Chapter 417: The Inheritance Scroll

Taking a portrait away with you was truly an unusual thing.

But how could you possibly take a portrait with you?

Wizard Sean didn’t understand; he hoped Mr. Owl could explain more clearly.

“How can I take you with me?”

Wizard Sean asked.

He studied the owl portrait—did he need to simply remove it? He didn’t think that was it.

That wouldn’t be magic.

“Clever little wizard, you’ve made the right choice.”

Mr. Owl tapped his claws against the frame, making it rattle loudly.

A gentle breeze, carrying the damp scent of earth, swept through the third-floor corridor, bathing it in warm golden light.

With a strong pull, Mr. Owl’s claw emerged from the frame.

This sight made Wizard Sean’s eyes widen slightly.

“What are you staring at?”

Mr. Owl squawked.

Wizard Sean lowered his head; the Wizard’s Book instantly unfurled.

“Clever little wizard, stupid little wizard, help me—I’m stuck—”

After a few seconds of silence, Mr. Owl pleaded.

Wizard Sean finally understood. He closed the book, tapped his wand, and a soft vine curled gently around Mr. Owl’s protruding claw.

Soon, a head, a pair of wings, and a roll of ancient parchment appeared outside the frame.

Ivy and mistletoe garlands stretched along the corridor; Lockhart’s floral decorations still bloomed vibrantly.

Mr. Owl spread his wings and flew off at once—previously, he could only flap within the frame, but today he circled the towers of Hogwarts again and again.

“I’ve completed Ravenclaw’s task!”

He cried.

“I’m flying!”

He squawked.

This scene naturally caught the attention of an old wizard, who looked toward the window—and the stained glass opened automatically.

Below the stained glass, an old kettle bubbled; outside it, a peculiar owl soared.

He wore elegant wire-rimmed spectacles and clutched a yellowed parchment.

“Ravenclaw’s owl, inherited by Ravenclaw—how fascinating…”

Dumbledore smiled, and even the annoyance of Minerva McGonagall’s complaints vanished.

He sat down and began handling “the deputy headmaster’s unfinished paperwork.”

In the third-floor corridor, a few snowflakes drifted from beneath the stained glass, landing on Wizard Sean’s eyebrows.

He looked up—a clump of “snow” settled on his shoulder.

“This is freedom! I’m sticking with you!”

Mr. Owl cheered.

“You’re not a portrait?”

Wizard Sean asked.

“I am a noble eagle.”

Mr. Owl huffed.

Wizard Sean was now thoroughly confused—what exactly was Mr. Owl?

Alchemy?

Not quite—he’d never been wrong about his alchemical instincts.

Mr. Owl was undeniably alive.

Yet everything Wizard Sean had encountered in alchemy—wizarding chess pieces, portraits—only seemed alive; they could not be classified as living beings.

In other words, they lacked life, possessing only personality.

But look at Mr. Owl—he preened his feathers, stretched his body. As he claimed, he was a living eagle.

Yet how could an eagle live for over a thousand years?

If Voldemort knew…

“You’ve always been able to leave the portrait and move about?”

Wizard Sean asked curiously.

“Of course—I’m the free eagle, the noble Raven!”

Mr. Owl was immensely proud.

“Then…”

Wizard Sean fell silent for a moment.

It seemed Mr. Owl had chosen to live as a portrait.

“Portraits extend my time—I must be extremely careful…”

Mr. Owl whispered in Wizard Sean’s ear.

“Let me tell you a secret—I was created to fulfill Lady Ravenclaw’s task. I am the loyal eagle.”

Over a thousand years of loyalty left Wizard Sean speechless.

“Century after century, that damned old hat found no wizard… I could only wait, wait…”

“Now my task is done—new task begins—”

Mr. Owl lifted his head high.

“What task?”

Wizard Sean asked curiously.

“Follow you.”

Mr. Owl’s large eyes fixed on Wizard Sean.

“And then?”

Wizard Sean didn’t understand.

What kind of task was that?

“No ‘and then.’”

Mr. Owl grumbled.

Wizard Sean fell silent again, then accepted it.

Mr. Owl held many secrets—he himself was a great mystery.

Wizard Sean suspected this was one of the rare biological alchemy creations, one of the most dangerous and obscure branches of alchemy.

Come to think of it, basilisks and acromantulas were likely also products of biological alchemy.

Darker, more dangerous parts.

Given Lady Ravenclaw’s alchemical mastery—she designed Hogwarts Castle—it seemed plausible she could create such an owl.

…

The Wish Hut.

The Pumpkin Library.

This was where Jia Jia Siting carved; Wizard Sean sometimes came here to sit.

Now he carefully placed Mr. Owl on the perch.

In his hand was an ancient parchment.

The true embodiment of Ravenclaw’s wisdom.

He cautiously unrolled the curled parchment; silver threads shimmered across its aged surface.

Like the threads in a Pensieve—ethereal, dreamlike, drifting unpredictably.

Wizard Sean stared intently at the silver threads; soon, the world before him began to blur.

Outside.

The Wish Hut had lost its guard today.

“Where’s Mr. Owl?”

Hermione frowned.

“I’ve never seen Mr. Owl absent before.”

Jia Jia Siting looked intrigued.

“Fine, assume he’s visiting someone—but how do we get in?”

Ron yawned.

Late winter snow drifted down; frost quickly coated the windows.

As if they’d waited long, snowflakes clung to the tips of the three young wizards’ hair.

“Class is about to start.”

Hermione closed her book, incredulous.

Remember, second-year students’ classes began at nine—they had arrived at the Wish Hut at seven.

For two full hours, they hadn’t seen a single owl feather, which had never happened before.

The owl they had been muttering about perched on its branch, curiously pecking at the roasted sweet potato beside the fireplace.

Warm breath occasionally escaped its beak.

Beside it, Wizard Sean Green slowly woke up.

He felt as if he had just dreamed a dream, experiencing countless memories, and now his mind held vague, new knowledge.

“This is your first time using a one-time magical inheritance scroll. How do you feel?”

Mr. Owl hopped onto his shoulder.

First time…

Wizard Sean couldn’t speak—he was still dizzy.

But with just one glance, he understood roughly how the scroll worked: Ravenclaw had placed some of his own knowledge-based memories into it.