“You will be a prisoner of Hogwarts! Until your death!”
In the pitch-black night, an aged voice pierced Lynch's eardrums. The violent magic fluctuations made the voice echo with a grand roar, like an ancient god bellowing in the forest.
Lynch looked up and saw a dazzling spell released from the tip of a wand, cutting through the night sky in a winding, twisting path straight towards him. The light from the spell illuminated the old man behind him, whose hair and beard were disheveled.
In a flash, Lynch wanted to raise his hand to cast a spell to block, but found his right hand, which held his wand, hanging limply at his side. He tried to move his feet to dodge, only to realize he was too weak to even take a step. Using all his strength, he could barely stand still.
Before his brain could issue a third command, he felt a sharp pain in his chest as the old man's spell struck him.
It was a powerful spell; the impact of the strike sent Lynch's body flying into the air and backward.
Lynch's right hand unconsciously loosened, and the pure white wand was tossed into the air, its tip tracing a semicircular arc in the mist of the Forbidden Forest.
The moment Lynch's body flew backward through the air, the scale of time stretched under the high-speed operation of his mind. Everything around him seemed to turn into a slow-motion scene from a movie.
Because he was flying backward, Lynch's face was already upward. His gaze naturally turned to the sky. The aftershocks of the battle had destroyed many large trees, tearing a gap in the impenetrable canopy of the Forbidden Forest, revealing the pitch-black night sky.
He saw thick dark clouds covering the entire sky, not a single star or moonbeam able to penetrate. He looked at the dark clouds again, and in a daze, he seemed to see that terrifying, noseless face appear within the clouds, letting out a silent, maniacal laugh.
With a thud, Lynch's body slammed heavily onto the ground. He grunted, and a metallic taste of blood rose in his throat.
Lynch opened his eyes and saw countless white bricks appearing out of nowhere, centered on the ground where his body had landed. These bricks swirled and danced around him, making banging sounds as they rapidly interlocked and stacked themselves into floor tiles and walls.
Lynch gritted his teeth, pushed himself up with effort, and directed a sharp gaze at the old man standing a dozen meters away.
The old man's clear blue eyes met Lynch's. The eyes behind the half-moon spectacles no longer shone with that intimidating divine light. The expression on his face was no longer anger, but deep disappointment.
The self-stacking brick walls continued to rise, engulfing everything in Lynch's line of sight from bottom to top, swallowing the old man's figure, and blocking their gazes.
Lynch's arm relaxed, and he lay back on the brick floor. He saw that in the night sky, the bright, clear moon had at that moment broken through the obstruction of the dark clouds, revealing half of its disc, casting its gentle moonlight upon him. But as the bricks piled up, this bit of moonlight quickly disappeared.
Finally, with a thud, the last brick filled the final gap in the roof. All light was shut out, and Lynch was completely enveloped in darkness… Lynch suddenly sat up in bed, breathing rapidly, his right hand unconsciously rubbing his chest—the spot where the spell had hit him in the dream. Now, he felt a faint phantom pain there.
“I actually dreamed of that night. It's been almost ten years, yet every detail of that day is still so clear. Why? Is it because the moment is at hand, and my instincts are afraid? Is that why I dreamed of that night?” Lynch sat on the bed, muttering to himself in a slightly low voice.
Lynch swung his legs out of bed and walked towards the window. As he walked, he lightly waved one hand, and the curtains automatically parted to both sides. Daylight streamed in through the window, brightening the entire bedroom.
Through the glass of the window, he looked outside. The Forbidden Forest in the morning was very quiet. The un-dispersed morning mist hung like a veil among the trees. Morning light filtered through the gaps in the branches. Several robins perched on the branches, cleaning their dew-dampened feathers with their beaks in the morning light.
Lynch saw a ladybug fly out from the bushes, flying straight towards him, as if curious about the white Stone house standing in the clearing of the Forbidden Forest, or perhaps wanting to get closer to observe the human at the window.
Lynch quietly watched the ladybug fly towards him.
The moment the small ladybug flew past the edge of the white bricks on the ground, a tiny, soft light flashed, leaving only a small wisp of green smoke drifting in the air.
Lynch watched the small wisp of green smoke dissipate, his reflection mirrored on the smooth glass.
His dark short hair was a bit messy from just waking up, his delicate face was unusually pale from spending years indoors, and his dark eyes were distant and profound.
“No!”
Lynch looked at his reflection in the glass. His gaze became sharp, just like that night ten years ago.
He raised his hand and lightly brushed his hair. His messy hair became neat and tidy, combed into a sleek 3-7 part on his scalp.
“My instincts are reminding me to perk up. Round two begins!”
Watching the last trace of the small ladybug's existence disappear into the air, Lynch turned and left the bedroom.
Pushing open the bedroom door, to his right was the bathroom, and to his left was the staircase leading downstairs.
After a quick wash-up in the bathroom, Lynch returned to the bedroom.
He opened the wardrobe, took out a neatly wrapped three-piece suit, took off his pajamas, and put on his formal wear.
Since he wouldn't be going out, he didn't wear a jacket. A dark plaid tie was knotted around his neck, a gray waistcoat fit snugly against his body, and a well-tailored suit accentuated his upright figure. On his feet were a pair of gleaming brown Oxford leather shoes.
This outfit was bought a few months ago for this important day. Lynch took his own measurements and then asked Hagrid to make a trip to a tailor's shop in London.
Although Hagrid sometimes seemed unreliable, he actually completed tasks entrusted to him very well. The clothes and shoes he brought back fit perfectly.
Lynch looked at himself in the dressing mirror and pondered for a moment.
Then he closed his eyes, and opened them again.
The sharpness in his eyes disappeared, the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward, and a warm smile appeared on his face.
All aggression vanished, making him seem much more amiable.
He exited the bedroom and descended the stairs to the first floor.
The layout of the first floor was extremely simple: a circular space, visible at a glance from the stairs.
The stairs ran along the wall, with the steps directly facing a massive bookcase that reached the ceiling, densely packed with books. To the right of the bookcase was a fireplace, its flames currently extinguished.
Above the fireplace, a half-broken plague doctor mask hung squarely, its remaining pointed beak aimed at the center of the room.
A small square table was placed in front of the fireplace, with a single high-backed armchair diagonally beside it.
To the right was another bookcase, also reaching the ceiling, its spines tightly packed. A window was open next to the bookcase, and in front of the window was a desk with a quick-quotes quill and a stack of scratch paper.
The wall opposite the desk and window had another window and a simple stove.
This wall was also covered by floor-to-ceiling bookcases, with books stacked in layers.
A small round dining table was placed near the center of the room, by the stove.
Lynch walked to the dining table and sat down. There was a brass bell on the table. He picked it up and rang it twice, and a breakfast appeared out of thin air on the tabletop.
Breakfast was a simple bacon and egg, served with a glass of milk.
Although he had been eating it for over twenty years, Lynch occasionally still missed the rich variety of breakfasts from that great Eastern country.
After finishing his meal, he rang the bell twice again, and the tableware on the table disappeared, replaced by a newspaper. The newspaper's masthead read: The Daily Prophet.
Lynch picked up the newspaper and sat on the single armchair in front of the fireplace.
He pointed a finger, and flames ignited in the fireplace, dispelling some of the morning's chill.
Lynch leaned back in the chair, unfolding the newspaper with his left hand. The large letters of the front-page headline caught his eye.
【Stone Tower Trading Company Announces New Series of Battle Cards】
His right palm was facing upward.
A gleaming Galleon, reflecting the fireplace flames, floated in the air above his palm.
Like a satellite in the universe, it rotated leisurely on its own axis while orbiting Lynch's palm in a regular motion.
Lynch sat there, his attention neither on the newspaper in his left hand nor on the spinning Galleon in his right hand.
On this particular morning, his thoughts drifted back to the past, buried deep in his memory.
He had never imagined that transmigration was a real thing, but it had just happened.
He closed his eyes and opened them, and in the span of a night's sleep, he had transformed from an ordinary young man living in a great Eastern country in the 21st century to a five-year-old boy living in the industrial north of England in 1970.
His mother had passed away early, and father and son made a living from their small shoemaking workshop.
While Old Lynch cut and stitched at the workbench, he would sit in the corner of the workshop heating leather adhesive. At that time, the air was always filled with a faint smell of scorching.
The days of father and son relying on each other continued for several years, and Lynch accepted this new life.
Unfortunately, fate always enjoys playing tricks on people.
First, he encountered two quarreling teenagers, a boy and a girl, in the community park.
The boy was named Severus Snape.
The girl was named Lily Evans.
Lynch began to feel something was subtly wrong.
It wasn't until the letter delivered by an owl arrived that he finally understood the truth hidden beneath the world's surface.
A magic world.
Even worse, it was a magic world in a time of war.
The shadow of Lord Voldemort loomed over the entire British Wizarding World. This cruel Dark Lord had gathered a large number of fanatical followers with his absolute pure-blood theory.
They called themselves Death Eaters, marked by skull and snake tattoos. They harbored extreme hatred for all half-bloods or Wizards closely associated with Muggles.
In such a situation, a child from the Muggle world entered Hogwarts.
He even caused quite a stir during the Sorting Ceremony, eventually becoming a member of Ravenclaw House.
So when gazes with ulterior motives were cast, tragedy became inevitable.
“Thump, thump, thump…”
A sudden knock on the Stone house door interrupted Lynch's recollections.
His right hand clenched suddenly, gripping the Galleon tightly in his palm.
Lynch put down the newspaper, stood up, and the warm smile reappeared on his face.
He walked to the door, reached out, and pulled open the heavy oak door. Looking at the person outside, he greeted him with a smile.
“Long time no see, Headmaster Dumbledore.”