Chapter 1 The Lost Owl

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the eighth floor of the main tower of the castle, the headmaster's office.

This is a spacious and beautiful square room with some strange utensils on the table shaped like spindles.

Despite it being summer, the fire in the room still blazes brightly.

In the center of the room stood an elderly man with a long silver beard, the headmaster of Hogwarts, recognized as the greatest contemporary wizard in the magical world, Albus Dumbledore.

In front of him was a large table with claw-shaped legs, and behind the table, there was a shelf, on which rested a worn and pointed wizard hat.

"Dumbledore, what do you think about this year's letter?"

The hat twisted, and a wide opening appeared at the edge of the hat, emitting a mouth-like sound.

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

Dumbledore applauded appreciatively, and his silver beard swayed to the rhythm.

"Oh, besides that, there is another important matter regarding Harry Potter's branch..."

Dumbledore paused, raised his index finger, was about to say something, and suddenly stopped his voice and looked back.

The fire in the fireplace behind him burst, making a crackling sound, and a slightly reproachful female voice was heard.

"Professor Dumbledore, I hope that the important matters you mention in the owl letter do not refer to discussing letters with the branch hat. You know it's not easy to send opening warning letters to nearly a thousand students."

A tall witch with dark hair in an emerald green robe leaned and emerged from the fireplace.

Her dark hair was tightly pulled back into a bun, and her lips were tight, her expression slightly impatient. It seemed she had been dealing with some difficult matters before.

Minerva McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, head of Gryffindor house, and deputy headmistress of the magic school.

"Of course not. I just thought you might need some help with this year's first-year student admission notice. Perhaps a bit of raspberry jam first?"

Dumbledore turned and smiled softly, handing Professor McGonagall a small bottle less than two inches tall, filled with red jam.

"No, thank you."

Professor McGonagall responded coldly, evidently thinking that the small bottle of raspberry jam would not solve her problem.

"No doubt, according to magical feedback, over twenty letters sent to Harry through the owl were intercepted by the Dursleys. However, as long as Harry does not open the envelope himself, the magical quill will automatically repeat the writing and delivery; the family will yield to the truth sooner or later."

Dumbledore blinked swiftly with his blue eyes. "In that case, I'll take care of notifying Harry. Hagrid will also act as a temporary messenger when necessary."

"Hagrid? Well, it seems you have already decided, you always have your reasons."

McGonagall frowned, snorting disdainfully, and continued, "If that's the case, just write it in the owl letter. Is there anything else that needs to be discussed in person?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed behind the half-moon spectacles; he took a slightly crumpled note from the table and handed it to Professor McGonagall, speaking slowly.

"In fact, this first-year student, apart from Harry, has not received a letter from any other child. Exactly, according to the owl inventory results from Filch, all the owls flying towards her residence have disappeared."

"The lost owl? Do you mean...?"

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, somewhat puzzled.

"I don't know. But based on the extent of magical disturbances reported by the Ministry of Magic, the magical power within her has reached a critical value. If she continues to lack guidance, she might become a squib."

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

"I'm sorry, this situation with the girl really should have been taken care of by me. But the situation on Harry's side, you know. So, I may need to trouble you to visit her in person."

"We all understand that person's influence is still present."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and shrugged helplessly to convey her understanding, "Besides, as the deputy headmistress, it is also my responsibility. What is the girl's name?"

"Elena, Elena Caslana, that's the name she gave herself, and she currently lives in a Muggle orphanage in the Scottish Highlands."

Dumbledore held a gaze over the bridge of his crooked nose and added, "Yes, pay attention to the method of communication. If I recall correctly, she has Muggle blood, which can be a bit complicated."

———

Scotland, the largest inland lake in the British Isles, is a small town on the shores of Loch Lomond.

There is a humble chapel on the south side of the town. Just behind the chapel, there is a small orphanage. Both the priest and the orphanage director are of Spanish descent named Benítez.

The orphanage is not large; most of the children are transferred from other orphanages, and there are only seven in total under Benítez's care.

Among many children, there is no doubt a pair of bright blue eyes like the lake, and Elena Kaslana with silver waist-length hair, is a particularly special existence.

Not only because she is the only girl with a surname, but more importantly, a few years ago, Elena managed the financial allocation of the entire orphanage and the three meals.

At this moment, a group of children sat around the kitchen door, watching Elena prepare breakfast for everyone.

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

However, just by observing her skillful posture while cooking, no one would have thought she was a little girl of less than eleven years old.

In the flat-bottomed pan sizzling, the tempting aroma of fried eggs wafted, mixed with the smell of pre-baked slices of bread, making the children around the door involuntarily swallow.

Orphanage funding has always been tight. It is only when breakfast is served on Sundays that the smell can be sensed.

Next to the pan, a large black iron pan seems to be stewing some kind of bird. The bubbling soup has turned milky white with a few drops of golden oil floating on it, emitting a special and gentle fragrance. Just by smelling it, the fragrance can make people feel warm.

Elena placed the last piece of fried egg in the iron pot, lifted the spoon and tasted the bubbling soup beside it, lightly touched her mouth, seeming like it needed a bit more cooking.

Elena leaned over, looked at the now less bright fire, frowned, grabbed a stack of thick parchment envelopes on the table and shoved them into the oven, poking them with tongs. She let the flame rise again.

After doing all this, the girl hopped lightly off the small wooden stool used to reach, turned around, and looked at the little gluttons around the door, with a small face, clapping.

"Well, now everyone return immediately to the table! Otherwise, you won't want chicken soup today."

The girl placed her hands on her hips, trying to puff up her flat chest, attempting to appear more powerful, threatening with a fierce tone.

"Sister Elena, can the priest still have breakfast with us today?"

Bran, the youngest boy in the orphanage, asked. Perhaps due to his young age, he was particularly clingy and could be considered Elena's main rascal in the orphanage.

Elena shook her head and pushed Bran out of the kitchen while responding angrily.

"I have said many times that Dean Benítez's typhoid fever is not good, and it is easy to spread to all of you. However, I estimate that after one or two days of chicken soup, he should be fully recovered."

"Then..."

Bran tiptoed and looked over the wooden table towards the bubbling iron pan, swallowing saliva.

"After the dean falls ill, can we continue to enjoy round-crested Scottish chicken soup every day?"

Elena turned her head and gazed at the blazing fire beneath the iron skillet. Amidst the flames, a thick parchment envelope slowly curled and ignited, an elegant coat of arms flickered and vanished.

Despite nearly six years passing since she journeyed to this strange world, as a devoted fan of the Harry Potter series, she still recognized the coat of arms instantly: from the golden lion on a red background to the blue copper eagle at the bottom, the black badger on a yellow background, and the silver snake on a green background comprised the main body of the coat of arms. In the center of the coat of arms, there was a capital letter "H," the renowned emblem of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

However, even though she was a fan of the "Harry Potter" series in her previous life, it did not mean Elena was willing to immerse herself in the world of magic to accompany the trio on saving missions.

She had reborn; she did not wish to waste her precious time on a group of high school students (all at Hogwarts) and a rural terrorist, cunning and brave at most (Voldemort). The muggle world was on the verge of beginning. The Internet era was far more thrilling than the magical world.

As suspected, the Hogwarts letters were attached with a special magic. Not only did the address change to match her actual residence, but the school also possessed enchantments to determine if the young wizard truly opened the envelope to read its contents.

Therefore, she seized the owl promptly and burned the letter outright.

She believed that even if someone from the school came to investigate, she would resentfully withdraw her admission, wouldn't she?

Bending down, Elena stroked Bran's brown hair, removed a dark brown owl feather that had accidentally stained her hair, and tossed it into the fire behind him, the flames licking the feather with a crackling sound.

"Calm down. Before I open that envelope, this round-crested Scottish chicken soup will be here every day."

"So... what is a round-crested Scottish chicken then?"

Bran inquired curiously.

Elena shook her head, chose not to respond, stood up, concluded the discussion on the round-crested Scottish chicken, patted Bran on the head, and smilingly said,

"Alright, you'll find out when you grow up. Now go to the dining hall and sit down. After breakfast, you have to attend early lessons with everyone."