Chapter 8 — Before School Starts
Inside the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had just returned via Fawkes when he immediately summoned Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall.
"Albus," McGonagall spoke first, her brows slightly furrowed with her usual mix of sternness and concern, "has something happened with that child named Fern?"
"No, Minerva. That child is doing very well—exceptionally gifted, and pure-hearted besides." Dumbledore shook his head, though a complicated light flickered in his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.
"I called you here because I wanted to discuss her two companions—particularly Fern's teacher, Mistress Frieren."
He paused, as though carefully choosing his words.
"She… possesses reserves of magic so profound that even I find them unfathomable. And her age… may well exceed a thousand years."
Snape let out a mocking laugh without the slightest attempt to conceal his scorn.
"Dumbledore, I think you really have gone senile.
Powerful, yet completely ignorant of modern magic? To hear such a self-contradictory statement coming from your mouth is almost impressive."
Even McGonagall wore an expression of disbelief. She adjusted her glasses.
"Albus, are you certain? More than a thousand years old? That sounds like myth and legend.
And if she is so powerful, why have we never heard of her existence?"
Dumbledore did not rebut them at once. Instead, he slowly withdrew two items from the inner pocket of his robes and placed them gently on the desk.
The first was an ancient gold coin from Frieren, gleaming with a mysterious luster in the office's soft light.
This was one of the five coins Fern had given him before he left, as thanks for taking them shopping.
The second was the urgent letter that had arrived earlier by owl.
"Look at this, Minerva. Severus."
Then Dumbledore voiced his suspicion.
Snape shot to his feet so abruptly that his black robes billowed around him. His pale face was full of fury.
"Hmph! I think you've watched too many of those idiotic Muggle time-travel films and let them rot your brain! A possibly thousand-year-old elf? A warrior? Why not say they can split a dragon in half with one axe and bring the dead back to life with a single spell while you're at it?!"
His voice turned sharp and vicious, his gaze fixed on Dumbledore.
"Can you guarantee that those mysterious strangers pose no threat whatsoever to Harry? Do you honestly believe their appearance near Harry's home was merely a coincidence?"
"Severus!" McGonagall cut in sternly.
Snape ignored her and continued snarling at Dumbledore, his voice heavy with years of buried pain and resentment.
"No! You can guarantee nothing! You're always like this—placing your hopes in vague, intangible people and accidents! Lily—"
"Severus!"
Dumbledore's voice rose suddenly, carrying a severity he rarely showed. But just as quickly, it softened again, filled with weariness and deep regret.
"What happened to Lily… I am sorry for it. I always will be. But I swear on my life and honor: I have met them. I have glimpsed a fragment of their thoughts. They are, at heart, kind children—indeed, one might even call them innocent."
Watching the atmosphere in the room grow more and more suffocating, McGonagall drew a slow breath.
"Albus, even if your guess is correct… then how do you intend to arrange matters for this… Mistress Frieren? Make her a professor? She knows nothing of modern magic.
Make her a student? Her name is not in the Book of Admittance, and with her strength and… age, are you truly imagining her sitting in a classroom with eleven-year-olds learning from A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration?"
She tried to picture the scene and found it almost absurd.
"That is precisely the difficulty, Minerva."
Dumbledore rubbed at his brow.
"It is because they do not understand this world—because they do not understand the current state of the wizarding world, and especially the threat of Voldemort's return—that they need proper guidance all the more, to ensure their power does not stray down the wrong path, or become… useful to the other side."
As he spoke, he cast a meaningful glance toward Snape.
"I will keep a close eye on those three mysterious strangers."
Snape's voice was cold enough to freeze blood, every word forced through clenched teeth.
"If they dare do anything at all against Hogwarts…"
He left the sentence unfinished, but the frost in his eyes said enough.
With a sharp snort, he spun on his heel. His black robes flared like the wings of a great bat as he strode out of the Headmaster's Office.
For a moment, the room fell silent.
McGonagall sighed softly.
"Albus, Professor Snape only means—"
"I know, Minerva. I know." Dumbledore waved a weary hand. "It comes from concern for Harry. It always has."
He turned his gaze back to her.
"Those three children—especially Frieren—I must ask you to look after them a little more carefully. At least before term begins, let them settle down in Diagon Alley and become familiar with the surroundings."
"I will," McGonagall said with a solemn nod. "Perhaps… the Book of Admittance occasionally overlooks one or two young witches or wizards, does it not? Especially in such unusual times."
She was trying, however implausibly, to lighten the mood with the suggestion.
Dumbledore nodded, his gaze falling once more upon the ancient gold coin on the desk, his expression deep and unreadable.
...
For most of her time, Frieren stayed shut up in her room or curled in a corner of the pub, burying herself in the pile of "useless" magic books she had bought from Flourish and Blotts.
"Fern, look—our world is actually this big."
Frieren excitedly spread a world map out in front of them.
"So this is what our world looks like?"
"What! There's even a B.C.? How much time has actually passed?"
While flipping through a history of magic, Frieren's eyes widened in disbelief.
Fern, meanwhile, had been studying Transfiguration without pause. She had already become adept in the other subjects, but A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration had brought her to a complete standstill.
She simply could not understand how wood could be turned into an iron needle. Was that really something a human being could accomplish?
If Mistress Frieren had not been just as puzzled as she was, Fern might truly have begun doubting her own talent for magic.
Watching Fern remain in a daily state of giant mushroom-like gloom because of Transfiguration frightened Frieren so much that she no longer dared to sleep in. She woke up on time every day, afraid that Fern might get angry.
As for Stark, he went out each day to help people in need and earn a little money. As a result, he quickly grew familiar with the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley, the regulars at the Leaky Cauldron, and even the stray cats in the alleyways behind the shops.
And so the days passed one by one.
Then one day, Fern noticed that Stark had become quieter.
He no longer eagerly explored Diagon Alley with her or went out helping others with his usual enthusiasm. Each evening, he would sit by the window in his room, hugging that enormous battle axe of his, gazing blankly at the gray sky above Diagon Alley, worry lingering in his eyes and…
One evening, Fern entered Stark's room carrying some food and found him like that again.
"Mr. Stark, you seem troubled lately."
She set the food down on the table and asked softly, her tone carrying its usual concern.
Stark came back to himself, rubbed his eyes, and managed a strained smile.
"It's… nothing, Fern. I just… kind of miss home."
He lowered his head, his voice muffled.
"I don't know how long we'll have to stay in this 'future.' Master Eisen… he's already very old. I… I'm afraid…"
His voice caught, and he said no more—but Fern understood.
He was afraid that by the time they finally found a way back, the master who had taught him everything, the one who was like a father to him, would no longer be there waiting.
All the things he had seen, all the stories he wanted to share—he might never be able to tell them to Eisen in person.
Fern's heart sank sharply.
These past days, the joy of learning Transfiguration, the excitement of receiving a wand suited to her, and her quiet anticipation of life at Hogwarts had temporarily pushed that fear aside.
But now Stark's words were like a key, opening the tightly locked cabinet within her own heart.
If they spent years here…
Unease instantly descended upon them both, and the room grew heavy with silence.
Fern abruptly stood up.
"We're going to ask Mistress Frieren!"
There was a slight tremor in her voice.
The two of them went to Frieren's room. Sure enough, she had fallen asleep again with a book in her arms, and there was even a smear of pudding at the corner of her mouth.
For once, Fern did not try waking her gently.
Instead, she grabbed Frieren by the shoulders and shook her.
"Mistress Frieren! Wake up! This is very important!"
Frieren groggily opened her eyes. Seeing two young faces full of anxiety, she rubbed her eyes.
"Mmh…? Is it time to eat? Or did Stark steal my pudding again…"
"Mistress Frieren!"
Fern's tone was more serious than it had ever been.
"We want to know—how long are we going to stay here? Can we still go back?"
At once, Frieren seemed to lose all trace of sleepiness.
She fell silent for a few seconds, then answered in a tone that was rare for her—serious, steady, and certain.
"You don't need to worry about that."
"How can we not worry?!" Stark burst out, unable to hold back. "What if we spend years here, and when we get back—"
Frieren cut him off and tapped her head.
"When I first arrived here, my mind seemed to… gain a little extra something.
"Like a piece of knowledge left behind by someone. It told me that the flow of time in this world is different from the one back home."
She looked at her two companions, who had both gone completely still, scarcely daring to breathe, and said slowly,
"One year here… is about one day over there."
In the very next second, Stark leapt to his feet, his face clearing in an instant. The surge of joy was so great he nearly hit the ceiling.
"R-really?! One day?! That's great! Master Eisen… he'll definitely be fine! I'll be able to tell him everything I've seen here!"
He waved his fists excitedly.
Fern, too, let out a long, long breath. Her shoulders, which had been tightly wound all this time, finally relaxed. Her legs even felt a little weak.
She sat gently on the edge of the bed and covered her face with one hand. When she lowered it again after a while, her expression was still as restrained as ever, but the worry in her eyes had melted away like snow beneath the sun.
"That's… wonderful…"
Frieren looked at them and blinked.
"So there's no need to worry. Maybe by the time we finish learning magic here and go back, we'll still make it in time to head into town for dinner."
She had already returned to her usual lazy self and let out a yawn.
Stark and Fern exchanged a smile.
Only now did their future life at Hogwarts truly feel like a new adventure worth looking forward to.
From then on, waiting no longer felt like torment.
They continued their everyday life in Diagon Alley, but their hearts were lighter than before.
And before they knew it, August was drawing to a close.