Chapter 001 - Disappearance of Owls

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

It was a large and beautiful square room; bizarre and curious silverware was placed on a table with spindle-shaped legs.

It was a midsummer, but the fire in the fireplace still danced dazzlingly in the room.

Standing in the middle of the room was an elder with an elegant, long silver beard - the Headmaster of Hogwarts, as well as the greatest wizard publicly acknowledged by the entire Wizarding World.

There was an enormous, claw-footed desk in front of him, the wall behind the desk stood a shelf with an old and shabby wizard hat.

"Dumbledore, what do you think of the lyrics for this year?"

The hat turned and twisted; a wide gap opened at the brim, and voices came out like a talking mouth.

"Wonderful singing, I'm certain that the students will love it."

Dumbledore clapped, full of interest, and his silver beard swayed with the beat.

"Oh right, other than this, there is something else important. About Harry Potter's sorting…"

Dumbledore paused and lifted his forefinger in preparation to speak, but suddenly stopped and looked behind him.

The fire in the fireplace behind him rose sharply and suddenly. With a clear and crisp sound, a woman's somewhat blameful tone of voice sounded from it.

"Professor Dumbledore, I hope that the important matter you mentioned in the letter sent by the owl isn't discussing the lyrics with the Sorting Hat. You should know that the workload isn't light to send almost a thousand notification letters to students for the new school year."

A tall, black-haired witch in an emerald-green long robe bent down slightly as she walked out of the fireplace.

Her jet-black hair was winded into a tight bun; her lips were pursed tightly with slight impatience on her face as if she was handling a thorny problem.

Minerva McGonagall, the professor of Hogwarts' Transfiguration Class, the Head of Gryffindor, as well as the school's Deputy Headmistress.

"Of course not. I just thought that you might need a little help with this year's new students' entry notices. For example, how about some raspberry jam first?"

Dumbledore turned around and smiled gently. He passed a small jar that's barely two inches tall, filled with delicious red jam to Professor McGonagall.

"No, thanks."

Professor McGonagall replied coldly as she obviously didn't think that a small jar of raspberry jam could solve her problem.

"From the magic feedback, it is doubtless that twenty letters sent to Harry Potter through owls have all been blocked by the Dursley family. But if Harry didn't open the letters himself, the magical quill will automatically rewrite the letter and send it again. That family will compromise to reality sooner or later."

Dumbledore blinked his blue eyes, nimbly, "If so, leave it to me. I will notify Harry. When necessary, Hagrid will act as my temporary postman."

"Hagrid? Very well, it looks like you have made your decision, and you always have your reasons."

McGonagall frowned and snorted lightly without denying and continued, "If that's all, you could've told me through the letter. Is there anything we must discuss face to face?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed under his half-moon-shaped glasses. He picked up a wrinkled piece of paper from the desk with serious expressions, passed it to Mcgonagall and spoke slowly, "In fact, other than Harry, another child didn't receive the letter this year. To speak more accurately, according to Filch's record of the owlery, all the owls flew to her residence have lost their traces."

"Disappeared owls? Do you mean..."

McGonagall pursed her lips in confusion.

"I don't know. But according to the outbursts of magic recorded by the Ministry of Magic, the level o magic inside her has reached the boundary limit. If she continues to live without guidance, she may become an Obscurial."

Dumbledore shook his head seriously and looked at Professor McGonagall apologetically.

"I'm very sorry, I should be going myself, but you know what's going on, Harry's side. So, I may need you to pay a visit in person."

"We both understand that a person's influence is still visible."

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and shrugged helplessly incomprehension, "And as the Deputy Headmistress of the school, this is part of my job. What is that child's name?"

"Alina. Alina Kaslana is the name she chose for herself, and she's living in a Muggle's orphanage on the highlands of Scotland."

Dumbledore fixed his crooked glasses and added, "Oh right, be careful with the way you communicate with her. If I didn't remember it incorrectly, she is half Veela, and it may be troublesome."

Scotland, the biggest inland lake in England, an inconspicuous little town sat by the bank of Lake Loch Lomond.

There was a simple and humble little church, just behind the church, a small orphanage stand. The priest of the church and the dean of the orphanage is a Spanish man called Benitez.

The orphanage wasn't big; the majority of the children were transferred from other orphanages. There were only seven people here, including Benitez.

Without a doubt, Alina Kaslana was an exceptionally special existence with a pair of lake blue, star-like eyes, and ahead of long silver hair that reached her waist.

Not only because she was the only child with a family name, but more importantly, the financial allocation and cooking of all three meals were arranged and responsible by Alina.

Right now, a group of children crowded by the door to the kitchen as they stared at Alina, who was preparing for breakfast for everyone.

Just like the majority of children in orphanages, the ten-year-old Alina looked thinner and smaller than others of the same age. She was only 120cm tall, and she could only reach the kitchen bench if she stood on a little wooden stool.

However, no one would expect her to be a little girl that's barely eleven years old by looking at her skilled and familiar usage of the cooking utensils.

In a sizzling pan, the delicious smell of pan-fried egg floated in the air, mixing with the smell of previously toasted bread. All the children by the door swallowed hard uncontrollably.

The orphanage's fees had always been tight, and they could only smell this at every Sunday's breakfast.

Next to the frying pan, a large, black iron pot was stewing some sort of bird. The boiling soup was creamy white, and some golden bubbles of oil floated on top of it. A pure and sweet smell floated in the air, and the smell alone made their bodies feel warm.

Alina placed the last egg on the iron plate and picked up the spoon to try the boiling soup. She smacked her lips lightly and thought that it needed to be boiled for a while longer.

Alina bent down and frowned at the not so bright fire beneath the stove. She picked up a stack of thick letters of parchment papers and shoved it in the stove, pounded it with fire tongs, and made the blames roar again.

After doing everything, the girl jumped down from the little wooden stool lightly and turned around to look at the children who craved for food. Her face became stern as she clapped her hands.

"Alright, everybody goes back to the table now! Otherwise, no one will have chicken soup today."

The girl put her hands on her waist and tried to stick out her flat chest to look more imposing as she threatened in a fearful tone.

"Sister Alina, won't the priest eat breakfast with us again?"

The children who asked was the youngest in the orphanage, called Bran. Perhaps because he was the youngest, he was exceptionally clingy, and he was Alina's biggest follower.

Aline shook her head and pushed Bran outside the kitchen while replying in an unkind voice.

"I've said it many times. Dean Benetiz hasn't recovered from his cold yet, and he could easily pass it on to you lot. However, I think that he will be completely recovered after drinking one or two days of chicken soup."

"Then…"

Bran stood on his tippy toes, and his glance shifted from the table to the boiling pot as he swallowed.

"After the dean is recovered, can we still drink Scotland round face fat chicken soup every day?"

"Well…"

Alina turned around and looked at the roaring fire underneath the iron pot. In the dancing flames, letters of thick parchment paper slowly curled up and burnt, a delicate shield-shaped seal on the letters flashed and disappeared.

Even if she had reincarnated in this strange world for almost six years and as a fan who's addicted to the book series, Harry Potter, she still recognized the seal at first sight - a golden lion on a red background, copper eager on a blue background, black badger on a yellow background, silver snake on a green background with a big "H" in the capital at the center of the seal - the school badge of the famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

But even if she was a fan of the Harry Potter book series, it didn't mean that Alina wanted to step into the magical world and go through the plot missions with the Golden Trio.

She went through reincarnation, and she didn't want to waste her valuable time on the war between a bunch of middle school students (everyone in Hogwarts) and, at most, the power of a countryside terrorist (Voldemort). The internet era that's about to start in the Muggle world would be much more interesting than that of the magic world.

Just as she guessed, some sort of special magic was attached to the Hogwarts letter. It will not only change according to her real address, but the school also uses this magic to check whether the young witches and wizards have opened and read the letter.

That was also why she caught the owl as soon as she saw it for stews and burnt the letters immediately.

She believed that if she did this if someone from the school came to investigate, they would be furious and cancel her entry qualification, wouldn't they?

Alina squatted down and lightly ruffled Bran's brown hair. She took off a brownish-black owl feather that accidentally landed on his hair and threw it into the stove behind her. The tongue of the fire licked the feather, and the fire crackled lightly. 

"Don't worry; we will have this kind of Scotland round face fat chicken every day before I open that envelope."

"Well… What does the Scotland round face fat chicken look like?"

Bran asked curiously.

Alina shook her head without replying and stood up. She ended the discussion on Scotland round face fat chicken and patted Bran's head with a smile.

"Alright, you'll know when you grow up. Now go and sit down in the dining room, you'll have to be a good boy and do homework with the others after breakfast."