September 1, 1991—the first day of the new term at Hogwarts.
Linus Alvin left the Moon Base, changed into robes tailored by Madam Malkin herself, picked up his familiar trunk, and stepped through the moonlit array into the Dark Forest.
He had originally planned to board the Hogwarts Express to relive his student days and casually observe the Child of Destiny—Harry Potter.
However, when he recalled the noisy children filling the carriages and their mindless small talk, all interest vanished instantly.
Ending his Apparition, Linus hovered half a meter above the ground, his body brought to a steady halt.
The air was crisp, the forest silent.
Raising his arms slightly, magic surged through his palms, balancing his body in midair.
Years ago, Voldemort had achieved unsupported flight through his sheer magic, a feat that astounded countless wizards.
Linus was naturally no exception—geniuses never settled for falling behind.
Taking the Levitation Charm as his frame and the Gravity Charm as his core, he had derived a brand-new spell formula.
Now, his flight required no wand to guide it; it was controlled purely by his will.
A night breeze swept past, fluttering his robes.
A faint light gleamed in the distance, where a short figure waited among the trees.
It was the ghost of Hogwarts’ dueling history—Professor Flitwick.
“Professor, it’s been a long time,” Linus said as he touched down, bowing slightly.
“Bless my soul, it really is you!
Five years!” Flitwick looked up, his face brimming with smiles.
Their hug was brief yet genuine.
“Where have you been all these years?” “Traveling far and wide, searching for answers,” Linus replied.
“Then I suppose I should call you Professor now,” Flitwick chuckled, shaking his head.
“Though in my eyes, you’ll always be that Ravenclaw student who loved staying up all night writing research notes.” Chatting as they walked, the two made their way along the stone path toward the castle.
Under the cover of night, Hogwarts’ silhouette grew ever more majestic, its towering spires veiled in mist.
Flitwick shared a deep bond with Linus.
As a Ravenclaw, Linus had been his prized pupil—intelligent, calm, and almost frighteningly rational.
Their unique teacher-student bond had been forged through the study of the Dark Arts.
Back then, Linus had approached Flitwick, asking for guidance in Dark Arts research.
He was initially rejected, but when Linus said, “Fear stems from ignorance.
If we do not study darkness, we can never understand its structure,” Flitwick fell silent.
In the end, the professor agreed to oversee his research under three strict rules: Before every experiment, he had to cast a Patronus Charm to prove his sanity had not been corrupted; He had to pause and rest every two weeks, during which he was forbidden from touching any Dark Arts; All research findings had to be recorded, verified, and re-argued, never kept secret.
Under these rigorous constraints, the two had co-authored several defense papers that were indexed by the Dark Defense Alliance.
Linus was still a student then, yet his research earned him high-tier membership.
Dumbledore had learned of this, but Flitwick defended him fiercely, allowing the research to continue.
Even after his graduation, their collaborative papers were still considered gold standards in defense theory.
Reaching the castle doors, the stone arches opened automatically.
The Great Hall was brightly lit, candle flames floating above long tables.
At the staff table, familiar faces like Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape were seated in order.
Linus was led to the head table, exchanging brief pleasantries with the staff while his gaze casually swept over every corner.
Five years away, yet Hogwarts remained unchanged—the walls radiated warmth, and the air was steeped in the scent of ancient magic.
As night deepened, students poured into the hall.
The first-years entered with nervous excitement, and the Sorting Hat was placed upon a four-legged stool.
The ancient hat cleared its throat and broke into a new song.
“Forged with wisdom as our wings, with courage as our blade, If the light of loyalty burns bright, the darkness will be tamed…” The melody was peculiar yet solemn.
Linus hummed along softly, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes.
The Sorting ceremony began.
The first to be called was Hannah Abbott.
Then, a name echoed—”Susan Bones.” Linus’s gaze softened.
She was Amelia’s niece, which made her his younger cousin.
The hat rested on the girl’s head, whispering softly: “Exceptional talent, well-trained, stable magic within…
Clearly, a powerful wizard stands behind you.
He taught you how to think and seek knowledge—Ravenclaw would be a fine choice.
Yet that desperate desire to be recognized shows me ambition and pride—Slytherin would suit you just as well.
However, your loyalty and diligence run even deeper; your hard work deserves to be honored—HUFFLEPUFF!” Applause erupted across the hall.
Linus offered a slight nod, a smile touching his lips.
The trajectory of fate had not changed; it still followed the path of the original timeline.
*Seems her training wasn’t enough,* he mused silently, his eyes dimming slightly.
The Sorting continued.
When Harry Potter placed the Sorting Hat upon his head, the hall fell dead silent for a few seconds.
A moment later, the hat shouted: “GRYFFINDOR!” Thunderous cheers shook the hall.
Dumbledore stood up and applauded more enthusiastically than any student.
McGonagall’s eyes sparkled with pride, while Snape’s expression turned cold.
At the far end of the staff table, Professor Babbling noticed Linus clapping slowly, his expression indifferent.
She leaned over and teased, “Mr.
Alvin doesn’t seem very excited?
Are you worried the Savior will steal your thunder?” “Perhaps.” Linus smiled, his voice mild.
“Though thunder is hardly worth caring about.
What truly matters is whether the magical world can still make room for new possibilities.” Babbling raised an eyebrow.
“Sounds like a challenge to prophecy.” “A prophecy is merely a hypothesis that hasn’t been falsified yet.” With those words, ripples stirred in his glass of red wine.
Moonlight poured through the window, scattering across the silver platters on the high table, weaving light and shadow into cold, sharp textures.
Linus gazed up at that shining moon.
Behind that radiant glow stood the Moon Base, waiting in silence—along with that Gate of Worlds, yet to be fully opened.
The lights of Hogwarts were warm and familiar, but deep in his heart, that flame—the obsession named “Truth”—still burned without a sound.