prynovel Chapter 329 The Choice of That Year
Chapter 329 The Choice of That Year
Chapter 329 The Choice of That Year (4.8K) (2/2)
When Lynch uttered the words "not much objection," the Dursleys' hearts skipped a beat with excitement, only to be gripped by even greater anticipation.
However, Lynch's next words were like a bucket of water mixed with ice, poured over his head.
"After all," Lynch leaned back slightly, adopting a negotiating stance again, his gaze calm yet sharp, "this money is a payment made to repay you for the past twelve years and to ensure that Harry receives basic humane treatment here in the coming years—food, clothing, safe shelter, and a living space free from malicious exclusion."
He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping over the Dursleys' faces, which instantly tensed, before continuing, "However, based on what I know—partly from Harry himself, and partly from observations from other sources—the treatment Harry has received here over the past twelve years can hardly be described as 'normal' or 'meeting basic standards.'"
Vernon's expression changed, while Penny abruptly lowered her head.
Their hearts tightened; they hadn't expected Lin Qi to bring this up so directly.
"Therefore, from a business perspective, the amount of 'compensation' for past events that have already occurred and cannot be changed needs to be reasonably adjusted." Lynch's voice was as calm as if he were assessing a flawed product. "I believe that calculating the annual compensation for the first twelve years at 40% of the original amount is a relatively fair and realistic approach. That is to say, four thousand pounds per year for the first twelve years, totaling forty-eight thousand pounds. Adding the forty thousand pounds calculated at the full amount of ten thousand pounds per year for the next four years, the total is eighty-eight thousand pounds."
"Eighty-eight thousand—" Vernon repeated subconsciously, his face quickly fading from a flushed red of ecstasy to a resentful, liver-colored hue.
From 160,000 to 88,000, almost halved! The enormous psychological gap made him instantly forget his fear, and he cried out urgently, "This is not fair! We—we gave so much! That kid ate our food, lived in our houses..."
Penny chimed in eagerly, her voice shrill: "Exactly! Prices were so high back then! We never let him go hungry!"
Lin Qi neither refuted nor got angry. He simply raised his right hand slightly and made a simple yet powerful downward pressing gesture.
The gesture was small, yet it carried a breathtaking sense of authority.
The Dursleys' voices stopped abruptly, as if they had been choked by an invisible force.
A faint, almost non-smile appeared on Lin Qi's face.
His gaze calmly settled on Vernon Dursley's wide, eager, and greedy eyes. His voice was not loud, but each word was clear, like cold metal striking the silent living room: "Mr. Dursley, there is something about me that you may need to know."
He paused to make sure the other person was fully focused.
"That is, I really, really dislike it when people lie to me." His tone could even be described as gentle, but the content of his words sent a chill down Vernon's spine. "So, I suggest you think carefully about what has happened in the past twelve years—before you speak."
Vernon Dursley's mouth hung open as he met Lynch's dark, calm eyes, and all his words of explanation stuck in his throat.
Penny's face was even paler than when she heard the amount, and she nervously grabbed Vernon's arm.
Vernon's Adam's apple bobbed violently a few times, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
Under Lynch's calm gaze, he found himself unable to utter a single word of his usual "hardship-raising theory," which he had been telling himself and his neighbors.
Finally, he avoided Lynch's gaze, and with a completely lifeless, dry voice, he managed to squeeze out, "—I—we might—we might have indeed done some things that weren't thorough enough in the past few years." He admitted with difficulty, as if every word was cutting into his flesh, "But! But things have been much better in the last two years! Look, he's living in a room upstairs now, isn't he? And—and—"
He tried hard to find examples that could prove the "improvement," but found them pitifully scarce.
Harry's room?
That was originally a storage room for miscellaneous items.
More food?
Those were just leftovers from Dudley's meal or things that were about to expire.
No more getting beaten up?
That's because Harry now has that damn little stick.
Sitting across from him, Harry listened to his uncle's weak and evasive explanations, and saw the twisted expression on his face—a mixture of wanting to maintain his pitiful dignity and being reluctant to part with the huge sum of money—and felt a surge of intense nausea, even more so than when he had heard the price tag.
He remembered the old, baggy clothes he wore under Dudley's clothes, the spiders crawling in the corners of the cupboard, his clumsy dodging when Dudley chased him, and those long afternoons spent locked out, mowing the lawn on an empty stomach—
It turns out that even this kind of "improvement" has become a bargaining chip in their eyes.
He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms.
After listening to Vernon's weak and feeble explanation, Lynch neither agreed nor immediately refuted it.
He simply leaned back slightly against the sofa, his right index finger tapping thoughtfully on his knee, and fell into a brief silence.
His gaze was fixed on a certain spot in the air, as if he were carefully weighing his options.
Those few seconds of silence felt like torture to the Dursleys.
Like two prisoners awaiting their final verdict, they stared intently at every subtle change in Lin Qi's expression, barely daring to breathe, afraid that any extra sound might affect the potentially increased or decreased numbers.
Vernon's forehead was covered in even more sweat, and Penny's fingers almost broke the sash of her dressing gown.
Finally, Lynch stopped tapping his fingers and refocused his gaze on Vernon's face, as if he had just completed a complex internal calculation.
"Given the recent improvements you mentioned," and—considering the stability of the long-term partnership," Lynch began slowly, each word causing the Dursleys' hearts to rise and fall with each word, "I can increase the compensation for the first twelve years to 70%. That is, £7,000 per year, totaling £84,000 over twelve years. Adding the full £40,000 for the next four years, the total will be £124,000."
The Dursleys' breath caught in their throats simultaneously, seventy percent!
That's much better than 40%!
Although it wasn't as much as the full amount, 124,000 was still a dizzying number for them.
Lynch didn't give them much time to process their joy, continuing clearly, "The payment method is as follows: the compensation for the first twelve years, £84,000, will be divided into four equal parts. Starting this year, it will be paid together with the full £10,000 compensation each year when Harry arrives for the Christmas holidays. That is to say, for the next four years, you will receive £21,000 each Christmas until the historical compensation is paid in full. And the basic compensation for each year thereafter will be £10,000."
He paused, his gaze sharpening slightly: "In addition, there is an additional clause that relates to the final total amount."
"If, in the days to come, until Harry turns seventeen and leaves, you have treated him without any wrongdoing—and my definition includes, but is not limited to, physical violence, verbal abuse, malicious neglect, deprivation of basic necessities, or denial of his existence again—then the compensation for the first twelve years will no longer be calculated at 70%, but at the full amount."
The Dursleys' eyes widened instantly.
Lin Qi's voice fell calmly to the end: "The missing 30% will be made up in one lump sum in the final year, along with the compensation from that year. How does that sound?"
"Agreed! We agree!" Vernon Dursley practically sprang up from the sofa, shouting impatiently, his face flushed with excitement and greed, as if afraid Lynch would change his mind.
Penny nodded vigorously, her eyes gleaming with longing for the "full" difference, as if she could already see Dudley driving a new sports car and herself wearing an even thicker gold necklace.
"Very good." Lin Qi nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the outcome. He gestured politely but firmly, "Could you please step aside for a moment and give us some private space? It won't take too long."
"Of course! Of course, no problem!" Vernon immediately agreed, his movements surprisingly nimble for his obese body.
He pulled up Penny, who was still in a daze, and yelled at Daddy, who was curled up at the other end of the sofa, trying to process the complicated conversation about "money" and "weirdos" with his small eyes: "Daddy, my little darling! Go upstairs! Go back to your room! Hurry up!"
Dudley was somewhat bewildered by his father’s unusual urgency and the strange look in his mother’s eyes, but he still obediently, or rather, out of habit, stood up and followed his parents, glancing back at the few “strange people” in the living room every few steps, especially the black-haired man who seemed unable to move just now and whose eyes were frighteningly fierce. Finally, the fat figure disappeared around the corner of the stairs.
The Dursleys practically fled the living room, as if afraid that any noise would affect the huge sum of money they were about to receive.
Only after confirming that their footsteps had disappeared upstairs, and that only he, the still petrified Sirius, and Harry with a complex expression remained in the living room, did Lynch look away.
He raised his left hand and casually drew a simple circle in the air.
Harry immediately felt the air around him seem to freeze for a moment, and a very subtle magical fluctuation spread out like a curtain of water, enveloping the entire living room.
All the sounds—the faint whispers of excitement upstairs, the occasional birdsong outside the window—suddenly became extremely distant and indistinct, as if separated by an invisible, thick layer of glass.
Immediately afterwards, Lin Qi gently tapped Sirius's direction with his right index finger again.
Sirius took a deep breath, like a drowning person surfacing, and the stiffness that had gripped his body receded like the tide.
He almost jumped up, but because of sitting for a long time and the stiffness from before, his movements were a little unsteady. His gray eyes burned with a raging anger that was forcibly suppressed but became even more intense, and his target was Lin Qi.
"How dare you—!" he growled, his voice hoarse from the restraint he had just endured. The tip of his wand had already slipped unconsciously from his sleeve, and although it wasn't fully raised, it was pointing in the general direction of Lynch's location.
Lin Qi ignored the subtle threat.
He didn't even move his body, but simply raised his hand and calmly and clearly pointed with his index finger towards the spot where Harry was sitting next to Sirius—his gaze followed, making a clear indication.
Sirius's anger was slightly interrupted by this action, and he subconsciously looked in the direction Lynch indicated.
Harry remained stiffly seated on the sofa, not moving his body immediately like the others, but instead keeping his head down, his hands clenched tightly on his knees, his knuckles white from the force.
Looking at the boy's lowered profile, his exposed skin was an unhealthy paleness, which was even more obvious in the living room light. His lips were tightly pressed together and trembled slightly, as if he was trying his best to suppress some intense emotion—not only because of the disgusting "negotiation" with the Dursleys just now, but also because of the lingering fear of nightmares and the cold humiliation of being put on a price tag.
Seeing his son like this, Sirius's anger, which had been ignited by Lin Qi's sudden restraint, was instantly replaced by a surge of heartache and worry.
He almost immediately forgot about Lynch, his wand falling haphazardly. He strode to Harry, knelt on one knee, and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, his voice filled with anxiety: "Harry? Harry! How are you? Are you feeling unwell? Is it them—?" He anxiously examined Harry, his sharp gaze sweeping over the boy's entire body as if trying to find any trace of the Dursleys' new injuries, while simultaneously regretting that he had been so focused on venting his anger at Lynch that he hadn't checked on Harry's condition immediately.
Harry felt a warm and firm strength on his shoulder, which seemed to pull him back from his cold thoughts.
He looked up and met his godfather's grey eyes, which were filled with concern and lingering anger. The suppressed resentment and nausea surged up again, but he shook his head and forced a smile: "I'm fine, Sirius. Really. It's just—a little tired."
Lynch waited until Sirius confirmed that Harry had no obvious physical discomfort and his emotions had calmed down, but the hatred for the Dursleys and the worry for Harry's condition in his eyes had not yet disappeared before speaking again.
His voice was no longer as sharp and businesslike as when he negotiated with Dursley; instead, it had become more gentle.
"Harry, there's something you need to understand about that money." Lynch looked calmly at Harry, then glanced at the disgruntled Sirius. "That money, or rather, the idea of giving the Dursleys some compensation, didn't just stem from this morning's negotiations, nor is it simply about buying your accommodations for the next few years. This is what I, and—some people who know the inside story—have long believed they deserve."
Harry and Sirius were both taken aback and looked at Lynch.
Lynch continued calmly, "You need to know that after October 31, 1981, although Voldemort fell, it didn't mean the danger immediately disappeared. On the contrary, for the first year or two, or even longer, many of his fanatical followers—the Death Eaters—were still active, seeking revenge, venting their anger, trying to find their master's whereabouts, or—eliminating anything that might threaten their master's legacy."
His words seemed to chill the air in the living room.
Harry thought of Professor Quirrell's face on the back of his head, and of Peter Pettigrew, who had been on the run for twelve years.
"Your aunt, formerly Petunia Evans, now Petunia Dursley, may hate demonic magic and fear that world, but she's not stupid," Lynch's voice was certain. "She knows better than anyone what happened to Lily and James. When Professor Dumbledore left you, as a baby, at her doorstep, she fully understood the risks that taking you in meant exposing the family to. The Death Eaters might not be found, or they might not come, but it was a looming shadow, an unknown doom that could strike at any moment."
Harry held his breath; he had never thought of it from this perspective before.
Sirius's lips tightened, and his gray eyes churned with pain and memories.
“More importantly,” Lynch emphasized slightly, “as far as I know, she never fully informed her husband, Vernon Dursley, about this potential danger. She chose to keep it a secret, bearing the fear alone, while also dealing with an abnormal baby and a husband who deeply resented the magical world and knew nothing about it.”
Lynch's gaze fell on Harry's face, with a solemnity that compelled him to listen: "So, Harry, no matter how the Dursleys treated you afterward—their methods were undoubtedly cold, harsh, and unjust—you must remember that the moment they took you into their home, they risked their lives. Petunia made a costly decision based on blood ties, fear, and perhaps a tiny bit of responsibility. For that alone, they deserve some form of reward or compensation. This is a separate matter from how they treated you later."
Harry was stunned.
The nausea and humiliation churning in my chest felt like a heavy stone had been thrown in, stirring up a vortex of entirely different nature.
He had never imagined that behind Aunt Penny's tight lips and averted gaze might lie such a heavy secret and fear. He remembered the coldness of his cupboard when Dudley showed off his new toys, and Aunt Penny's always hasty glances and shrill voice—the disgust was real, but now, beneath that disgust, there seemed to be an additional layer of twisted heaviness that he had never understood.
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