Hogwarts on the tip of the tongue

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, principal's office on the eighth floor of the main tower of the castle.please()

It was a large and handsome square room, with a table with spindle legs and some curious silverware.

Although it was summer, the fireplace in the room was still blazing with dazzling firelight.

Near the center of the room, stood an old man with a long flowing silver-white beard - the headmaster of Hogwarts and the greatest wizard recognized by the wizarding world today, Albus Dumbledore.

In front of him was a huge table with claw-shaped legs, and a shelf behind it that held a worn, pointed wizard's hat.

"Dumbledore, what do you think of this year's lyrics?"

The hat twisted, and a wide slit opened from the brim, like a mouth, making a sound.

"It's a beautiful song. I think the students will love it."

Dumbledore clapped with interest, his silver beard swaying in time.

"By the way, besides that, there is another important thing, about Harry Potter's sorting..."

After a pause, Dumbledore raised his index finger and was about to say something when he suddenly stopped his voice and looked behind him.

The fire in the fireplace behind him surged, making a crisp sound, and a slightly reproachful female voice came out.

"Professor Dumbledore, I hope that the important thing you mentioned in the owl letter did not refer to discussing the lyrics with the Sorting Hat. You know, sending school opening letters to nearly a thousand students is not an easy task."

A tall dark-haired witch in emerald green robes leaned out of the fireplace.

Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her lips were pursed with a slightly impatient look, as if she was dealing with something difficult.

Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, Head of Gryffindor House, and Vice-Principal of this wizarding school.

"Of course not. I just think you might need a little help with this year's admission notice. How about some raspberry jam first?"

Dumbledore turned around, smiled gently, and handed Professor McGonagall a small bottle less than two inches high, filled with red jam.

"No thanks."

Professor McGonagall replied coldly, obviously not thinking that this small bottle of raspberry jam could solve her problem.

"There is no doubt that judging from the magic feedback, the more than 20 letters sent to Harry through owls were all intercepted by the Dursleys. However, as long as Harry fails to open the envelope with his own hands, the magic pen will automatically repeat writing and If you send it, the family will compromise in the face of reality sooner or later."

Dumbledore blinked his blue eyes flexibly, "In this case, let me handle the matter of notifying Harry. When necessary, Hagrid will also act as a temporary postman."

"Hagrid? Well, it seems you have made your decision. You always have your own reasons."

Mag frowned, made a noncommittal snort, and continued: "If that's all, I'd better write it in the owl letter. Is there anything else that needs to be discussed in person?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed under his half-moon lenses, he picked up a crumpled piece of paper from the table and handed it to Professor McGonagall, and said slowly.

"In fact, apart from Harry, there is another child in this class of freshmen who has not received a letter. To be precise, according to the results of Feier's owl loft count, all the owls that flew to her residence have lost their traces."

"Missing owl? You mean..."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, a little confused.

"I don't know. But according to the magnitude of the magic riot calculated by the Ministry of Magic, the magic power in her body has reached a critical value. If she continues to lack guidance, she is likely to become an Obscurus."

Dumbledore shook his head, replied with a serious expression, and then looked at Professor McGonagall slightly apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I should have gone there because of the child's situation. But you know the situation on Harry's side. So, I might need to trouble you to pay a visit in person."

"We all understand that the influence of that person is still there."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and shrugged helplessly to express understanding, "Besides, as the vice-principal, this is also my job. What is that child's name?"

"Elena, Elena Kaslana, this is the name she gave herself, and she currently lives in a Muggle orphanage in the Scottish Highlands."

Dumbledore held his eyes with his twisted nose and added, "By the way, pay attention to your communication methods. If I remember correctly, she is half Veela and may be a bit difficult to deal with."

----

Scotland, the largest inland lake in the British Isles, sits an inconspicuous town on the shores of Loch Lomond.

There is a simple little church in the south of the town. Behind the church, there is also a small orphanage connected to it.The priest and the director of the orphanage are both Spaniards named Benitez.

The orphanage is not big, and most of them are children transferred from other orphanages. Counting Benitez, there are only seven people in total.

There is no doubt that among the many children, Elena Kaslana, who has a pair of starry lake-blue eyes and waist-length silver hair, is a particularly special existence.

Not only because she is the only child with a surname, but more importantly, as early as a few years ago, Elena was responsible for almost all the financial distribution and cooking of the entire orphanage.

At this time, a group of children were surrounding the kitchen door, looking eagerly at Elena who was preparing breakfast for everyone.

Like most children in the orphanage, ten-year-old Elena is smaller than her peers and is only 1.2 meters tall. She can only reach the kitchen countertop by standing on a small wooden stool.

However, no one would have thought that this was a little girl under 11 years old just by looking at her skillful gestures of throwing pots and shoveling.

From the sizzling frying pan, the tempting aroma of fried eggs spread out, mixed with the burnt aroma of the slices of bread that had been toasted and placed aside, making the children surrounding the door unconsciously sigh. Swallowed.

The orphanage's funds have always been tight, and they can only smell this smell during breakfast every Sunday.

Next to the frying pan, some kind of poultry seemed to be stewed in a large dark iron pot. The boiling soup had turned milky white, with some gold-colored oil droplets floating on the surface, and a particularly mellow fragrance floated. Just the scent alone can make people feel warm all over.

Putting the last piece of fried egg into the iron plate, Elena picked up the spoon and tasted the boiling soup on the side, smacking her mouth slightly, as if she needed to cook it for a while longer.

Elena bent down, looked at the fire that had become less bright, frowned, picked up a stack of envelopes made of thick parchment from the table and stuffed them into the stove, pounded them inside with tongs, and let the flames Be vigorous again.

After doing all this, the girl lightly jumped off the small wooden stool used to rest her feet, turned around and looked around at the little gluttons surrounding the door, her face was stern, and she clapped her hands.

"Okay, now, everyone go back to the table immediately! Otherwise, you won't be able to drink chicken soup today."

The girl put her hands on her hips, trying to puff up her flat chest, trying to make herself look more imposing, and said in a very threatening tone.

"Sister Elena, can't the priest still have breakfast with us today?"

The question was asked by Bran, the youngest child in the orphanage. Perhaps because of his young age, he was extremely clingy and was considered Elena's number one follower in the orphanage.

Elena shook her head and replied angrily while pushing Bran out of the kitchen.

"I have told you many times that Dean Benitez's typhoid fever has not healed yet, and it is easy to infect you. However, I estimate that drinking chicken soup for another day or two will make a complete recovery."

"So……"

Bran stood on tiptoes, looked across the wooden table to the tumbling iron pot, and swallowed.

"After the dean is cured, can we still drink soup from the fat Scottish round-faced chicken every day?"

"This..."

Elena turned her head and glanced at the burning fire under the iron pot. Amidst the dancing flames, an envelope made of thick parchment slowly curled up and ignited, and a unique shield emblem on the envelope flashed away.

Even though it has been almost six years since she traveled to this strange world, as a senior fan of the "Harry Potter" series, she still recognized the coat of arms from the first moment she saw it - consisting of a gold lion on a red background and a blue background. A bronze eagle, a black badger on a yellow background and a silver snake on a green background form the main body of the coat of arms. The heart of the coat of arms is a capital letter "h" - the school emblem of the famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

However, even though she was a fan of the "Harry Potter" series in her previous life, it does not mean that Elena is willing to step into the magical world and accompany the trio of saviors on plot missions.

After finally being reborn, she didn't want to waste her precious time on a battle of wits and courage between a group of students (all of Hogwarts) and a rural terrorist (Voldemort) who was at best a country terrorist. The Muggle world was about to start a big internet. The magical world is much more exciting now.

Just as she guessed, the letter from Hogwarts has special magic attached to it. Not only will the address change according to her actual living location, but the school should also have magic to determine whether the little wizard has actually opened the envelope and read it. its content.

Therefore, she immediately caught the owl and made soup, and burned the letter directly.

I believe that in this way, even if someone from the school came to investigate, they would be furious and cancel her admission qualification, right?

Squatting down, Elena rubbed Bran's chestnut hair, plucked off a dark brown owl feather that accidentally got stuck in his hair, and threw it into the fire behind her. The tongue of flames licked the feathers, making a crackling sound. The soft sound.

"Don't worry. Before I opened that envelope, there would be this kind of fat Scottish round-faced chicken every day."

"So...what does a fat Scottish chicken with a round face look like?"

Bran asked nicely.

Elena shook her head, did not answer, stood up, ended the discussion about the Scottish round-faced fat chicken, patted Bran on the head and said with a smile.

"Okay, you will know when you grow up. Now go and sit down in the restaurant. After breakfast, you must do your morning lessons with everyone."

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(Meng Meng Da You Meng is begging for food. Please vote for recommendations. Hey, hey, there is a chapter of more than 3000 words!)

/52/5ml