Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

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"And the other one is sitting right in front of me right now, having a conversation with me thirty-five years later."

Dumbledore's mouth was half open, his gray beard trembling slightly. There was no one around, and the two spoke in low voices, without waking up any portrait of the headmaster except Phineas Nigellus Black.

Even Phineas could tell that something was wrong with the atmosphere at the moment, and he was squinting his eyes and pretending to sleep.

Unfortunately, Phineas was a man of that era. Born in 1847 and died in 1925, Phineas just happened to see the beginning of the wizarding revolution that swept the world (1899).

"But, sorry, how did you..."

Anriel knew what Dumbledore wanted to ask.

"Professor, I don't know either. I only have memories of how to use magic. As for if you think my father wants me to bring something... I'm afraid there isn't any."

"Obviously, my father wanted me to be myself, not another version of him."

After Anriel said this, he clearly felt that Dumbledore's body relaxed a little. After all, he was still worried about this world.

If a young, ambitious man with plenty of vitality to squander were to emerge and inherit all the terror and responsibility that the name Grindelwald entails...

To be honest, he really had no confidence that he could prevent such a disaster with his old body...

so far so good……

The deep worry partially dissipated, and was replaced by a certain degree of pity - the reason why Dumbledore was Dumbledore was that he would not be blinded by momentary emotions, and now he just let down his guard a little.

but……

"Sir, you are the professor, and I am just a freshman. Can you allow me to ask you a few questions?"

Anriel winked and even prolonged the last syllable of his words, a funny and playful expression appearing on his face.

This obviously calmed Dumbledore's uneasy mood and made him reveal a faint, kind smile.

"Of course, kid."

"Professor wants to know what I am, right?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly.

"Like all magical creations, I have my own core—"

Anriel slowly spread out his palm. On the palm was a Tai Chi diagram with two blood beads forming a mark, just like the curse scar that belonged to Harry Potter alone.

"The two drops of blood blended together are as entangled as the core of my magic wand."

Anriel paused, then spoke:

“Obviously, my existence, just like my name, is like a dream, and dreams are unreal.”

"Who knows." Dumbledore reached his wand into his thick silver hair and gently pulled out a strand of memory, sealing it in an exquisite crystal bottle. He then raised his head and looked at the wall clock behind the Phoenix Fawkes.

It was already pointing to eleven o'clock.

"My God, as a freshman, even if the professors know it, you shouldn't wander around the school corridors in the middle of the night. Mr. Filch will go crazy." Dumbledore tapped the table lightly with the tip of his wand and said in his usual cheerful tone. Under the wand, a piece of letter paper folded itself up.

"Professor, Professor Dumbledore, can I call you something else?"

Under the gaze of the old naughty boy with gray beard, Anriel continued with a sly smile on his face:

"If I call Grindelwald Father... then... can I call you... 'Mom'?"

Dumbledore was stunned for a moment, as if he couldn't understand what Andril said for a moment. Then, he burst into laughter... It seemed that he hadn't laughed like this for many years. Andril noticed that tears appeared under his half-moon glasses.

Yes, he hadn’t laughed like this for ninety years since he was seventeen…

"Oh kid, if you don't mind me being an old man, yes, of course."

Dumbledore turned around, where Anriel couldn't see him, raised his hand to wipe away the tears from the corners of his eyes, and responded with a smile.

"The password for my office for the last two months is: Phoenix - Tail Hair, haha..."

Dumbledore made a little joke.

Of course, this password does seem very funny.

Tail hairs… not tail feathers.

Anriel also smiled. This was exactly how he remembered Albus Dumbledore to be. Whether it was to ease the atmosphere or for some other reason, at least he smiled.

Maybe the matter has been resolved. From today on, he has an absolutely strong background, and no one can touch him in Hogwarts. And obviously, all the regret and apology buried in his father's heart will be doubled by himself.

Although Anriel will not use this compensation without any bottom line, it is obvious that this will play a vital role in adjusting his peaceful life.

Dumbledore stood up, straightened his back, pulled out the Elder Wand, and tapped a quill on the table.

"Mentos."

The feather pen vibrated slightly, emitting a circle of blue light.

"Ah, an illegal Portkey, not approved by the Ministry – but no one will know, right?"

Dumbledore winked mischievously and took a half step back.

"Goodbye kid, have a great time at Hogwarts."

After the whirlpool-like transmission, Anriel opened his eyes and saw a warm stove in front of him.

A house-elf in a Hogwarts tea towel was adding wood to the fire, obviously startled by his sudden appearance.

Everything is just as the name suggests, Just Unreal.

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Soon, school life unfolded before Anriel like a picture scroll:

Studying life at Hogwarts is very interesting, at least much better than Bathilda's tutoring.

What Anriel had learned from reading books in his previous life was not even one-tenth as real as this real, dreamlike school that was so realistically presented in front of him.

Stairs that bite you, corridors that twist and turn in all directions, and the risk of being late at any time...

There was plenty of time to waste every day, and this boarding school with no strict requirements was like heaven to Anriel.

For him, who spent his previous life writing furiously all day long in Kyushu, this was simply an unimaginable life...

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In the Charms class, Anriel waved his wand without even opening his lips.

The two feathers belonging to him were fighting under the ceiling at this moment, attracting many students' idol-like gazes.

The short Professor Flitwick was standing on a pile of thick books, scratching his head. What can I say, such an excellent student...

He actually did nothing wrong, right? The first lesson should have been for them to try it out on their own...

Just to wear down their confidence and let these fledgling children have the most basic respect for magic...

Flitwick could never have imagined that there were students who could make feathers float up and then fight on the ceiling like two fierce fighting cocks.

Can someone explain to me what this silver mist-like aura is? Is this really just a levitation spell and not some kind of transfiguration spell?

This is not the level of magic a first-year student should have!

For a moment he didn't know how to treat this first-year who was silently casting a levitation spell.

As a professional teacher who has taught spells at Hogwarts for most of his life, Flitwick began to have some doubts about his teaching goals for the first time.

Ah, if I think about it carefully, this is the treasure of my own college, so it’s okay.

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The first Transfiguration lesson, it seemed, should be about turning matches into needles.

Professor McGonagall had to step down from the podium herself, put on a smile that she thought was kind, and told Anriel to quickly change the matches back to his classmates.

A bunch of exquisitely carved silver needles (matches) were stuck on a lake blue embroidered brocade cushion (matchbox), and a fat, big-eared gray mouse was dozing off beside the cushion, instinctively gnawing on the tassels of the brocade cushion.

Minerva McGonagall was certainly good at dealing with troublesome students.

But for this genius...

Even she was seeing this for the first time, and all the prepared teaching methods seemed to be insufficient...

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