Starting at Hogwarts, Logging into Elden Ring

Dumbledore led the three of them into the Headmaster’s office.

The moment they stepped in, Arthur spotted the Sorting Hat perched before the bookcase. The Hat clearly noticed him, too.

"Oh, it’s you, little wizard. I recall you promised me a bath last year. Why didn’t you come back?"

"Sorry, I forgot. Besides, didn’t Ranni give you a wash this year?" Arthur spread his hands.

"Yes—so you know each other. I thought as much; the two of you share the same temperament."

The Hat’s gaze slid off Arthur and fell on Ranni behind him.

Arthur and the Hat started chatting as if no one else were present, which left Dumbledore a little helpless—he’d invited them here to ask for details, and now he’d been sidelined.

"Oh, right. I wanted to ask—do you know anything about Gryffindor’s legacy?" Arthur suddenly posed the question everyone wanted to ask.

"Oh, certainly. But the legacy can only be drawn by a true Gryffindor," the Hat replied.

"Not even the Headmaster?" Arthur’s curiosity sharpened.

"Of course not—you know, he... mmph—"

The Hat was about to say something unkind about Dumbledore when a quick spell sealed its "mouth." Why a hat had a mouth in the first place was anyone’s guess.

"Forgive me, children," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Old men carry too many worries in their hearts. Such things shouldn’t be your burden."

Arthur nodded. The older people get, the more they carry—until tenderness turns to hesitation. From his chat with the Hat, he’d already guessed Gryffindor’s legacy: the goblin-made Sword of Gryffindor.

It could absorb substances that strengthened its make—like venom—and shrug off certain spells, such as a blazing fire. It even repelled dust and stayed gleaming clean. Only those who embodied Gryffindor’s qualities could draw it; the rest of the time, it rested inside the Sorting Hat.

A very magical sword indeed.

That reminded Arthur of another question. If a first-year got recognised during the Sorting and the sword suddenly dropped out... wouldn’t it stab straight into the kid’s head?

"May I try?" Arthur looked to Dumbledore, nodding at the Hat.

"What?" Dumbledore didn’t follow at first.

"The Gryffindor legacy," Arthur clarified.

Dumbledore understood and nodded. "By all means."

He had no idea how Arthur knew the sword was hidden in the Sorting Hat, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather hoped Arthur might draw it—it would mean the boy was a textbook Gryffindor, and Dumbledore could worry less about him taking a wrong turn.

Arthur, however, knew his affinity with Gryffindor was only so-so. He was self-directed; he cared about his own people. He had the courage to protect family and those he loved, but saving the world? Only if it was easy—no great sacrifices, and certainly nothing precious on the line. Otherwise, he’d keep well clear.

He was asking now purely out of curiosity.

He took the Hat, slipped his hand inside.

Nothing happened.

Unwilling to give up, he extended his spiritual sense into the Hat. As his awareness flowed in, he found a strange inner space. The Sword of Gryffindor lay there, quiet as a sleeping dragon.

What caught his eye even more was a rolled parchment deeper within that space.

Arthur could project his spiritual power, but not yet to the point of moving physical objects. He couldn’t pull the sword out. For now, the parchment drew him more. He reached toward it with his mind, intending to scan what was written.

The parchment drank down a portion of his spiritual power—and then Arthur felt a link form between himself and... something.

Plop.

The parchment tumbled out from the Sorting Hat’s inner space.

Under Dumbledore’s startled gaze, Arthur unrolled it.

Bold characters in ancient English filled his view. Arthur had studied the script; it read: The Deed of Hogwarts.

In the lower right corner, however, three Chinese characters appeared abruptly: 齐可墨.

The moment he saw the parchment, Arthur understood what had just bound itself to him—the whole of Hogwarts Castle.

He hadn’t expected the parchment to be so potent it could forge a contract at the level of the soul.

Qi Kemo was the name from his previous life—he’d used it for over twenty years—so his soul’s reflex still answered to it. That was why the deed showed his name in Chinese. Now that the bond was set, he could change that inscription to any language that meant his name.

He willed it, and the characters shifted to his current English name.

Dumbledore had studied ancient English as well, and he was stunned. In his decades as Headmaster, he’d never even heard that Hogwarts had a deed. And why was the owner... a Chinese name?

While he stared, the name transformed into Arthur’s English name. Dumbledore, who also knew some Chinese, pieced it together at once: that must have been Arthur’s Chinese name.

"Arthur, how did you do that?" Dumbledore asked, fascinated.

"No idea. You saw it—I just put my hand in."

Naturally, Arthur wasn’t about to explain what he’d actually done.

Dumbledore couldn’t make sense of it, but soon let it go. It didn’t harm him either way.

"Very well—perhaps that is fate’s choice. Still, I hope you keep this quiet. It won’t bring you any good if it gets out," he cautioned.

He didn’t bother warning Harry or Ranni; neither could read ancient English. Ranni, however, could read Chinese. She recognised those characters as her king’s old name—Arthur had told her as much—but she didn’t pry. He would tell her later.

"Don’t worry. I get it," Arthur said.

Dumbledore meant the Board of Governors. If they learned Hogwarts had such a thing as a deed, they’d stop at nothing to get it.

"By the way," Dumbledore added lightly, "since it belongs to you now... perhaps a donation is in order?"

He’d heard about Ranni’s Ravenclaw incident—how Arthur had paid handsomely afterward, even buying new gear for Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team.

Arthur rolled his eyes, then conceded the point. "Fine. I’ll put up a sum soon—for renovations. Don’t you dare funnel it into your Order of the Phoenix."

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded.

That Arthur knew about the Order didn’t surprise him. The boy hid very little of what he knew or did; to Dumbledore, it often felt as if Arthur already knew far too much. Sometimes he wondered if the boy had the Sight.

Their exchange sounded like riddles to Harry, who stood there blinking. From their talk, he could only guess Arthur had obtained Gryffindor’s legacy.

Weren’t we here to talk about the Basilisk? Harry thought, baffled. Why isn’t anyone bringing it up?

Left at loose ends, he amused himself by playing with the bird. For an old thing, it was gorgeous—those red feathers still shone.

Just then, flames welled up around the bird. In a breath, it crumbled to ash.

The commotion drew every eye in the room.

"Sorry—I didn’t mean to. I just touched it... gently," Harry murmured. Lately he’d been catching strays left and right.

Arthur and Dumbledore both laughed.

"It’s all right, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "Fawkes is a phoenix. When he grows too old, he is reborn in fire."

As if on cue, a scrawny, bald little head poked up from the ashes.

"To be honest, I thought he’d turn into an egg first and hatch again," Arthur said.

"You’re thinking of Eastern phoenixes," Dumbledore replied. "When mortally wounded, they become an egg and break shell anew."

Arthur’s eyes lit up. "So there are phoenixes in the East as well?"

"Yes. I was fortunate enough to see one once. Truth be told, they’re even more beautiful than Fawkes."

Fawkes understood that perfectly, pecked Dumbledore’s hand in protest, and the Headmaster wisely dropped the subject.

Arthur filed it away. If he had the time, he had to find out where in the East one could see phoenixes. His Zen Garden was quite large—guests were welcome to play, and if they got sleepy, they could nap there. No problem at all.

"Um... shouldn’t we get back to the Basilisk?" Harry ventured.

"Oh—yes. Time to return to business," Dumbledore nodded.

"It wasn’t me," Harry said.

"Yes, I think so as well. Your friends think so too, don’t they?"

Harry glanced at Arthur, who nodded, confirming it.

"But I do have to ask—do you have anything you want to tell me?" Dumbledore’s tone firmed.

Harry drew a blank. What hadn’t he told Dumbledore? He thought and thought—and came up empty. He shook his head.

"Very well. That’s all. You may go."

Arthur spoke up. "You two go on ahead. I’ve got something to discuss with Professor Dumbledore."

Ranni nodded; she’d wait in his dorm. Harry headed off to find Ron and Hermione to update them on the Basilisk.

When they’d gone, Arthur asked directly, "So what were you trying to ask Harry?"

Parseltongue had been the talk of the school these days; Harry had already told Arthur about the Basilisk. What else could Dumbledore be fishing for?

Dumbledore sighed. "About his night-time excursion to steal Snape’s potion ingredients."

He didn’t bother with riddles for Arthur. After a year’s observation, he knew the boy didn’t behave like a twelve- or thirteen-year-old. Arthur’s outlook wouldn’t be swayed by coy hints; he saw things like an adult.

"Oh, that. Hermione put him up to it," Arthur said. "They wanted to brew a few batches of Polyjuice, turn into Draco’s cronies, and pry the Heir of the Chamber out of him. Snape knows about it, too. What—he didn’t tell you why?"

Dumbledore’s mouth twitched. "Severus did report the theft. He did not report the reason. He merely took a personal property loss claim... out of me."

Dumbledore trusted Arthur understood his larger plan for the Boy Who Lived.

Arthur did. If he was grooming Harry, then anything Harry cost Snape would, naturally, be billed to Dumbledore. What he didn’t understand was why he, Arthur, had also been squeezed.

"So he took two cuts?" Arthur said, incredulous.

"Mm? What do you mean—did he also..." Dumbledore let the rest trail off, but Arthur got it.

He nodded, face darkening. Ever since Liya’s... implantation had succeeded, Snape’s whole vibe had started to change. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

"The night Harry went to pinch those ingredients, I dragged him along to watch the show," Arthur admitted. "Afterwards, Snape put Harry’s tab on me."

Dumbledore shook his head, amused. He’d noticed it, too—since the new term began, Severus Snape had, indeed, been different.

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