In an instant, Vincent was consumed by searing pain. He didn't know what was happening — he could only clench his teeth and hold on, fighting desperately to contain the chaos raging through his mind and prevent himself from losing all reason entirely.
At some point, he found that he had left the mysterious room and returned to reality. Yet the agony persisted, burrowing from his soul into his flesh. His vision swam — black, then white, then grey, cycling without warning.
He felt the air around him growing heavier by the second, thickening like concrete setting, slowly sealing him into an airless chamber until even breathing became an effort.
Then the black faded. The white faded too. What remained was only a boundless, desolate grey — and yet it seemed to contain both black and white within it, as though it were the product of their merging, or the colour that sat between them.
He had no sense of how much time passed.
The searing pain, the crushing air, the enclosing weight, the grey that stretched endlessly in every direction — all of it vanished.
Vincent felt as though he had clawed his way up from several hundred metres beneath the ocean's surface. His whole body suddenly relaxed. His mind was exhausted — yet the faint, persistent weakness in his soul that had plagued him for so long felt, ever so slightly, lessened.
So this is the 'benefit' of bringing the scale into balance?
That thought had barely formed when something new surfaced in his mind — an entirely unexpected piece of knowledge. After "absorbing" that grey crystal, Vincent had successfully set foot on his own Beyonder Pathway:
"The Broker."
The Broker? What sort of Pathway was that?
As a Sequence 9 on this Pathway, he could more keenly perceive certain needs; identify suitable parties to fulfil those needs; and through words and relationships, facilitate the resulting deals and cooperation — particularly those touching upon grey-area matters.
Beyond that, The Broker's purpose was often not the reward itself but the building and maintenance of relationships — drawing different people and factions together, binding them through the web of deals made.
But why would a Broker do all this without reward? Without gaining anything for themselves — facilitating cooperation simply for the sake of it? Just for the satisfaction of pulling the strings?
Vincent's brow furrowed. "And besides — there is no Pathway called 'The Broker' among the twenty-two standard Pathways. So where exactly did it come from?"
Was the mysterious room specifically 'tailored' for me — a unique Pathway of its own creation?
That kind of special treatment… does that make me the protagonist?
Not to mention the Mystery Pryer Pathway he already had access to.
Vincent's eyes lit up as he murmured: "So now I'm a dual-Pathway Beyonder — both Mystery Pryer and The Broker?"
But according to this world's rules, shouldn't a dual-Pathway Beyonder lose control — or die?
The Harry Potter World.
The taxi pulled to a stop outside a classically styled record shop. The moment Harry stepped out, he spotted it — wedged between the record shop and a bookshop, a small, grimy little pub.
After the extended revelations of the car journey, Bernadette had composed herself again. According to Vincent's description, this dingy little pub was the entrance to Diagon Alley, the wizarding commercial district.
"Let's go."
"Okay~"
Harry nodded and pulled out the hat and face covering he'd prepared in advance. After his last visit, he had absolutely no desire to be stared at by a crowd of strangers, shaken by the hand, and spoken to in baffling ways.
The moment they entered the pub, Bernadette's eyebrow arched involuntarily. The place was spectacularly dark and grimy. As a pirate, she had been to her share of rough dockside taverns — but this particular variety was a first, even for her.
Fortunately, while it looked filthy, it at least lacked the smell of vomit and urine that distinguished the worst of those pirate haunts. In that, it had them beat.
She swept a quick glance around and landed on the grimy bar top. Tom the barkeep had already spotted her: "Oh, Vincent — good morning."
"Good morning."
Bernadette returned the greeting without warmth, and moved to take Harry through the bar toward the back courtyard. But the moment she drew near, Tom flicked his wand and sent a Butterbeer floating over. "On the house."
"What for?"
Vincent had mentioned the Leaky Cauldron's landlord in passing — they were acquainted, though by no means close. In fact, if Vincent was to be believed, he didn't really have anyone he'd call a friend in this entire world.
"What for?" Tom laid a damp hand on Bernadette's shoulder and laughed. "To congratulate you, of course."
"Thank you."
She took a quiet half-step back, avoiding his hand, and smiled politely as she lifted the mug and took a sip. The taste was, to her surprise, rather pleasant.
"And this young gentleman is…" Tom cast a glance at the masked Harry. "A relative's child?"
"More or less."
She gave a noncommittal reply, finished the rest of the Butterbeer, and set the empty mug down. "Good stuff, thanks."
"Come on, Harry."
Tom stared at their retreating backs. "Harry? Which Harry? Another Harry?"
He collected the empty mug, muttering to himself: "Something's a bit off about Vincent today. And here I was meaning to ask him to keep an eye on Hannah for me."
Out in the small courtyard behind the pub, Bernadette tapped the wall three times with her wand. The bricks shuddered and rearranged themselves, revealing a winding cobblestone lane that curved away into the distance and disappeared from sight.
Even though he had been here once before, Harry still found it remarkable.
Bernadette, for her part, regarded the street with mild surprise.
Why does the architecture here look so similar to Loen?
She glanced at Harry and asked: "Why the hat and face covering?"
Harry looked a little awkward. "I… I seem to be rather well known in the wizarding world. Every time someone recognises me, they want to talk to me, shake my hand — some of them even try to hug me. I'm not entirely comfortable with that."
"Is that so? You've only known the wizarding world existed for about a month, haven't you?"
"Yes — but my parents were both wizards."
Walking side by side, Harry explained further. They had opposed a dark wizard — and died for it. And somehow, in the aftermath, he had become the "Chosen One." He recounted the story in brief, as he had heard it from others, and then added quietly, "But I think there must be some misunderstanding. I'd just been born — how could a baby have defeated a dark wizard?"
Bernadette nodded. "Perhaps what truly defeated that dark wizard was your parents — and the world simply gave you the credit."
Harry's eyes brightened. "So the Chosen One — that's my mum and dad?"
"I said perhaps. But you should know — in the wizarding world, anything is possible."
She patted the boy gently on the head.
"Perhaps the real Chosen One truly is you, Harry Potter."
To be continued…