A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 2: A jinx-infused cheat?

The four of them boarded Haig's small boat, and the fleet glided across the mirror-like lake, heading towards the castle perched atop the cliff.

The new students passed through the ivy-covered canopy that draped the cliffs, entered a hidden, open entrance, and followed a dark tunnel to the castle's underground. After docking at the pier, they climbed onto the gravel-paved ground and, led by Hagrid, ascended a tunnel through the rock face. After climbing a flight of steps, they gathered before a massive oak door.

Hagrid knocked three times on the castle gate, and it immediately swung open. A tall woman in a turquoise robe was waiting there, her face, framed by square-rimmed glasses, had a serious and stern expression, and her black hair was tied up in a tight bun.

"First-year student, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

Professor McGonagall led the anxious freshmen to an empty room at the other end of the hall, meticulously explaining the upcoming Sorting Ceremony and the basic information about the school, but Owen was already too preoccupied with that to care about anything else.

Upon entering the castle gates, Owen felt a sudden explosion in the depths of his mind, instantly dispelling the hazy veils that had shrouded his memories. An endless, misty white fog spread out, eventually forming a vast, white space.

When Owen opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a pure white space. The surrounding space was filled with endless white mist, which floated and surged in the distance like clouds.

He glanced at his body; he was wearing the same black robes of Hogwarts as the person outside, and even the magic props he carried on his person and the wand in his pocket were there.

Irving calmly considered his situation and quickly analyzed his current state. Maintaining composure and rationality in the face of unexpected events is an essential quality for a qualified magician, and Irving, with his rich stage performance experience, is particularly adept at improvisation. Although he usually appears lazy and full of mischievous humor…

Just as he had the thought of trying to understand the current situation, a strange feeling suddenly arose in his heart, making him understand many things in an instant, about the space in front of him, about his sealed memories... The answers to these questions naturally appeared in his mind, as if he had always known them.

"I see," Irving said, suddenly understanding.

"This space is my thought space, a sanctuary of thought that belongs only to me."

"It has existed since I was born, but I was too young before, and the fluctuations of magic were unstable, which put my mental space at risk of collapse, so there is a kind of self-protective shielding mechanism."

"This mechanism not only isolated me from this space, but also blocked my memories of the original plot! Hmm, now I remember everything..." Owen rested his chin on his hand, frowning in thought. "But why only blocked the memories of the original plot? Is it because this memory is related to the mind space? Or does it involve a more mysterious realm, like fate?"

He shook his head, temporarily setting aside this question that was currently difficult to answer, and continued to ponder the problem of thought space.

"Using the mind space doesn't come without a price. To maintain my connection with this space, I need something called a 'connection point'..."

"When I was three, a magical surge occurred, which triggered my magical talent. It also activated a connection point collection mechanism that releases an anomaly around me every year..." Owen's lips twitched. "Now I finally understand what's going on with all those weird things around me. It's not some special magical talent, but this thing causing all the trouble... This is a jinx space!"

He glanced at the white mist wall on one side of his thought space, where wisps of mist condensed into visible lines of text, representing the connection points he had acquired over the years:

[Connection Point +1]

[Connection Point +2]

[Connection Point +1]

……

Irving calculated that he had acquired exactly ten connection points, which was a crucial number.

As he grew older, his magical fluctuations stabilized from a state of chaos. Furthermore, his encounter with characters from the original story today triggered his previously suppressed memories of the plot. When he saw Hogwarts, the blocking mechanism finally shattered, connecting him to his mental space at the cost of clearing all the connection points he had collected over the years.

Irving glanced again at the white, misty writing, then looked at the last three lines:

Maintaining the mind space requires 10 connection points per year; current number of connection points: 0.

The connection point collection mechanism has been upgraded.

[Connection point collection ports will be deployed soon, once a year...]

"So what does it mean that the connection point collection mechanism has been upgraded? Don't tell me that this jinx has been strengthened... I've already caused chaos in the house before, won't the upgrade turn everything upside down? I'd better find a crooked tree to hang myself to avoid causing trouble for the world..." Owen looked up at the sky.

"Uh, never mind. I should trust that the teachers and students of Hogwarts have excellent mental fortitude and strong resilience. Even if things don't go well, there's Dumbledore as a stabilizing force. It shouldn't collapse... right?"

"Speaking of which, what exactly is a connection point? What would happen if the mental space collapsed? Looks like the days ahead won't be too boring."

With a wave of his hand, he scattered the writing in front of him. Owen narrowed his eyes, his heart filled with the realization that the truth had come to light, an uncontrollable displeasure, and anticipation and joy for the uncertain future.

"Wait, what's going on outside? Am I going to faint?" Owen's expression changed.

Forgetting about continuing to test the effects of the mind space, he imagined leaving the space and easily returned to reality. He found himself still standing steadily in the small room he had been in before. Professor McGonagall was gone, and the uneasy whispers of the freshmen echoed in his ears.

"I don't know, what if I don't pass the test..." Harry looked anxiously at Hermione, who was reciting spells, and turned to Owen, his mind blank, muttering, "I don't know any magic..."

"Relax, it's just a small test unrelated to magic." Owen shook his head with amusement as he looked at the identical expressions of fear on the faces of the freshmen.

Although he already knew what the Sorting Ceremony was all about, he was willing to abide by the unspoken rule among wizards and not reveal the inside story of the Sorting Ceremony to the young wizards. According to his father, the new students should maintain a sense of novelty and anticipation for the unknown, and he certainly didn't want his descendants to experience that same anxious tension after being tricked like that himself.

Anyway, Irving believed it.

Hearing Owen's words, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and began to hesitate about whether he should memorize the laws of multiplication and division, or the area formula or something... His math grades were pretty good, so perhaps he should recall the poems he had learned before?

At that moment, Professor McGonagall returned and led the new students through the foyer into the magnificent auditorium. Students from other grades were already seated around four long tables covered with different colors, their eyes fixed on the students standing in a row in front of the faculty.

Professor McGonagall placed a four-cornered stool in front of the new students, then carried a pointed wizard's hat on it. The hat was patched, worn, and extremely dirty, covered in a thick layer of black grime that was almost shiny with oil.

Although he was mentally prepared, the thought of having to wear this hat made Irving, who has always been a bit of a germaphobe, almost explode.

As the Sorting Hat swayed and sang its strange melody, Owen had only one thought in his mind: Are wizards... really that unhygienic?

Surely not. At least the Saffir household is kept spotless by the house-elves every day, and even the house-elves are clean and tidy.

But... Owen turned his head and glanced at Professor Snape's greasy hair, Hagrid's messy beard, and Quirrell's dirty purple scarf, and suddenly felt that the road ahead was bleak.

(End of this chapter)