Chapter 2 — Fern
Frieren walked slowly along the edge of Privet Drive, the grass beneath her feet giving off faint, soft sounds with each step.
After leaving the Dursley household, the image of that family—their fearful expressions and the way they had raised that "crossbow"—replayed over and over in her mind. Her pale green eyes were filled with confusion.
She stepped into a small grove by the roadside and crouched down, hugging her knees tightly, burying her face into her arms as she began to think.
"Why do humans in the future harbor such hostility toward me?"
In her long life as an elf, she had seen villagers who feared magic, and people who revered heroes. But she had never encountered such pure and intense rejection—simply because of her ears.
As if she were a demon.
"Mistress Frieren, are you alright?"
"…I'm hearing Fern's voice… Have I really been shaken enough to start hallucinating?"
She let out a self-mocking smile, burying her face deeper into her arms.
"To think I'd hear Fern's voice at a time like this…"
Two thousand years were enough to erode everything. Fern, Stark… they should have long since turned to dust. Was she simply too sad? Was that why her mind created such illusions to comfort her?
At that thought, that strange emotion surged again, making even her fingertips tremble slightly.
This time, the voice came closer—accompanied by hurried footsteps.
Frieren suddenly turned her head.
A young girl with long purple hair and bright eyes was running toward her, with a boy following behind, arms crossed and wearing an utterly confused expression.
They were unmistakably Fern and Stark at eleven years old.
Fern rushed up to her and looked her over anxiously.
"Mistress Frieren, your complexion looks terrible! Back on the Northern Plateau, you suddenly started turning transparent. When Stark and I grabbed you, we were wrapped in a beam of light and sent here!"
"And it seems our ages have reverted to around eleven… but neither of us feels anything abnormal physically."
Frieren stared, realizing this was truly Fern—not a hallucination.
After confirming that this wasn't some illusion conjured by a phantom demon, she looked at Fern's vivid, living face… then at Stark's bewildered expression.
Slowly, she reached out and gently touched Fern's hair.
Her voice wavered.
"Fern… you're alive… that's good…"
Stark immediately protested, displeased.
"What do you mean 'we're alive'?!"
Frieren released Fern and steadied her emotions.
"This place is… the world two thousand years in the future. We were likely transported here by the magic of the Goddess's monument."
"Two thousand years later?" Fern's eyes widened, then she nodded in realization. "So that's why you thought we had already passed away, Mistress Frieren? Though… based on the timeline, we really shouldn't exist anymore…
"I wonder… in the future, did I ever get to see Lord Heiter again?"
She rested her chin on her hand, deep in thought, before suddenly remembering something. She reached out and hugged Frieren's arm, her tone softening.
"But it's alright. The three of us are together now. Mistress Frieren doesn't have to be alone anymore."
She didn't dare imagine what Frieren's life would have been like without her. Perhaps she would spend every day reading magic books late into the night, only waking up in the afternoon.
Stark, on the other hand, looked despairing.
"Don't tell me we can't go back… Are we stuck here for decades or something? No way—I absolutely refuse!"
Frieren leaned lightly against Fern, feeling the warmth she hadn't experienced in so long. Her emotions gradually settled.
She lifted her head, her gaze returning to its usual calm.
"As long as we find the Goddess's monument and the correct return incantation, we should be able to go back. The only issue now is whether it still exists after two thousand years… and somehow, the return spell Himmel gave me turned out to be wrong."
As she said this, Frieren puffed out her cheeks in frustration. Though deep down, she knew the incantation was probably fine—the problem likely lay with the monument itself.
"In any case, don't reveal our identities for now," Frieren said, regaining her composure and speaking seriously. "The humans I encountered earlier seemed to have strong hostility toward elves. They even mistook me for a 'goblin.'
"You two need to be careful as well. Don't let anyone find out we're from the past."
Fern and Stark nodded quickly. Though still confused, they obediently followed her instructions.
...
At the same time, inside the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts Castle, Professor McGonagall pushed the door open in a hurry, her dark robes billowing with the motion.
But just as she was about to speak, she saw Dumbledore seated behind his desk, holding a small bag of Cockroach Clusters, eating them with great relish.
Startled by her sudden entrance, Dumbledore quickly stuffed the sweets into a drawer, wiped the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, and cleared his throat.
"Ahem, Minerva, what is it? You seem quite urgent."
He adjusted his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes filled with curiosity. McGonagall was always composed—something serious must have happened to make her lose her usual poise.
McGonagall looked at Dumbledore's innocent expression and suppressed the irritation rising within her.
She knew the matter at hand was more important. Composing herself, she spoke in a grave tone:
"Dumbledore, the Book of Admittance has just reacted—there is suddenly a new name recorded: 'Fern.' You know what this means."
The smile vanished instantly from Dumbledore's face.
He stood and walked toward the window, gazing at the Forbidden Forest in the distance, his fingers lightly tapping against the frame.
"I understand what this means. A wielder of ancient magic… Minerva, we both know how dangerous such power can be."
"I will deliver the letter myself," Dumbledore said, turning back with a resolute expression. "Hogwarts has never turned away a young wizard with magical talent—even one who possesses ancient magic.
"Our duty is to guide her onto the right path, not to reject her."
He took the gold-embossed letter from McGonagall. At that moment, a brilliant red phoenix appeared in the office and landed on his shoulder—it was Fawkes.
McGonagall watched as Dumbledore and Fawkes vanished, letting out a soft sigh.
Returning to her desk, she looked at the mountain of acceptance letters piled before her, yet her mind was filled with worry.
A child who possessed ancient magic—if not properly guided—could become something even more terrifying than Voldemort. After all, neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort had ever truly touched the domain of ancient magic.
For Hogwarts, would this be a blessing… or a disaster?
Soon, she shook her head and picked up her quill.
"No matter what, Hogwarts will not abandon any student."
With that thought, McGonagall rubbed her temples helplessly and quickened her writing.
What she did not know was that when the school term began, the one who would truly give her headaches would not be the "heir of ancient magic"—
But the famous Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter—the boy who always seemed to cause endless trouble, yet somehow always managed to come out of it unscathed.