Starting at Hogwarts, Logging into Elden Ring

Arthur looked at the two girls beside him with a faint tone of disdain. "Professor Snape’s ambitions are too small. He’s always pining after that broken Defense Against the Dark Arts position. If it were me, I’d be thinking about how to kick Dumbledore off his perch and become the Headmaster myself."

Hermione was surprised by Arthur’s words—but then again, her cousin had set his sights on becoming Minister for Magic, so it wasn’t all that shocking.

Ranni, however, looked utterly unbothered.

Hearing that Dumbledore was said to be the strongest wizard in the world, it only seemed natural to her that her king would aim for such a position.

Arthur hadn’t bothered to lower his voice, so Snape heard every word.

Snape: Do you even hear yourself right now?

You’re suggesting I overthrow Dumbledore and take his job? Ambitious?

Then again... that "someone" could be me. Hmm, not entirely impossible.

The only issue is—how exactly do you get Dumbledore off the throne? The old bee’s full of life, doesn’t look a day over seventy despite being well past a hundred.

Maybe I should start by cozying up to the school board...

Arthur noticed Snape’s serious expression and couldn’t help wondering if the man was actually entertaining the thought.

If he really was, then the upcoming Chamber of Secrets incident might be the perfect opportunity.

When the Basilisk was released from Slytherin’s Chamber and endangered the students, Lucius—displeased with Dumbledore—had seized the chance to try to remove him as Headmaster.

If Snape managed to get in good with the school board, he might actually stand a chance of taking the top spot.

And as for people saying "Hogwarts can’t run without Dumbledore"?

Simple. Solve the Basilisk problem first, then rehire Dumbledore afterward—make him Deputy Headmaster and have him teach Potions.

That’d be a textbook corporate restructuring success.

Just picturing Snape yelling, "Dumbledore! I’m the Headmaster now!" was enough to make Arthur grin.

So he started egging Snape on, encouraging him to build relationships with the board.

Given Snape’s familiarity with Lucius, there was plenty of room to maneuver.

Snape, somewhat tempted, decided there was no harm in it—even if he didn’t end up Headmaster, good ties with the board couldn’t hurt.

He excused himself, went back to his room, and began contacting Lucius.

Arthur and the girls, seeing that it was nearly dinnertime, rose to take their leave.

...

Before long, the new school term began.

During this period, Arthur’s progress in the Lands Between had been... well, nonexistent.

He had fully explored the lower regions, and next on his list was the Altus Plateau.

The problem lay in the massive lift leading up—the Grand Lift of Dectus.

To operate it, two Medallion halves were required.

And Arthur had no idea where they were.

In his previous life, when he’d played the game, he’d found them by sheer luck without thinking much of it.

But now that the Lands Between were a real, massive world, finding two palm-sized objects was like searching for a needle in a continent-sized haystack.

He’d asked Ranni, but she didn’t know either—the lift led up to Radagon and Marika’s domain, enemies of the Carian royal family.

So Arthur spent another month wandering Liurnia, Caelid, and Limgrave—searching for the medallion halves and sweeping up any loot he’d missed.

After combing every inch of the three regions, he’d only found one half.

Frustrated, he finally decided to just fly over from behind Caria Manor.

...

Back in the real world, Arthur, Ranni, and Hermione bid farewell to the Grangers and boarded the Hogwarts Express.

As the train began to move, the three of them—quiet types—each picked up a book and read silently.

Then, outside their compartment, a small witch passed by.

She had pale golden hair and silver-gray eyes, and held a small stack of magazines, her gaze distant and unfocused.

"The Quibbler?"

That was the title of the magazine in her hands—not a declaration of contrarianism.

Seeing her, Arthur instantly knew who she was—Ravenclaw’s white moonlight, Luna Lovegood.

She had a dreamlike air about her. Her vacant eyes seemed detached from the world, yet within them flickered a keen, spiritual light—as if she could see straight through everything.

Her skin was pale, her eyebrows faint, and she wore radish-shaped earrings with a butterbeer-cork necklace.

Altogether, she looked delightfully odd.

"I’ll take one," Arthur said, handing over some coins. Then, almost absentmindedly, he added, "Would you like to come in and sit for a while?"

"Sure."

Luna accepted the money and sat down at the back of the compartment.

Arthur blinked. He’d just said it out of politeness, but she’d actually taken him up on it.

"My name is Luna Lovegood," she said softly, then turned—not to Arthur, but to Ranni. "Have you ever seen a Wrackspurt?"

Ranni set her book aside. "I haven’t. Never heard of such a creature."

She didn’t dislike the girl—in fact, her first impression of Luna was oddly pleasant. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered to respond.

"I believe they exist," Luna said earnestly. "They’re just shy. People rarely notice them."

And so the two began chatting. Mostly Luna talked, while Ranni offered short replies here and there.

Hermione, watching, was baffled. She couldn’t recall Ranni ever being so conversational—normally, three sentences with her were enough to kill any topic stone dead.

Though... Come to think of it, Luna was doing most of the talking.

And somehow, she always found new topics, even after Ranni’s curt responses. Her subjects were so whimsical that even Hermione—who prided herself on her encyclopedic knowledge—couldn’t follow along.

Wrackspurts? She’d never read about those.

Maybe this is the right way to talk to Ranni, Hermione thought.

Arthur watched for a while and understood why Luna and Ranni hit it off.

The name Luna meant "moon" or "moon goddess" in Latin—and in English, it was also the root of lunaticism, linking the moon to madness.

In short, Luna embodied both moonlight and a touch of divine madness—just like Ranni.

Ranni’s laws were tied to the moon as well—specifically, the cold Dark Moon, forever distant and misunderstood.

Both girls carried that same ethereal, untouchable aura—only Ranni’s was colder and more mature, while Luna’s was bright and airy.

It made perfect sense that they’d connect.

Shaking his head with a smile, Arthur opened The Quibbler.

The articles, mostly written by Luna’s father Xenophilius, were bizarre but strangely compelling—clearly, she’d inherited his creative spark.

"By the way, how come Harry and Ron haven’t come to find us?" Hermione suddenly asked, breaking the calm.

"No idea. Maybe in another compartment. Surely they didn’t miss the train?"

Arthur’s eyes flickered. Actually, didn’t they...?

Right—the Weasley house-elf had sealed the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Harry and Ron had missed the train and would be flying a car to Hogwarts.

Seriously, he thought, such an important transport hub, on the one day when every young witch and wizard goes back to school—and the Ministry doesn’t even post guards there?

No wonder Voldemort came back. These people have gotten way too comfortable.

Just then, Luna’s gaze drifted to the window. "Are those your friends?" she asked, pointing outside.

They looked—and sure enough, there were Harry and Ron, pale-faced and terrified, piloting a flying car through the clouds.

Arthur was quietly impressed by Luna’s intuition.

Even without keeping his psychic senses active, his perception was far keener than an ordinary person’s—yet he hadn’t noticed them.

And Luna had spotted them first.

"Merlin’s beard! Aren’t they afraid of being seen by Muggles?" Hermione gasped. "If the professors find out, Gryffindor’s going to lose a mountain of points before the feast even begins!"

"I think we should be more concerned about whether they survive," Arthur said mildly. "I doubt either of them knows how to drive."

Watching the car wobble and swerve, he couldn’t help thinking, If this were a Muggle highway, they’d have rear-ended thirteen cars by now.

"Cousin, please—help them!" Hermione begged.

Arthur nodded and, just before the car vanished from sight, cast a Protego charm on the two boys and added a Muggle-Repelling Charm on the vehicle—ensuring they wouldn’t fall to their deaths or get spotted.

"Is that enough?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"What else? You want me to blast the car down?"

Remembering the sheer power of his spells, Hermione shivered. If Arthur really did that, Hogwarts would be holding a memorial feast tonight.

"You could always write to Professor McGonagall," Arthur added. "Explain what happened before they arrive. Might save Gryffindor a few points."

Hermione agreed—it was better to come clean early. She quickly wrote a letter and sent it off with Errol.

Watching the owl vanish into the distance, Arthur smirked.

Even the owl’s faster than this green tin can of a train.

...

The Hogwarts Express eventually arrived.

As usual, first-years had to cross the Black Lake—and though Ranni was technically a transfer student, she still needed to go through the Sorting Ceremony.

She and Luna boarded a boat together.

Without Arthur nearby, Ranni’s calm face became colder still—an aura of frosty indifference that practically screamed Do Not Approach.

Their boat, meant for four, carried only the two of them. No one else dared join.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Hermione boarded a carriage drawn by towering, skeletal creatures with leathery wings—Thestrals.

Hermione peered curiously at them. "Cousin, what kind of magical creatures are those?"

"You can see them?" Arthur asked, surprised. "They’re Thestrals. You can only see them if you’ve witnessed death."

Naturally, he could see them—he’d slaughtered his way through half the Lands Between.

But Hermione?

She thought for a moment. "Last term, I saw Professor Quirrell turn to ash. Does that count?"

Arthur stroked his chin and nodded. "That would do it."

There was no strict rule to what "seeing death" meant—those who’d witnessed it, narrowly escaped it, or even returned from it could all qualify.

Apparently, the sight of Quirrell’s disintegration had left a deep mark on her.

As the Thestrals began to pull the carriage, Arthur gazed thoughtfully at them.

Maybe I should bring a few into my Zen Garden. I’ve had enough of flying brooms—time to try a proper flying mount.

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