The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 331 Protecting the Magical Spider's End

Chapter 331 Protecting the Magical Spider's End (5.1K) (2/2)

Sirius's steps abruptly halted, nearly causing him to stumble. He turned his head in astonishment, staring wide-eyed at Lynch's calm profile, almost thinking he had misheard.

"Wh-what? Didn't you just say—"

"I was just lying off the cuff." Lynch stopped and turned to face Sirius, his dark eyes showing no hint of mockery or jest, only a thoughtful composure. "I need a reason to keep Harry on Privet Drive for now, and to prevent you from taking him away immediately."

"Why?!" Sirius's voice rose involuntarily, his gray eyes filled with disbelief and furious anger at being deceived, but even more so with intense confusion and worry. "You clearly saw what that family was like! You heard what Harry went through! Grimmauld Place, however bad, is a million times better than that hellhole! There, he has the Fidelity Charm for protection, and I'm there! Why did you leave him there? Just for that ridiculous compensation? Do you really think money can buy their conscience?!"

His chest heaved violently, clearly enraged by Lynch's unexpected frankness and decision.

Lynch calmly endured Sirius's rage, and only spoke slowly after Sirius's fierce questioning subsided slightly, his voice still steady: "First, the compensation is not to buy their conscience, but to restrain their behavior and settle a necessary old score. I have already explained this before."

He paused briefly, his gaze sharpening as he looked at Sirius Black, his tone becoming even more serious: "Secondly, and this is the key point that needs to be made clear now—not only can you not bring Harry to Grimmauld Place now, but even in a few days, you still cannot bring him there to live."

"What?" Sirius was stunned, completely unable to understand. "Why? Is it because of the problems with those old houses?"

I can clean it right away! Within a day—"

“It’s not about the house,” Lynch interrupted him, his voice low and clear, “it’s about the protective magic. Dumbledore extended and solidified the ancient magic triggered by Lily’s sacrifice into a kind of bloodline protection. As long as Harry resides for a certain period each year with his blood relative, Petunia—in a place he calls home—this protection will remain in effect, effectively protecting him from direct harm and searching by Voldemort himself until he reaches adulthood. Number 4 Privet Drive, that’s home now.”

Sirius's eyes widened.

This was the first time he had ever heard of this magic, and only then did he realize the complexities involved.

"But—what does this have to do with picking Harry up to stay with me for a while?" However, after thinking about it for a moment, he was still somewhat confused. "Can't he just stay for a few days and be sent back before the holiday ends?"

"The problem is," Lynch's self-assured gaze seemed to see through people, "that you are his godfather. If you hadn't been—framed and imprisoned back then—you would have been the one raising Harry. Now that you're out, cleared of all charges, Harry is naturally infinitely closer to you emotionally than to the Dursleys. What worries me is this closeness. If he lives with you for a while, even just a few days, his subconscious might subtly shift. He might start to see Grimmauld Place, or anywhere you are, as his true home," as an emotional place of belonging. And once, deep down, he no longer identifies 4 Privet Drive as the home he must return to, that protective magic of blood ties might weaken, or even crack."

Lynch's voice was soft, but every word was heavy: "We can't take this risk, especially now that Voldemort has clearly become more active."

Sirius seemed to have been punched in the face, staggering back half a step, his face instantly turning pale.

It wasn't out of fear, but because of a deeper pain mixed with regret and helplessness.

Yes—if I hadn't been so impulsive back then, if I had thought of Harry and checked on his safety instead of being consumed by grief and anger and only thinking about hunting down the traitor—then I would have been the one raising Harry, Privet Drive "home" would never have existed in the first place, and Harry wouldn't have needed that damned bloodline protection magic at all—in the end, wasn't my negligence and recklessness back then one of the reasons for all of this?

This belated and heavy self-reproach almost suffocated him; all his anger and impatience were overwhelmed, leaving only bitter resentment.

"—I understand." His voice was terribly hoarse. "So, I can't even take him away—then why did you tell Harry that I could pick him up in a while? Why not just tell him he can't go? Why give him hope and then—" He couldn't finish his sentence, feeling that it would be even crueler to Harry.

“Because,” Lynch’s gaze drifted toward number 4 Privet Drive, as if he could see the green-eyed boy in the living room, “Harry’s shock this morning may be deeper than we realize. His feelings for his aunt and uncle may not be as purely hatred as he thinks. That blatant money transaction not only insulted him, but may have also touched upon some fragile expectations of ‘home’ and ‘belonging’ that he himself is unwilling to admit. In this situation, telling him directly that he can’t really leave here to live with his godfather would be tantamount to completely extinguishing his last remaining illusion of ‘home,’ making him feel more like a prisoner permanently bound, which is not good for his mental state.”

He turned his gaze back to Sirius: "According to the magical continuation requirement that Dumbledore told me, Harry needs to reside at 4 Privet Drive for more than two-thirds of the year, outside of Hogwarts. As long as this condition is met, the protection will continue. So, for the remainder of this summer, he must stay here most of the time to complete the required residency period for his magic." After that, he can leave to stay elsewhere for a while.

Sirius finally grasped a key point: "Then where should we pick him up? You told me to pick him up, but you can't go to my house—"

"The Burrow," Lynch gave his pre-planned answer. "The Weasleys. Let him stay with his friends. Molly will welcome him; it's lively, warm, and full of family atmosphere, but there's no direct blood competition, so it won't shake the fundamental status of 4 Privet Drive as a magical anchor point. And," he added, "they plan to go to the Quidditch World Cup together later, which is a natural reason. After you finish your business and return home," you can "conveniently" pick him up from Privet Drive and take him to the Burrow to reunite with his friends. In this way, Harry gets his promised reunion with his godfather and departure from the Dursleys, reunites with his friends, and prepares for the World Cup. And the protection of magic won't be substantially affected."

Sirius remained silent for a long time before finally letting out a long, heavy breath.

He understood the deeper meaning behind all of Lynch's arrangements: to appease Harry, restrain Dursley, maintain protection, give hope, and fulfill the child's wishes as much as possible within a safe framework.

Every step was calculated; she was calm to the point of being cold-blooded, yet undeniably considerate.

"Okay." He could only utter this one word at the end, filled with a deep sense of helplessness and determination. "I will do as you say. When the time is right, I will pick him up and take him to the Burial Ground."

He glanced at Privet Road again, his eyes filled with complex emotions, then turned away, his figure appearing somewhat lonely in the morning light.

Lynch watched Sirius Black turn the corner and disappear completely behind the neat rows of houses on Privet Road. The morning sun rose higher, dispelling the last wisps of mist and bathing the street in a seemingly serene, warm golden light.

Finally, he turned his gaze to the inconspicuous house at the end of the street. This time, the curtains in the second-floor window did not close quickly.

An elderly woman with gray hair and glasses stood clearly behind the window, calmly looking back at him from a distance.

Arabella Figg, Dumbledore's eye, the silent guardian of this area. She didn't wave, she didn't show any expression, she just stood there quietly, as if confirming something, or perhaps it was just an ordinary morning, a neighbor gazing out the window.

Lin Qi withdrew his gaze and did not linger for a moment.

His figure flickered slightly, like a reflection in water ruffled by the wind, blurring, elongating, and then disappearing completely from the spot. The air emitted an extremely faint, almost imperceptible, snapping sound, not even disturbing the leaves on the treetops by the roadside.

Inside a stone house deep within the Forbidden Forest, Lin Qi's true form sat at a desk.

He unfolded a piece of parchment and began to write with a quill pen.

He wrote extremely fast, yet his handwriting remained clear and neat. He briefly summarized Harry's encounter in the early morning, the excruciating pain of his scars, the specific content of his dream, and mentioned the green hearth fire, the Parseltongue Killing Curse, and Voldemort's laughter. He also mentioned his initial judgment and countermeasures, the dark magic ritual or key murder, the accelerated process of Voldemort's return, and the preparation to brew a potion for protection.

After he finished writing, he stuffed the parchment into an envelope and beckoned to Tots to deliver it.

After finishing this task, Lin Qi closed his eyes, and his body was filled with extremely subtle ripples of magical energy.

Almost simultaneously, hundreds of miles away—

On the edge of a decaying industrial area in northern England.

Under a leaden sky, abandoned factory buildings and rusted pipes outline a desolate silhouette.

The air still seemed to carry the smell of coal and steel from the past, mixed with the damp dust and the putrid odor of garbage.

A figure emerged as if from distorted light, appearing silently at the end of a quiet street.

Lynch stood there, his posture still upright, out of place with the dilapidated surroundings.

Before him lay the ruins of a house, covered in charred marks and overgrown weeds.

A few broken brick walls barely mark the outline of what once was, and the charred and deformed metal frame points menacingly to the sky.

This used to be his home.

Many years ago, when he was still known as Little Jim.

His gaze fell upon the ruins, distant and serene, as if piercing through time, seeing the roof that, though not warm, had once provided shelter, and his shoemaker father, who was always silently buried in leather and wax, but was ultimately blown up by the Death Eaters who broke in because he had become a student at Hogwarts.

He has not returned here since his father's funeral.

After gazing at the ruins for a moment, he turned away, no longer looking at them, and strode forward.

As he walked, the streets became narrower and more chaotic, the houses more and more dilapidated, some even completely collapsed, forming a maze-like passage made of broken bricks and tiles.

He walked through it with steady steps, seemingly very familiar with the path.

Finally, he stopped in front of a building that was relatively intact compared to the surrounding buildings, but whose walls were also very dilapidated.

This place looks like it has been abandoned for a long time.

He raised his hand, his knuckles tapping a specific rhythm on the somewhat mottled and peeling wooden door: two heavy taps, one light tap, three heavy taps, one pause, and then one heavy tap again.

There was a moment of silence inside the door, followed by the very faint sound of a chain sliding.

The door opened a crack, enough to reveal an eye. That eye was dark, deep, and full of vigilance. When it saw Lin Qi, its vigilance did not disappear, but it became more sinister.

Severus Snape stepped aside to make way, his voice as cold as the air seeping from a cellar: "How did you end up here?"

""

"Of course it's because I need to talk to you."

Lin Qi walked into the house, and the door behind him quickly closed, isolating the desolation and decay of the industrial area.

The interior was completely different from the exterior. Although it was still dark and the furniture was simple, it was clean to an almost austere degree. The air was filled with the familiar scent of potion ingredients, only much stronger. Snape had clearly set up a potion-making workshop in his home in Spider's End.

"I'm relieved to see that you're constantly studying potion-making techniques." Lin Qi's gaze swept over a crucible being gently heated in a corner of the room and some rare magical plant residues.

He walked to the only table in the room that still had space, took out the glass bottle containing Harry's memories, and placed it on the table.

"Harry experienced a sudden, sharp pain in his scar early this morning, and he saw certain images in his dream. I retrieved his immediate memories."

Snape walked over, picked up the bottle, and examined the restless, writhing silver substance inside in the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. "Scars—" he murmured, his black eyes devoid of emotion, "The Dark Lord?"

"It's almost certain," Lynch said confidently. "I have a clear memory of the Parseltongue killing curse, and his laughter."

The scene involves green magical flames and what appears to be a dark magic ritual. I need you to analyze this memory, find possible clues about the location, the type of ritual, or any traces of specific magic used. More importantly,” he looked directly at Snape, “you need to concoct the most targeted potion based on the intensity and characteristics of the Dark Lord's spiritual activity reflected in this memory, to help Harry stabilize his mind and isolate or weaken this—resonance. He needs to take the potion as soon as possible, and he will require even stronger protection afterward.”

Snape silently placed the memory bottle aside, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table. "Potter's in trouble again," he murmured, his tone sarcastic, but a hint of seriousness flickered in his eyes. "Does Dumbledore know?"

"I've already notified them," Lin Qi replied, then changed the subject, lowering his voice slightly but making it clearer and more forceful, "Furthermore, this memory might once again confirm the truth of what I told you before."

Snape's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He knew, of course, what Lynch was referring to—that horrifying deduction that Harry Potter was Voldemort's Horcrux.

"Confirm?" Snape's voice was like a viper's hiss.

"Behold the power of that connection, Severus," Lynch's voice was as calm as a scalpel. "Such a clear, real-time transmission of vision, such intense emotional and sensory sharing, even the ability to 'hear' Parsley incantations—this goes far beyond ordinary scarring or telepathy. This is a resonance between fragments of the soul, a passive reflection of the vessel's intense activity. Especially when the subject is engaged in actions involving the very essence of the soul or powerful dark magic. This memory is one piece of evidence."

Snape's lips pressed into a pale line.

He did not refute it.

As a master of Occlumency, he understood the strangeness and terror of soul magic better than most people.

Lynch's words were once again validated by the bottle of memories before him, which was filled with an ominous aura.

The boy with Lily's eyes had been carrying such a curse all along—this realization brought a sharp pang of pain, but he quickly covered it up with his usual cold mask.

"What do you need?" he asked hoarsely, his gaze returning to the memory bottle.

"Analyze it. Then, brew a potion that best protects his brain, soothes his soul's shock, and establishes a barrier as much as possible," Lynch said. "But I suggest a two-step approach: First, based on the key characteristics I just described—the mental shock caused by the Dark Lord's intense soul activity, the mental pollution from the lingering Parseltongue spells, and the dark resonance that may involve ritual magic—you can begin preparing the corresponding basic potion ingredients and sketching out a preliminary formula framework. You should have a clear idea of ​​the ingredients needed to regulate the mind, stabilize the soul barrier, and filter out evil thoughts."

He pointed to the memory bottle: "As for the memories here, I've already spoken with Dumbledore and arranged for you to use the Pensieve in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts to examine them. There, you can more safely and meticulously pinpoint the exact extent of the connection between Harry and Voldemort, ultimately producing a potion that can protect you."

Snape pondered for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing.

As Lynch described the dream's characteristics, his mind automatically began matching it with corresponding potion knowledge and ingredient lists. Using the Pensieve for in-depth analysis is indeed the best way to obtain precise information to concoct the most effective and targeted potions, especially when analyzing memories. Dumbledore's Pensieve is an irreplaceable tool.

"Alright." Snape finally nodded slowly. "Based on the characteristics you provided, the 'Tranquilizing Potion,' 'Fortress of Will' potion, and 'Soul Soothing Potion' are good choices."

"But no matter how powerful the potion is, it cannot sever the connection between their souls."

"I know." Lynch nodded. "You just need to bring out the potion that's currently working."

"Come back in five days to pick it up," Snape replied, his tone revealing absolute confidence in his skills, despite the challenging task.

Lynch said no more, took one last look at the bottle of memories and Snape who had already begun to plan the materials list in his mind, and turned to walk towards the door.