I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 130 Childhood is dead, the Demon King lives forever

On a remote island in the North Sea off the coast of Britain, in a castle called Azkaban, a boy who looked no more than a teenager was calling out earnestly through the iron bars to a prisoner huddled in a corner of the cell.

"Friend, do you know Grindelwald?"

"Let's join the Saints and take down the Ministry of Magic!"

Seeing that the man with lifeless eyes remained unmoved, Owen continued to raise the stakes, shouting, "If you're willing to join the Saints, I'll take you out!"

"Or grant any wish you desire!"

"I—want you to shut up!" The man, numb from the harassment, raised his head and shouted in a dry voice.

"Hiss—oh dear! How old are you, rebelling—" Owen rolled his eyes at the big dog, then ran towards another cell.

"Peng—Madam, have you heard of Grindelwald?"

Not far from Sirius Black's cell was the prison for the Death Eaters. As Voldemort's most loyal "lackey," he was naturally imprisoned with them.

His cousin, Bella, a famous snake-licking expert, lived just one room away from him.

Touching the dark, damp, and foul-smelling corridor, Owen quickly found the crazy woman.

"roll!"

"Okay!"

Compared to Sirius Black, the Death Eaters were much more ruthless. They were so busy being cared for by the Dementors that they had almost no energy left to pay attention to him, nor were they in the mood to.

Every day I live in a daze, terrified that one day some dementor will suck too hard and my poor soul will become their pitiful snack.

Anyone would become numb to such days.

This is why no wizard has ever escaped from Azkaban in all these years.

Putting everything else aside, even if the Dementors were to openly release people from the castle, how many people could cross the sea with their emaciated bodies without the aid of magic?

Those Death Eaters won't do.

Irving himself isn't good enough either.

Hey! You crazy brat.

Just as Irving was undeterred and preparing to fool the next customer, a dry voice suddenly came from the quiet corridor.

He turned his head and met Bella's crazed eyes.

She opened her mouth, revealing a mouthful of incomplete, yellow teeth, and asked, "How did you get here?"

Bella, whose head was covered in withered branches, whose face was covered in mud, and whose body looked like a corpse that had died in the sewer, suddenly became very interested in the child in front of her.

Azkaban is a dead abyss, with little new happening every day.

"That old dog Fudge bullies me because I'm weak and powerless, yet he dares to act like a bandit right to my face. Is there no justice in this Great Britain? Is there no law?" Owen stood in the dimly lit corridor, performing a one-man show. "Me! A mere thirteen-year-old wizard, just because I spat at him twice, he arrested me and threw me into Azkaban without any explanation. Is that fair?"

Is this appropriate?

He continued, answering his own question, "That's not appropriate."

"How can the wizarding world be managed well when the power of these insects is in their hands!"

"If I have a solid foundation, then the mediocre people of the world are truly not worth worrying about!"

"Hahaha—" Owen's words drew laughter from many Death Eaters present. They seemed to have not laughed in a long time, their voices sharp and hoarse, sending chills down the spines of those who heard them.

However, Owen, the protagonist, remained completely unaffected by the crowd. He continued his speech, talking to himself, "However, the heavens change, and divine artifacts are replaced. The Magic Federation is now corrupt and incompetent. If a righteous person were to rise up and call upon the world, the winds of change would respond!"

"By then, it remains to be seen how many will dominate and how many will reign supreme!"

As he spoke, he pulled his sleeve, and Mr. Ober Benny secretly slipped the wand back to him. With a gentle wave, a wisp of light flew from the tip of the wand, illuminating the sky above his head.

—Give yourself a light!

"There is now a man of extraordinary strength, with numerous followers and connections spanning the globe. He has the White Wizard Dumbledore as his backer and the Saints of Paris ready to fight him. My friends, my wizarding brothers and sisters, there is no future in following Voldemort—"

"Come—join me in the Saints' Order, for the future of wizards, for the greater good, for Grindelwald!"

His voice was deafening, yet it plunged the entire corridor into silence.

Everyone was quiet; no one spoke.

"Pfft—" Suddenly, a snicker broke the silence.

"Where did this idiot come from? I bet your mother was a complete bastard, otherwise how could she have given birth to a mentally unstable child like you?" The shouting voice came from a cell not far from Bella's.

Irving put his hands behind his back and glanced slightly in that direction. The next second, a ray of light automatically split off from the glowing spot above his head, drifting away and illuminating the talkative guy in the darkness.

He was a skinny, bony man with a ferocious expression.

He looked quite old, at least in his forties or fifties.

His eyes were sunken, and his lips were cracked. He had a horrifying scar on his face.

It's as if his face has been split in two; it's hard to believe that his face can still be glued back together.

"I wonder what this useless guy with a brainstem deficiency is called, and what his background is?" Owen had no recollection of this man.

It's important to know that, as a former demon king, he had met all the Death Eaters several times.

He had even met some Death Eaters who were spies hidden in the Ministry of Magic.

But this one—excuse me, he's really too ugly. If he'd seen him, he'd remember him for the rest of his life.

"Origin?" As if his tail had been stepped on, the man suddenly became agitated, then shouted, "Judging from your appearance, you're either a Mudblood or a mixed race!"

The man grinned and sneered, "How dare you utter such words of my noble lineage from your lowly mouth."

"Wow—you're really brave!" Owen strolled over, amidst the watchful eyes of the Death Eaters.

He extended his wand and coldly uttered a spell: "Crucible!"

The red spell struck the man's body instantly, and he writhed and struggled as if electrocuted, his eyes rolling wildly upwards. His teeth were chattering.

"A piercing wrist bone!!"

Owen stood in front of his cage, slowly squatted down, scratched his slightly itchy calves, rested his right hand on his knee, propped up his cheek, and held his wand between his middle and index fingers in his other hand, palm up, holding it up in a very lazy manner.

"A piercing wound in the wrist!!!"

The third curse struck the man's body.

This time, his convulsions became even more frequent, his body curled up on the ground, and white foam was coming out of his mouth.

"Ouch! Does it hurt that much?"

An invisible blade flew past—it was the Divine Sharpness, an invisible blade that directly severed the man's left index finger.

"Recover quickly—"

A green glow appeared, and the unseen divine intervention reattached the finger.

"The Divine Blade is Without a Shadow—"

This time it's the ears.

Next is the nose.

Next are the eyes.

"Oh dear! How evil I am!" A naughty child who was squatting on the ground burning an ant nest suddenly smiled shyly and raised his hand to cast a spell to break the curse.

The next second, all the dark magic on the ant vanished.

"Clang! Clang!" Owen tapped the railing with his wand, and a crisp sound instantly echoed in the corridor.

It's eerily quiet here.

All the snickers stopped abruptly, and no one dared to utter even a strange sound at him anymore.

The Death Eaters seemed to understand why the boy had been imprisoned in Azkaban.

"Hey you little brat over there, you're so rude!"

"What's your name? What's your background?" he asked.

"While I still have some patience."

The boy smiled kindly, his face as cold as frost in the dead of winter.

"Matt—Matt Rozier!"

The man's teeth chattered, his eyes filled with terror and resentment.

Like a wounded snake, it is constantly searching for a way to take revenge.

"Rozier?" Irving murmured the ancient surname.

Rosier is an ancient, pure-blood wizarding family, one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families. Originating in France, they are related by blood to families such as the Black, Lestrange, and Malfoy.

Of course, the reason Irving had even a slight recollection of this surname was mainly because of his maternal grandfather's head butler, Vynda Rozier, who came from this elegant, pure-blooded family.

Hmm—on the other hand, this guy in front of me, tsk tsk—is practically tarnishing the reputation of this surname.

"I don't know if you've ever heard of a name, Wenda Rozier," he asked casually, not expecting any possible answer.

"You—" The man seemed quite shocked that Owen could pronounce the name, but fear of Owen's wand made him dare not lie, and he could only stammer, "She, she is my distant aunt."

"Aunt?" Upon hearing this, Owen nodded, and slowly slipped his wand into his sleeve.

"I saw her decades ago in Denmark. She seemed to be carrying out some kind of project, and she had a daughter."

"I never imagined that a woman like that would have a child for that man," Matt Rozier said in a daze, his cloudy eyes making it impossible to tell whether he was recounting a memory or rambling in his own delirium.

"You just mentioned Grindelwald, didn't you? Dumbledore's defeated foe. My aunt seems to be quite fond of that man, and perhaps her daughter is Grindelwald's child."

"impossible--"

"Absolutely impossible—" Owen shook his head. "A straight woman pursuing a straight man is a distant dream." He didn't intend to explain anything to these uninformed bystanders.

"And then, you investigated? What was she doing?"

"No, the great Dark Lord needs my utmost loyalty. I have no time to run around for an old woman, especially since she has chosen to follow a loser, a stepping stone for Dumbledore."

"Oh~" Owen chuckled softly, the wand sliding back from his sleeve into his hand. "Leech Point—"

"Avada Kedavra—"

A dazzling green light, accompanied by a jumble of noises, seemed to be an unseen Grim Reaper flying through the air, crushing the ant to death.

Matt Rozier was blasted away by the spell, crashing heavily to the ground and falling silent.

(End of this chapter)