I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 178 Walking with the Future

"We were having a gathering in the auditorium just now when suddenly... suddenly the door was kicked open, and it was Hagrid, holding Professor Lupin. There was blood everywhere."

His teeth were chattering and his voice was trembling.

The pupils seemed to reflect the blood beneath the hazy flames.

"That professor~"

Hermione cried out, staring in disbelief at the closed door of the school nurse's office, her face blank.

It all happened so suddenly, she—she hadn't even had time to react.

"N-no—I don't know," Neville replied blankly.

As the most popular professor at Hogwarts (excluding Slytherin), Lupin holds a high position in the hearts of young wizards.

Especially someone like Neville. He's somewhat cowardly, constantly manipulated by Snape, and his personality doesn't quite seem like that of a typical Gryffindor wizard.

Lupin's meticulous teaching, kind and approachable demeanor, and superb magical skills led to Neville's rapid progress under his tutelage.

He can now successfully use many spells that he couldn't cast before, or spells that were unstable in casting.

"Oh my god! Kyrie, are you alright?!"

Just as they were talking to Neville, suddenly, a figure squeezed through the crowd.

It was a child with bright brown hair and a youthful face.

He held the camera he never dropped in his hands.

"I thought—no—you clearly." He looked at him incredulously.

His eyes were red and swollen, clearly he had just been crying.

In the end, all the words I wanted to say boiled down to one exclamation: "You're not dead!"

???

Irving was filled with doubt, and before he could react, Ron beside him spoke up first: "Are you asking for a beating?"

He glared at Colin. What nonsense was this guy spouting?

"But—I just—" He wanted to say something more, but after seeing Owen's puzzled look, he swallowed his question.

After a moment, he spoke blankly, "Or maybe I saw it wrong?"

"But—that's impossible!"

Colin's unusual reaction quickly puzzled Harry and the others present, but with Professor Lupin's fate still unknown, he had no interest in continuing to interrogate him.

The room suddenly fell silent again.

Anxiety and unease filled the corridor.

Like the sky about to darken, darkness is born from nothingness.

A sense of loneliness and powerlessness filled the entire space.

Even the breeze fell silent in the stillness.

Time flows slowly—like a person's breath; only the living can feel time.

Death is nothing but a slumber.

The state of being neither dead nor alive is more like a dream, a painful struggle in a state of half-dream and half-awake.

On a strange island far from Britain, somewhere in the sky above a temple, an unknown force is rising and falling.

The Dark Lord is awakening.

Some far more terrifying force made a deal with him.

Peter Pettigrew, trembling like an ant, stood before the temple gate.

Although he had no idea what the newborn Dark Lord would gain!

However, in his understanding, he would be far more powerful than before after his resurrection.

Even Dumbledore would find it difficult to match!

Thinking of this, his expression softened considerably.

Just as he had judged decades earlier that Dumbledore was growing old and his power was waning, while Voldemort was at the height of his power and influence, growing stronger day by day.

Isn't switching sides a perfectly normal thing to do?

What good would he gain from staying in the foolish Order of the Phoenix?

A Merlin medal and an urn?

Just like his father?

As an Auror, who knows about his achievements? Who remembers them?

Why would he want to learn from his father who died young?

The Dark Lord had promised him that if he unified the magical world, he would gain power, authority, and status that were previously unimaginable.

With these, his family could become the most illustrious family of magicians, and he would gain far more than he had in the Order of the Phoenix!

So why shouldn't I be more flexible?

After all, those who know when to yield are the wise ones.

He kept numbing himself like this; he had to deceive himself in this way, otherwise, his choice would seem like a joke!

Temple! Temple!

Even though the surrounding gazes were full of mockery.

That sharp, piercing gaze made him feel as if he were in a snake pit, and no matter how he tried to avoid it, that uncomfortable feeling would always find him, seize him, and drag him into the abyss of fear.

But he was looking forward to it.

He hoped that the promises Voldemort had made to him would come true!

"You're here early today, you coward."

"The Dark Lord is not as narrow-minded as you think!" The voice came from inside the temple.

Accompanied by the "clack-clack" sound of high heels stepping on the stone slabs.

A witch with messy hair, wearing a rather Gothic long dress, and holding a crooked wand slowly walked out.

A ferocious smile was on her face.

The unfriendly gaze seemed to be asking, "Where exactly should I cut a piece of your flesh?"

Although he felt his scalp tingle from that gaze.

But Peter forced a smile, suppressing his discomfort.

"But that's after you've proven your worth."

The smile on his face froze the next second.

However, Peter quickly regained his composure. He spoke respectfully again, "Thank you—merciful Dark Lord, he—"

"He will return!" Bella interrupted him forcefully.

"And now is the time when we need you!"

Let's go~

she says.

Then the two of them walked down the numerous steps, one after the other.

Peter Pettigrew, he can't help but look back.

Just now, he saw a vampire walk into the temple.

That was a Blood Ancestor!

Unlike the simple-minded Sirius Black, he obtained the key to the Great Dark Lord's treasure vault.

The Demon King shared with him some magical knowledge that was difficult for ordinary people to know.

This was his bargaining chip for selling out information about the Order of the Phoenix.

This is also a stepping stone for reintegrating into the Death Eaters.

Like werewolves, vampires also multiply their tribes through blood transmission.

But the Blood Ancestor is different.

They are more like outcasts among wizards, possessing the bloodline of magical creatures.

The Blood Ancestor is far more powerful than a normal vampire, and its abilities are incredibly diverse.

Leaving aside the other abilities, there is one ability that wizards absolutely covet.

Blood Pool – Blood Ancestors can store large amounts of magical blood in their bodies, and when they are attacked, they can draw power from the Blood Pool.

They can recover from almost any magical damage except for the Killing Curse.

Such a powerful creature had never joined the ranks of Death Eaters before.

now--

Peter Pettigrew's eyes blazed even brighter.

This time, he made the right choice.

This is what Peter didn't notice—that was the man who was looking at the Blood Ancestor.

His whole body exuded a faint smell of decay.

------

Why are you here?

Owen frowned, the strange voice suddenly echoing in his mind.

Suddenly, he felt that he had seen that face somewhere before.

Although he was thin, pale, and had sunken eyes, he looked like a terminally ill patient.

This is completely different from the image of the wizard in Owen's memory.

But he still felt that he must have seen that person somewhere before.

Why are you here?

Why did he say that to himself?

Could it be that he has seen me before?

Or perhaps—suddenly, a wonderful idea comes to mind.

It popped into his mind.

"Look, it's Mrs. Pomfrey!"

Suddenly, the crowd became agitated.

Mrs. Pomfrey and Professor Trelawney walked briskly down the corridor side by side.

They were talking in hushed tones.

Professor Trelawney was holding many bottles and jars, and Owen knew at a glance which ones were herbs used for treatment.

Their effects vary, including stopping bleeding, replenishing blood, and removing curses, among others.

"Professor! Professor Trelawney, Professor Lupin, is he...is he alright?" Hermione asked anxiously.

Without waiting for the professor's reply.

Owen then rudely interrupted her, "Don't answer! Don't answer!"

"Don't answer!!!"

If it's really what he thinks!

Having said that, he turned and ran away.

Pushing through the crowd, Irving strode toward the principal's office.

In the corridor—he ran while pulling the Marauder's Map from his jacket pocket.

He didn't carefully examine the map, neither outside the castle nor in the auditorium.

This time, he looked through all the floors of the castle.

Upon seeing the auditorium, a name he knew all too well suddenly appeared.

Everything became clear.

If it is really as he thinks, then he must never hear the outcome of something that is already certain.

Third floor.

They easily guessed Dumbledore's new password and climbed the stairs.

Irving didn't even knock before pushing open the oak door and squeezing inside.

In the room, Snape and Dumbledore stood side by side, while on the other side stood Fudge, the Minister of Magic, accompanied by Kingsley.

His face was extremely pale at this moment.

Everyone knew he was about to resign, and this might be his last night as Minister of Magic, but Fudge didn't think so; he wanted to fight on.

Even just extending his term by a few months would be fine.

This way, he can follow tradition and wait until next Christmas to announce his resignation.

"Shut up, be quiet, and listen to me!" He ignored the surprised looks of the two professors and went straight to Fudge.

"Your removal from office is a foregone conclusion, whether it's Barty Crouch or Rufus Scrimgeour. Having lost all support, there's no way you can continue as Minister for Magic!"

He stared coldly at the man who looked like a dead man.

"Your only chance to turn things around is to get Dumbledore's support. But he won't protect you, because nobody protects a stupid pig!"

"What did you say?" Fudge's eyes widened in anger, his previously bitter face instantly turning into extreme rage.

"Let's not waste any more energy, Mr. Secretary!" Irving pressed on, "Let's speak frankly!"

"You must hold onto your position, because if the recent events in the magical world were to be exposed, the families of the wizards who were brutally murdered by dark wizards would tear you to pieces. This position is no longer just about power; it's about your lives!"

"Am I right?" A mocking smile curved the boy's lips.

Fudge merely glared, but took no other action.

Yes, Irving is right.

If he loses power at this point, he will be prosecuted, regardless of who succeeds him.

Because the next Minister of Magic will never shoulder the enormous catastrophic consequences that have befallen the magical world today for his predecessor.

It was only a matter of time before he was betrayed.

"Just now, I—we were attacked outside the castle, sir!"

"Hmm—" Dumbledore frowned, then looked at Owen.

"I don't know how many dark wizards, or anything else, are gathered around the castle. But—" he suddenly let out a sinister laugh, "Tonight, it's impossible for people not to die."

"And if it is a junior wizard or a school professor who dies, you, Minister of Magic, will have no chance of turning the tables."

"So what?" At this point, this power-hungry monster with little brains finally managed to squeeze out some rationality from his barren head, and his rotten brain started working non-stop.

He realized that the child in front of him was actually making a request or wanting something from him, otherwise the other party would never have wasted so much breath.

"Every now and then, Hogwarts applies to the Ministry of Magic for a magical item that only the most outstanding young wizards can use. As the top student for two consecutive years, I feel I am qualified to apply for it." Owen approached him step by step, his voice growing lower and softer.

"You know what that is. I need to see it before midnight."

"Furthermore—" A detached, superior air appeared on his face, then Owen continued in a subtle tone barely perceptible to ordinary people, "Lucius sends his regards, Mr. Fudge. With his support, you'll be set!"

Meanwhile, Snape was about to apprehend the insolent intruder who had barged into the headmaster's office. He had a premonition that this troublesome brat would turn the world upside down tonight.

Things are different now.

His expression turned serious.

The Death Eater mark, which hadn't moved for over a decade, was on his wrist.

Tonight, I suddenly feel a strange, slight fever.

You should know that this is Voldemort's mark.

Only Voldemort could reactivate it.

Is there anything more terrifying than that person coming back?

Thinking this, Snape's eyes filled with disgust as he looked at Fudge. This idiot, consumed by power, had no idea what kind of crisis the magical world was in!

Just as he was reprimanding Irving.

The oak door was knocked on once again.

This time, it was Mrs. Pomfrey who came in.

She walked hurriedly, her eyes brimming with tears, and her body trembled heartbreakingly as she approached the two professors.

"That Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he—"

"Don't speak!" Irving interrupted again upon hearing this.

"Don't let me hear this, don't let time collapse." With that, he turned and ran out of the principal's office without speaking to anyone.

Is he crazy?

Kingsley watched in bewilderment as Owen suddenly burst in and then ran out again.

He couldn't understand what the child was doing.

I didn't understand what he just said.

Time collapse?

What is that?

Apart from Dumbledore, everyone else present was unfamiliar with this strange combination of words.

Behind the old headmaster's half-moon spectacles, a glint of wisdom flashed in his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and said calmly, "Connelly."

"Huh?" The minister was still in a daze.

"Do as the child says!"

"But!"

That's not something he can just take out whenever he wants!

The Department of Mysteries doesn't entirely obey the Minister of Magic!

That department may have existed longer than the Ministry of Magic!

That was a research institution that existed since the time of the Wizarding Council, and no wizard has ever truly and comprehensively understood what that department was researching. Not even the successive Ministries of Magic.

"I will help you!" The old headmaster said with a double meaning.

Fudge's eyes lit up when he received Fudge's reply, and he instantly understood what Dumbledore meant.

Then he said urgently, as if afraid Dumbledore would change his mind, "Okay! I'll take care of it right away!"

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.

Time Time

Moving forward in parallel with the future.

Irving returned to his dorm room and picked up the cloth bag from the bedside table, as well as Sirocco and Bakal, who were dozing on his bed.

"Hmm—you can't wear them at the same time," he muttered to himself.

Then he walked to the windowsill, opened the window, and threw the dazed Bakal straight out.

One is enough!

Owen took in the little fat dragon's blank stare in one glance, and then closed the window again without any hesitation.

Hmm—it's quite cold!

Then, "I should give you a hint."

He looked at the empty Marauder's Point map. This time, the familiar name didn't appear, which meant that 'he' was no longer in the castle.

Suddenly, a wisp of fire appeared on the gloomy horizon in the distance.

Although the lone plume of smoke was not straight, it was not blown away by the wind.

It seems to have intentionally coalesced into a black ribbon.

You see, the weather outside isn't good at all. It's all overcast, and it just snowed heavily yesterday. Although the snow has stopped, the wind hasn't.

Ordinary smoke could never gather together.

"Thanks for the tip."

A smile tucked behind the corner of her mouth.

He immediately ran out of Hufflepuff's common room.

Judging from the location of the smoke, it seems to be in the direction of Hagrid's cabin.

Further ahead lies the forbidden forest.

He already knew the area around the castle like the back of his hand.

The sky was getting dark.

Under the dark clouds, at a time when the sun is usually setting, there is no light to be seen except for the distant firelight.

The castle was silent at night.

He could hear nothing but the howling wind.

Hagrid's cabin is just ahead.

Owen gradually slowed his pace, and his wand was already in his hand.

"This is--"

Bending down, Owen was surprised to find that besides the firelight, there was something else guiding him.

It's corruption—

A clear, yellowish-brown mark.

It stood out starkly against the snow.

It's that monster!

He immediately realized who had left it there.

Although his battle hadn't lasted long, Owen noticed that wherever he went, he left behind traces of decay.

Just like his body, which looked like it was about to die!

We arrived at Hagrid's cabin.

He discovered that the pumpkin patch in front of the house appeared to have been maliciously vandalized.

The flames were burning those broken pumpkins.

The traces of corruption did not stop there, but continued to spread deeper into the forbidden forest.

Without hesitation, Irving plunged into the Forbidden Forest.

"Flicker!" A crisp, subtle chime rang out, and a faint glow emanated from the tip of his wand.

I walked quickly forward for about ten minutes, and the only sounds I heard were the snapping of branches and the rustling of leaves.

All around him, the ancient trees that had grown for centuries grew ever denser, and naturally, no guiding stars could be seen overhead.

In the ancient Forbidden Forest, Owen's wand gleamed alone in the boundless darkness as he discovered that corruption had strayed from the path.

After passing a moss-covered tree stump, he could hear the gurgling sound of flowing water.

Clearly, there is a stream somewhere nearby.

By the faint light from the tip of his wand, he could see what appeared to be a tall oak tree in the distance, broken in half.

He gripped his wand tightly and hurriedly chased after them.

Although we were in a hurry, we couldn't walk very fast. The ground was covered with tree roots and stumps, blocking the way and making it almost impossible to see in the pitch black light.

His robes got caught on the low branches and thorny vines nearby. As he got closer, Owen noticed that the ground nearby was sloping downwards, even though the trees were still as dense as before.

"It's still warm."

The fallen oak tree appeared to have been blown apart by a magic spell.

The broken part was dark and emitting wisps of smoke.

It feels warm to the touch.

Irving crouched down and used his wand to pry open the turf on the ground.

Instantly, dark red marks appeared.

It looked like red ink spilled on the ground—well, actually it looked more like blood seeping into the ground.

Irving continued to brush away the withered grass.

The bloodstains looked like the marks left by a person who had fallen.

He had reason to suspect that he was squatting on someone's grave.

What I'm digging at might be his head turned into bloody water—oh—that might be his large intestine over there.

Suddenly, the fireflies seemed to illuminate something, and a glimmer of light flashed across the ground.

It looks like something is reflecting light.

He bent down and quickly found something familiar among the weeds.

A badge of the Trinity made of mithril.

"Um?"

saint?

Upon seeing this thing, Irving immediately thought of his grandfather's enormous follower.

Saints have appeared at Hogwarts?

Hmm—it's not unacceptable at all.

After all, the leader of the saints is still working as an alchemy professor in the castle!

"Interesting!" A wicked smile slowly spread across Owen's lips.

It seems that the forces surrounding the castle are not limited to that group of Deadborn.

There are other forces around as well.

Feel the warmth of the necklace in your hand.

The situation isn't so bad—isn't it?

At least he now knows a weakness of one of the Deadborn, doesn't he?

They can't devour mithril!

Otherwise, there wouldn't just be a pool of blood here.

The fog still shrouded the forest, obscuring the road ahead.

But Irving didn't panic.

It actually has a leisurely feel, like an afternoon stroll.

The world of Harry Potter is a single timeline. Since he is filling in the gaps in history, he is sure to be safe in the present!

(End of this chapter)