professor," Harry said frantically, "did you hear that voice?"
Although Lynn felt the pressure, what he actually heard was only something like hissing coming through the pipes. His expression turned serious.
If he remembered correctly, this should be the greatest threat Harry had to face in his second year: the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.
Even for Lynn, an 11th-level Wizard who had mastered every 6th-circle spell available to him, this was a situation that left him feeling somewhat wary.
Even in this world, where the rules were looser and stranger, he still could not simply cross-class into low-level Druid or Bard spells like Speak with Animals.
"What did it say?" Lynn asked.
"It said... it wants to tear me apart and kill me." Harry was frightened, but he still answered honestly.
Parselmouth. What a useful feat.
"Your detention ends now, Potter."
"What?" Harry froze.
"I said return to your dormitory immediately." Lynn’s tone left no room for argument as he strode toward the door, his wand already sliding into his palm. "Do not linger in the corridors. And do not try to find that voice."
"But Professor, it wants to kill someone!" Harry protested. "We have to..."
"This is not something you can handle right now."
Lynn pulled the door open and looked back at Harry. The usual warmth had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a cold, intimidating calm.
"Remember what I just told you. A Sorcerer relies on instinct, but a Sorcerer who survives relies on brains."
"Go back. That is an order."
The moment the words left his mouth, Lynn’s figure blurred into a black afterimage and vanished down the dim corridor.
Harry stood there, listening to the dreadful whisper in the walls slowly receding into the distance. His fists clenched tightly. His curiosity made him desperately want to know what was happening.
But in the end, he gritted his teeth and turned to run toward Gryffindor Tower. If even the powerful Professor Gray was treating this like a deadly threat, then it truly was not something he could face yet.
...
Meanwhile, in the dark corridor elsewhere.
Even if he could not cast Speak with Animals, he could still track the Basilisk’s movements.
A 4th-circle spell: Locate Creature. As long as the creature was within 1,000 feet of the caster and the caster knew enough about it, it could be tracked.
Lynn cast Longstrider on himself. With the magical tracking filling his field of vision, he could see the Basilisk’s position moving within the walls.
"The pipes... damn it. Hogwarts’ plumbing system is far too complicated."
He watched the tracking fade at last in the direction of the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, then came to a stop.
He did not rush in.
By nature, Lynn was extraordinarily cautious. Until he fully understood the Basilisk’s abilities and underlying mechanics as a magical creature, he would not confront it recklessly.
"So it didn’t attack any students. It only came out to ’get some air’?"
Lynn looked down the empty corridor and adjusted his glasses, a cold glint flashing across the lenses.
"Looks like I’ll need to make some proper preparations."
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