Standing on the bustling streets of Charing Cross Road, Linn watched the red double-decker buses rush past and the fashionably dressed Muggle pedestrians weave through the crowd. He took a deep breath of the city air—thick, polluted, and undeniably alive.
"Ah… the scent of civilization's exhaust fumes," Linn said, his eyes glistening with emotion. "It smells ten thousand times better than the poisonous miasma in the forest."
Beside him, Dumbledore adjusted his purple, star-spangled robes, drawing curious glances from passersby. He smiled warmly. "I, too, enjoy the vitality of London. Now then, Linn, let us head to the Leaky Cauldron. You'll need to visit Diagon Alley to gather your school supplies—"
"No, Headmaster. That's not important."
Linn cut him off decisively.
He pointed across the street at a massive department store, his eyes gleaming with an almost feral hunger. "Before that, I have something far more important to attend to. Something vital… for my mental stability."
…
An hour later, inside the department store, the checkout counter was buried under a mountain of goods.
The young cashier stared in disbelief at the pile: neatly folded modern menswear, luxurious silk pajamas, a crate of Coca-Cola, a Nintendo Famicom, a Game Boy, the largest television available, and stacks of high-calorie chips and chocolate.
"Sir… the total comes to 400 pounds," the cashier said politely, though her voice carried a hint of shock.
Linn froze. Then, as if remembering something critical, he slowly turned to look at the elderly wizard behind him—who was currently examining a rack of chewing gum with intense curiosity.
"Um… Headmaster Dumbledore?"
He coughed lightly, trying to sound composed. "Given that I've spent the last decade living in isolation, I seem to have… overlooked a minor detail about Muggle currency."
He gestured awkwardly at the items, then at his empty pockets.
"Would you happen to possess some of those… small paper notes with the Queen's portrait on them?"
Dumbledore paused for a moment, then broke into a gentle, amused smile behind his half-moon spectacles.
"You mean pounds sterling, Linn?"
"Yes, exactly!" Linn said quickly. "Consider it a loan. Once I exchange it for galleons in Diagon Alley, I will repay you double—no, triple! I am a lawful-aligned mage; my credit rating is impeccable."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "There's no need for such formality. It's only a small amount of money."
Under the cashier's astonished gaze, the old wizard reached into an old wallet embroidered with Winnie the Pooh and pulled out a slightly crumpled stack of banknotes.
"I occasionally enjoy a few rounds of bowling in London," he said casually while counting out the money. "So I tend to carry some with me."
He handed the money to the cashier with a courteous smile. "Here you are, my dear. And if you don't mind, could you also add another box of that… 'Chew-Bao Super Bubble Gum'?"
…
After leaving the store, Linn cracked open a can of ice-cold cola and took a long, satisfying sip before letting out a loud, fizzy burp.
Finding a quiet corner, he raised his wand and cast a Shrinking Charm. Instantly, the enormous pile of purchases shrank down to the size of a matchbox. He casually stuffed it into his robe pocket, as if it were nothing more than a piece of candy.
"Linn," Dumbledore said, holding his own can of cola with visible reluctance, "while Muggle inventions are certainly fascinating, Hogwarts lacks electrical outlets. I'm afraid these devices of yours won't function."
Linn waved a hand dismissively. "I have Lightning Bolt, Headmaster. I can generate a stable 220-volt alternating current myself. I am, effectively, a human generator."
He took another sip of cola, then frowned thoughtfully. "Though it does raise a question… if wizarding newspapers can display moving images, why hasn't anyone invented something like a Game Boy?"
Even Dumbledore, with all his knowledge, found himself momentarily at a loss. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, choosing silence instead.
…
With his "material civilization needs" finally satisfied, Linn followed Dumbledore into the Leaky Cauldron. After tapping the familiar brick wall, they stepped into the magical world of Diagon Alley.
Compared to his earlier enthusiasm in the department store, Linn's behavior here was… almost indifferent.
At Gringotts, he barely listened to the goblins' elaborate pitches about investment opportunities.
Instead, he dumped a pile of rough ruby ore onto the counter with a loud clatter. The stones looked like ordinary pebbles, but their magical purity was unmistakable.
"Exchange all of it for galleons," Linn said lazily. "No need to count—just weigh it. Anything extra is your tip. And be quick about it."
The goblins' eyes gleamed at the sight of the high-quality gemstones. Their efficiency improved dramatically.
At Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Linn didn't even bother with measurements.
"That black set, and the dark gray one," he said, pointing casually. "Make sure they're made from your finest silk. Pack them."
At Ollivander's wand shop, the wandmaker had barely begun his customary speech about how "the wand chooses the wizard" when Linn interrupted him.
"I'm not here to find a soulmate," Linn said flatly.
He picked up a sleek ebony wand from the shelf, tested its weight, and nodded. "Good balance. I'll take this one."
"But sir, you haven't even—"
"I don't need a wand to choose me."
He tossed seven galleons onto the counter, tucked the wand into his belt like a pair of chopsticks, and walked out.
"Let's go, Headmaster. The minor errands are done. Now, for the real task."
Dumbledore blinked. "And what might that be?"
"Buying a house."
Standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, Linn scanned his surroundings with a sharp, calculating gaze.
"I need a residence in London. A secure, private arcane workshop."
…
As it turned out, finding a house suitable for an eleventh-level, sixth-circle mage was far more difficult than defeating Lord Voldemort.
A real estate agent named Pickring led them across various parts of London, growing increasingly nervous with each rejection.
"Too small," Linn said, standing inside an invisible apartment in Kensington. He tapped the wall disdainfully. "These walls are thinner than paper. One Fireball experiment and the neighbors will ascend to heaven. Completely unacceptable."
Pickring wiped sweat from his forehead. "But sir, this is one of the most secure residences in London…"
"Next."
…
In front of a villa in Hogsmeade—
"Too noisy."
Linn gestured toward a group of children playing Quidditch in the distance. "Surrounded by wizarding families? Where is the peace and quiet? And the ley line here is weak."
"Mr. Gray…" Pickring's voice trembled as he turned to Dumbledore for help. "Headmaster, perhaps you could—"
Dumbledore simply smiled. "Please continue, Pickring. Professor Linn has… very specific academic requirements."
"I've already shown him every suitable property!" Pickring nearly cried. "It must be large, isolated, quiet, and rich in magical energy—"
Linn suddenly snapped his fingers.
"Is there a place no one dares to live in?"
Pickring froze.
"You know… something near a graveyard? Or severely haunted? Those places usually have strong negative energy and excellent isolation."
"Are… are you serious?" Pickring asked weakly.
"Completely."
After a long pause, Pickring reluctantly pulled out an old parchment.
"There is one property… near Highgate Cemetery in northern London. A Victorian-era mansion. The negative energy there is extremely dense…"
He swallowed nervously. "It's rumored to be heavily haunted. The previous owner—a Dark Wizard—fled after a single night. It's been abandoned for fifty years."
Linn's eyes lit up instantly.
"Haunted? Even a Dark Wizard couldn't handle it?"
He grinned like a dragon spotting treasure.
"That's perfect. Take me there."
…
In the misty outskirts of northern London, beside Highgate Cemetery, stood a towering Gothic mansion.
Its pointed roof pierced the gray sky. Rust covered the iron gates like dried blood. Broken windows exuded a chilling aura, and the only sound was the distant cawing of crows.
"This is the place," Pickring said, stopping at a safe distance. "I'll… leave the key here."
Dumbledore stepped forward, his expression growing serious.
He could feel it—the oppressive, unnatural energy emanating from the house. It wasn't merely haunted. It felt like the lair of something far more sinister.
"Linn," he said quietly, drawing his wand. "This place is deeply unstable. If you simply want solitude, Hogwarts has many vacant rooms—"
"No, Headmaster. You don't understand."
Linn stepped toward the gate and inhaled deeply, his face lighting up with pure satisfaction.
"Do you feel it? The density of negative energy… the purity… it's perfect."
He turned, pulled out a heavy pouch of galleons, and tossed it to Pickring.