Dumbledore’s office was even more cluttered than Zhang Wen had imagined.
Various small silver instruments filled the desks and shelves—some spinning, some puffing smoke, others emitting a faint humming sound.
Portraits of former headmasters hung on the walls; most were dozing, while a few stared curiously at the visitors.
A large, flame-red bird perched on a stand by the door, tilting its head as it scrutinized Zhang Wen.
Fawkes.
A phoenix.
Zhang Wen gave himself a silent pep talk: *Don’t lose your cool.
You’re a man who survived a Holy Grail War, for heaven’s sake.*
Dumbledore sat behind his desk wearing purple robes embroidered with golden stars and moons.
His white beard was long enough to be tucked into his belt, and his blue eyes twinkled with a smile behind half-moon spectacles as he looked at Zhang Wen.
“Please, have a seat, Mr.
Zhang,” Dumbledore gestured, and two chairs slid automatically toward the desk.
“And this is…?”
“Artoria Pendragon,” Artoria said with a slight, textbook-perfect bow.
“I am Zhang Wen’s…
companion.”
She had almost said “Servant,” but managed to catch herself just in time.
Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on Artoria for a moment.
Zhang Wen noticed the old man’s expression flicker—it was fleeting, but it was there.
*The old man saw something.*
“Pendragon,” Dumbledore repeated the surname, his tone carrying a hint of intrigue.
“A very ancient name.”
Artoria remained expressionless.
“A family legacy.”
Dumbledore smiled and didn’t press further.
He turned to Zhang Wen, clasping his hands on the desk.
“Mr.
Zhang, Gilderoy spoke very highly of you in his letter.
He claimed you are one of the most brilliant experts in Defense Against the Dark Arts he has ever encountered.”
Zhang Wen nearly choked on a laugh.
He had stood over Lockhart, watching him write every single word of that letter, and then had Artoria double-check it for any hidden codes or distress signals.
“Mr.
Lockhart overstates my abilities,” Zhang Wen said, doing his best to look humble.
“I have simply studied a few different systems of defensive arts in the East.”
“Oh?” Dumbledore’s interest was piqued, and he leaned forward slightly.
“Eastern magic systems?
I visited China and Japan in my youth; the magic there is indeed quite distinct.
Where exactly did you study?”
Zhang Wen had his cover story ready.
“In my early years, I studied at the Mages’ Association in Japan.
Afterward, I traveled through various countries, learning what I could from each.” This was half-truth—he had indeed been in Japan, specifically in Fuyuki City, fighting to the death against Heroic Spirits.
“The Mages’ Association of Japan…” Dumbledore seemed to be searching his memory.
“I recall their system places great emphasis on—”
“The application of ley lines and magic circuits,” Zhang Wen finished for him.
“It is fundamentally different from wand-based casting in Britain, but the principles of countering Dark Magic remain the same.”
Dumbledore nodded, but Zhang Wen knew the old fox wasn’t that easy to fool.
Sure enough, the next question arrived.
“Would you mind giving me a demonstration?”
Zhang Wen’s palms felt slightly sweaty.
He pulled Lockhart’s wand from his pocket.
He had been using it for two weeks, and frankly, it felt mediocre.
The wand hadn’t chosen him, and its compatibility was low; every time he cast a spell, it felt like the wand was fighting him.
But it was functional enough.
“A Disarming Charm,” Zhang Wen said, flicking the wand at a silver instrument on the desk.
“Expelliarmus!”
A jet of red light shot from the tip, striking the target accurately.
The silver instrument took flight—
A bit too aggressively.
The instrument slammed directly into a portrait on the wall.
The old wizard in the painting shrieked, leaped out of his frame, and dove into the neighboring picture.
“My apologies,” Zhang Wen said, his face a mask of calm.
Dumbledore waved a hand, and the instrument floated steadily back to its original spot.
“Your control over force requires practice,” Dumbledore said mildly.
“But the magical output itself…
is quite substantial.”
He was telling the truth.
Zhang Wen’s magic circuits were on the level of the Nasuverse; converted to this world’s standards, his mana reserves far exceeded those of an ordinary wizard.
The problem was his lack of fine control over wand-based casting.
He was like a man with Herculean strength who had never learned a single martial art technique—his punches were devastating, but eight out of ten would miss the mark.
“Mr.
Zhang, if I may be blunt,” Dumbledore said, removing his glasses to polish them.
“Your magical reserves are impressive, but you are not proficient with a wand.”
Zhang Wen didn’t try to make excuses.
Trying to play mind games with a veteran fox like Dumbledore was a fool’s errand.
“You’re right,” he admitted flatly.
“My training system doesn’t rely on wands, so wand-casting is indeed my weak point.
However, my theoretical knowledge of Dark Magic is solid, and my practical combat experience is extensive.”
The claim about combat experience was no boast.
In the Holy Grail War, one faced off against Heroic Spirits and magi; anyone who survived that had every right to call themselves experienced.
Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds.
Zhang Wen could feel those blue eyes scrutinizing him, as if trying to peer through all his secrets.
Then, Dumbledore smiled.
“Mr.
Zhang, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position has a rather unpleasant tradition—every professor lasts only a single year.”
“I’ve heard the rumors.”
“And you are still willing to come?”
Zhang Wen thought for a moment.
“Someone has to do it, right?”
Dumbledore watched him for a few more seconds, his gaze softening.
“Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Zhang.”
As they stepped out of the Headmaster’s office, Zhang Wen let out a long breath.
“Does he believe you?” Artoria asked.
“No,” Zhang Wen said with certainty.
“He just thinks I’m better than having nobody.
This position has been cursed for decades; no one wants it.
He didn’t have many options.”
“Then why hire you?”
“Because he wants to keep me where he can see me.” Zhang Wen rubbed his chin.
“To Dumbledore, having an unknown variable like me wandering around outside is worse than bringing me inside where he can keep an eye on me.”
Artoria looked thoughtful.
“That old man is very clever.”
“You have no idea,” Zhang Wen sighed inwardly.
“In this world, he’s probably the closest thing to the King of Heroes in terms of ‘omniscience.’ Though he has a much better personality.”
“Do not compare him to Gilgamesh,” Artoria frowned, clearly having no love for that name.
Zhang Wen wisely changed the subject.
“Next, we need to settle our living situation.
Dumbledore said the professor’s quarters are at the end of the third-floor corridor, though—” He paused.
“He only arranged one room.”
Artoria looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
“I told him you were my teaching assistant.”
“…Teaching assistant.”
“Yes, an assistant.
Responsible for helping me with practical combat demonstrations.”
Artoria was silent for three seconds.
“Master, I am the King of Britain.”
“Past tense,” Zhang Wen said immediately.
“Now you are the Teaching Assistant for the Defense Against the Dark Arts course at Hogwarts, Miss Artoria Pendragon.”
“I refuse.”
“Too late, Dumbledore already approved it.” Zhang Wen quickened his pace.
“Come on, let’s go see the quarters.
I heard the food at Hogwarts is excellent—”
Artoria’s footsteps faltered.
“…The food?”
“Yes.
They say dinner includes roast beef, lamb chops, Yorkshire pudding, all sorts of pies, mashed potatoes, and more desserts than you can count.
And the staff meals are supposedly even more lavish than the students’.”
A tiny, almost imperceptible change crossed Artoria’s expression.
To an outsider, it would be invisible.
But Zhang Wen had spent months with the Knight King; he knew her too well.
That was a moment of hesitation.
“Of course, if you don’t want to be an assistant, you could always leave Hogwarts and find your own way outside—”
“I did not say I would not do it,” Artoria said, her tone returning to its usual calm.
“A knight has a responsibility to protect the weak.
There are many children in this school; if danger arises, it is only right that I be present.”
“Right, right.
Entirely for the children.”
“It has nothing to do with the food.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
Artoria shot him a glare.
Zhang Wen very intelligently shut his mouth.
The professor’s quarters at the end of the third-floor corridor were essentially a two-bedroom suite.
Calling it “two-bedroom” wasn’t quite accurate for Hogwarts—it was a living area with a fireplace and two attached bedrooms.
The space was much larger than Zhang Wen had expected, with windows overlooking the Black Lake.
The view was quite spectacular.
“Dumbledore mentioned the previous professors left the place a mess,” Zhang Wen said, looking around the empty room.
“The last one was named Quirrell.
He wore a turban and had Voldemort’s face growing out of the back of his head.”
Artoria’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of her sword.
“Don’t worry, he’s dead,” Zhang Wen added quickly.
“Happened last year.
An eleven-year-old kid took care of him.”
“Eleven years old?”
“Yeah, Harry Potter.
He should be a second-year this year.”
Artoria relaxed her grip, but her brow remained furrowed.
“An eleven-year-old child facing a threat of that magnitude alone?
This school’s protective measures are severely lacking.”
She hit the nail right on the head.
Zhang Wen silently gave the Knight King a thumbs-up.
Hogwarts’ security was effectively zero.
A parasitic host of Voldemort had infiltrated the staff, only to be stopped by a first-grader.
If this were the Nasuverse, the Mages’ Association would have shut the school down and sealed it off ages ago.
“So, isn’t it a good thing we’re here?” Zhang Wen patted her shoulder.
“At least this year there are two reliable adults keeping watch.”
Artoria gave him a look.
The look clearly asked: *Does the description ‘reliable adult’ actually include you?*
Zhang Wen pretended not to notice.
“Well, the start-of-term feast is tomorrow,” he said, walking to the window to look at the Black Lake.
“September first.
The students will take the train to Hogsmeade Station and then come to the school by carriage.
The first-years come by boat.”
“Your level of knowledge regarding this place is concerning,” Artoria noted.
“I did my homework.”
That was a lie, of course.
He had just read the books.
“At the feast tomorrow, Dumbledore will introduce the new professor.
I’ll need to make an appearance in front of all the students.” Zhang Wen turned around.
“I need a good opening line.”
“A simple self-introduction should suffice.”
“No, first impressions are vital.
Lockhart might be a fraud, but he knew how to grab attention.
I don’t need to be that flashy, but I can’t be boring either.”
Artoria thought for a moment.
“As a knight, I believe actions are more persuasive than words.”
Zhang Wen arched an eyebrow.
“Meaning?”
“If you want the students to respect you, show them your strength.”
“My wand-casting almost smashed a headmaster’s instrument into a painting earlier.”
“I was not talking about a wand.”
Zhang Wen blinked, then smiled.
“You mean—”
“I could provide a demonstration,” Artoria said.
Her tone was flat, but Zhang Wen heard the underlying intent.
The King of Britain was going to make her debut at the Hogwarts start-of-term feast.
This was going to be a show.
“It’s a plan then,” Zhang Wen said, rubbing his hands together.
“At the feast tomorrow, I’ll handle the talking, and you handle the ‘wow’ factor.”
Artoria nodded.
Then she asked, “What time is dinner?”
Zhang Wen checked the sky outside.
“About an hour.”
“I shall go and familiarize myself with the castle layout.” Artoria turned toward the door.
“I will be back in an hour.”
Zhang Wen watched her leave, then sat alone on the windowsill, watching the sky darken.
The Forbidden Forest loomed in the distance, a dark mass, while the surface of the Black Lake was as still as a mirror.
Term started tomorrow.
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy—a host of characters whose names he had only ever read in novels—would all be standing before him.
And he had to pretend to be a qualified professor.
Zhang Wen pulled out Lockhart’s wand and spun it between his fingers.
“I hope nothing too major happens this term,” he muttered to himself.
He knew, of course, that was impossible.
The Chamber of Secrets had been slumbering beneath Hogwarts for fifty years, and that diary was likely already tucked away in a little red-haired girl’s trunk.