Hogwarts Magic School, the eighth floor of the castle main tower, the principal's office.

This is a spacious and beautiful square room with some weird silverware on the table with spindle feet.

Although it was summer, there were still dazzling fires in the fireplace in the room.

Near the center of the room, standing an old man with a flowing silver-white beard, the principal of Hogwarts, and is also the greatest wizard in the wizarding world today, Albus Dumbledore.

In front of him was a huge, clawed table with a shelf behind the table, with a shabby old spire wizard hat on it.

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

The hat twisted, and a wide slit was cracked from the edge of the hat, making a sound like a mouth.

“It’s a wonderful song, I think the students will definitely like it.”

Dumbledore applauded with interest, his silver beard shaking with the beat.

"By the way, in addition to this, there is another important thing, about the Harry Potter branch..."

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

The fire in the fireplace behind him surged, and a crisp sound made a sound, and a slightly reproachful woman's voice came out.

"Professor Dumbledore, I hope that the important thing you mentioned in your letter to the Owl is not referring to the lyrics of the discussion with the branch hat. You should know that sending a letter to nearly a thousand students to start a school notice is not an easy job."

A tall black-haired witch in an emerald green robe leaned over and walked out of the fireplace.

The black hair was tied into a very tight bun, and the lips were tight and pursed, looking a little impatient, as if he was dealing with something difficult before.

Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts professor of Transformation, dean of Gryffindor College, and vice-chancellor of the magic school.

"Of course not. I just think you might need a little help with this year's freshman admission notice. For example, a little raspberry jam first?"

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

"No, thank you."

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

"There is no doubt that from the magic feedback, the more than 20 letters sent to Harry through the owl were stopped by the Dursley family. However, as long as Harry fails to open the envelope with his own hands, the magic pen will automatically repeat the writing and sending, and the family will sooner or later compromise in the face of reality."

Dumbledore blinked his blue eyes flexibly, "Since that's the case, then I'll leave it to me to deal with the matter of informing Harry. If necessary, Hagrid will also act as a temporary postman."

"Hagge? Well, it seems you've decided that you've always had your own reasons."

McGonagall frowned and made a nasal voice without comment, continuing, "If it were just that, it would be better to write it in the Owl's letter. Is there anything else that must be discussed in person?"

"Yes."

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

"In fact, this class of freshmen, except Harry, had no letters received. To be precise, according to Felch's count of the owl shed, all the owls flying to her residence were lost."

"Missing Owl? You mean..."

Professor McGonagall pursed his lips, a little confused.

"I don't know. But according to the magic riots counted by the Ministry of Magic, the magic power in her body has reached a critical value. If she continues to lack guidance, she may become a silent person."

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

"Sorry, I should have been there for this kid. But you know the situation on Harry's side. So, you may need to ask for a visit in person."

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

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

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

Dumbledore held her eyes on the twisted bridge of her nose and added, "By the way, pay attention to communication. If I remember correctly, she is half of the veterinary blood, which may be a bit difficult."

———

Scotland, the largest inland lake in the British Isles, is located on the shore of Lake Romond.

There is a simple chapel to the south of the town. Behind the church is a small orphanage. The priest and the director of the orphanage are both Spanish named Benitez.

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

There is no doubt that among many children, Elena Kaslana, with its starry blue eyes and long waist-length silver hair, is an exceptionally 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 the financial allocation of the entire orphanage and the cooking of three meals.

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

Like most children in orphanages, ten-year-old Elena is smaller than her peers and is only 1.2 meters tall. Only by standing on a small wooden stool can she get the kitchen operating table.

However, if only looking at her skillful posture of scooping the pot, no one would have thought that this would be a little girl under eleven years old.

In the sizzling frying pan, the tempting aroma of fried eggs spread out, mixed with the burnt aroma emitted by the slices of bread baked in advance, causing the children around the door to swallow heavily unconsciously.

Funding for orphanages has always been tight, and they can only smell it every Sunday breakfast.

Next to the frying pan, a large black iron pot seemed to be stewing some kind of poultry. The rolling soup had been boiled to a milky white color, and some golden-colored oil beads floated on it. A particularly mellow fragrance drifted away. Just asking about the aroma can make people feel warm all over.

Putting the last piece of fried egg into an iron plate, Elena picked up the spoon and tasted the rolling soup on the side. She smacked her lips slightly, as if she needed to simmer for a while.

Elena bent down, looked at the fire that had become less bright, frowned, picked up a stack of thick parchment paper on the table and stuffed it into the stove, and pounded it in with tongs to make the flame flourish again.

After doing all this, the girl jumped off the small wooden stool used to cushion her feet lightly, turned around and looked around at the little greedy ghosts around the door, with a stern face and clapped her hands.

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

The girl put her hands on her hips and tried to erect her flat chest, trying to make herself look more imposing, threatening with a fierce tone.

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

The question was that Bran, the youngest child in the orphanage, may be particularly clingy because of his young age and can be regarded as Elena's number one follower in the orphanage.

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

"I have said many times that Dean Benitez's typhoid fever has not yet been cured and it is easy to infect you. However, I guess I can recover completely by drinking chicken soup for another day or two."

"So……"

Bran tiptoed, his eyes moved over the wooden table to the rolling iron pot, and swallowed.

"After the dean recovers from his illness, can we still drink the soup of the round-faced fat chicken every day?"

"This..."

Elena turned her head and looked at the burning fire below the iron pot. In the leaping tongue of flames, envelopes made of thick parchment slowly curled up and lit, 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 Harry Potter fan, she still recognized the herald from the first sight of herald - a red-bottomed golden lion, a blue-bottomed copper eagle, a yellow-bottomed black badger and a green-bottomed silver snake. The center of the herald is a capital letter "H" - the school emblem of the famous Hogwarts Magic School.

However, even though he was a fan of the Harry Potter series in his previous life, it does not mean that Elena is willing to step into the magical world to accompany the threesome to play the plot mission.

After finally reborn, she didn't want to waste all her precious time on the battle between a group of middle school students (all of Hogwarts) and a rural terrorist (Voldemort) at best. The Internet era in which the Muggle World is about to begin is much more exciting than the magic world.

As she guessed, the letter from Hogwarts was attached with special magic. Not only would the address change with her actual residence, but the school should also have magic to judge whether the little wizard had indeed opened the envelope and read the contents of it.

Therefore, she grabbed the owl and made soup as soon as possible, and burned the letter directly.

I believe that in this way, even if someone from the school comes to investigate, she will be unforgivable to be disqualified from her admission qualification?

Squatting down, Elena rubbed Bran's chestnut hair, took off a black brown owl fur that had accidentally stained his hair, and threw it into the fire behind him. The flames licked on the feathers, making a crackling sound.

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

"So...what does the Scottish round-faced fat chicken look like?"

Bran asked curiously.

Elena shook her head without answering, stood up, ended the discussion about the Scottish round-faced fat chicken, patted Bran's head and said with a smile.

"Okay, you will know when you grow up. Now go to the restaurant and sit down. After breakfast, you will have to do morning classes with everyone."

———
Chapter completed!