The transition was not dramatic.
One moment Lookon stood in perfect black nothing, the next he stood on damp grass beneath a sky the color of bruised twilight.
No flash. No whoosh of wind. No disorienting spin.
Just… arrival.
He blinked once, twice, testing whether his eyes still worked the same way. They did. The world looked exactly as it should: sharp, real, smelling faintly of wet earth, pine, and something older—stone that had stood for centuries and would stand for centuries more.
He was on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just beyond the tree line where the ground sloped gently toward the black lake. In the distance, Hogwarts rose like a dream someone had forgotten to wake from: towers piercing low clouds, windows glowing with warm candlelight, the faint silhouette of the Whomping Willow swaying in the evening breeze.
Lookon exhaled slowly.
His breath misted in the cold October air.
He was still wearing the same clothes from Leekelo: faded navy hoodie, jeans stiff with rain, sneakers soaked through. The plastic bag from the bookstore was gone—dissolved somewhere between worlds, along with the manga volumes it had held. A small, irrational pang hit him at that. He'd been looking forward to reading the next chapter of *My Hero Academia*.
He patted his pockets out of habit. Phone—gone. Wallet—gone. Earphones—gone.
Only himself remained.
And the System.
A faint blue-white rectangle hovered at the edge of his vision, unobtrusive, like a notification he could dismiss with a thought. He didn't dismiss it.
**Arrival Confirmed: Potter-verse, Timeline Anchor Point – October 1991 (First Year Term)**
**Location: Hogwarts Grounds, Perimeter of Forbidden Forest**
**Cloaking Field: Active (99.7% efficacy)**
**Current Threat Level: Minimal**
**Primary Objective: Observe baseline magical equilibrium. Identify source(s) of entropy.**
**Secondary Objective: Calibrate adaptive interface to local thaumic field.**
**Recommendation: Non-interference. Data collection phase only.**
Lookon read the text twice, letting the words settle.
"1991," he murmured. "Harry's first year. Philosopher's Stone."
He knew this story by heart. Had rewatched the movies more times than he cared to admit, read the books until the spines cracked. He could recite half the dialogue from memory.
And yet standing here—feeling the chill seep through his hoodie, hearing distant owl calls and the soft lap of the lake against the shore—it felt nothing like fiction.
It felt alive.
Dangerously, heartbreakingly alive.
He took one step forward. Then another. The grass was springy under his sneakers, still wet from earlier rain. No one appeared to notice him. The cloaking field worked perfectly; he was a ghost in plain sight.
He walked toward the castle.
Not rushing. There was no need to rush anymore.
Immortality, he was beginning to understand, came with an unexpected side effect: time stopped feeling urgent.
He passed the greenhouses, glass panes fogged from within. A few late-blooming plants pressed against the windows like curious fingers. He paused for a moment, watching a tendril of Devil's Snare twitch lazily.
The System pinged softly.
**Anomaly Scan: Minor thaumic leakage detected in Greenhouse 3.**
**Cause: Overgrown Mimbulus Mimbletonia specimen.**
**Risk Level: Negligible.**
**Action Required: None at present.**
Lookon almost smiled.
"Even the plants are audited," he said under his breath.
He continued on.
By the time he reached the edge of the lawns, night had fully settled. Stars were beginning to prick through the clouds. The Great Hall windows blazed gold; he could make out the long tables, hundreds of floating candles, the murmur of voices rising and falling like waves.
Dinner, he realized.
First-years being sorted. Harry under the Hat. Ron looking nervous. Hermione with her hand half-raised before anyone even asked a question.
Lookon stopped at the bottom of the wide stone steps leading up to the oak front doors.
He could go in.
He could slip inside, sit at one of the tables, listen to Dumbledore's welcoming speech, watch the sorting ceremony he knew by heart.
Or he could stay out here.
Observe from the shadows, the way the System seemed to prefer.
He chose the latter.
Not out of fear—though part of him was afraid, a quiet, reasonable fear of changing something he wasn't supposed to change.
But because rushing felt wrong.
He had eternity now.
What was one night?
He found a low stone bench near the lake's edge, half-hidden by a cluster of reeds. He sat. The cold seeped through his jeans immediately. He didn't mind.
For a long time he simply watched.
The castle breathed.
Windows flickered as students moved through corridors. Somewhere high up, a silhouette passed—a professor, perhaps McGonagall, robes billowing. Owls swooped in low arcs, delivering last-minute messages. The giant squid's tentacle broke the black surface of the lake once, twice, then vanished again.
Lookon leaned back, elbows on the bench, head tilted toward the sky.
He thought about Leekelo.
About the rain-soaked street.
About the truck's headlights.
About how ordinary it had all been—until it wasn't.
He thought about his mother, probably sitting at the kitchen table right now in some version of reality, wondering why her son hadn't come home. Whether the police had already knocked.
He thought about his friends in the group chat, spamming question marks and skull emojis.
He thought about how none of them would ever know he hadn't just disappeared—he had been taken apart and put back together as something else entirely.
The ache in his chest wasn't sharp. It was dull, deep, like pressing on an old bruise.
**Emotional State Update Requested.**
The System panel reappeared, smaller this time.
Lookon regarded it.
"Processing," he said aloud, echoing the earlier status.
**Acknowledged. Processing duration: Indefinite.**
He snorted softly.
"Great. Therapy via floating spreadsheet."
He let the silence stretch.
Eventually, the Great Hall lights dimmed. Students began filing out—older ones heading to common rooms, younger ones trailing prefects like ducklings. Laughter echoed across the grounds, bright and careless.
Lookon watched a small figure detach from the crowd.
Black hair, glasses, too-large robes.
Harry Potter.
Walking alone toward the Gryffindor tower entrance, glancing back once as if expecting someone to call his name.
Lookon felt something twist inside him.
Not pity.
Not protectiveness.
Recognition.
He knew that walk. The slight hunch of shoulders that said *I'm new here and I don't quite fit yet.*
He'd walked like that himself on his first day at college.
Harry disappeared inside.
The doors closed.
The castle quieted.
Lookon stayed on the bench until the last candle in the highest tower winked out.
Only then did he stand.
**Observation Log: Initial Calibration – Complete**
**Thaumic Field Stability: 92.3% (minor entropy bleed confirmed in multiple artifacts)**
**Soul Fragment Anomalies Detected: 7 (preliminary count)**
**Recommendation: Proceed to closer observation. Infiltrate as necessary.**
Lookon read the update.
Infiltrate.
He could do that.
Pose as a transfer student. A visiting scholar. A lost Ministry official.
The System would probably generate whatever papers or backstory he needed.
But not tonight.
Tonight he would walk the grounds. Feel the castle's pulse. Listen to its secrets.
He turned away from the lake and started toward the forest edge again.
A low growl sounded from the trees.
Something big. Something with too many teeth.
Lookon paused.
The growl faded.
Whatever it was decided he wasn't worth the effort.
He kept walking.
Behind him, Hogwarts slept.
In front of him, the multiverse waited.
And for the first time since the rain-soaked street, Lookon felt something close to purpose.
Not grand. Not heroic.
Just quiet.
Steady.
Enough.