The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 248 Go to find Professor Lu Ping

Chapter 248 Going to find Professor Lu Ping (5.4K) (2/2)

Lynch listened quietly to Harry's explanation, the surprise on his face gradually fading, replaced by a complex and unreadable expression. He remained silent for a moment before slowly speaking, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief and confirmation: "So, a year ago, when I revealed our relationship to you in the school infirmary—you already knew?"

Harry nodded, watching Lynch's reaction with some trepidation. "Yes, Uncle Lynch. But I just guessed; I have no evidence."

"And you didn't tell anyone? Like—your friend Ron? Or Hermione?" Lynch's gaze sharpened, as if trying to see into Harry's heart.

"No! I didn't tell anyone!" Harry shook his head quickly, his tone urgent assuring him. "I know this must be a very important secret—and I think if this really is your past identity, you must have your own reasons for not wanting others to know."

Lynch's gaze lingered on Harry's face for a moment, his sharp, knife-like eyes gradually softening. He seemed to have reached a conclusion in his mind, then turned his head away, temporarily setting the topic aside. He gracefully lifted the teapot and poured the emerald green tea into the cup in front of him, the refreshing aroma of tea spreading out.

Then he picked up the tea tray, walked to the small square table and put it down, then sat down on the sofa opposite Harry, leaned back slightly, and shone his self-light back onto Harry.

This time, his eyes held less scrutiny and more gentle contemplation, and even a faint, genuine smile played on his lips.

“That’s truly impressive, Harry.” Lynch’s voice returned to its usual calm, but with an obvious hint of admiration. “And not just because you were able to glean such fragmented clues—a card, an enemy’s name—”

The facts were deduced from this.

He paused, his gaze filled with even more admiration: "More importantly, because you were able to keep this discovery to yourself for a whole year without mentioning it to anyone. Such judgment and—the ability to keep a secret—are invaluable to anyone, especially to a young person."

Harry was caught off guard by the straightforward praise, his ears burning slightly, but a warm feeling of pride and satisfaction welled up inside him at receiving Uncle Lynch's approval. He lowered his head, touched his nose sheepishly, and muttered softly, "I—"

I just felt it was the right thing to do.

Lynch didn't continue the topic. He picked up his teacup and gestured to Harry, "Have some tea, while it's hot."

Harry quickly picked up his cup, using the act of drinking tea to hide his embarrassment.

After taking a small sip, Lynch put down his teacup, looked at Harry, and asked another question: "So, Harry, besides those clues, what made you so certain that this mask belonged to the Hangman the moment you saw it? After all, it's just an old, unrelated object."

Harry lowered his head somewhat embarrassedly. "I—I can't really explain it," he struggled to find the words, "it's just a feeling. It seems—very cold, very—decisive. Like—like the feeling of death itself." He looked up, adding somewhat awkwardly, "Maybe it's just my imagination, nothing serious."

Lynch slowly shook his head, leaning slightly forward, his gaze becoming exceptionally focused, his voice low and clear: "Don't underestimate this feeling, Harry. Don't simply categorize it as daydreaming."

"6

He paused, making sure Harry was listening, and continued, “We are wizards. In our world, intuition—those sudden, inexplicable feelings that cannot be fully explained by logic—is often far more reliable than we are willing to admit. Sometimes it is the soul catching up with fragments of information that reason has not yet processed, and sometimes it is magic itself whispering to us. Ignoring it often means closing an important door to perception.”

Harry listened intently, recalling that he had indeed had some "feelings"—such as the suspicion that someone wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone—feelings that were later proven to be not unfounded.

But then I remembered my own guesses that were ultimately proven wrong, such as Snape being the one who wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and Uncle Lynch, who was Snape's friend, not being a good person either.

This contradiction puzzled him.

He hesitated for a moment, then decided to voice his doubts to Lynch: "But Uncle Lynch, my intuition often fails me. For example, in first grade, I was almost 100% certain that Professor Snape wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, but—I was completely wrong. I even—thought about you—because of it." He admitted somewhat embarrassedly, "If intuition is so unreliable, how am I supposed to tell?"

Lynch listened to Harry's confusion without showing any surprise on his face, as if he had expected this question.

He gently stroked the smooth rim of the teacup, pondering for a moment.

"Take it seriously, but don't completely trust it," Lynch said slowly, his gaze becoming somewhat distant, as if recalling something. "It's a process that requires constant practice and discernment. Intuition is like a messenger; it delivers information, but the authenticity of that information, and how to interpret it, still requires you to judge with reason and experience."

He paused, a subtle, self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. "To be honest, Harry," he said, "it's only in recent years that I've truly begun to learn about and understand seemingly ethereal concepts like 'inspiration,' 'omens,' and even 'prophecy.' You'll find that in this realm, the same sentence, spoken at different times, can take on completely different meanings; and these meanings, in turn, can change again depending on the speaker's or listener's own state of mind."

He looked at Harry, his eyes honest: "This is truly a complex and elusive field. No one can fully grasp it. All we can do is learn to listen to these whispers," while remaining vigilant and thoughtful, like sifting through gold dust, to find the truly valuable parts from the vast sea of ​​intuitions and inspirations. Mistakes and deviations are part of the process; the important thing is to learn from them, not to throw the baby out with the bathwater."

Harry listened attentively, and although the words were somewhat profound, he seemed to understand some of them.

Intuition is not a panacea, but rather a clue and tool that should be treated with care.

He nodded, feeling that the confusion about his intuition, though not completely gone, seemed to have found a path forward.

Lynch looked at Harry's thoughtful expression and realized that the topic of intuition and prophecy might be too profound and heavy for Harry at this moment.

He picked up his teacup and took another sip, then naturally changed the subject: "However, we can discuss these rather profound topics later." His tone became more concerned, "What I'm more interested in is how you're feeling after what happened on the train."

Harry's face flushed slightly, and he lowered his head in embarrassment.

This question touched on the embarrassment he'd been feeling these past few days. "It's alright—" he said softly, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his robe, "It's just—I was the only one who fainted, and it feels a little—shameful." He paused, his voice even lower, "Malfoy has been making fun of me about it these past few days."

But in front of his trusted Uncle Lynch, he didn't want to completely hide his unease, so he continued, "Actually, I'm also very afraid that something like that will happen again—on the way here, I was thinking, there are Dementors outside Hogwarts now, what if—what if they suddenly appear again?"

"You can rest assured about that," Lynch said calmly, his tone reassuring Harry. "After the incident on the Hogwarts Express a few days ago, Headmaster Dumbledore had a very firm negotiation with the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry has promised to strictly control the Dementors; they can now only operate outside the school's designated boundaries and will never dare to cross that line again. You are safe inside Hogwarts."

Hearing this clear assurance, Harry felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, which unconsciously relaxed.

Lynch continued, his voice calm and clear: "As for why the Dementors show such unusual interest in you, and why you react so strongly when you are around them—Harry, it's not because of your weakness. Simply put, the reason the Dementors are so fond of you is precisely because you possess a deeper and more intense pain and trauma than most people. To them, you are an irresistible feast."

""

Seeing Harry's confused look, he explained further, "First of all, you carry deeper traumatic memories than most people. Unlike most wizards who grow up in loving environments, your childhood was filled with unhappiness and emotional deprivation. This long-accumulated sadness and loneliness are inherently attractive to Dementors."

He paused, allowing Harry time to process the information in his words, before continuing, "Secondly, and more importantly, you are not one to easily succumb to despair. The courage, resilience, and love for your friends deep within you will form a powerful resistance. Imagine, for a Dementor, consuming a person on the verge of despair is like tasting a piece of tasteless bread. But when they attack you, the hope and love you unleash will create a tremendous contrast as they devour and conquer you. To first crush a powerful soul, and then savor its descent into despair, is an ultimate pleasure for the Dementors."

Lynch's gaze held understanding and encouragement: "So, your vulnerability isn't because you're not strong enough. On the contrary, it's precisely because the pain you've endured is so profound, and your heart so tenaciously clings to hope and love, that you become so special and alluring in the eyes of the Dementors. What they crave is to defile and devour this light within you—a light that shines even in the darkness, a light they can never comprehend."

Lynch's explanation was like a clear spring, washing away the dust and shame that had settled in Harry's heart from his fainting spell.

He had always believed that fainting in front of the Dementors was a sign of his cowardice and weakness, and a pretext for Malfoy to mock him.

But now he understands that this is not a fair contest.

He was not facing ordinary fear, but a precise and malicious attack targeting his past personal traumas.

The Dementors didn't target him because of his "weakness," but rather because of the immense pain he carried in his soul, and the inextinguishable light deep within him that stubbornly resisted that pain.

This realization, at this moment, acted like a solid foundation, supporting his somewhat shaky confidence.

He no longer saw himself as a pathetic creature vulnerable to darkness, but rather as someone bearing a special mark.

Therefore, more powerfully armed warriors are needed.

The heaviness remains, but its nature has changed from a shameful "flaw" to a "challenge" that needs to be faced and overcome.

He looked up at Lynch, his confusion and embarrassment replaced by a new resolve. He took a deep breath, feeling the warmth that Lynch's words had ignited in his chest, seemingly dispelling even some of the lingering chill.

"So—they're using my most painful memories to attack me." Harry's voice hardened. "And I can't let them do that."

A strong desire to break free from this passive situation welled up inside me.

He looked up, his eyes filled with urgency, at Lynch: "Uncle Lynch, then—then how should I deal with them? Is there any way?"

Lynch met his eager gaze and answered clearly and directly: "Of all the information known in the magical world, there is only one way to truly and effectively combat Dementors, and that is the Patronus Charm."

"The Patronus Charm?" Harry repeated immediately, etching the name into his mind as if grasping at a lifeline. "Teach me! Uncle Lynch, I want to learn!"

However, Lynch slowly shook his head, a gesture of refusal that stunned Harry, whose face was filled with astonishment and confusion.

"I can't teach you, Harry." Lynch's voice was calm, but it carried an uncompromising tone.

"Why?" Harry blurted out, his voice filled with disappointment and urgency.

Lynch looked at him and patiently explained, "Several reasons. First, the Patronus Charm is an extremely profound and complex spell, far beyond the level of ordinary OWLs. Many adult wizards cannot master it successfully. Its learning requires systematic guidance and a great deal of continuous practice, which necessitates a mentor who can consistently monitor your progress. My—"

"The situation," he paused slightly, seemingly referring to his current multitasking, "makes it impossible to guarantee such a time commitment."

He continued, his tone growing more somber: "Secondly, and more importantly, Hogwarts already has a ready-made teacher perfectly suited to teach you this spell—Professor Lupin. He is an exceptionally skilled Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I personally witnessed him cast the Patronus Charm on the Hogwarts Express; his spellcasting was exquisite. He is the most suitable person to guide you."

Seeing the lingering disappointment of rejection on Harry's face, and perhaps a hint of doubt about Professor Lupin's abilities, Lynch added, "Trust me, Harry. In dealing with Dementors and teaching the Patronus Charm, Professor Lupin can teach you far more than I can, and it's much more—suitable for your situation. Go to him, explain your wishes and predicament; he won't refuse you."

Harry's shoulders slumped; he desperately wanted to be taught by his powerful and trusted Uncle Lynch.

But then he remembered the summer at the Stone Tower Chamber of Commerce in Diagon Alley—the light that always shone under the door of the study late at night, the documents that Uncle Lynch was always working on, and his seemingly endless busyness, as if he didn't even need to eat or sleep—although he later learned that it was because the person in the Chamber of Commerce was a clone.

Thinking about all this, Harry's initial resentment and confusion at being rejected were quickly replaced by understanding.

He understood that Uncle Lynch wasn't unwilling to help him, but rather genuinely too busy.

He manages the vast Stone Tower Merchant Guild and seems to have other unknown responsibilities, so he certainly doesn't have time for one-on-one tutoring.

"I understand, Uncle Lynch." Harry nodded, the urgency in his voice gone, replaced by understanding. "You—you have many important things to attend to." He didn't insist further, but accepted the arrangement. "I'll go see Professor Lupin."

Lin Qi smiled and nodded: "That's right, just go find Professor Lupin."

After that, the atmosphere in the room became much more relaxed.

Lynch stopped talking about those heavy topics and instead asked about Harry's new semester courses, the preparations for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Hedwig's recent situation.

Harry relaxed and enthusiastically shared these everyday trivia, his cheerful voice and Lynch's occasional low replies echoing through the stone house.

The firelight from the fireplace illuminated two figures, one large and one small, creating an atmosphere of extraordinary tranquility.

After a while, Lin Qi looked up and checked the time.

"It's getting late, Harry." He stood up, snapped his fingers, and the carefully wrapped "Whirlwind" broom appeared in his hand. He handed it to Harry. "Your broom. I've checked and adjusted it. It's in excellent condition."

Harry took the broom, a surge of joy welling up inside him.

Then, Lynch called out in a clear and steady voice, "Tortz."

With a soft "snap," Totz, dressed in a black and white tailcoat, appeared in the center of the room. Its large eyes looked respectfully at Lynch, and its pointed ears trembled slightly with excitement.

"What is your name, sir? What can you do for me, sir?" it asked quickly in a high-pitched voice.

"Tortz, please escort Mr. Harry Potter safely back to the gates of Hogwarts Castle," Lynch instructed.

"Yes, sir! Thortz will do his best!" Thortz bowed deeply, then turned to Harry and carefully extended his slender fingers. "Mr. Potter, please take Thortz's hand, or even just the broom, and Thortz will take you back."

Harry was no stranger to the house-elf who had appeared in Magic Studies class. He gave Lynch a grateful look and then nodded to Torts. "Thank you, Mr. Torts." He gripped his new broom tightly in one hand and rested the other on Torts' arm.

"Well then, see you tomorrow, Harry." Lynch nodded slightly to him.

"Goodbye, Uncle Lynch! Thank you for the tea and the broom!" Harry had barely finished speaking when, with another soft "snap," he and the house-elf Tots disappeared from the stone house.

After Harry left, Lynch waved his arm, and the tea set and Harry's leftover snacks flew into the sink and trash can. Then he sat back on the sofa, raised his hand, and the unfinished copy of "The Dementors' Secret" flew into his hand.

On the other side, Harry felt a slight dizziness, and the next moment, he was standing steadily at the brightly lit entrance of Hogwarts Castle.

The evening breeze swept across the field, carrying the scent of fresh grass.

"Tortz's mission accomplished! Goodbye, Mr. Potter!" the little elf shrieked, then vanished again with a "pop."

Harry stood alone in front of the castle, took a deep breath of the familiar air, and felt a sense of security from the heavy weight of the "Whirlwind" broom in his hand.

I glanced back at the direction of the dark Forbidden Forest in the distance, where the warm lights and reassuring conversations from the stone house seemed to still linger.

He turned and pushed open the heavy castle gate, running swiftly towards the Gryffindor Tower.