Days at Hogwarts

Exiting the world in the book, Loren found himself lying on his side on the carpet, with The General Solution of Hieroglyphics quietly resting beside him.

He rolled over and sprawled out next to the window. Golden sunlight fell across his face—warm, itchy, and deeply comfortable. He stretched out his arms and legs, trying to soak in the sun with every inch of his body.

Closing his eyes, he began to organize his thoughts.

Today's events had come without warning. He had always known that The General Solution of Hieroglyphics and The Book of Abraham carried heavy weight, but that was about it.

Even knowing that the Philosopher's Stone described in the book was real, Loren didn't care all that much. Whether he could understand the material or not, he wasn't particularly tempted—by gold or immortality.

After all, once he'd mastered magic, his plan was to return to the Muggle world. With his time-traveler knowledge combined with wizardry, earning a comfortable living wouldn't be difficult. It might even be easier than transmuting stone into gold.

As for immortality, he had no real desire. Dumbledore himself had lived over a century and had chosen to die. Who knew how long a wizard could live naturally? Immortality might not be all it's cracked up to be.

That said, Voldemort had once tried to use the Philosopher's Stone to restore his body. If it could create one from nothing, then maybe it could be used to heal Grandpa Bates.

After Harry's first defeat of Voldemort, Dumbledore had planned to destroy the Stone to keep it out of evil hands. But before that, maybe Loren could borrow it to save lives. That wouldn't be a bad use.

Judging from how Dumbledore had treated Lupin, he clearly had no prejudice against kind-hearted werewolves. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to support them. So if Loren confessed the truth and asked him to procure some Wolfsbane Potion from Snape, Grandpa Bates might be able to safely finish out the school year.

Wait a minute—Grandpa Bates!!!

Loren suddenly remembered something he'd completely forgotten: he hadn't written to Grandpa Bates!

It had already been nearly half a month since school started, and he hadn't sent a single letter. If Grandpa found out, he'd probably get beaten the moment he went home for the holidays.

He had almost drifted off while sunbathing, but now he jolted up, grabbed pen and parchment, and quickly wrote a greeting letter.

In the letter, he briefly shared how he was doing and reassured Bates that everything was fine. Then he inquired about his grandfather's health and half-mockingly advised him to accept that he was old and maybe move to a bigger city for more convenience. Just make sure to lock himself up during the full moon—because that's what all the werewolves in the wizarding world did.

The tone was utterly disrespectful. If Loren had been nearby when Bates read it, the man would've walloped him with a stick. Thankfully, Loren wouldn't be there.

Next came the mailing. He left the castle and, after asking around, found the owlery just outside the Forbidden Forest.

Hundreds of owls roosted there. Feathers drifted everywhere, but it was surprisingly quiet. It was nearly noon, and most owls were sleeping, lending the place an unexpected tranquility.

The owlery didn't smell as bad as Loren had imagined. The house-elves kept it impressively clean.

With their help, Loren finally found his silly little spectacled owl. It had gained quite a bit of weight in just a few days and still looked completely dim-witted, bobbing its head while nestled in its perch.

Maybe Loren's footsteps woke it. When the owl spotted him, it lit up with delight and flew over clumsily, landing on his shoulder and pecking at him repeatedly in protest.

Loren wasn't annoyed. He gently scooped the owl into his hands, petted it carefully, and comforted it. After that, he handed over the letter.

With help from the elves, the silly owl was outfitted for its first official mission.

Loren returned to the castle just in time for lunch.

After finishing the last piece of spareribs on his plate, he looked up and noticed that Ron was the only one at the table, gnawing on a chicken drumstick. Harry was nowhere to be seen. It was odd—the two were usually inseparable.

"Hey! Ron, where's your twin brother?" Loren grinned.

Ron stuffed the last bite into his mouth and gave Loren a sideways glare. After swallowing, he said grumpily, "Don't even mention it. He's been in front of that mirror all morning, grinning like an idiot. I had to bring him lunch."

"Hermione and Neville already tried talking to him, but he won't listen to anyone."

At this rate, Dumbledore would probably have to step in, deliver a heartfelt speech, and eventually remove the Mirror of Erised altogether.

Coincidentally, Loren also wanted to talk to Dumbledore. He glanced up at the staff table—but the headmaster wasn't there.

Skipping lunch for snacks again? Loren thought. Shameless.

"See you, Ron! Don't forget to bring Harry something to drink!" Loren called, bolting out of the hall and toward the headmaster's office.

But again, he was out of luck. In front of the stone gargoyle, he ran into Professor McGonagall, who said, "The headmaster is attending to business at the Ministry. He won't be back until Wednesday."

Wednesday—that should be the day of the public trial.

Having missed Dumbledore, Loren decided to check on Harry instead. On the way, he ran into Wood.

In the abandoned classroom, he found not just Harry and Ron, but also Neville, who had brought food for Harry.

When Loren arrived, Harry was nearly finished eating.

Ron and Neville had been trying to talk him out of lingering in front of the mirror, but nothing they said got through. In the end, they just gave up.

"Harry, Wood is going crazy looking for you," Loren said casually.

Harry jumped. "Oh no! The team has practice today, and he was going to teach me the basic Quidditch rules!"

Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, had already met with Professor McGonagall and admired Harry's talent. He had even suggested that Harry get a better broom.

Although the new broom hadn't arrived yet, Harry and Wood had agreed to meet for Sunday training.

Wood planned to introduce him to the rest of the team and explain the real rules of Quidditch in detail.

"He's waiting for you at the pitch!" Loren reminded.

Harry couldn't sit still anymore. As much as he wanted to stay with his "family," he clearly couldn't keep Wood waiting. Otherwise, Professor McGonagall might turn him into a Quaffle and literally use him for practice.