"Sterling, remember to drink milk before bed."
Andrew patted Sterling's shoulder at the doorway, then turned to leave, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as Sterling stood alone in the cold entryway.
Halfway across the yard, Andrew suddenly turned back. Seeing Sterling still watching from the doorway, he smiled and tugged his small moustache affectionately.
"Not immediately closing the door this time, Sterling—still missing me, aren't you?"
Sterling remained silent, immediately closing the door with a soft click.
Andrew smiled and shook his head, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. How rare—Sterling showing embarrassment like a normal child.
This time, he truly walked toward the other side of town without looking back.
Inside, Sterling lowered his eyes.
He did miss Andrew, but the real Andrew.
Turning on the living room light, the warm glow revealed furnishings identical to his house in reality. He effortlessly found the second-floor study, taking down a calendar from the bookshelf.
December 29th.
The fourth day after Christmas.
Sterling felt the date might contain crucial information. Harry had arrived at Utopia on the first day after Christmas vacation—more precisely, midnight of vacation's last day.
So tentatively assume Christmas was a special temporal node for him.
Coincidentally, they'd first encountered that mirror on Christmas night too.
Therefore, four days had passed with Christmas as the origin point?
From Harry's "collapse" to Sterling completing his analysis and bringing people into Avalon had taken about a month.
He'd also spent three months in that false Hogwarts.
Four months, four days—meaning this town's one day equalled one month in the present world?
That realisation was catastrophic.
No matter how confident Sterling felt, solving Harry's problem would take several days—even if he went to Harry's house tomorrow and directly confronted the real him, could he use magical threats to force him to leave Utopia?
Wait.
Why not?
Sterling suddenly thought of Maleficent's persuasion techniques—he naturally knew such methods didn't suit normal present-world people—but this wasn't the present world. This was Avalon.
He didn't know if Harry preferred thorns or flames. If other magical preferences existed... oh, Expelliarmus. Though Sterling's accomplishment in this particular spell was mediocre, sheer magical power could compensate.
Sometimes overwhelming force was enough.
Sterling shook his head, setting this plan as a "final solution" usable only when absolutely necessary.
After all, Harry was still fundamentally normal—might not withstand Avalonians' direct, forceful communication methods.
In that case... several days would barely suffice...
Sterling somewhat dejectedly slammed the calendar on the table. With a sharp smack, swept-aside manuscript papers scattered everywhere, several sheets sticking to the alarm clock positioned on the table's left side.
Let's check the time, Sterling thought, peeling away those sheets.
"Now it's—11:12?—What?"
Sterling looked with bewilderment at this strange clock face—it had a full 48 divisions, half white, half black. The white portion had small flowers drawn, the black portion randomly dotted with golden paint acting as stars.
Currently, the pointer indicated the black area's "11" slot.
Both areas went from "0" to "24".
If this alarm clock wasn't some elaborate prank item... one day here was actually two days? A 48-hour day?
Sterling didn't quite understand why Utopia would establish this system. Did Harry think one day's time wasn't sufficient? So he doubled it?
Sterling didn't believe the Queen had set this time herself. Unlike those Hogwarts Castle details Harry Potter himself wouldn't consciously notice, time—so intimately related to oneself—world construction must follow the "making Harry Potter feel happy" premise.
Regardless of why Harry had configured it this way, everything proved advantageous for Sterling.
More time meant he finally needn't consider crash-studying Expelliarmus combat applications.
Sterling stretched languidly, feeling his head becoming drowsy with exhaustion.
Perhaps the oppressive sensation of passing through that pool of water had been too much. Even Sterling, a dedicated night owl accustomed to studying until sleep then continuing in Avalon until waking, felt thick drowsiness settling over him.
A long yawn emerged unbidden from his mouth.
Thinking further would just produce irrelevant rambling—so far, he hadn't even collected this town's basic intelligence yet.
Sterling climbed into bed, covered by familiar blankets, extinguishing the light with a thought.
"So warm—"
Terry lazily emerged from the blankets, his tousled head appearing as he looked at Robert, who'd somehow materialized in his dormitory.
"Still warm? Look what time it is—"
"First years have no morning classes today."
"You should still rise early to preview more material. Since Sterling and Hermione left for international magical school exchange activities, Ravenclaw's nearly being overtaken by Slytherin!"
Robert indignantly pounded his own leg for emphasis.
As mentioned before, Ravenclaw's house point acquisition was very individualised. Upper years were rarely called upon by professors, only earning points through completing assigned work or independently researching extracurricular knowledge.
Unlike the other three houses, Ravenclaw's real point-earning force was actually first-year students.
For this long-standing "tradition", despite this year producing point machines Sterling and Hermione, professors turned a blind eye, following previous habits to focus questioning on Ravenclaw children—even though this meant gifting Ravenclaw points generously.
Now, their star performers had fled abroad. Ravenclaw's previous gap lead seemed just a fading dream. Slytherin pressed relentlessly, Gryffindor followed closely, only Hufflepuff still lagged behind.
As of two days ago, Slytherin was only twenty points below Ravenclaw—thanks to some unnamed Potions professor madly awarding points.
As for why "as of two days ago"—
"Prefect Robert, didn't they have a brawl yesterday? Were both sides docked fifty points?"
Terry greedily continued enjoying blanket comfort, unconcerned about Robert's huffing, indignant face.
"Recently Slytherin and Gryffindor have been acting like powder kegs—last week they fought twice, even nearly dragging Hufflepuff in once."
"As long as they can't calm down, we Ravenclaws won't risk being pulled down."
"Wrong—" Robert raised a finger, shaking it emphatically.
"Just now, our second-year boys fought Slytherin second years—they had more people; ours nearly lost; fortunately, Hufflepuff friends helped. But this way, Hufflepuff also got dragged in."
"Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff—all docked fifty points. Gryffindor suddenly shot up right behind us!"
Robert stamped his foot in frustration.
"Slytherin surpassing us is acceptable—after all, they're one away from seven consecutive championships—but Gryffindor absolutely not! Winning Quidditch and wanting the House Cup too? Not that easy!"
Terry seriously suspected the second sentence was Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain Robert's true reason for urgency.
The day Ravenclaw was eliminated by Gryffindor, people had discovered him secretly crying in the dormitory, drawing curse circles for Wood with his friend.
Every shot had been blocked by Wood. If not for his friend desperately restraining him, Robert might have sneaked into Gryffindor common room to cast Impedimenta on Wood a hundred times.
"Alright, alright—I'll get up soon. Today I'll work hard answering questions to maintain Ravenclaw's absolute lead—"
With his desired promise obtained, Robert left the dormitory proudly. Terry lingered in bed a while longer, fearing Robert's return, then sighed and began changing clothes.
While putting on robes, his swinging sleeves knocked over a glass cup somehow positioned on the floor. Scattered glass shards formed a clear line of text on the ground.
Terry took a deep breath, feeling somewhat dizzy.
He extended his right pinky finger, seriously examining that circle of silver vine-patterned marking.
"Next time, give me prophecies by breaking cheap goods, okay?"
"If you like glass, I'll order ten cups from Diagon Alley right now for you to smash slowly—so stop targeting my ten-Galleon glasses, okay? Really, if I didn't genuinely like this shop's design, who'd buy five matching sets?"
Terry covered his mouth, looking at glass shards scattered everywhere.
"Now you've smashed the last one too—I really want to cut you off!"
Just empty threats. When the first cup broke, he'd already wanted to, but the knife had barely pierced his skin before he'd nearly jumped from the pain.
He didn't think he was particularly delicate—this was all that weird mark's fault!
While harshly denouncing it mentally, he properly recorded the glass shard-formed text on a small note.
Cup already broken—why not carefully read the prophecy? Otherwise the cup would have broken in vain.
"Chaos approaches climax; deep black silently spreads—"
No punctuation, but this prophecy had no ambiguity, unlike previous days' prophecies lacking punctuation with indeterminate semantics that had made Terry suffer.
Only seeing such clear prophecies did Terry realize how valuable those first seven days' prophecies had been.
Though still obscure, they'd had punctuation without semantic confusion.
Terry swept up the floor's glass shards, using Vanishing Charm to clean them—still feeling insufficient, he added another Vanishing Charm.
Vanishing Charm wasn't standard first-year Transfiguration content. Recently, constantly watching over Sterling and others while frequently encountering Professor McGonagall during her checks, he'd become unexpectedly skilled at Transfiguration.
After cleaning, Terry leaned against the wardrobe, rubbing his throbbing head.
Recent days' prophecies were actually similar—"chaos" repeatedly appearing, but descriptions of its severity increasingly dire—from initial "sprouting" to current "climax."
He'd figured out what the chaos meant. Actually, no prophecy reminder was needed—he knew, being one of Ravenclaw's first-year leaders.
Why had Robert sought him specifically? Because when not slacking, his point-earning ability matched Sterling and Hermione's.
Chaos—the inexplicably irritable atmosphere permeating Hogwarts recently.
Slytherin-Gryffindor conflicts were common enough—less rare than Ravenclaw unexpectedly losing Quidditch matches by high scores.
But large-scale brawls reaching the professors' attention was genuinely uncommon.
Especially the frequency—reaching twice weekly! After each occurrence, Professors McGonagall and Snape would inevitably lecture their entire houses sternly, yet under such circumstances, conflicts continued escalating.
This was absolutely abnormal.
Even Slytherin had become the actively attacking side—which was why Snape had been forced to dock their points. If they'd been the passive victims, Terry didn't doubt Snape would have compensated points for their "grievances."
From that point on, Terry had already connected "chaos" to this series of abnormal events, until today, when it reached its apparent peak.
Even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had been dragged into brawling!
Needless to say about good-natured Hufflepuff—their universally positive relations plus house-wide protective atmosphere normally kept them distant from every brawl.
Just consider Ravenclaw—though currently competing with Slytherin for points, they were actually quite philosophically similar houses.
Moreover, with Ravenclaw's extremely self-focused nature... honestly, they might not even care if people criticized them to their faces.
The only non-involved house was Gryffindor—Terry believed they'd simply been absent from this particular fight.
Whenever anyone fought Slytherin, Gryffindor would definitely jump in to help.
Meaning... currently all of Hogwarts was undoubtedly plunged into an escalating vortex of conflict.
Terry could foresee what would happen next—Hufflepuff would first retaliate against Slytherin.
With second-year students implicated, third-year seniors absolutely wouldn't stand by and watch. Once these three houses started tangling seriously, it would inevitably disrupt Ravenclaw's sacred studying time. Then they'd intervene under the pretense of "mediation"—and with just slight provocation, Ravenclaw would become the middle faction that all three sides actively disliked.
Then would come Hogwarts unprecedented all-house, all-grade mega-brawl—the climax of chaos.
Terry swallowed hard, his gaze drifting to the bracelet coiled on his wrist.
Sterling... why aren't you back yet...
It felt like Hogwarts had become a powder keg suspended over a roaring fire by a single fraying thread.
It just needed one small spark—
"Bang—"
"Come on, this is bottled butterbeer my dad hid! I secretly got it last time he was drunk!"
Harry and Sterling crouched in the kitchen's small corner. Harry's eyes shone with mischief as he watched the foaming beer in his hand.
"Harry! We're only first years!"
Sterling quickly cast Reparo on the opened bottle cap, then stuffed the bottle firmly back in the cupboard.
Harry looked somewhat disappointed but still pulled at Sterling's arm eagerly, wanting to play with broomsticks in the garden.
"Wait, Harry. I just ate breakfast before coming over. It's not good to exercise right after eating—"
Sterling caught Harry's sleeve, pointing meaningfully at the stairs.
"Won't you invite me up to your bedroom, Harry?"