Draco's memory ended there.
Lynn withdrew his wand.
The silvery-white light slowly receded from Draco's temples like the tide withdrawing from a beach. Its final glimmer shimmered at the tip of Lynn's wand before dissipating completely.
At that moment, clarity returned to Draco's eyes. The vacant emptiness disappeared, replaced by the terror of someone who had just awakened from a nightmare.
His body jerked backward, and his back struck the compartment wall with a dull thud.
His eyes widened, Lynn's expressionless face reflected in his pupils.
His lips trembled. His fingers shook. Every part of him radiated fear.
Lynn looked at him and released a long sigh.
In an instant, all the color drained from Draco's face.
"Could it be..." His voice squeezed out of his throat like the final gasp of a dying fish. "Even you can't do anything?"
Lynn remained silent and merely shook his head.
Draco felt as though he could see Death beckoning to him.
At that moment, it seemed as if something had seized his heart.
Trembling, he pulled out his Magic Phone. His shaking fingers stabbed at the screen several times before he managed to unlock it.
His contact list contained only a handful of names—Dad, Mom, Crabbe, Goyle, and several other numbers he could not quite remember.
He selected "Dad," then hovered his finger over the call button.
After hesitating for a second, he pressed it.
Beep—
Beep—
Beep—
The phone rang.
To Draco, every second seemed to last an entire year.
His mind raced as he tried to organize his final words.
Dad, Mom, your son has failed you. I'll be your son again in my next life...
No, that was too long. They might not have enough time to hear everything.
Then he would simply say—
You're both still young. Have another child.
The call connected.
"Draco?" Lucius's voice came through the receiver, filled with barely suppressed tension. "What's wrong? What happened?"
Draco opened his mouth—
"Don't be so nervous."
Lynn's unhurried voice drifted over from the side, carrying a hint of helplessness, as though he were asking, Why are you so easy to tease?
"I wasn't shaking my head because you're beyond saving."
Draco froze.
His finger stopped just above the end-call button, and his entire body became as motionless as a petrified statue.
"Draco? Draco!" Lucius's voice grew increasingly urgent. "What in the world is wrong with you? Speak!"
Draco did not answer.
His finger pressed the button.
Beep.
The call disconnected.
Draco gasped for air. His deathly pale complexion gradually returned to normal, and he felt as though his life had been handed back to him.
"You..." His voice was still slightly weak, but it sounded much better than before. "You nearly scared me to death."
Lynn shrugged.
"Who told you to frighten yourself?"
Draco's lips twitched twice.
He wanted to retort, but he found himself unable to do so.
It truly had been his own fault. Lynn had merely shaken his head without saying a word, and Draco had immediately assumed he was going to die.
Who could he blame?
Lynn?
No. He could only blame himself.
Draco stuffed the Magic Phone back into his pocket and looked up. His eyes fixed intently on Lynn, afraid he might miss some crucial piece of information.
Seeing the hurry up and tell me expression on his face, Lynn could not help chuckling.
"Don't listen to that Socket Spirit's bluffing," he said casually. "That nonsense about knowing everything you say was just a Fear Curse meant to deceive you. It's nothing serious."
Socket Spirit.
The corner of Draco's mouth twitched when he heard the term.
Lord Voldemort—the Dark Lord, the most terrifying name in the wizarding world—had become "Socket Spirit" in Lynn's mouth.
If the Death Eaters heard that, they would probably faint from rage on the spot.
If Voldemort himself heard it, he would probably come and kill Lynn personally.
Although he already wanted to do that.
"Is that true?" Draco asked uncertainly.
His voice carried a trace of hesitation, a hint of doubt, and a cautious desire for reassurance—as though he were really asking, You aren't merely saying that to comfort me, are you?
Lynn looked at him.
He did not speak.
He did not answer.
He merely stared.
Draco grew increasingly uncomfortable beneath his gaze. He was just about to say, "Never mind, pretend I didn't ask," when Lynn moved.
His wand slid from his sleeve.
With a flick of his wrist, its tip pointed directly at Draco.
The movement was so fast that Draco saw only a shadow flash before his eyes.
A familiar sensation abruptly swept through him.
It arrived quickly and disappeared just as fast.
Draco blinked.
"Did you feel that?" Lynn asked, withdrawing his wand and slipping it back into his sleeve.
Draco touched his forehead, then his chest.
"Was that... the Fear Curse?"
"Yes," Lynn replied. "That was exactly what Voldemort used. He merely added a little of his own 'seasoning' to make the effects last longer and leave the victim feeling even worse. Fundamentally, however, it's the same spell."
"How do you know?" Draco asked.
Lynn glanced at him without answering.
Draco froze for a moment before realizing that he had asked a stupid question.
Embarrassed, he pulled the Magic Phone from his pocket and checked it.
After he had hung up on Lucius, his father had called him three more times. Draco had not answered any of them.
He opened his messages and sent Lucius a brief reply.
[Everything is fine now. Lynn said he can solve it.]
A few seconds later, Lucius responded.
[Good.]
Lynn watched Draco slip the Magic Phone back into his pocket. Then, as though he had suddenly remembered something, he asked, "By the way, how do you intend to get rid of Dumbledore and me?"
Draco fell silent.
His expression became exceptionally vivid.
His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.
His gaze rested on Lynn's face for a fraction of a second before darting away. He looked toward the window, the ceiling, and the floor—anywhere except directly at Lynn.
"Well..." His voice weakened considerably. "You-Know-Who sent a Death Eater to assist me. He said that, in a little while—"
"Wait."
Lynn interrupted before Draco could finish.
Draco immediately closed his mouth.
Lynn's gaze shifted toward the compartment door, and his brow furrowed slightly.
He waved his hand.
The lock produced a faint click, and the door abruptly flew open.
A figure tumbled inside.
The person had clearly been leaning against the door while eavesdropping and had been completely caught off guard. When the door suddenly opened, he lost his support and pitched forward, landing face-first on the compartment floor.
Thud!
His glasses slid from the bridge of his nose and flew across the floor. They skidded a considerable distance before finally striking the corner of the compartment.
"Potter?!"
Draco's voice rose by an entire octave. His eyes widened even further than when Lynn had used Legilimency on him.
"Mr. Potter," Lynn said calmly, his tone betraying no emotion whatsoever. "Has anyone ever told you that eavesdropping on other people's conversations is extremely impolite?"
Harry clumsily scrambled up from the floor.
His knee had struck the hard wooden boards, causing him to wince in pain.
He retrieved his glasses and put them back on. One of the lenses had cracked, but they were still usable.
Harry brushed the dust from his robes and looked at Lynn.
"Sorry, Lynn," he said, his voice carrying a hint of embarrassment. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I came looking for you because I had something to give you."
With that, Harry pulled a piece of parchment tied with a purple ribbon from his pocket and handed it to Lynn.
The parchment was of exceptional quality. It was not the coarse variety students used for their homework, but smooth, expensive parchment that felt almost like silk.
The purple ribbon had been tied into an exquisite bow. At its center, the name "Lynn" was written in silver ink.
"What's this?"
Lynn accepted the parchment and turned it over in his hands.
"An invitation," Harry explained. "A third-year girl brought it. She'd been looking for you for quite a while but couldn't find you, so I offered to help."
"A third-year girl?"
Lynn frowned.
He knew several third-year students, but he was not particularly close to any of them. Who would send him an invitation?
"Oh, and this one is yours, Malfoy!"
Harry pulled another identical piece of parchment from his other pocket.
It had the same purple ribbon and silver ink, with only the name differing:
"Draco Malfoy."
Harry handed it to him.
Draco accepted the invitation, looked at the name on its cover, and then glanced at Harry's expression. His brow furrowed before he opened the parchment and rapidly scanned its contents.
Lynn opened his invitation as well.
The parchment unfurled to reveal only a single sentence, written in the same silver ink. The handwriting was neat and elegant, carrying the refinement of an old-fashioned gentleman.
"Lynn, I would be delighted if you would join me for lunch in Compartment C.
Yours sincerely,
Professor H. F. Slughorn"
"Remember him?" Harry asked from beside him. "He's the man Dumbledore took us to visit. Apparently, he's on the train."
Harry paused, seemingly organizing his thoughts.
"It isn't common... I mean, it's rare for a professor to take the train to school. At the very least, Professor Slughorn doesn't seem short of money."
Lynn nodded, folded the invitation, and slipped it into his pocket.
"The only professor I've ever seen take the train to Hogwarts was Lupin."
As for the others—Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, and the rest...
They were either already waiting at Hogwarts or had arrived ahead of time through the Floo Network or some other means.
Taking the train was for students.
"So, are you going?" Harry asked curiously.
To be honest, Lynn did not particularly want to go.
Slughorn had not left much of an impression on him.
When they met in Budleigh Babberton, Lynn had seen only a round, balding old man wearing pajamas patterned with cartoon dragons.
His manner of speaking had been somewhat affected, and the way he looked at people was rather...
How should Lynn put it?
Instrumental.
When Slughorn looked at Harry, he saw "the Boy Who Lived."
When he looked at Lynn, he saw "the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class."
Nevertheless, Slughorn was still a professor. Since he had personally sent an invitation, refusing to attend would be somewhat inappropriate.
Besides, Lynn also wanted to know what the old man was planning.
Was he merely inviting them to share a meal, or did he have some ulterior purpose?
"Fine."
Lynn straightened his robes and walked toward the door.
"I'll consider it a way to pass the time."
---
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