I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 136 My conscience, my conscience, ah! My conscience!!!

The old headmaster had a strange smile on his face. He patted Irving on the head; the kid seemed to really like the nesting doll identity.

But—Harry it is! It doesn't really matter. Anyway, Harry probably won't come to France!

The old principal doted on him.

After passing through those beautiful, vibrant flower fields.

Before Irving could continue admiring the scenery, a rather burly woman walked over from a distance.

She was almost as tall as Hagrid, with a very handsome olive-colored face, large, dark, watery eyes, and a very pointed nose.

Her hair was combed back and tied into a shiny bun at the base of her neck.

She was dressed from head to toe in a shimmering black satin garment, and her neck and large fingers were adorned with many exquisite opals.

The visitor was none other than Mrs. Maxim, the headmistress of Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Welcome." Her gentle voice was like a warm breeze blowing through the mountains.

In accordance with French tradition, Professor Dumbledore offered a kiss on the hand.

Owen's gaze, however, lingered on Mrs. Maxim, a girl with deep blue eyes and long, cascading silver hair, radiating an astonishing charm.

Fleur Delacour, who possesses Veela blood.

Okay~ she is indeed very beautiful.

To be objective, Fleur was the most beautiful girl Irving had ever met. Moreover, he seemed to have an inexplicable affinity for this girl with Veela blood.

It's like...

They are like family.

It's strange, but it's absolutely impossible for it to be true.

"Hello, Fleur Delacour, it's an honor to meet you!" she said with a smile, stepping forward and gracefully extending her hand. (French)

"Hello, I'm Harry—" (in French)

"Ahem, it's not good to always use someone else's name, little Owen," Dumbledore coughed twice, offering a reminder.

"Uh—okay, I'm Owen, Owen Sanchez." He shook hands with Fleur, who smiled knowingly, seemingly enjoying Owen's 'prank'. (French, and the rest of the text is in French.)

"You speak French very well, and you even seem to have a Parisian accent."

Furong's voice was very pleasant, with a slightly husky quality and a hint of allure.

"Accent?" Upon hearing this, Irving was suddenly taken aback.

I left home young and returned old, my accent unchanged but my hair gray.

he.

"Strictly speaking, maybe, probably, possibly I am French?" Owen stroked his chin and thought about it carefully, and realized, hey! It seems that it really is true.

Wow! I think I really am French!

Damn! He's become a traitor.

"You're French?" Fleur was quite surprised, then asked, "Then why did you go to Hogwarts?"

She glanced cautiously at Dumbledore, who was discussing something with Mrs. Maxime.

Although that gentleman is indeed very famous.

But a Frenchman going to study at a magic school in England always feels a bit strange.

And Kyrie Irving—that name sounds so familiar!

I feel like I've heard that somewhere before.

"Family reasons, family reasons." How embarrassing! Irving said vaguely.

Good grief, if this keeps up, I'll really become a traitor to the law.

Look, he previously said that those young wizards from Bübston School surrendered as soon as they were attacked, and he didn't feel any sense of accomplishment.

So, I'm the one with the fastest slide rail, damn it.

Damn Britain, they're relentlessly manipulating me, making me almost think I'm some old Londoner with the Union Jack.

So it was the old Paris Plain White Banner!

???

Damn! This is even worse than the Union Jack!

Upon hearing this, the initial enthusiasm and astonishing speed in Hibiscus's eyes began to wane. It's likely that the young lady had already labeled Irving a traitor in her heart.

Okay—it's a little awkward.

However, it doesn't matter.

If we had stayed in France back then, we would definitely have been a true Parisian flag bearer! Long live the society! L('ω')┘三└('ω')

What does your Fifth Republic have to do with me?

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

After a few pleasantries...

Mrs. Maxim led them into a magnificent building.

A small banquet was held for them in a place similar to the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

It was then that Owen learned that although Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's holiday started two weeks later than Hogwarts', it had already begun before July 10th.

Students can choose to stay on campus.

What Irving saw were students who chose to stay on campus, mostly due to family matters or other special reasons. Students wouldn't leave the school until the end of July. But there were still some who stayed.

Although the number of people was small, the old Parisians' spirit could not be lost, and about a few dozen senior students attended the banquet.

They sang the school song loudly and elegantly in the auditorium.

The melody inexplicably resembles the Marseillaise, gentle yet powerful, positively inspiring generations of Burbuston students to move towards the future.

Hmm—it's really good.

Owen, whose face turned pale and then black as he listened, was so shocked he could have dug a hole in the ground. (As usual), Owen never expected Dumbledore's first stop to be Burbuston! This made him, a French-born man with a French Muggle father and a mother of unknown origin, feel uneasy.

The most awkward thing is that as soon as the music starts, he knows how to sing it.

However, he wasn't singing the Bübstein school song; he was singing the Marseillaise.

Ah!

No!

My conscience! My tormented conscience!

Under the righteous spirit of these songs born in the era of the Great Revolution, a certain demon is about to reveal its true form.

In order to cover up his embarrassment and reaffirm his position.

After the song ended, Irving, eager for a singing battle, suddenly stood up and was about to sing a Hogwarts school song, the theme song of the 1940 Tour de France armored car race.

I was born a citizen of the Ming Dynasty, and I will die a ghost of the Ming Dynasty. Even if I am reincarnated, my soul will still belong to the Celestial Empire. Mere France.

Stand up, my fragile conscience!

Seeing that Owen seemed about to cause trouble, Headmaster Dumbledore was startled. Before Owen could even open his mouth, he quickly reached out, grabbed him, and pressed him firmly into the chair.

It was clear that the old principal was in a great hurry.

To paraphrase Owen, that look would be something like: "Don't embarrass yourself. This is Burbuston. You may be shameless, but Hogwarts is!"

After pressing Irving's button, Dumbledore continued to chat with Mrs. Maxime with a smile. The two seemed to be talking about something like a competition, but the other party was clearly somewhat opposed, seemingly worried and dissatisfied about the recent volleyball controversy in Britain.

This prevented Dumbledore from discussing the topic in great depth.

Just like Owen said, he should get to know the headmasters of these magic schools better.

He's not in a hurry to make the competition; it can wait until next year.

After setting aside grander topics, the two principals, who had dedicated their lives to education, naturally began to talk about the students around them.

Yes, even in the magical world, there's no escaping the daily routine of relatives comparing themselves to each other, just like during Chinese New Year.

Mrs. Maxim praised her outstanding student Fleur, saying she was the best student Brubuston had ever had in a century.

Professor Dumbledore, on the other hand, was much more modest. He used an ambiguous and vague tone to indirectly suggest that Owen might be the most outstanding student in Hogwarts' thousand-year history.

As they were talking, the two principals suddenly burst out laughing.

His eyes inexplicably sparked with a newfound intensity.

Irving knew that an invisible war was about to begin.

As two important figures in this war, Owen and Fleur quickly finished their meal and left the auditorium.

Can adults please not involve children in their competitive spirit?

It's very tiring.

"Mrs. Maxim had instructed me to take the guests on a tour of the school," Fleur said, tossing her cascading silver hair.

He smiled proudly and arrogantly, "Look how it compares to your Hogwarts."

"Hmm—would you say it's warmer than Hogwarts?" Owen walked in the garden, feeling the warm sunshine from the south of France, and his whole body felt cozy.

"Hogwarts is never this hot."

"Is it cold?" Owen's sudden thought startled Hibiscus, and the retort she had prepared, which might have been meant to be a comeback, died before she could even utter it.

"Cold?" Irving gave an awkward but still smiling look. "It's only around 20 degrees Celsius in the summer and around minus 20 degrees Celsius in the winter."

"The Black Lake in front of the school is frozen solid for at least four months of the year, and for the other two months the surface of the water is covered with a layer of ice."

"That's so exaggerated?" Fleur was somewhat shocked. There was also a river outside the manor in Bubuston, but that river never froze.

"You'll know when you live here for a year next year," Owen replied casually.

Then, the two strolled through the sea of ​​flowers, chatting about this and that.

They walked through a series of small, glittering buildings before finally arriving at the Quidditch pitch.

"Hey, over there." The two of them strolled through the sea of ​​flowers, enjoying the beautiful life together.

Suddenly, a rough voice from the sky interrupted everything!

Then a tall, rugged, and strong man rode a broomstick across the sky and landed directly in front of Owen.

I know you.

"You're that Owen, aren't you? The shameless guy who ambushed Kuresh and Mazuch. I've seen your picture in the newspaper. What's your name again?"

"Harry Potter!" Owen blurted out.

"You're kidding me! I know your name." The boy tossed his flying broom aside and drew his wand from inside his robes. He pointed it at Owen.

"Oh! Am I that famous?" Owen grinned, but the boy saw it as a provocation, a mockery.

How would he know about Irving?

It's all because of that conflict in London; now all the wizards in France are questioning the teaching standards of Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

They don't care about any "Secrecy Law"!

They only cared about one thing: why were several of their junior wizards no match for a single Englishman?

This is so dangerous! I feel like if I were to encounter a serious history reader, they would definitely scold me.

(End of this chapter)