I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 151 Closing the door, Owen has a knack for it!

"Shall we go?"

After the embarrassing meal, Owen pulled Hermione along on their way to the library.

"Where to?" He rolled his eyes at Hermione, who was already blushing slightly. "Look at you now. You look good, though, but all that lip gloss and stuff, you've wasted so much time, you know? This is a magic school unlike Hogwarts, a treasure trove waiting to be discovered! Look at you, where have you been wasting your energy!"

He offered a serious critique.

The reason, of course, wasn't because she ate alone without inviting him.

No!

Absolutely not!

"Huh?" Hermione's pretty little face lifted slightly, a hint of doubt flashing between her brows.

The romantic atmosphere of France had made me a little more open-minded, and I closed my doors a bit more.

"What?! Of course, I'll go find Nick first to get you a pick-me-up to wake you up, then I'll continue copying books in the library!" Owen said matter-of-factly. "You don't expect me to do all the work by myself, do you? Dream on!"

With a slam, Hermione's heart slammed shut, and the shame on her face gradually faded. Then, in an uncertain, tentative tone, she asked, "So that's why you're angry?"

"What else?" Owen glanced back at her. "You can keep pestering me like you did a week ago! Hey, I love seeing you studying so hard! You know, that focused look is the most captivating thing about you!"

"Snap!"

This time, she not only closed the door, but she even added an extra lock!

"Hehe~" The little witch sneered.

Just now, she actually had a tiny bit of expectation for the stone in front of her!

Seriously.

How could I be so naive!

As the girl behind him gradually quieted down, Owen didn't stop his nagging. "Stay away from that Furong. Look at what she's taught you! Choosing jewelry? How to do makeup? How to dress?"

"Enough! This is all a capitalist trap! It's temptation, it's Satan, it's the devil!"

Will picking out jewelry help you beat Fudge and his Aurors? Probably not!

Can makeup really make you beat up Slytherins until they scream in terror? Probably not!

Will dressing well help you maintain your position as the strongest witch in Gryffindor? Definitely not!

Look, these are all unimportant things. Only a fool would pursue such empty things during the years when he has the most energy.

You must always remember that improving your inner self is the only fundamental solution.

Have you learned any spells this week?

Have you gained any magical insights or experiences?

Have you grown as a result?

No!

Not at all!

She just wants to condemn the demons in your heart to her hell. Do you think I can't see through her lecherous ways? She's taking advantage of you, little girl!

You must always be vigilant and never be tempted by her sweet words!!!

Irving's incessant chatter only stopped after he pushed open the library door.

Hermione rubbed her calloused ears, looking at the mountain of manuscripts on the table in front of her, feeling slightly dazed. Had Owen already copied so many?

When she left, this guy was so lazy he only finished arguing about one or two books.

Hermione sat back down in her chair.

Pick up a scroll that Irving had just finished copying and open it.

The wondrous characters before my eyes constantly changed and combined, like a set of nested dolls, complex and difficult to understand.

Well, the little witch has to admit she's been a bit lax lately.

but--

The blush on her cheeks was about to rise again.

Well—it's okay to relax a little, right?

she thinks.

"Stay here and don't wander off," Owen warned sternly, then turned to leave the library.

He needs to go find Nick and ask for a pick-me-up.

This wasn't meant for Hermione.

Just kidding, does enchantment magic need stimulants? Does it?

Isn't that something that can be cleared away with a wave of a wand or by hand?

Damn it, the energy drink was for himself; he hasn't slept for twenty-seven hours.

Even with his hard work, it was still a little difficult to realize Dumbledore's grand plan to empty Beauxbatons' treasure.

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.

"This stabilizer can stabilize the bloodlines in these hybrid magical creatures, gradually calming them down and making them more docile. However, it is not a cure; it can only alleviate the symptoms, not prevent the eventual collapse of the bloodlines."

"And—Albus, I don't know if this is effective on humans." Inside Nick's safe house, two white-bearded old men were circling around the sleeping Bakal on the table.

Nick has been studying this Australian blue-eyed white dragon as a test subject for two weeks.

Aside from reproduction, they already have a clear understanding of everything else.

"You know, the human body is much more fragile than magical creatures." Next to Nick was a glass of greenish-brown, cloudy liquid that seemed to contain a mixture of mud and silt.

"So what will be the consequences?" Dumbledore asked, frowning.

"She will fall asleep, for a very long time."

"Asleep?" The old headmaster was taken aback. What kind of aftereffect was this? Then, when he saw Nick's gaze, he knew that his old friend was joking with him.

"Haha—Relax, Albus. Do you remember the days when we studied dragon blood together? Great discoveries always happen unexpectedly."

"I know, I know." Professor Dumbledore sighed silently, knowing he had been too hasty lately.

However, the burden on his shoulders is becoming increasingly heavy.

The more he learned, the more he realized that he seemed to never be able to finish dealing with all those things.

Summer vacation is almost over.

He also planned to take advantage of the last few days to explore the forests of Albania.

Voldemort—Gellert—and some hidden messages.

He needs to verify and he needs to disprove.

Just as Professor Dumbledore was deep in thought.

"Bang!"

Irving kicked open the Anywhere Door and rushed in in a frantic rush.

"Energy booster, energy booster, where's my energy booster!" He had dark circles under his eyes, raised his hands high, and swayed his head as he moved toward the table.

It looked like a zombie searching for food.

"On the table." The old principal didn't even look up.

He held a long parchment in his hand, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

"This?" Owen pointed to the greenish-brown liquid.

"Yes," Nick replied.

"It doesn't look like it."

"Potentious, you know, I have many ancient potion recipes."

"Really?" Owen picked up the cup with some doubt.

I sniffed it.

"Ugh!" He almost threw up.

Great, it smells like a potion.

He tilted his head back and gulped it down.

Let the disgusting liquid flow down my throat

The taste was bitter and astringent, with a strong rusty flavor, and it seemed to be unfiltered, mixed with impurities like sand.

In short, it tastes extremely bad.

"This is truly the worst-tasting potion I've ever drunk; it's almost as bad as traditional Chinese medicine!"

With a loud "bang," before he could finish speaking, his legs gave way and he collapsed, his head hitting the corner of the table with a loud thud.

"Oh! Looks like we'll have to reduce the dosage," Nick nodded.

"Indeed, at least half as much." Dumbledore nodded in agreement, then poured some water back into Owen's unfinished potion cup.

Stir it, mmm—it's a brand new cup!

------

On the other side of the ocean.

He is completely different from Irving.

Harry is racking his brains to finish his summer homework during summer vacation.

If he knew that Owen was studying like crazy at another magic academy, he would probably be green with envy.

Harry moved out of the Dursleys' house after he gave Aunt Maggie a little lesson.

I now live in the Leaky Cauldron.

Although he didn't understand why he was using magic off-campus, or why the Ministry of Magic hadn't contacted him or sent a warning letter like Owen had.

However, such doubts did not linger in Harry's little mind for long. Soon, the free summer vacation would allow him to put all his concerns behind him.

Living a life where he can sleep whenever he wants and eat whenever he wants is like living in paradise.

In particular, he can go anywhere he wants, as long as it's in Diagon Alley, a long, cobblestone street lined with some of the world's most enchanting magical shops.

Harry ate breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron every morning, where he liked to observe the other guests, including the amusing little witch from the countryside who came to do shopping all day.

The seemingly vulnerable wizards debated the latest article in "Transfiguration Today," a wild and unruly wizard and a boisterous dwarf.

Also, on one occasion, a man wearing a thick balaclava helmet, who looked suspiciously like a ghost, ordered a plate of raw liver.

After breakfast, Harry went to the backyard, took out his wand, tapped the third brick from the left above the trash can, then stepped back and looked at the archway in the wall that led to Diagon Alley.

He walked past the shops and ate under the brightly colored parasols outside the coffee shop, where the people dining with him were showing off their purchases or discussing the Sirius Black case.

Sirius Black—that's the name Harry heard the most this summer.

Its appearance rate even exceeded that of Lockhart at one point.

This made him very curious.

So Harry did the worst thing he did all summer.

He sent Irving a letter

In fact, sending letters to Owen to ask questions has become a habit for Harry. After spending a lot of time with Hermione and Owen, you will develop an extremely strong dependence on them.

After all, a walking encyclopedia is much more useful than looking up books yourself!

Irving's reply was, of course, much faster.

Three days after Harry sent his letter, a letter from France, which had crossed the ocean, arrived in Harry's hands.

Harry happily opened the letter, but from the very first English word he saw, he regretted it.

—To Harry, who is destined for bloodshed this semester.

--Hello

(End of this chapter)