At midnight, the lights of the manor were refracted by runes into soft white halos.
Unsealed letters were scattered across the desk, the ink still wet, written in neat and calm handwriting.
Over the past few hours, Linus had replied to dozens of letters.
The recipients were all the most powerful names in the contemporary magical world: Potions Masters, Alchemy scholars, the President of the Runes Association, and even representatives of the International Confederation of Wizards.
These correspondences covered a wide range of topics, from ancient runes to spatial spellcraft, from alchemy formulas to Dark Arts theory.
Five years of reclusiveness had not caused him to be forgotten.
The *Daily Prophet* had reported “The Return of the Genius Wizard Linus Alvin,” and within a few short days, correspondence from all sides had flooded in like snowflakes.
Every letter represented a faction of interests, a yearning, or a future game of chess.
After replying to the last letter, Linus stood up and headed to the deepest part of the manor.
That secret chamber was off-limits even to the house-elves.
Over a dozen defensive charms were stacked atop one another, layers of barriers tightening the very air.
If an outsider trespassed by mistake, they would be torn to shreds by a thousand curses in an instant.
The door slowly creaked open, releasing a pulse of spine-chilling energy.
In the center of the room stood a massive metal gate.
Its surface was carved with ancient runes, the metal shimmering with an ethereal blue sheen.
The surrounding space seemed to quiver slightly, warping time itself.
It was his greatest alchemical creation—the Gate of Worlds.
The name sounded grand, but in reality, it remained incomplete.
The space behind the gate did not lead to other worlds, but to an unstable dimensional rift.
Yet even so, this creation symbolized his ambition—the key to countless worlds.
Ever since he transmigrated to this magical world, Linus had pondered: Why did he arrive here?
Were there other beings like him—coming from beyond the boundaries of “fiction”?
If those novels, movies, and legends were all projections of real worlds, how could one cross over to the other side?
Thus, his research began.
From Apparition and the Floo powder network to the mechanics of Portkeys, and on to the runic structures of spatio-temporal magic, he spent years untangling every layer of logic within spatial magic.
The Gate of Worlds was the culmination of all this research.
The metal gate shuddered slightly.
As the runes flickered, energy circulated like rising tides.
The boundary of the world was right before his eyes, yet still hopelessly out of reach.
The spatial coordinate system inside the gate could bypass the Anti-Apparition charms of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic, and could even teleport to any corner of the solar system, provided the coordinates were precisely calculated.
Yet it still had not achieved its true goal—crossing dimensions.
In the laboratory, the air smelled of metal mixed with magic.
The light array flared to life, numerical symbols floating like stardust.
Linus reached out to touch the runes on the gate’s surface and murmured under his breath, “Space is controllable, but time remains chaotic.” To solve this problem, he had begun studying Time-Turners.
Back at Hogwarts, he had attempted to take all available courses just to obtain an official Time-Turner, but Dumbledore had rejected his application.
In the end, he used the Bones family’s connections in the Ministry of Magic to acquire one privately.
Unfortunately, the results were less than ideal.
The energies of time and space were incompatible—the Gate of Worlds could either traverse space or rewind time, but could not execute both concurrently.
Even so, he had successfully imbued the portal with a brief time-reversal capability—three hours.
Though inferior to a real Time-Turner, it was enough to prove his theory viable.
“One step away.” His fingertips lightly touched the center of the gate as energy pulsed against his palm.
“Just one step away from beholding a different starry sky.” The light array slowly dimmed.
Linus cut off the power flow and re-engaged all defensive wards.
By the time he finished recording his research notes, dusk was approaching.
The Bones family dinner was set for that evening.
Washing away the residual magical dust from his hands, he changed into a dark gray outer robe, fully restoring his image as a calm and elegant scholar.
…
The dinner took place at the ancient Bones Manor.
Deep red velvet cloth draped the long table, silver candelabras glowed brightly, and the air was rich with the scent of spices and roasted meat.
Sitting across from him was Amelia Bones—formerly the sternest law enforcer in the Ministry of Magic, and in the current climate, one of the very few who still managed to stay clear-headed.
The severity between her brows was like a sharp blade, yet her eyes held a warmth buried beneath the passing years.
“Do you truly believe that once you came of age, you could do whatever you pleased?” Her tone was calm, but every word fell heavy and cold.
“Amelia, don’t be so angry.
I told you before I left that I’d be gone for a few years.” “Telling me doesn’t mean you can vanish.” Her fork tapped against the rim of her plate.
“Five whole years, and all I got were letters.” “One a week,” Linus smiled.
“Should I be grateful?
Thank my nephew—the boy I raised like a son—for deigning to let me know he’s still alive?” The atmosphere stalled for a moment.
Linus coughed lightly and shifted the subject: “How is the Ministry faring these days?” “Still a mess.
Fudge’s stupidity makes me question whether human evolution is regressing.” “I advised you long ago to run for Minister.” “Dumbledore was backing him back then.
The odds were too slim.” “If you’d used the methods I suggested, your chances would have been more than even.” The corners of his lips curved slightly.
“You’ll regret it sooner or later.” “Prophesying again?” Amelia set down her cutlery, her expression turning solemn.
“Indeed,” he replied calmly.
“In four to five years, Voldemort will return, and the Second Wizarding War will break out.” The candle flames flickered, and the air abruptly turned chill.
Amelia fell silent for a moment, her voice low.
“I’ll make preparations.
But if that truly happens, what do you intend to do?” “The Ministry needs power,” Linus said with a firm tone.
“You need to build your own faction within the system.
Use the potions I gave you to win over reliable people and enhance their magic.
Loyalty must be proven through time, not bound by vows.” “I know politics better than you,” she said with a faint smile, though she didn’t refuse.
“Don’t associate too closely with the Order of the Phoenix,” he warned.
“You can cooperate, but don’t bring them into the core circle.” “They are loyal only to Dumbledore.” “Precisely.” After a few minutes of silence, Amelia brought up another matter: “Susan is entering Hogwarts this year.
If you really are going back to teach, keep an eye on her for me.” “Of course.” The candlelight swayed as the conversation turned lighthearted.
By the end of the dinner, a night breeze rustled the curtains beneath a bright moon hanging in the night sky.
Amelia stood at the doorway, watching his figure depart.
Flames swallowed his form, leaving only faint sparks behind.
On his way back, Linus recalled that gate— The Gate of Worlds hummed softly in his mind.
“Time and space will eventually be unified.” “When I return to Hogwarts, this gate will truly open.” Moonlight mirrored in his eyes, reflecting a sharp, keen glint.
In that moment, the boundary between rationality and fanatical passion nearly blurred into one.
—Perhaps the other side of the world was waiting to welcome the birth of a new god.