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The trial concluded.
The two werewolves, heads bowed, left the Wizengamot courtroom under the escort of Aurors. What awaited them was a ten-year sentence in Azkaban.
Lynn watched them being led away, his face devoid of expression.
He turned toward the witness stand, walking over to Ollie, who looked furious, and gently patted his shoulder.
"How is it?" Lynn's eyes conveyed a question—did he need his "help" to give the two werewolves a true "judgment" in a less legal but absolutely efficient way?
For example, arranging an "accident" on the way to their detention, or making Azkaban's "living conditions" particularly "attentive" to them?
Ollie took a deep breath. He glanced at Lynn, then firmly shook his head.
He lowered his voice and said, word for word, "You said, 'A gentleman's revenge, ten years is not too late.'"
Lynn: "...?"
He was momentarily stunned, almost suspecting something was wrong with his ears.
No, buddy—are you really going to strictly adhere to this "ten-year pact"?
You're going to wait for those two guys to serve ten years in Azkaban and then settle the score with them?
Leaving aside whether those werewolves can even survive ten years, the key question is—when have you ever seen me, Lynn, wait ten years for revenge?
Haven't I always "handled things properly" either on the spot or within a month at most? The ashes of those poachers in Norway are probably cold by now!
"Uh… Ollie, I think when it comes to revenge, it's about efficiency and timing…" Lynn tried to subtly express the simple truth that "revenge is best served immediately—or the interest accrues overnight."
But Ollie seemed to have made up his mind. He waved his hand again, interrupting Lynn, his tone resolute:
"Lynn, don't try to persuade me. This time… I want to do it my way. I will remember today—remember their crimes and this unjust verdict. Ten years… is enough time for me to grow stronger."
Lynn: "..."
He looked at Ollie. He hadn't noticed before—when did his roommate become so stubborn?
"Alright," Lynn finally said, spreading his hands and giving up on persuading him. "You'll regret it."
---
Life returned to its superficial calm.
Lynn continued his leisurely holiday routine, occasionally checking in on business at his Diagon Alley shop. He also introduced several new alchemical items, including "brooms." Lynn named the new broom model—Star Chaser.
He spent his time teasing his pets or experimenting with his newly acquired [Thunder Summoning]—attempting "artificial thunderstorm fertilization" on the magical plants in his garden. The results were inconsistent, and the plants seemed to have strong opinions about it.
Ollie, on the other hand, appeared to have transformed his anger into motivation. He practiced magic and studied even harder during the holidays, his eyes calmer and more resolute than before.
Time passed quietly.
August was already well underway.
This morning, Lynn was sprawled across his soft, spacious bed, immersed in a pleasant dream about catching a decent-sized fish.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, warm and inviting.
Suddenly—
An unannounced chill, like a slick, venomous snake, slithered into his bed, coiling around his limbs and bones, instantly dragging him out of his dream.
"Hiss—!"
Lynn shot upright, all traces of sleep gone, and shivered involuntarily.
He looked around in confusion. Everything in the room seemed normal, and the sky outside was bright.
He reached up to touch his forehead, then tested the air.
"What is this?" Lynn muttered. "Isn't it only August? Even for Britain, this temperature drop is ridiculous… Does the wizarding world have a 'cold snap'? No—this would be a 'summer cold snap.'"
But the chill was strange.
It wasn't just low temperature.
More importantly, it didn't seem to originate indoors—but… outside.
Just as he was wondering, frantic wingbeats came from downstairs, followed by a panicked cry:
"Holy hell! What is that?! You scared the feathers off me! Lynn! Lynn! Help!!!"
White burst up the stairs as if chased by a ghost.
It had completely lost its usual composure, darting straight into Lynn's arms, trembling—every feather screaming coward.
"White? What's wrong?!" Lynn caught the panicked bird and quickly tried to calm it, alarm bells ringing in his mind.
Peters Jolt had activated.
"Dodo!" Lynn called sharply.
The house-elf appeared instantly.
"Master."
"Take care of White. Stay inside and reinforce the defenses," Lynn ordered quickly, handing the still-trembling White over. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and rushed downstairs—still in his pajamas.
The ominous feeling in his chest intensified.
He pushed open the door leading to the garden—
Whoosh…
A colder wind rushed toward him, carrying a bone-chilling aura that raised goosebumps across his skin. Even the sunlight seemed dimmer.
Lynn looked up.
Above his house, several tattered black-robed figures hovered low in the air.
Wherever they drifted, the air itself seemed to freeze, and the surrounding plants visibly withered, coated in a thin layer of frost.
Still groggy from sleep and caught off guard, Lynn's first thought was:
Which dark wizard with a twisted sense of humor made these creepy puppets—and decided to perform outside his house?
"Who's being so annoying this early in the morning?!"
Irritated from being woken up, Lynn didn't think twice. He raised his wand and cast a spell, intending to teach these "ghost impersonators" a lesson:
"Confringo!"
The spell shot forward, striking the nearest cloaked figure.
But—
No explosion.
No flash.
The powerful blasting curse passed straight through the figure as if it were an illusion, detonating far behind it without disturbing even the edge of its robes.
The cloaked figures seemed startled.
They all turned their "heads"—if that dark mass could even be called a head.
Instantly, the temperature dropped further.
A wave of despair surged forward, suffocating, attempting to drown every positive emotion.
Faint, agonized wails echoed in Lynn's ears.
"Holy hell—Dementors?!"
Lynn snapped fully awake, blurting it out.
He finally recognized them—the guards of Azkaban. Dark creatures that fed on happiness… and souls.
But after the shock came confusion.
Why were Dementors here?
This wasn't Azkaban. No one here had broken the law.
So why were they gathering outside his house?
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Lynn tightened his grip on his wand. His eyes sharpened—sleepiness and carelessness gone.
Whatever the reason, they had trespassed onto his property, frightened his pet, and disturbed his peace.
"This morning…"
Lynn's lips curled slightly.
"I guess I'll stretch a bit."
"And while I'm at it… 'discipline' the Ministry of Magic's disobedient 'guard dogs.'"
The morning sun struggled against the creeping gloom, casting only a faint golden outline around him.
The tip of Lynn's wand began to glow…