After a hearty dinner, Loren didn't sit down with Hermione for their usual evening of reading. Instead, he told her he had something to take care of and withdrew into his alchemy workshop.
Something about today had felt off. He couldn't quite place it at first, but he knew he needed to reflect—so he locked himself inside, ready to review his actions in detail.
He dropped into the beanbag-like chair he had crafted through alchemy—a personal indulgence born from his past life's disappointment at never finding a seat he truly liked. Normally, it was a spherical cushion, but when someone sat, it softened into a half-fluid form that molded perfectly to the body. It even calmed stray thoughts and sharpened focus.
With its help, Loren began to see the problem. Today, his mind had wandered more than once. He'd drifted into odd thoughts, and even when naming his new owl, he'd done it half as a joke.
Thinking back, he realized that ever since first seeing owls in the wizarding world, he had unconsciously thought of them as "fat-faced Scottish chickens." He'd seen owls before, but never called them that.
A sudden unease crept in. Was something influencing him? Why was he acting this way?
With no answers, his thoughts turned toward the system. Perhaps it held the key.
"System, are you really safe?" he demanded.
"Ding! This system originates from a supreme \*\*\*\*—a great being who harbors no malice toward the host. Its only wish is for the host to grow and aid its transcendence."
"Then why have I been losing control lately—doing strange things?"
"Ding! This has nothing to do with the system. Please check your talents carefully."
Puzzled, Loren opened his panel. His talents were unchanged:
1. **Strange Knowledge** – Your mind is filled with odd bits of knowledge. They may come in handy… though most people will never need them in a lifetime. Pray you don't either.
2. **Chaotic Thinking** – Your thoughts flow in a peculiar state of disorder, immune to outside influence, whether for better or worse. (ps: Call you insane and you're reasoning clearly; call you sane and your thoughts are tangled. Are you a sane man feigning madness, or a madman pretending to be sane?)
"System, nothing has changed."
"Ding! Because of your second talent, the system cannot fully determine your state. But from observation, you've seemed *too* normal. In short—you've been hiding yourself too well."
"…Hiding? Even I don't know what I've been hiding."
"Ding! The host instinctively rejects dull, suffocating life—but forces himself to endure it."
Am I really like that? Loren wondered, sifting through memories.
He hadn't started this way. Only after realizing this world was a projection of *Harry Potter*—dangerous, yet granting him power—had he forced himself to grow stronger, pressing down his true self.
In his past life, plagued by terrifying intrusive thoughts, he had hidden behind a mask of normality just to survive. Here, free of that torment, he still let survival instinct shape him into the safest, dullest version of himself.
But now… he had power. His memories of the Potter world assured him he wasn't in mortal danger. His family was safe, their lifespans secured. For once, there was no crisis.
No wonder his true nature was bleeding through. Perhaps, at heart, he was just… a trickster.
"System, is this world truly safe for me?"
"Ding! Rest assured. The system guarantees your safety. Even if erased from this world entirely, the supreme being's power will revive you elsewhere."
The words hit him like a thunderclap. For the first time, he felt free. It was as if he'd been moving underwater all his life, shackled by scuba gear, only now discovering he could breathe without it. The restrictions fell away.
He couldn't go wild, though. His life now was built carefully, brick by brick, through his own effort. Too much recklessness would risk destroying it. But still—he no longer had to suppress every stray impulse.
"System, then why does this world feel… off to me?"
"Ding! This world is woven from many projections. You've only glimpsed a few; the whole remains unseen."
"I mean—why isn't this Harry Potter world exactly like my memories?"
"Ding! Projections are not perfect copies. They contain nearly every interpretation and piece of information tied to the original."
"And why do I only recall vague outlines of the story?"
"Ding! Because of your first talent. Your mind holds every scrap of knowledge, but dangerous information is locked away. You access only what's safe—like browsing a book's table of contents. When a situation demands it, the relevant details will surface."
Testing this, Loren focused. At once, the entire scene of Harry and Hagrid visiting Diagon Alley flowed vividly into his mind. But beyond that, his recall blurred—broad strokes of the Mirror of Erised, the Philosopher's Stone, and scattered events of later years, without sharp detail.
Fine. It wasn't important. He didn't need perfect recall. His abilities were enough to protect Hermione and his family. What else mattered?
He thought of his last life, crushed by constant fear. This time, he could enjoy himself. With no danger, no limits, why not embrace the role of a jester in his favorite story? Not the hero—better to be the hidden hand behind the scenes.
With that, he let his mind wander into a hundred playful schemes. None mattered for now. What he wanted most was sleep.
…
From that day onward, Hermione noticed a change in him. The suffocating aura around Loren had lifted; he was more cheerful, more alive.
She welcomed it. Loren now often dragged her along on adventures he'd never dared before—like using magic to climb to the top of St. Paul's Cathedral to gaze over London.
She also explored his alchemy workshop. Soon, their house filled with enchanted gadgets: self-cleaning, self-fixing, self-operating tools. The two mothers were especially thrilled, delighted to finally be free of housework except cooking.
They visited Diagon Alley multiple times. The mothers lingered in Madam Malkin's shop, collaborating on clothes that fused wizarding enchantments with modern styles—garments that washed, ironed, and repaired themselves.
Meanwhile, Loren went on extravagant sprees, buying textbooks from all seven years, reference works, and so many rare tomes that some shops nearly emptied. Old, forgotten volumes gathering dust for decades vanished into his hands.
It wasn't just books. They scoured nearly every shop, even second-hand stores, sweeping up goods by the cartload. Rumors spread quickly: surely these two children were heirs of some hidden noble line, their lavish spending the proof. Potage's Cauldron Shop and the apothecary across the street became their biggest supporters of this tale—especially the apothecary, whose shelves Loren cleared on every visit.
And how did he afford it all? By "handcrafting" gems in his alchemy lab. Flawless, pure, controlled in shape and size—they sold like natural treasures. In a single afternoon, Loren could conjure enough wealth to fund them both for years.
Time flowed swiftly. Before they knew it, September had arrived, and with it, the day Loren and Hermione would set off for Hogwarts.
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