During the month before school started, Flins’s days passed in a surprisingly orderly rhythm.
He spent most of his daytime curled up in the house reading books—the stacks of magical history, magical theory, and various books on customs he had hauled back from Flourish and Blotts piled thick on the coffee table, enough to keep him reading for quite a while.
However, this quiet did not last long, because Lumine said staying cooped up at home like this did not fit the vacation plan she had set up for him.
That Traveler young lady from the other world seemed to hold endless curiosity about this realm.
Flins did not refuse her; following the Muggle London tour plan Lumine drew up, he walked through all the nearby streets.
Yet the more he explored, the more mixed Flins’s impression of this world became.
Homeless people everywhere on the streets, government scandals repeatedly taking the front pages of newspapers, elderly people standing in long queues at chemist shops unable to buy medicine, curled-up figures in corners of underground stations…
Even without the wild hunt rampaging openly across the land, this era still showed a dull, grayish base everywhere.
Chaos, indifference, illness, helplessness—the shadowy side of humanity was blown up so large it was within arm’s reach.
Walking the streets, Flins often caught himself thinking that compared to Teyvat, this world did not seem to be much better off.
The complexity and richness of humankind called for patience, but the absurdity and low nature of a small few were always glaringly plain, even if they were not worth losing one’s temper over.
Lately, Flins often saw that black-haired boy he had run into at Diagon Alley—
Sometimes he was mowing the lawn, sometimes carrying garbage bags toward the back garden, and sometimes simply standing by the door in a daze, like a plant rooted where it did not belong.
After Flins read through the history of magic carefully, he discovered the boy’s identity—Harry Potter, a child nailed right to the center of the story.
One evening, returning from outside, Flins saw him again from afar—standing by the door, daydreaming.
Flins took two steps forward when a somewhat hesitant, testing voice spoke up:
“Hey…
hello?”
Flins paused his steps and looked at Harry.
Without Flins noticing, the black-haired boy had stepped down from the porch.
He stood by the fence, thin fingers clutching the iron bars, green eyes behind round lenses taking him in with curiosity he could not quite hide.
“Do you remember me?” Harry asked.
“Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.”
Just like last time, the boy wore clothes clearly one size too large.
The cuffs were rolled several times to bare his wrists, making him look like a cat stuffed into an old sack.
Yet the light in those eyes reminded Flins strangely of the Traveler.
Flins gave a slight nod, his tone softening a touch:
“Good day, sir.
You may call me Flins, or Kyryll if you prefer your customs.”
“Oh.
Hello, Kyryll.” Harry answered, and then ran out of words.
Flins stayed quiet for a moment, then spoke: “Do you live here?”
“Yeah, Number 4 Privet Drive.” Harry lifted his chin toward his house, then seemed to recall something and quickly added, “I’m Harry.
Harry Potter.”
As he spoke the name, his shoulders pulled tight, as if bracing for a reaction.
Flins’s expression did not change.
He merely nodded calmly: “Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, as you heard last time.”
Harry waited two seconds.
Seeing that the other boy truly showed no unusual reaction, his shoulders quietly dropped.
He broke into a grin.
Though a little awkward, it finally looked like a child’s smile: “Do you live around here?
I mean—”
“Yes, Mr.
Potter.
I live right at Number 7 Privet Drive.”
“Oh.” Harry answered again, his lips parting as if hesitating before asking, “Then…
are you going to school too?”
He asked rather carefully.
Flins noted his gaze lingered a brief moment on his own dark clothes before quickly sliding away.
Flins looked at him, the corner of his mouth curving ever so slightly: “I am.
As you know, we are both heading to Hogwarts.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, though.
Did you move here recently?” Harry asked again, sensing Flins’s gentle manner.
“Oh, no.
I rarely stepped outside before, and I studied at a boarding school.”
“Since I must leave for Hogwarts soon, I chose to walk about.”
Flins’s eyes rested softly on Harry’s face as he spoke.
“Sounds…
sounds nice.” Harry scratched his head awkwardly, then said, “See you at Hogwarts, then.”
Flins nodded: “Mr.
Potter, you are welcome to visit Number 7 Privet Drive anytime.
Your presence will bring great light to my humble home.”
Hearing Flins’s invitation, Harry’s green eyes lit up, looking lighter than before, like the largest leaf on a branch.
“Sure, Kyryll!
I’ll definitely come.”
Just as Harry said, he came.
On a quiet afternoon, knocks came at the door of Number 7 Privet Drive.
Flins had returned to his true form, resting inside his lamp—the pendant usually on his chest floated quietly above the coffee table.
Hearing the knocks, he unhurriedly turned back into his human form, straightened his collar, and went to open the door.
Harry stood outside.
He stood on the porch looking anxious, his fingers picking at the seam of his trousers.
Seeing Flins open the door, his green eyes flared bright for a split second before dimming again.
Flins studied him for two seconds, stepped aside to clear the door, and spoke very softly:
“Good afternoon, Mr.
Potter.
I have been expecting you.
Please, come in.”
Half of the worry hanging in Harry’s heart seemed to drop away.
He pressed his lips together and followed Flins into Number 7 Privet Drive.
Yet the moment he stepped inside, his feet stopped.
Number 7 Privet Drive was originally just an ordinary British house on this street—no different from Number 4, 6, or 8, sharing the exact same brick walls, windows, and porch.
After Flins’s remodeling over this past month, however, the inside had completely changed.
Even with warm afternoon sunlight outside, the interior was dark and gloomy.
Only a few cold blue rings of light floated in the corners, glowing faintly, casting the entire sitting room in the deep colors of an ocean floor.
The temperature was far lower than outside.
Stepping in, Harry could not help shivering, his thin shoulders shrinking inward.
“Kyryll, this…” Harry pulled lightly at Flins’s sleeve, doubt rising in his green eyes.
“What is the matter, Mr.
Potter?”
Flins turned back.
His face was calm, his bright yellow eyes shining unusually bright in the dim light, yet his expression was steady and natural, looking as if he found nothing wrong with the house at all.
Harry stared at that untouched face and froze.
He looked down at his own hand gripping Flins’s sleeve, then up at those still, unbothered eyes.
The doubt in his green eyes slowly faded into understanding, and then into certainty.
He let go of the sleeve, looked at Flins earnestly, and spoke with the serious air of a young boy:
“Kyryll, you can just call me Harry from now on.
I can be your friend.”
“When school starts, let’s go together.
I’ll beg Uncle Vernon to drive you with us—”
His brow knitted as he said this; clearly, the thought of begging Uncle Vernon was terrifying enough, yet he still made the offer.
For once, Flins was taken aback.
His brow furrowed slightly and relaxed again, his voice gentler than before:
“Thank you for your kindness, Harry.
But on that point, you need not worry—I already know how to get to Hogwarts.”
He curved his lips, his tone light and slow: “Perhaps you would like to hear me tell you about it?”