Snape waited by the door, turning over plans in his head to wrap this up as fast as possible, when the door creaked and opened a crack from the inside.
He looked down and met a pair of eyes—or more precisely, he first saw a head of hair.
Deep blue hair.
Snape paused.
He considered himself to have seen plenty of hair colors, but this was the first time he had ever seen one like this.
In his memory, the most eye-catching head of hair was the platinum blonde of the Malfoy family.
Then that head looked up.
When Snape saw the face clearly, a thought crossed his mind: did Dumbledore foresee this?
This child had a face that clearly spelled trouble:
Beneath the deep blue locks was skin so pale it was almost transparent, as if it had never seen the sun, without a trace of color.
The eyes were bright yellow and quite large, but when they looked at people, they had hardly any focus—empty, as if reflecting nothing at all.
If those pupils did not move once in a while, Snape almost would have thought the boy was blind.
Looking further down, two heavy, dark shadows hung beneath the boy’s eyes.
Snape frowned—how could a child so young have such heavy dark circles?
The boy wore a black robe of very fine fabric, with delicate silver patterns pressed into the cuffs and hem.
He stood there, small in frame, yet carrying a presence that was not small at all.
He was quiet, but the demeanor coming from deep within his bones reminded Snape of children raised in pure-blood families—every gesture had a solid foundation.
Yet it was not quite the same.
The boy before him was more natural, looking as if he was simply born this way, without any need to put on an act.
Snape stayed silent for two seconds, silently cursed Dumbledore in his mind, and then spoke: “Mr.
Flins?”
“Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins.
Greetings to you.”
The boy bowed slightly, his movements neither rushed nor slow, entirely without fault.
“If it is convenient, you may simply call me Flins.
That is my family name.”
He stood straight again.
The bright yellow eyes were still calm and still, yet his tone was polite and proper:
“You must be the Hogwarts professor mentioned in the letter?
The one who was said to come answer my questions.
Please, come in.”
With that, Flins stepped aside to clear the doorway, resting one hand lightly against the doorframe in a welcoming gesture.
No doubt about it—a bother.
Looking at this excessively well-mannered child before him, Snape had already made up his mind.
Proper manners, perfectly guarded speech, completely empty eyes—children like this were often far harder to deal with than the loud, rowdy ones.
He said a quick prayer in his heart for a second.
Gryffindor.
It would be best if he went to Gryffindor.
Over the next two hours, Snape endured the longest conversation of his teaching career.
He almost began to suspect that the person sitting across from him was not an eleven-year-old child at all, but Dumbledore disguised after drinking a Shrinking Solution.
He used to think dealing with Lucius Malfoy was exhausting enough.
Looking back now—the two peacocks of the Malfoy family were as lovely as angels.
At least when Lucius talked nonsense, he still picked pleasant things to say.
“Thank you very much for taking the time to answer my questions, Professor Snape.”
The corner of Flins’s mouth curved up ever so slightly, then quickly flattened out, his voice remaining smooth and gentle:
“It was an honor to speak with someone as remarkable as you.”
Snape gave him a blank look, thinking to himself that he had already listened to this style of talking from Dumbledore for twenty years, and now here came an updated version—he truly had had enough.
Even though this child spoke more pleasantly than Dumbledore, and looked better than that old man.
He stood up, his robes sweeping outward.
“Since everything that needed to be said is done: the day after tomorrow at nine in the morning, I will come to take you to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies.
Do not be late.”
Flins gave a slight nod.
“Very well, Professor.
I will wait for you on time.”
Snape did not look at him again.
He turned and strode toward the door, his black robes snapping with a rustle behind him.
“Traveler.”
After waiting a moment, the corners of Flins’s mouth lifted slightly, and the expression on his face grew a little more lively.
“Here, here!
Flins!”
A clattering noise came through, as if something had been knocked over, and right after, the light screen popped open with a flash.
That blonde girl who looked identical to the Traveler appeared on the screen, wearing a neat short-sleeved top and cargo pants, clutching a few tools of unknown purpose in her hands.
The moment she saw Flins, a big smile instantly broke across her face.
“What’s up?
Did someone from Hogwarts come find you?”
As she spoke, she casually set the tools aside.
“I wandered around that world for a bit before.
Even though there are a lot of messy things going on over there, being a student…
is actually pretty fun.”
Saying that, she suddenly slapped her forehead:
“Oh right, right!
It’s inconvenient for you to keep calling me out with this light screen all the time.
I’ll get you a Two-way Mirror from that world!
Next time, you can just call me directly through the mirror.”
Without waiting for Flins to reply, Lumine started rattling off explanations on her own—how to use the Two-way Mirror, what habits the wizards in that world had—talking as fast as pouring beans from a bag.
Clatter!
A mirror dropped onto the table in front of Flins without warning, letting out a crisp sound as it hit.
He looked down at it.
It was an oval mirror about the size of a palm.
The frame was brass-colored, lightly polished to a shine, with thin vine patterns carved along the edges.
The glass was smooth and clear.
At first glance, it looked no different from an ordinary mirror, but looking closely, one could feel a faint silver light drifting deep within the surface, like some living creature hidden underwater.
Flins picked it up and turned it over.
On the back was a crooked little sticker with messy handwriting that read:
“For Lumine’s use only.
Do not throw, do not drop.”
He let out a soft laugh and tucked the mirror into his robes.
“Thank you for your gift, young lady.”
Flins carefully put the Two-way Mirror away and leaned back against the chair, his body looking far more relaxed than before.
He cast his eyes down, his fingers tapping twice on the edge of the table without thinking, and his voice dropped lower too: “There is one thing I would like to ask you—can I turn back into my true form in this world?
Also, my lamp…”
When he reached the word “lamp,” the corners of his eyes pressed down slightly, and his lips tightened a bit.
A hint of serious emotion finally showed through on that overly pale face.
“Of course you can!”
Lumine’s voice popped out from the Two-way Mirror, lighthearted and carefree.
“Just take it easy when you transform, don’t let anyone see you—well, even if someone finds out, it’s fine, I’ll cover for you!”
Saying this, she patted her chest, and two thumping sounds came from the mirror, sounding full of confidence.
Right as she finished speaking, something appeared out of thin air on the table in front of Flins—right beside where the Two-way Mirror had been, a tiny pendant lay quietly.
He reached out and picked it up, his fingertips pausing slightly the moment they touched it.
It was a miniature version of his lamp, crafted so delicately it looked as if it had been shaped right between one’s fingers.
The lamp body still carried that antique bronze color, and the patterns on the lamp walls were an exact match, down to the very last detail.
Flins held the pendant and looked at it for quite a long time, then said:
“Thank you.” His voice was noticeably softer than before.