Bates was unusually quiet during dinner.
He had always known that the world held more than what met the eye. But now, with the curtain of the magical world lifted ever so slightly, he found himself deeply shaken.
Could werewolves and wizards be connected? Could magic cure his... troublesome condition?
These questions circled in his mind like the cats that had danced around him earlier in the day—scratching at his thoughts, refusing to let go.
For a brief moment, Bates had almost opened up to Professor McGonagall. But when he heard her mention that magic was something one had to be born with—that only the chosen could become wizards—he silently backed away from that temptation.
He couldn't risk it.
He didn't dare mention that he was a werewolf. Perhaps, in the eyes of the magical world, werewolves were dangerous, unforgivable creatures. If word got out, it might not just bring danger upon himself—it could cast a shadow over little Loren's future.
Bates didn't fear death. He felt he had lived long enough. But Loren… Loren had a life ahead of him, one that could be extraordinary.
The old man had lived for others ever since the war. Duty and guilt had driven him forward, allowing him to forget what he had become—allowing him to ignore the monster he turned into, and the redemption he felt he owed to God.
He had become a machine called Bates, not a man.
But Loren's arrival had changed that.
It wasn't easy raising a child, but Loren wasn't like other children. He was quiet, thoughtful, capable beyond his years. He could cook, clean, and carry his weight. Every time Bates swallowed one of those hot meals Loren made, he felt… human. Alive.
He didn't say these things aloud. He didn't need Loren to do anything for him. If werewolves weren't a big deal in the wizarding world, Loren would find a way to deal with it someday. If they were, then there was no reason to weigh him down with unnecessary burdens.
On the other side of the table, Loren was blissfully unaware of Bates's somber thoughts. His mind was buzzing with plans.
Owls delivering letters. Transfiguration teachers named McGonagall. It was undeniable now: this was the magical world of Harry Potter.
He had watched all eight movies in his past life. Based on the timeline, he was likely in the same year as Harry himself.
Which meant…
Voldemort would be returning. Danger would eventually descend upon Hogwarts. Dumbledore would play his cryptic games, guiding the protagonist trio as they grew stronger and dismantled Horcruxes. Then, at the climax, he'd peacefully die after setting everything in motion.
From what Loren remembered, though, it was still a children's fantasy for the most part. As long as he kept a low profile, focused on studying, and avoided trying to be a hero, surviving Hogwarts shouldn't be too difficult.
And when it came to Grandpa Bates's condition—Loren already had a plan.
Remus Lupin was a werewolf in the original story, and the magical world treated lycanthropy more like a chronic illness than a curse. There was even a potion for it—Wolfsbane Potion, brewed by none other than Professor Snape. If necessary, Loren could buy it. Maybe he could even learn to make it himself.
If he worked hard enough… maybe he could even find a cure.
Then there was that odd bookseller. The two strange books, especially The General Solution of Pictographic Symbols, clearly dealt with alchemy. Nicolas Flamel had made a brief appearance in the original series. According to lore, the Book of Abraham contained instructions for creating the Philosopher's Stone.
Loren placed enormous importance on those books.
Was the old man in the bookstore Nicolas Flamel himself? Who knows. And honestly, who cared?
What mattered was this: Loren now had clarity.
He knew the plot. He had a plan. He didn't need to struggle to survive in the magical world—he could thrive. And afterward? He could return to the ordinary world, start a quiet business, make money, and enjoy life.
All he had to do now was grow, step by step.
Loren had never had such a wonderful beginning.
"Kekekeke…"
Bates glanced over to see Loren clutching his mouth and shoulders, trembling with suppressed laughter.
He had no idea what the boy was thinking, but maybe—just maybe—this kid really would do something extraordinary.
The next morning, Loren and Bates, dressed neatly and having cleaned up breakfast, sat on the wooden stools by the door.
Time passed slowly. Bates looked visibly uneasy—he hadn't entertained a guest in decades.
They didn't have to wait long.
Loren suddenly turned his head, staring intently at a patch of empty space. Bates followed his gaze, confused.
Pop!
Professor McGonagall appeared out of thin air.
Even more than yesterday's transfiguration trick, this startled Bates. Apparition was something entirely beyond his comprehension.
McGonagall's gaze swept toward Loren. She looked surprised.
"…You knew I would arrive from that spot?" she asked.
Loren scratched his head. "I just saw… something strange. A ripple, maybe."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's… an unusual talent," she murmured, but didn't explain further.
"Come. We have much to do."
She extended her hand.
Loren turned and quickly waved at Bates. "See you later, Grandpa!"
Bates only nodded, his throat a little tight.
"Apparate."
Snap!
Loren felt like he was being squeezed through a garden hose. His breath was crushed from all sides, his ribs squeezed by invisible hands. Just as he was sure he'd pass out—
Snap!
They reappeared.
Loren immediately stumbled, coughing and gasping. His eyes watered. Snot dripped from his nose.
He felt like a toothpaste tube that had just been emptied.
"This method is usually reserved for emergencies," Professor McGonagall said gently, rubbing his back as he recovered. "Today we're short on time."
She wasn't as stern as Loren remembered from the movies. In fact, she felt surprisingly kind.
Before him stood a modest suburban house—clean, quiet, and far more modern than the rustic cabin he was used to. It looked exactly like what a British house from the 1980s should look like.
"We're picking up another student."
McGonagall walked forward and rang the bell.
Moments later, a young couple opened the door. Between them stood a girl about Loren's age, with bushy brown hair that had clearly been brushed—but gave up halfway. Her brown eyes sparkled, and when she smiled, her large front teeth showed adorably.
Loren blinked.
Was that—?
Hermione?!
While he stood dumbfounded, McGonagall had already explained the situation to the Grangers. She turned and walked out with the girl, who beamed as she waved goodbye to her parents.
The adventure had officially begun.