I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 155 A mouthpiece? A hidden agent? A spy? Just a pawn!

Peter Pettigrew, after glancing at Irving, immediately thought of running away.

Ahead is Flip-Down Alley.

He was very familiar with this road, especially during those dark times, when he had walked it countless times.

He was confident that he could completely shake off the boy behind him after walking two or three street corners.

With that thought in mind, he took a step forward and was about to rush into that secluded alley.

"call out"!

Suddenly, a green beam of death light swept across his cheek, almost touching his face.

Peter's right cheek beard even felt the cold temperature of the curse.

In addition, I could hear the mournful cries of countless dying beings.

"Bang! Don't kill me, please, don't kill me!"

He collapsed to the ground because his legs gave way. His entire face went straight into the muddy ditch by the roadside.

But his mouth was always full of muddy sewage, and he began to shout in a sharp, hoarse voice.

Meanwhile, Owen remained unhurried, using a spell to dispel the raindrops dripping from his body while simultaneously raising a transparent umbrella again.

Then he walked over slowly and deliberately.

"Run! Why did you stop running?"

"Oh, maybe you're showing off that you have legs?"

As he spoke, a red spell flew from the tip of his right finger and struck Peter's left foot precisely.

Cutting spell.

It's a very common spell, not even a defense spell against dark magic.

Because it has a lot of counter-spells, any object that it cuts can be repaired using a repair spell.

Of course, this spell can also be used on wizards. Repair is possible, but the pain is real.

"Ah!" A piercing scream suddenly rang out, but the sound seemed to be blocked by some invisible wall and did not spread.

"Missing a right finger, a severed left toe. How perfectly symmetrical." The Demon King pressed closer, his tone colder than the rain.

"Please, please, don't!" Peter Pettigrew collapsed into the mud.

He turned his head to look back at Irving.

His eyes were filled with terror and fear.

Irving looked at him with a sense of smug satisfaction.

His face was full of mockery.

That's how this bug is—he's all talk and no action. Don't be fooled by how down on his luck he is now; if he ever has the power to bite you back, he won't hesitate.

"Does the smell of soil smell good?" Owen looked at him teasingly, a sudden smirk playing on his lips.

Immediately, he exerted force with his right leg, kicking the bug far away with a whip kick.

Then his boots peeked out from under the umbrella, letting the rain wash over them.

"You've dirtied my boots, sir."

"Okay, I don't want to play this game anymore," he said.

"Sirius escaped from Azkaban, I think you probably already knew that!"

"Guess who told him you're still alive?" The boy couldn't stop smiling.

But in Peter Pettigrew's eyes...

The boy, who looked like a demon from hell, was pushing a horde of monsters out of his shadow, tearing and howling as they charged toward him.

As for him, he was just a lone boat on the vast ocean, always at risk of being capsized and drowned.

He didn't want to speak, and he didn't want to look directly into the eyes of that evil spirit.

But Peter knew the truth.

Yes, he knew it very well.

The boy had been in Azkaban more than a month ago, so if anyone could have told Sirius the news, it could only be him.

"You're not being sincere at all." Owen glanced at Peter's panicked face, a thousand ways to torture him flashing through his mind, but he didn't do anything.

"Soul leaving the body!" A dazzling, dark blue orb struck Peter's body, and before he could resist, his consciousness plunged into a fog.

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.

Sharp and piercing, a fog obscuring all directions.

It rises from all directions.

It was like a mist, completely obscuring Peter's vision.

He fled through the fog like a headless fly.

He wanted to escape.

But there were no roads in any direction, and he had no idea where to go.

Just as he was feeling lost, suddenly, the misty ground rippled like the surface of a lake, and then stone steps slowly rose up, revealing a road that seemed to have no end.

Anyone who sees this road will instinctively walk onto it.

Because you had nowhere else to go!

And Peter, like most normal people, stepped onto the stone steps.

As the first step was taken, an ethereal and undeniable voice echoed in the void: "Go to Azkaban, rescue Bellatrix Lestrange, you know how to do it, Animagus, and add a Portkey."

"The Dementors have all been lured out by Sirius. You must hurry!"

On the damp street corner, Owen watched helplessly as Peter transformed from a human into a beast once more.

snort!

He didn't expect Bella to be his informant; in fact, Irving never trusted anyone.

Besides, he merely severed that distorted love from Bella's heart.

As for Bella now, or in the future, whether she remains loyal to Voldemort—

Haha—that's none of his business.

Playing chess!

You can't expect every step to be useful.

The placement of a piece is all about seizing an opportunity; perhaps this piece will yield a good result?

A cold smile crept into his heart as he gripped the rat back into his hand.

Irving even generously, kindly, and saintlyly cut off the severed finger from the mud for him.

Hehe—someone's coming.

"Hey, what did Owen do with Scabbers?" Ron and Harry and the others came looking for him.

"Test the drug!" Owen casually tossed the muddy rat to Ron.

"Drug testing?"

"I've learned a lot of useful potions from Nicholas Flamel, including powerful energizers. Look, isn't that mouse full of energy again?" Owen laughed like a normal child.

"Really?" Ron looked at the mouse in his hand with suspicion.

I must say, I do feel much better.

Look at its eyes, so bright and piercing!

"Hehe~"

"By the way, I wrote to you before, Kyrie, about Sirius Black."

After Ron got his mouse, the group set off in the rain toward Flourish and Blotts.

Their new textbooks for the new semester arrived there.

"Don't worry about it, you'll find out soon," Owen said ambiguously.

He patted Harry on the shoulder.

Peter Pettigrew is still useful; now is not the best time to expose his crimes.

There has to be a big battle—preferably one where someone is in danger!

He saved everyone, like in first grade and second grade!

That's what makes it perfect, isn't it?

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.

Compared to second grade, third grade has many more courses.

It includes two elective courses.

Hogwarts offers six elective courses, and ordinary wizards only need to choose two of them to earn their OWLs certificate.

To put it simply, for most wizards who don't pursue highly dangerous and specialized positions like Aurors, elective courses are just for accumulating credits.

As for Irving, Dumbledore had already booked his elective courses for him during the summer.

The principal personally arranged his courses; that's really taking good care of him.

Of course, if you knew the details, you'd know that no student would like this (Owen, the bad student, was never a good student).

The three courses are as follows:

His maternal grandfather's beloved "magical animal protection class".

Ancient runes specifically instructed by Dumbledore.

And alchemy, a course that was originally only available to sixth graders.

Everyone else has two courses, especially Harry and Ron, one is Divination, which is just to earn credits, and the other is Fantastic Beasts, which is just to earn credits.

As for him, Dumbledore directly assigned him three doors.

Ancient subjects like alchemy and esoteric arts are among the most difficult courses at Hogwarts.

This greatly displeased Irving, who had always wanted to be a nobody.

then

While he was grumbling.

The old principal promptly added another course for him—divination!

The professor's reasoning was, "You really are full of energy!"

Instead of preparing new lessons, you have time to complain to him.

Got it!

Owen, who was happy to have four elective courses, instantly became the most miserable student in the entire third year, second only to Hermione.

wrong!

Considering the difficulty of the courses, he had it even worse than Hermione!

—A few days later.

The last day of August.

The start of the school year arrived as scheduled.

He rushed to King's Cross Station at ten o'clock in the morning.

As for why...

"Hi! I'm here!"

As soon as Owen passed through the wall, he saw the train boarding gate, and Hannah waved to him excitedly.

"How was your summer vacation?" Hannah ran towards him and naturally took the suitcase from his hands.

"That's good. Beauxbatons is prettier than Hogwarts." Well, except for the few days he spent in Azkaban, he had been writing to Hannah every other day.

This includes what happened in France, since he had no reason to hide it.

"Really?" A look of envy flashed in her eyes as she and Owen boarded the train one after the other.

"But you must have caused quite a stir in Beauxbatons, right!" Hannah knew Owen very well; he had been in Azkaban for a few days because of those French wizards, and he would definitely take the opportunity to get revenge when he got to France.

They might even fight on the same day.

He never holds a grudge overnight, because he settles his scores on the same day.

"Do you understand academic exchange? I'm doing this to promote the development of magic between schools. On a small scale, it's to let them know that there are people beyond our understanding, that there are gods among them. On a larger scale, I'm contributing to the future of magic in Greater Europe." Owen started his usual rambling again.

The chatter never stopped from the moment I boarded the train until I entered my compartment.

"Without my contribution, the magical world's century-long plan would be nothing! Besides, am I that rude? How can you accuse me of causing chaos in Beauxbatons? Did you see—uh—no, this is a malicious prejudice against me, this is personal discrimination, you are discriminating against me."

"."

Inside the cubicle, the other two young wizards, who were idle, watched Owen enter with smiles on their faces.

came back!

They're all back!

This rambling, it's so familiar!

"Um, why are you all here so early?"

Looking at Justin and Luna already sitting in the cubicle, Owen casually picked up his empty left watch. It was only 10 o'clock—10:59!

The bus departs at 11:00 AM, what's the rush!

(End of this chapter)