122: Chapter 122 Are you sure that what you've seen is all real?

The voice that suddenly rang out in the living room was aged and warm; Ms. Rowling and Toby didn't react for a moment.

Snapping back to their senses, the two instinctively turned their heads to find the source of the sound.

It wasn't very difficult to find.

They saw a white-haired old man standing by the living room door, dressed remarkably like Dumbledore.

A voluminous black robe covered his entire body, and he wore a round-brimmed, pointed hat. In his hand, he held a cylindrical wooden staff that looked much like a pointer used by school teachers.

The finishing touch was the small round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose—he looked just like him, too much like him.

Toby stood dazed for a long while before suddenly jumping up, drawing the pistol from his holster, and aiming the dark muzzle at the white-haired old man.

"Who are you!"

Though his shout was full of bravado, he felt some trepidation in his heart, and his hands holding the gun trembled slightly.

I locked the villa door tight after entering the living room; how did he get in?

Why didn't I hear a single sound?

The old man's gaze moved from Ms. Rowling to the pistol, and he smiled. "An interesting little toy of the new world."

With that, without any visible movement from him, the pistol Toby was gripping tightly seemed to be manipulated by an invisible hand. It instantly disassembled into its component parts, clattering onto the tiled floor.

"This..." Toby's mouth hung open, unable to comprehend the scene before him that defied his understanding.

"Your name is Toby, right?"

"Hehe," the old man chuckled. "I happened to see you when I was delivering the Interview Letters to those two little fellows.

I didn't expect to see you here again after only an hour."

"Who on earth are you..."

"Don't be impatient. I will tell you everything you want to know, but first, wait a moment."

The old man looked at Ms. Rowling, who was dazed and clearly hadn't recovered yet. "The little girl who clamored to become a wizard has grown up."

Ms. Rowling, who had just regained her senses, immediately fell back into confusion. "Old gentleman, do—do we know each other?"

"Have you forgotten the name Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore?

How could I forget? This is my novel...

Ms. Rowling's mouth opened even wider than Toby's. "You—who are you?"

Before Dumbledore could speak, she covered her mouth and screamed with a total lack of composure, "Impossible!

Wizards don't exist in this world at all, nor is there a Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, let alone any Dumbledore! It's just my fantasy!

Who exactly are you?!"

"Why do you think that?" The old man asked calmly, not answering her question.

"I am certain that I had never seen a wizard before I created harry potter!"

Beside them, Toby wanted to ask something, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he felt a force snap his lips shut.

Looking up, he saw the white-haired old man lowering his staff.

Is this magic?!

Ignoring his terrified gaze, Dumbledore said to Ms. Rowling, "Are you certain everything you see is real?

Is your own memory necessarily complete?"

It is normal for humans to forget some insignificant things.

When an ordinary person is suddenly asked if they've forgotten something, they will most likely think in confusion, 'Have I forgotten something?'

And then they realize with a start that it seems they really have forgotten something.

Coupled with the bizarre methods of the white-haired old man before her who called himself Dumbledore, a sense of unease naturally emerged in Ms. Rowling's heart.

It was a very strange feeling, as if a hand were squeezing her heart; she was so affected she couldn't catch her breath.

"Whew—ha—ha—"

Ms. Rowling clutched her chest, her deep breaths turning into heavy gasps as if she were about to faint. Dumbledore raised his staff at the right moment.

She felt a strange ripple sweep over her, and her wildly fluctuating consciousness instantly calmed down.

Slowly lowering the hand on her chest, she already believed the old man's words.

There was no reason to doubt, was there?

Could that invisible force that had just tangibly soothed her spirit and disassembled a pistol in the blink of an eye without damaging any parts be achieved by an ordinary person or a modern machine?

harry potter is not fiction; it is reality!

"Old... Mr. Dumbledore, can I..."

Ms. Rowling was too excited; she had to take a deep breath before she could finish: "Can I visit the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a guest?"

At this moment, she seemed to have returned to the age of an innocent little girl. Her hands were clenched into fists against her chest as she imagined how romantic and wonderful the true magic world would be.

"It's not time yet."

An aura of disappointment visibly radiated from her whole body. Her hands slowly lowered, and her shoulders slumped. "Why?"

"Hogwarts... you will go there, very soon."

Her mood, which had plunged to the depths, recovered slightly as she asked about his previous words. "Mr. Dumbledore..."

"Call me Grandfather. Back then, that's what you called me."

His smiling expression was filled with kindness and doting.

Ms. Rowling seamlessly stepped into the role of a granddaughter without the slightest hesitation. "Grandfather, what is wrong with my memory?

Also, when you said everything I see is real, you were asking a question, weren't you?"

"Your memory was sealed; this was done for the sake of your daily life."

"As for that latter sentence..."

Dumbledore raised his staff and chanted an incantation that Ms. Rowling couldn't understand.

In the next second, the elderly man shrank into a young boy, then immediately turned into a young man, before finally returning to his original appearance.

No wonder!

Toby, who was unable to speak, nearly had his eyes pop out of their sockets. No wonder wizards had never been discovered!

Ms. Rowling stepped forward cautiously toward Dumbledore and raised her hand, but stopped halfway. "Grandfather, may I..."

He reached out his empty left hand and grasped her palm, which was frozen in mid-air. They could clearly feel each other's body heat.

Unable to help herself, Ms. Rowling shed tears that flowed down her cheeks, gathered at her chin, and dripped off.

"Still as much of a crybaby as you were decades ago," the old man said in a playful tone.

"I—I just..." She spoke haltingly, unable to manage a complete sentence.

"There is still plenty of time in the future." Withdrawing his hand, Dumbledore looked at Toby and waved his staff; Toby found he could speak again.

"Mr. Dumbledore, I have many—so many questions!" Having been silenced, he was now somewhat incoherent.

It took him a while to suppress the surging waves in his heart. "You really are a wizard."

Dumbledore raised his hand, and a fireball materialized. It flew from his palm, circled him a few times, and then flew back into his hand and dissipated.

Magic.

Feeling the heat and touching the singed, curled hair at his temple, he continued to ask, "You said Ms. Rowling's memory was sealed, so how did she write the novel harry potter?"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is about to reopen its gates, and the seal loosened accordingly."

Toby didn't understand the connection between the two, but seeing that the man had no intention of explaining in detail, he didn't press further.

After pondering for a few seconds, he said, "May I invite you to the CIA?

There are many things my superiors need to discuss with you..."

"Bastard!" Ms. Rowling cursed angrily. "Inviting my grandfather to the CIA?

That department that's like a sewer hiding rats?!"

"Uh, Ms. Rowling, don't get excited, I just..."

"Enough." The old man waved his hand, interrupting their impending argument. "I said, there is still plenty of time in the future.

Ms. Rowling, when that day comes, I will personally come to take you back to Hogwarts."

He turned right and strode toward the wall.

"Grandfather..." Ms. Rowling's cry had just left her mouth when his figure passed straight through the wall and vanished. Only then did the second half of her sentence follow like a mutter to herself, "Which day is 'that day'?"

She could hardly bear it; she just wanted to go to Hogwarts immediately, right now.

It was undeniable that she had dreamt many times of being at Hogwarts in person.

Upon waking, she would laugh at herself a little, yet feel a deep yearning, knowing it was only a dream.

Now, the dream seemed to be coming true.

"Ms. Rowling!

I hope you will testify for me that wizards truly exist!"

Looking at this fellow who had disturbed her sleep in the middle of the night and had the audacity to try to take her grandfather to the foul-smelling CIA, Ms. Rowling's face darkened. She turned and walked toward the wooden stairs leading to the second floor:

"Please leave, guest, or I'll call the police!"