I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 138 Dumbledore's Troubles

Just as Irving was about to take down Hibiscus, he suddenly spotted two familiar figures approaching from the Rose Bridge in the distance.

It must have been Dumbledore and Mrs. Maxime who were attracted by the thunder.

Turning his head, he surveyed the surrounding grass littered with corpses, and saw Furong panting heavily, her eyes filled with both fear and anger.

"Uh—we went too far!"

Irving suddenly felt a little flustered.

However, it was merely a slight pang of conscience that suddenly arose when he returned to his homeland.

He glanced down at the wand in his hand, then at Fleur.

Then, a thought immediately formed in his mind.

Then, to Fleur's astonishment, Owen suddenly threw his wand at her.

Then he patted his chest.

The gray, petrified light instantly enveloped him.

Then, in Hibiscus's beautiful blue eyes, Owen kicked his legs and screamed "Ah!" before collapsing onto the grass.

???

A bewildered Fleur instinctively caught Owen's wand. Then she looked at the 'corpse' lying on the ground with a puzzled expression.

???

What happened?

Why did he throw the wand at him?

In the magical world, surrendering one's wand is a shameful and humiliating act; it is always the case that one's wand is taken away, and very few people surrender it voluntarily.

For wizards, their wands are their second life.

Wizards value their wands more than their girlfriends.

At the European Wizarding Tournament, the player voluntarily relinquishes their wand as a sign of complete surrender and defeat.

People generally refer to duelists who stubbornly cling to their spells even unto death as heroes.

Wizards who voluntarily surrender their spells and bow in surrender are called cowards.

As for Fleur, she couldn't understand why this French traitor, who could defeat more than a dozen of their wizards in one go, would surrender to her.

This doesn't make sense!

Of course, this problem didn't bother her for long.

Because soon, the principal she knew best—a man with a handsome olive-colored face and dressed in a black satin suit—appeared before her.

Mrs. Maxim stood side by side with Professor Dumbledore.

Her big, dark, watery eyes quickly scanned her surroundings.

His gaze swept over the Quidditch players lying on the ground, then over Owen who was petrified, and finally over Fleur with her hair disheveled and her brow furrowed with confusion.

"Hibiscus!" Mrs. Maxim's voice had never been so stern.

The pretty young lady was startled by the shout, and when she came to her senses, she almost immediately understood why Irving had acted so strangely.

"Professor, it wasn't me, it was him—"

"Enough!" Mrs. Maxim stared at Fleur, her face showing a disappointment Fleur had never seen before. "You have disappointed me greatly."

"How could you treat Beauxbatons' guest like that! He's only thirteen years old! How could you lay a hand on a student younger than you?"

"No—" Fleur tried to argue, but the furious Mrs. Maxim had lost her patience. "Whatever the purpose, bullying the weak is despicable!"

"Besides, I remember I already told you the truth about what happened in England." Mrs. Maxim's voice was dejected and low.

After that incident, she almost immediately summoned the young wizard involved and asked him what had happened.

At that time, the young wizards from Beauxbatons, who had been beaten up by Owen, were still quite lucid, and they told the headmaster exactly what had happened.

There was nothing to hide.

Although Madam Maxim was very angry with the rude young Hogwarts wizard, the truth was that even with four sixth-year wizards from their school working together, they couldn't defeat a young Hogwarts wizard who was probably only a third-year student.

How is she supposed to mend her relationship with Dumbledore?

"What? You want to do it again! Don't you think we've embarrassed ourselves enough?"

It's clear that she's been exhausted by what happened in the UK lately.

As the headmistress of Bumblebee, she faced pressures that these simple-minded young wizards could not imagine.

Upon hearing that Nicolas Flamel had invited Dumbledore to visit France, she almost immediately wrote to Nick asking him to change the meeting place to Burbston, hoping to improve her relationship with Hogwarts.

At least this will minimize the impact of the incident.

But now—her best student, along with that group of hormone-fueled fools, ganged up on that kid.

Regardless of whether they ultimately win or not, once this news gets out, Bubbaston's reputation will be completely ruined.

How could this not make her angry?

Hibiscus, sitting half-on the ground, stared blankly at her principal.

My mind was filled with that stern rebuke.

Those large, bright, light blue eyes gradually welled up with tears.

Large tears streamed down her cheeks and fell to the ground.

Anger, resentment, humiliation—she, so proud, had never suffered such a devastating blow.

Suddenly, Fleur's eyes snapped to Owen, who was lying on the ground pretending to be dead.

She gripped the boy's wand tightly, biting her lip as if it would bleed!

She vowed that one day, one day, she, Hibiscus, would repay all the humiliation she had suffered today! By Delacour!

"Sigh~"

Seeing the French girl staring intently at Owen, Professor Dumbledore could only sigh, "Youth is wonderful; you can even hurt others with love," but he felt mostly melancholy.

He already regretted it.

I regret bringing Kyrie Irving along.

His little tricks could only fool a newbie like Mrs. Maxim who had never encountered such a shameless person. As someone who had personally witnessed him harming countless young wizards, how could Dumbledore not see through it?

The old principal immediately saw that Irving, lying on the ground, was just faking it.

Look at him, the smile on his lips hasn't even faded.

It's only been less than an hour since we arrived in Bubbaston, and this kid has already caused such a huge mess!

From that day forward...

If this kid gets into trouble in the future, just don't tell anyone about the professors.

Dumbledore suddenly understood Professor McGonagall's predicament.

At Hogwarts, he was a hands-off manager, with Professor McGonagall handling all the day-to-day affairs of the school. He hadn't felt that deeply before.

Now, as soon as he stepped out of Hogwarts, he immediately understood the feeling.

However—there are two sides to every story.

Although Owen caused quite a bit of trouble, he also made Dumbledore realize many problems at Bumblebeth School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

These kids are rather weak in dueling!

It's important to know that after a year of intimidation by their professors, most of the young wizards at Hogwarts have seen a significant improvement in their magical abilities.

Dumbledore thought that at least half of the young wizards at Hogwarts could dodge the petrified figures before him. Of course, they might just dodge by leaping and dodging, and not everyone would necessarily be able to cast the Armor Charm.

But this is already ahead of Bübston, isn't it?

Thinking of this, the old principal's expression inexplicably improved, and a smile slowly spread across his lips.

The young wizards at Burbuston School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are still too inexperienced. It's not uncommon for a dozen people to gang up on one person at Hogwarts. In the second semester of this year, Ravenclaw went to war with the three houses, and one eagle fought against three beasts!

Professor Flitwick was torn between joy and pain. On one hand, the enthusiasm of the young wizards in his house for learning dueling skills was increasing exponentially; on the other hand, the once tranquil and unassuming Ravenclaw was rapidly becoming more like Gryffindor, which gave him a major headache.

However, Professor Flitwick's suffering did not last long.

Because soon, Professor Sprout shared his pain.

The biting cabbage is ripe.

Now, the young wizard, having let loose, had completely gone mad.

The junior wizards from the four academies couldn't get their glued together.

Every day, the castle produces dozens of kilograms of vegetable leaves.

There have been several school-wide brawls, and Irving was involved in all of them, which is why Minerva turned away as soon as she saw the boy.

In the end, although the Slytherins won the House Cup, it was only with Snape's crazy bonus points that they won this year, and their total score was a paltry 327 points.

This score would have been at the bottom in previous years. It's even worse than the bottom; the lowest score in previous years was around 390.

It's easy to imagine how fierce the battles were among the young wizards this year.

Ahem—thinking of this, the old headmaster's face fell again. It didn't seem like a glorious thing for the four houses of Hogwarts to fight each other.

Although his student improvement program was very successful this year, it also made the college more divided. I really don't know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.

------

When Irving woke up again, it was already the next day.

The heartless Dumbledore added several more petrification spells to him, leaving him frozen alone for a whole day.

"Stingy~" Owen pursed his lips as he stretched his stiff body, feeling a bit resentful towards Dumbledore. "Didn't we handle everything?"

Just stand aside and watch the show, why are you bullying people!

"Oh~ you're awake." It was a hoarse, low voice, like the sound of wind blowing through dry wood.

Owen watched the figure walk up the stairs, jogging along. He was wearing a gray robe, a common garment for nobles in the last century—or perhaps the century before that.

The dried-out body makes one think it's a living mummy.

"Huff huff~" He was panting heavily after walking only a few feet, and when he got close to Owen, he even unceremoniously grabbed his shoulder and gasped for breath.

"I—yes, I'm Nicolas Flamel. Dumbledore should have mentioned me." He extended his other hand and then greeted Owen with a smile.

"Hello, I'm Owen, Owen Sanchez." The Dark Lord cautiously extended his hand, only briefly touching Nick's. He dared not actually shake the hand of this expert in crunchy bones; if it snapped, people would say he was disrespectful to the elderly.

"You look so young, I bet you're no more than 375 years old."

(End of this chapter)