The next morning.
Under normal circumstances, mornings were free time for the children at the home. But since yesterday's progress on clearing the yard was almost zero, they were once again asked to gather in the yard to continue this irritating work.
Alan still didn't care much about it. Anyway, he could always find an opportunity to slack off. He could also tease his undead cat from time to time. The undead cat, Canned Food, was almost no different from an ordinary cat; the only advantage might be its faster speed. This allowed it to escape successfully every time under the siege of the stray cat pack.
As for why it was targeted by the stray cat pack, there was no helping it; the cat was quite naughty. Alan had already gained a deep understanding of his stupid cat's temperament. Every time this fellow saw the stray cats outside or other stray animals, it would go up and provoke them a few times. This included but was not limited to stealing food, pulling tails, pushing the soundly sleeping stray cat leader into a puddle. Well, it deserved it.
"Mr. Black."
The sudden appearance of a voice interrupted Alan's thoughts. He turned his head and found a strange middle-aged man had appeared in the yard. Alan was certain that the man was calling him because, if he remembered correctly, he was the only person here with the surname Black. However, he did not recognize the man in front of him.
Wait. Alan narrowed his eyes and identified him carefully for a few seconds.
It was a typical middle-aged man who had put on weight, with a bloated figure and a thinning crown; the only remaining strands of greasy hair were meticulously combed over, attempting to cover that barren wasteland. Hair loss was always the most sorrowful thing for a middle-aged man. Fortunately, Alan did not have this worry yet.
"Mr. Black," the man called out again, "please come over here."
"Okay, Mr. Green," Alan responded immediately, jogging quickly to the man.
He had already recognized the person's identity. It was the person in charge of this children's home, Harold Green. Although he was the person in charge, Alan remembered their last meeting was only during Christmas last year. Fortunately, he still had some impression of this slightly old-fashioned name and wouldn't call him by the wrong name.
"Is there something the matter, Mr. Green?" Alan asked obediently, while quickly calculating the reason why the person in charge had suddenly come looking for him. He didn't seem to have made any big mistakes recently that would require alerting the management. Or rather, he had never actively made a mistake.
Harold used his small eyes, which were deeply sunken in fat, to size Alan up and down, then spoke and asked, "If I remember correctly, Mr. Black, you are going to secondary school this year. Which school is it?"
"Northwood Comprehensive Secondary School, sir," Alan replied.
Sure enough, it was about school. As an orphan, since he had received the admission letter from Hogwarts, a Hogwarts professor would definitely come to handle the admission work. Clearly, the person in charge here had already received the relevant information. But because it hadn't been confirmed yet, Alan still chose the safest way to answer.
Hearing this, Harold nodded slightly, and then a trace of unease flashed in his eyes.
"Then," he paused and said, "do you have any other thoughts? A person in charge of another school asked me if you would be willing to go to their school to study."
"Which school is it?"
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harold replied, his expression a bit subtle.
Alan was led to the drawing room by the person in charge. This day had finally come, and he couldn't help but feel a bit excited. Just as he stepped into the drawing room, he saw an oddly dressed old lady standing by the wall, seemingly examining the cheap printed landscape painting on the wall.
It's someone from Hogwarts. Alan made the judgment almost immediately.
Harold led him to the old lady. Only then could he observe the person in front of him carefully. This was a woman who didn't look young, yet was exceptionally spirited. Her hair was meticulously pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head, and she was wearing a set of dark robes.
"This is Professor McGonagall," Harold introduced, looking like he had breathed a sigh of relief after completing a task.
Professor McGonagall nodded slightly, her sharp gaze falling on Alan. Unexpectedly, Alan did not feel uncomfortable under the watch of such a gaze.
"I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Professor McGonagall's voice was very steady. "Hello, Mr. Black."
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Alan greeted obediently. "I have already seen your name on the letter."
The corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth relaxed slightly, revealing a just-right smile. "Then you must have read that letter and already have some understanding of Hogwarts matters."
"Yes, but I only know it's a school called Hogwarts," Alan nodded.
"Very good." Professor McGonagall nodded, appearing satisfied with Alan's answer. She summarized concisely, "In short, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a place that teaches young witches and wizards how to use magic correctly. According to our records, you have reached the age of eleven and have shown magical talent, thus gaining the qualification for admission."
Next, Professor McGonagall briefly introduced the basic situation of Hogwarts and the necessity for young wizards to learn magic.
"Are you willing to attend Hogwarts?"
"Of course, Professor."
To this, Alan naturally had no reason to refuse.
At the same time, Harold, standing to the side, was a bit confused in his mind. Even though he had learned of the existence of magic from this mysterious woman's mouth beforehand and it had been proven, hearing words like "using magic" from the mouth of such a serious and upright-looking old lady still made him feel a bit absurd. Damn it, did I mess up my brain by doing drugs last night? No, I didn't do drugs at all last night.
"Mr. Green?"
By the time Harold came back to his senses, he found that both of them had been staring at him.
"Wh... what's wrong?" he asked with a bit of a stutter, subconsciously wiping his forehead.
Professor McGonagall's expression returned to seriousness, her voice clear. "Mr. Green, since Mr. Black has agreed to enroll, I need to learn some basic information about him here from you. This will help us better arrange matters for him after he enters school."
Perhaps seeing that Harold was a bit tense, she added another sentence, "Of course, it's mainly about daily life habits and performance; you don't need to be nervous."
Harold forced a smile. "Please ask, madam."
Don't be nervous; it's easy to say. Anyone who sees an old lady who can turn a chair into a pig and then turn it back without changing her expression would find it hard to remain calm. Perhaps if his attitude had been a bit worse then, his end would have become the same as that chair. The scientific worldview he had spent decades building was about to collapse.
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