I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 163 Use the principal's email!

"Don't forget your research!"

After saying this, without waiting for the young wizard to ask a question, the elegant professor turned around without a trace and left the podium.

???

The classroom was empty except for the sinister group of six with question marks on their heads!

A group of six encountering the harsh realities of society!

What did that new professor just say?

What is the last assignment?

We're here to study, right?

It's not like some senior researcher is entering some advanced laboratory, is it?

The young wizards exchanged glances.

The dazed look in his eyes was almost overflowing.

Professor Wenda, why don't you come back and listen to what assignment you just gave us?

knock!!!

This is probably not much homework Nicolas Flamel assigned to Dumbledore!

Kyrie Irving gritted his teeth, looking like he wanted to devour someone!

At his age, Dumbledore probably wouldn't even understand the question from that homework assignment!

He doesn't understand the mechanism by which the principle of theoretical exchange sustains plant (cell) apoptosis in specific experiments.

Percy—it would be a miracle if they could understand the glossary they'd studied for a whole year!

Do you think drinking porridge is a way to eliminate toxins?

Drain the water and just eat rice?

Alchemical substitution is one of the most important techniques in alchemy. Why do those magical, enchanting alchemical creations that transcend the imagination of the material world appear?

Alchemists use the principle of substitution to continuously add all the properties of other substances to one.

That's why creation is so wondrous.

"Oh! Right." Just as the group of young wizards were lost in their own world and hadn't yet landed, Wenda pushed the door open and came back.

She wore a cold, fake smile. "Although the deadline for the project results is after Christmas, you can start writing your lab reports now! Hmm! Submit them at the end of October! Two months is enough time for the experiments!"

After saying that, she went back inside.

He completely ignored all the young wizards present!

Irving was the first to stand up, grab his textbook, and run outside.

"Owen, where are you going?" Percy snapped out of his daze and asked instinctively as he watched Owen leave.

"I'm going to find the principal!" he said.

"Professor Dumbledore? What do you want with him?" Percy followed him out.

"I'm dropping out!" Owen declared firmly. "Hogwarts? Ha! I'm not good enough for them! I'm way above my station!"

"I'm such an idiot—I should just transfer to Beauxbatons or Ifamoni."

After saying that, he quickened his pace and disappeared down the corridor.

Watching Irving's departing figure and his head towards the upper floor.

Percy's wildly beating heart calmed down a little.

A strange sense of joy welled up inside me.

That's exactly how it should be!

We must report this to Professor Dumbledore!

That homework—he didn't even understand the question.

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.

No one knows what Dumbledore and Wenda talked about.

That's the truth.

Irving had to skip his magical animal protection class on Friday.

I spent three days in a row at the library: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

I heard that Hagrid used a hippogriff to lead the way in the very first lesson.

However, this time it was not Draco who was injured.

It was Pansy Parkinson who couldn't stand Harry stealing the spotlight from her young master.

It seems quite serious. After all, the little girl is more delicate than Draco. In the original story, Draco only had a dislocated shoulder, but she suffered a fracture and a large gash on her arm.

In short, just looking at it, it's quite terrifying!

Blood was gushing out.

The story spread quickly.

Although Madam Pomfrey healed Pansy's wound in just one minute, she still clamored to join forces with the school wizards to write to the Ministry of Magic and demand Hagrid's expulsion, among other nonsense.

However, none of this has anything to do with Irving.

Dumbledore, after being lectured by Wenda, surprisingly agreed to her teaching methods.

Damn it, are you sick? Are you sick?

I heard that our dear Professor Wenda defeated Dumbledore with just one sentence!

She asked: Is it useful for a young wizard to learn alchemy at school?

This question is very difficult to answer, because the answer is useless!

After two years of basic study, they only learned a basic level of terminology.

As for what results, are you kidding me?

Dumbledore achieved his alchemical feats when he was over ninety, and Nicolas Flamel lived for an unknown period of time. What kind of alchemical feats can you expect from a sixteen or seventeen-year-old wizard? You must think you're Merlin reincarnated.

Even if Merlin were reincarnated, he couldn't do that!

Only through rebirth could it be possible!

So Professor Wenda, seizing the opportunity, continued: Anyway, the little wizards learned definitions of terms in school, so learning some advanced definitions of terms and experimental procedures now doesn't seem to make much difference.

Consider it an opportunity to broaden your horizons, right?

At least when he goes out and brags, he can occasionally spout some advanced academic terms, which should be enough to intimidate the other junior wizards at Hogwarts, whose average class is high school graduates.

But—that's true.

But it was Irving and his teammates who suffered.

Just because you can't learn something doesn't mean you don't have to do your homework.

Besides, doing homework is never for the sake of learning, is 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.

Early Sunday morning.

The diligent Hermione Granger dashed into the library.

She originally wanted to speak with Irving.

Of course, we'll also get ready to start the involutionary phase!

Yesterday she saw that Owen, that lazy bum, actually spent the whole afternoon in the library.

Sensing a hint of danger, she rushed to the library early this morning, before dawn.

But to her surprise, as soon as she entered the library, Hermione found a book several feet tall at the end of the table, with deep-set eyes, makeup and smudges, and the same person who had been with Owen and Percy who had been sleeping on the table yesterday was still there this morning!

"The dual-polar quantification mechanism of mithril in the substitution or transcription of sulfur-mercury-salinization modification regulation of the toxicity of the Ming Dynasty biting cabbage under the unified law."

She frowned and walked over, wanting to see what Owen was up to in her scheme.

Pick it up from the table; it's a piece of parchment with only a title written on it.

A quick glance.

Her expression froze.

How so?

—She doesn't seem to know how to punctuate this sentence well?

"What are you writing?"

"A wizard's master's thesis," Owen replied in a hoarse voice.

Then he continued to immerse himself in the alchemical achievements of some lowly black wizard.

"???" Hermione was stunned again.

In a daze, she suddenly realized that there seemed to be an infinite extension spell cast between her and Owen.

They were so close, yet the distance between them kept widening.

The short essay in her arms, which briefly described the mass persecution of medieval witches, seemed unworthy of being placed on this table.

"Phew~" Just as he was speaking, Percy woke up from his dream in a daze.

He stared blankly at Hermione with his red, swollen eyes, then asked, "Is it dawn?"

"You didn't go home last night?" Hermione asked, looking at him in surprise.

"You should ask if they went home the night before last?" Percy rubbed his neck and got up to stretch.

Then he sat down again, picked up a thick magic book, and began to continue taking notes.

The prerequisite for writing the core is that he must first know what a certain wizard's alchemical achievements are.

To figure this out, he first had to extract the alchemist's findings from books that introduced the alchemical achievements of ancient wizards.

Next, refer to the textbook, first understand the English definitions of the terms, and comprehend what they mean.

Anyway, it's been two days, and he hasn't even completed the first step.

They're still copying!

As for ancient script?

Heh—to hell with it!

"Where are you writing, Owen?" Percy asked, looking down as he continued copying.

"We've reached the second stage of the experimental procedures."

"What? You've already started writing out the steps?" Percy was taken aback, and the quill in his hand pierced the parchment due to the sudden force.

"Isn't the experimental procedure due in October? Which one are you writing first?"

"And a brief description of the alchemical results?" he asked quickly.

"I didn't write it." Owen slowly raised his head, his eyes swollen and dark-circled, giving him a look as if he were looking at an idiot. Then, his dry lips curled slightly upward, and he said in a short, hoarse voice, "Are you an moron? Looking for them one by one by yourself?"

"Write to the corresponding author of that book you were shown! Write to whoever compiled the biographies of those ancient alchemists! Find them yourself? Summarize them yourself? You might not even be able to compile a summary next year!"

"Uh—you can do that?" Percy was stunned, staring at Owen in disbelief.

He suddenly realized that this was indeed a good idea.

but--

Will they reply to what I write?

He took the warm black tea that Hermione handed him, the kind she always carried with her when she stayed up late at the library.

Owen took a sip, moistening his lips and throat with the tea, paused for a moment, and then continued, "So you're just a simpleton."

"Are you stupid?! Write it in your own name? Use your principal's email address—ah—no—name to write the letter!"

The very first sentence reads: "A letter from Albus Percival Woolfrirk Bryan Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, First Class Merlin, President of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Wizard of Wizengamor."

Look at this opening! Which nobody would dare not reply?

Irving pulled several letters from a pile of books beside him and placed them in front of Percy.

These were all brought in by Dobby.

"Look how enthusiastic they are!"

"This..." Percy's mouth gaped open, wide enough to be the size of a fist. "But even if they're impersonating the headmaster, why are they so enthusiastic?"

"Impersonating?" Irving roared like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, baring his teeth and claws. "What impersonation? I asked the principal for permission! Don't make baseless accusations!"

"When? Weren't you in the library for three days straight?" Percy, who had also been there for three days, was very puzzled.

"Can't I just ask in my mind? Anyway, the old principal and the master of mind control will sense it in the unseen world."

Irving said with a clear conscience.

At that moment, in the principal's office, Professor Dumbledore, who was comparing notes with Tom's, suddenly sneezed.

"Hmm? Did he discover the truth?" The old headmaster looked down at the notebook, where black ink formed a sentence: Tom Riddle, the successor of Slytherin and the great white wizard Dumbledore.

He led his team in a raid into Grindelwald's headquarters in Austria, known as "Neumontgard".

And they engaged in a fierce battle with him.

"It must be that brat Kyrie Irving talking about me again!"

The principal smiled, then bent down and continued creating a world for little Tom.

On the other hand, Percy still didn't understand why those authors were so eager to reply to Irving.

It wasn't until Owen spoke up to explain, "It's nothing, I just said that Hogwarts is going to hold its 1400th anniversary celebration. All Hogwarts graduates who have made outstanding contributions will be invited to the celebration, and outstanding individuals will have their statues erected at the entrance."

"???" Percy's cheeks twitched, then he slowly extended his thumb toward him.

high!

That's brilliant!

You've already finished high school!

I've never seen anyone as heartless and insane as you.

For those academic wizards who don't care about money, having their statues stand forever at Hogwarts is more glorious than being remembered in history.

Many have left their mark on history, but a statue stands at Hogwarts, and from now on every young wizard in Britain will remember him.

"If they ask later why the celebration wasn't held, reply that the situation is currently chaotic and the headmaster is preparing to postpone it for a few years for the safety of the young wizards."

As for how long the delay will be?

Let's talk about it in 2023!

Cattle!

Percy's eyes lit up!

The logic is complete.

"What—what are you talking about?" Hermione asked, completely bewildered.

What are you sending letters for?

What school anniversary?

What statue?

Why do I feel like we're in different worlds even though we're all studying at Hogwarts?

"It's nothing, just a graduate student sharing their experiences. You didn't even graduate high school, so get out of here." Owen lay on the table, continuing to rack his brains over his experimental procedures.

Squeezing out seven words in one night was more painful than writing a book.

More importantly, many of his experimental methods can only be theoretically calculated. After all, Professor Sprout only introduced a dozen or so poisonous biting cabbages, and they used them all for experiments. Should they continue to cultivate them?

"Hmph!" The little witch immediately became a little unhappy.

She glared at the two people racking their brains with a displeased expression.

No matter the research or the topic, there's nothing Granger can't learn!

She was full of confidence and determined to catch up with Irving this time.

"Pansy got hurt by Buckbeak, did you know?" Hermione suddenly changed the subject, talking about something else.

"Hmm, and then?" Irving replied without even looking up.

"The Slytherins are clamoring for Buckbeak's execution; they've even written to the Department of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic to lodge a complaint."

"Uh-huh?"

"The Ministry of Magic has replied."

"What did Fudge say?"

"It wasn't the minister, it was the head of the Department of Magical Creatures. He wrote a letter of approval. I reckon the Slytherin people are already at Hagrid's cabin by now."

"You agreed?" Owen finally looked up; he understood why Hermione had told him all this.

"This is truly the best news I've heard all year."

"Why did you only tell me now!" He glared at Hermione reproachfully, then immediately jumped up from his chair and ran out excitedly.

"What's wrong with him?" Percy asked, puzzled, as he watched Owen's departing figure.

Hermione pursed her lips and sat directly in Owen's seat. "He's been eyeing Buckbeak's meat for a long time now. I heard he's going to use it for hot pot, a Far Eastern delicacy."

"So he went to steal the body of that hippogriff?" Percy didn't understand, but he was greatly shocked.

Is this Hufflepuff?

They are indeed very different from Gryffindor.

"Hehe—" The little witch sneered, then opened the spellbook beside her.

Upon hearing this, Percy immediately understood: "The Ministry of Magic hasn't replied at all?"

"They haven't had a chance to write yet!"

"."

Suddenly, Percy had the illusion that he was getting old.

Are all young wizards these days so cunning and treacherous?

Thinking back to when I was that age, I was always either studying diligently or studying diligently.

I have never caused any trouble.

But now—it seems like Hogwarts has changed ever since Harry Potter entered the school.

He became irritable.

They've become cunning.

It has become even more vibrant!

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.

On the other side, Owen sprinted towards the outside of Hogwarts.

I walked through the mountains, where the grass was covered with dew.

From a distance, he saw a large crowd gathered in front of Hagrid's cabin.

One in red and one in green, the two sides set up their formations and exchanged verbal greetings to each other's families.

Poor Hagrid was caught in the middle, his face full of distress.

"Hand over the hippogriff."

"You think you can just hand it over like that? Who do you think you are?"

"Do you want to fight?"

I've disliked you for a long time!

"Great! Beat him up!"

"superior!"

The two academies, fully embodying the principle of "actions speak louder than words," immediately began fighting without a word.

A jumble of incantations flew around haphazardly.

All sorts of evil curses and black magic defense spells came together in a grand display.

Kyrie Irving, who rushed over, was stunned.

What happened?

He hadn't even started the fight, and it already started!

Could it be because of unequal distribution of spoils?

"Hey! Don't fight over it, I want half of Buckbeak's meat!"

Irving sped down the mountain path, shouting as he ran.

He walked very fast, and arrived on the scene a dozen seconds after he finished speaking.

"Did you kill it? Where's the meat?" The little black guy's eyes gleamed as he looked around the pumpkin patch.

But there was nothing around except for the silly pumpkin and a few cawing crows.

Hagrid, standing on the steps of the cabin, turned pale instantly, his cheeks puffing up, clearly furious.

"She's alive and well!" Hagrid roared angrily.

The giant's roar echoed in waves, drilling into Irving's little head!

"Ah~" The glutton's face instantly fell.

When he glanced at Harry and Ron, who were present.

In less than a nanosecond, Owen knew he had been tricked by Hermione and had become a vengeful spirit.

She probably tricked me into coming here to keep things under control.

"ε=(ο｀*))) Sigh. Seriously, how could they lie to me!" Owen deflated in an instant, his excitement turning into confusion.

His heavy eyelids and swollen temples made him feel exhausted.

The aftereffects of staying up late are here.

"I heard that. Even Owen supports killing that killer, the hippogriff."

The two sides, having stopped fighting, reached a stalemate.

A moment later, someone suddenly shouted from Slytherin's side.

Then, as if they had suddenly found a magic weapon to fight back, they began to chatter incessantly at the Gryffindors.

"Shut up!" Irving yelled, his head throbbing with pain!

"All you do is whine and complain all day long. Why didn't you just give that winged beast something to eat back then?!" he said, pointing at the group of Slytherins.

"Knock! My meat! All my meat is gone!"

"It's all your fault!!!"

In front of Hagrid's cabin, two groups of people had different expressions, sometimes green and sometimes white.

But Irving's pronouncement wasn't over yet. He staggered, took a deep breath, and steadied himself. Then he continued his tirade: "You're all useless pieces of trash! Ten points deducted! Ten points deducted from everyone! And you all!"

Having said that, he pointed at Gryffindor again, "What are you doing blocking me! You've blocked my braised pork! You'll all lose ten points! Ten points each!"

Having said that, a dejected Irving, like a puppet who had lost his beloved, leaned forward, his hands pressed tightly against his waist and abdomen, and wobbled along on tiptoe, relying on the momentum of his body to walk forward.

He's going home to sleep.

His bed, warm and soft, was opening its gentle, sweet, and expansive embrace, calling to him.

Meanwhile, the Slytherin and Gryffindor groups, who had been relentlessly attacked by Owen, remained silent.

To be deducted sixty or seventy points for no reason, who can stand that?

And most importantly, none of them dared to refute them.

Look at that Hufflepuff king, looking so dejected. Anyone with a brain knows that if they dare to open their mouths, they're sure to get a beating!

So for their own sake—they had no choice but to swallow their anger.

We'll talk about it later!

After exchanging a few hostile glances, the two groups led their respective teams away.

Hagrid, who was at the center of the storm, was not angry at Irving's rude remarks, mainly because he was already used to it.

Sometimes he even wondered which bastard would have eaten the magical creatures in the forest to the point of endangerment if he hadn't been watching over it.

However, Irving's performance just now gave him a little inspiration.

Is it possible that he is the professor?

Why would a professor be pressured to this extent by his students?

Imagine what Snape would do in this situation?

One day, Harry was brewing a potion when it suddenly exploded. The potent potion burned a large area of ​​his skin, causing him to bleed and become disfigured!

In this situation, believe it or not, Snape would still let out a cold, sharp laugh, and then direct the Society to take Harry to the infirmary.

The moment the student stepped out of the Potions classroom, he delivered his signature taunt, adding, "Gryffindor loses five points, this is to pay for your stupidity."

He will definitely say it.

Snape was that kind of person!

And what about the little wizard?

Injured, suffered, lost points, and had to make up the homework!

Despite his strictness, no young wizard dared to contradict him.

So—should I also put on some of the professor's authority?

Hagrid stood on the steps of the cabin, gazing at Owen's departing figure.

He decided that he needed to talk to Professor McGonagall about the teaching.

Although he didn't like Snape's teaching style, he could still learn something from Professor McGonagall!

Coherence, oh coherence

(End of this chapter)