The potions Lynn brewed himself were honestly top-tier. He'd only been doing magic for a couple of months, but his fine control over magic was something most adult wizards could only dream of.
Magic is brutal when it comes to raw talent. Your ceiling (and sometimes your floor) is decided the second you're born.
Snape back in his Hogwarts days was the perfect example: the guy barely had to try and he was already better than most people ever get at potions.
Lynn wasn't necessarily more gifted than Snape, but when it came to mass-producing potions? Nobody could touch him. Telekinesis basically gave him eight extra pairs of hands. Watching fifteen cauldrons at once? Not a problem. X-ray vision meant he never even had to walk around to check on everything. Ingredients? He just teleported them straight into the pots with perfect timing, down to the second.
Stirring? Telekinesis handled that too. The guy was a one-man factory.
Energy potions and Pep-Up Potions were everyday staples; people always needed them. They didn't sell for a fortune, but ingredients were dirt cheap and each batch only took about an hour and twenty minutes. Lynn spent one morning plus one afternoon cranking and walked away with seven full batches: 84 cauldrons total, 422 bottles once they were decanted. At roughly three Sickles profit per bottle, that was a clean 74 Galleons and 8 Sickles in his pocket.
One week of this and he could straight-up buy a Nimbus 2000. In the wizarding world that's basically a supercar.
For Lynn, brewing potions wasn't a job; it was highway robbery with extra steps. Any other wizard trying the same thing would be exhausted after three cauldrons.
Most decent potioneers can handle three cauldrons at once without screwing up. Fifteen? You'd need to be superhuman.
Telekinesis + X-ray vision + short-range teleportation = unfair advantage.
He bottled the last of the still-warm potions, stashed his massive earnings, and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner.
The morning disaster seemed forgotten by the other students, but apparently Ron's legendary "THERE'S POO IN THE FOOD" scream had traumatized the house-elves. Dinner was all solid food; not a single soup, stew, or gravy in sight. Even the pumpkin juice had been yanked and replaced with lemonade and fruit punch.
"Hey, Fred, George; how's your brother doing?"
Lynn spotted the twins at the Gryffindor table and clapped them on the shoulders.
"Lying in the hospital wing," Fred said with a shrug. "Madam Pomfrey couldn't find any hexes or poison. Ron's perfectly healthy, so she's guessing some freak food allergy made him puke and hallucinate."
"Hard to believe," George snorted. "Ron once fought Errol for owl kibble and won. Never had a single stomach issue."
"Maybe a spider crawled into his mouth while he was asleep and he swallowed it whole," Fred suggested.
George cracked up. "That would explain everything. You know how he feels about spiders."
"Anyway," Fred said, turning back to Lynn, "what's up?"
"Goods are ready."
The twins' eyebrows shot up.
"How many we talking?"
"Four hundred plus bottles. Roughly sixty-forty split between Energy and Pep-Up."
Both twins inhaled sharply through their teeth.
"We used to struggle to make that many in a whole month," George whispered. "Brewing is exhausting."
"What can I say? Gifted. Also broke as hell."
"Fair. Eat fast; we're leaving right after dinner. Round trip's about two and a half hours, so we can't be late."
Lynn demolished his food in record time, wiped his mouth, and stood.
"Autumn, I've got plans tonight, so no bedtime story, okay?"
He stopped by the Ravenclaw table on his way out.
"Oh, sure," Autumn said, nodding. "Just… please tell me you're not sneaking into the Forbidden Forest. It's dangerous."
"Promise. Just tinkering with some stuff with Fred and George."
He left with the twins and followed them up flight after flight of stairs.
"There are tons of secret passages out of Hogwarts," Fred explained as they walked. "The one-eyed witch on the fourth floor drops you in Honeydukes' cellar (super inconvenient, you'll get mistaken for a thief), the Whomping Willow outside, blah blah blah. But our favorite is this one."
Seventh floor. They stopped in front of a portrait of a witch.
"The passage behind the Grey Lady's portrait leads straight to an abandoned house in Hogsmeade that's hooked into the public Floo Network. No one lives there, the tunnel's never been discovered, and it's completely safe."
"Come out of the fireplace and everyone just assumes you arrived by Floo like a normal person."
"First, though; disguise time." George handed Lynn an old black hooded cloak. "Pull the hood up and wrap this around your face once we're outside. Everyone in the Hog's Head dresses like that. They like their privacy."
"We know a couple guys in there," Fred continued. "We scored a ton of cheap ingredients off them right after term started. They're total lowlifes, but inside the pub they behave."
"Mundungus Fletcher; Dad's mentioned him. Petty thief, coward, but he's got connections and he's reasonably trustworthy for a black-market dealer."
"Last thing," George said, handing over a dried leaf. "Mandrake leaf; dried so it's basically harmless, but hold it in your cheek and it'll numb your vocal cords a little. Makes your voice nice and raspy."
Lynn took the cloak and the leaf, honestly impressed.
"You two are scarily prepared."
"Of course," Fred grinned. "We don't do stupid risks. Gryffindors use their brains too. The real idiots are those slimy Slytherin dung beetles."
"We've caused Hagrid plenty of headaches over the years, but we never go deep into the Forbidden Forest. Just the edges for ingredients. We were flat broke back then; starting a business with zero capital is brutal."