Starting at Hogwarts, Logging into Elden Ring

When Arthur got home, Hermione burst out laughing the moment she saw him.

"Stop laughing already. Isn’t it normal not to know the way home? I’m not familiar with this area," Arthur said helplessly.

Hermione finally managed to hold back her laughter. "It’s fine not to know the way. But not knowing how to ask for directions—that’s another matter, isn’t it?"

Arthur froze.

Right! He knew his own address—asking someone for help would’ve solved everything easily.

Ugh, he must have let Snape get under his skin too much.

"So, what did Professor Snape want with you?" Hermione asked curiously. She couldn’t figure out since her cousin and Professor Snape had grown so close.

"That... I can’t tell you," Arthur replied. He had promised Snape to keep it secret.

"Fine, then you’re coming with me to read." Hermione, seeing that he wasn’t going to talk, didn’t press further and changed the subject.

"Alright."

Back at Hogwarts, Harry had just received a remarkable gift—an invisibility cloak.

It was said to be a Potter family heirloom, one of the legendary Deathly Hallows.

Of course, Harry didn’t know any of that. He assumed it was simply a cloak made from Demiguise fur.

With it, his nightly adventures around Hogwarts began.

He hadn’t forgotten Hermione’s urging, and he himself was curious about Nicholas Flamel.

So under the cloak, he slipped into the Restricted Section.

But the books there were anything but ordinary. One he opened turned into a screaming face on the page, wailing loudly enough to draw Filch.

Panicked, Harry pulled the cloak over himself to hide.

As he fled, he stumbled upon Snape threatening Quirrell.

That convinced him more than ever that Snape must be after the Stone.

Had Arthur been there, he would’ve marveled at the consistency of the plot—Snape had told him in the day he’d be busy brewing potions, yet here he was at night, tailing Quirrell’s every move.

Harry barely escaped notice. In desperation, he ducked into a nearby room.

There he found the Mirror of Erised—the mirror that revealed one’s deepest desire.

In its surface, he saw his parents, smiling warmly at him, even placing a hand on his shoulder. He reached up to feel it himself, but of course, nothing was there.

Still, joy filled him—this was the first time in his life he had seen their faces.

Excited, he rushed back to the dormitory, shaking Ron awake.

"Ron! Come quick—I found the most incredible mirror!"

Ron reluctantly followed, and when he looked, he saw himself as Quidditch Captain, holding the Cup aloft.

"Harry, maybe this mirror shows the future," Ron said eagerly. It was his lifelong dream to shine as a great Quidditch player.

"But that can’t be right—I saw my parents," Harry said, frowning.

"Maybe we should ask Arthur," Ron suggested, lifting up his iPad.

Harry agreed and opened his enchanted notebook.

[Harry: Arthur, are you awake? I’ve got something important to ask.]

[Arthur: What is it?]

Arthur had just been about to log into the Lands Between when the message popped up.

[Harry: I found a mirror in one of the school rooms. In it I saw my parents, but Ron saw himself winning the Quidditch Cup. What’s going on?]

[Arthur: Oh? Did it have words at the top—something like ’Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’?]

[Harry: Yes! You know it?]

[Arthur: I do. Just read it backwards.]

Harry turned the inscription around.

"I show not your face but your heart’s desire."

"So it was all just illusions..." Harry said quietly, a little downcast.

[Harry: Thank you, Arthur.]

[Arthur: No need. But Harry, don’t get lost in fantasies. You know the wizarding world has moving photos—why not ask Hagrid? I’m sure he can find you a picture of your parents.]

[Harry: You’re right. I will.]

"Arthur’s right. We’ll ask Hagrid tomorrow. Now come on, let’s sleep," Ron said, patting Harry’s shoulder. "Besides, we haven’t beaten that game on the iPad yet. What level are you on?"

"I’m still stuck on level ten. Arthur’s game is fun, but way too hard!"

"Tell me about it. I still can’t figure out how to handle that night stage without sunlight."

Chatting about their game, the two headed back to bed.

After the room fell silent, the door opened again.

An adult Arthur—his avatar—slipped inside.

He was curious: what would he see in the mirror? What did he most desire?

He stepped before the glass.

Soon, an image appeared—himself, with one arm around a grown Hermione and the other around Ranni restored to flesh, happily traveling the world, with an endless train of beauties behind them.

He jumped back in alarm.

Good grief! Sure, he liked pretty girls, but a harem of over a hundred? That was absurd.

Fake was fake. In truth, fewer than ten women in this world could truly catch his eye. This mirror was just spouting nonsense.

Time to go before old Dumbledore came to reclaim the thing.

In reality, Dumbledore didn’t appear after Arthur left.

Originally, he had planned to watch Harry first. If the boy obsessed over the mirror, he would step in, remove it, and offer guidance.

But to his surprise, Harry only visited that one night. Afterward, he and Ron spent the holidays side by side, books open, heads together in deep discussion.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Since when were these two such diligent students?

Had he peeked closer, he would’ve realized—they weren’t studying at all.

They were playing Plants vs. Zombies.

On Christmas’s second day, Harry and Ron had gone to Hagrid’s hut to ask him to collect a photo album of Harry’s parents. After that, they dove headfirst into Arthur’s game.

Perhaps thanks to his knack for wizard chess, Ron outperformed Harry in the strategy-based gameplay.

Whenever Arthur’s avatar slipped through the castle under his Mimic’s Veil, he always found those two hunched over their screens. Hermione’s request had clearly been long forgotten. Hopefully, when classes resumed, they would still be able to laugh about it.

As for Arthur himself, he had shifted focus to Quirrell.

The man had grown increasingly restless—too active for comfort.

By day, it was inconvenient to act. By night, Quirrell prowled the corridors, probing the defenses around the Stone. And Snape was always there, dogging his steps.

Truly, Snape was a workaholic. By day he slaved over new potion experiments, by night he patrolled the castle, keeping Quirrell in check.

Finally, Arthur stopped following altogether. Instead, he simply waited outside Quirrell’s office.

Better not to enter directly—who knew what wards or traps the man had set?

One evening, after dining in the Great Hall, Quirrell returned to his office.

Arthur, disguised as a beetle, clung silently near the door.

The moment Quirrell stepped inside, Arthur shifted back to human form.

"Soul Projection!"

Two Imperius Curses shot forth, seizing both Quirrell and the slumbering fragment of Voldemort within him.

This time, Arthur wasn’t wielding his purpleheart wand.

He was using the Carian Regal Scepter, exchanged in the Roundtable Hold for the Remembrance of the Full Moon Queen—his future mother-in-law’s weapon.

Its base spell boost was already 160+, and fully upgraded it approached 300.

Against a fragmentary, sleeping soul like Voldemort, control came easily.

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