I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 207 Good looks are a powerful weapon!

"No~" Dumbledore's smile gradually faded. "He has other things to attend to."

"Really?" Owen sounded a little disappointed. He said with a sigh, "My grandfather still can't forget the chocolate factory on the Black Pearl, where he wandered through Alice's dream!"

"Did he take King Bella to work at the chocolate factory?"

Kyrie Irving, the little bear, shrugs. ┓(`)┏

Unfortunately, everyone around him looked at him with great surprise.

Nobody understands his jokes.

"Uh—never mind, you guys wouldn't understand this joke."

As he spoke, he handed the object in his other hand, Salazar's locket, to Dumbledore.

"Found another one. Destroying Voldemort is just around the corner." He said with a relaxed tone, a smile playing on his lips.

"This is--"

The old headmaster's face darkened, and he quickly stepped forward, taking the locket in his hand.

He gazed at the silverware in his hand. Its surface was adorned with a brown gemstone, beneath which lay countless magical runes. At its center was a dark green snake, which appeared to be alive.

A chilling and evil magical power emanated from his hand holding the locket.

There's no need for excessive speculation.

This must be Voldemort's Horcrux.

"It's his." The headmaster examined it cautiously. "Where did you find it?"

"Strictly speaking, this should be Sirius's younger brother, which Regulus stole from Voldemort. As for where he stole it from, ask the house-elf," Owen said calmly.

They did not directly tell Dumbledore the whole story.

"What?!" Sirius exclaimed excitedly, "My brother stole Voldemort's things?"

"That's impossible. He's just like my mother, who had the ideals of purebloods ingrained in her blood. He's a Death Eater, how could he betray Voldemort?"

"Betrayal? There are no more than two Death Eaters who are truly loyal to Voldemort."

"There has never been loyalty, so how can there be betrayal?"

Owen didn't explain further, but looked directly at Dumbledore, "This Horcrux shouldn't be worth fooling about."

"It is estimated that Tom created it during the First Wizarding War, when he was already beyond redemption."

"Indeed," Dumbledore raised his blue eyes and looked at Owen, "but I must correct you, that wasn't a lie, I think it should be called 'giving him another chance'."

"Ah, right, right, right," Owen said, pursing his lips and rattling off the rest of his sentence.

You've fooled yourself.

"However, destroying it is not easy. Horcruxes are very powerful spells, and anything protected by them becomes indestructible." The old headmaster seemed not to see Owen's mechanically opening and closing mouth.

He remained indifferent.

He explained gently.

"The Fiendfyre spell can destroy it, but I want to preserve this pendant box," Owen said hastily, his face full of regret. "This is a relic left by Salazar. Even if it doesn't have any magical properties, it's thousands of years old. Destroying such a treasure is truly unacceptable."

"Yes~" Dumbledore glanced at Owen and nodded in agreement.

Then, out of nowhere, he pulled out a gleaming sword.

"But it can."

"The Gryffindor sword?"

Owen looked at the silver longsword in the old headmaster's hand. "You always carry it with you?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"."

What does "better safe than sorry" mean?

Who would dare to engage in close combat with the greatest wizard of our time?

"You'd better get out of the way—" the old headmaster said calmly.

Then, Sirius and the others, who were confused, all stepped back a few paces.

"Irving, you move aside too," he said.

"Um—" Suddenly, the little black-haired boy became shy. "Professor, will you let me chop him? I've disliked Voldemort for a long time, but I've never had a chance to beat him up. I can't bully him in person, but I can at least bully his soul!"

"Are you sure?" Dumbledore asked, unusually not refusing.

He looked at Owen solemnly, knowing what kind of terrible enemies this boy would face in the future.

It's not impossible to practice with Horcruxes now.

With that thought in mind, he handed the Gryffindor sword to Owen.

Then he placed the pendant box on the ground, squinted, and hissed.

"Hiss~ Open~"

With a click, the locket slowly opened like a music box.

Immediately afterwards, a thick plume of black smoke overflowed from the locket.

The box convulsed violently, and then more smoke billowed out, gathering upwards until a figure slowly emerged from it.

"I've seen it all, children." The bald, snake-eyed Voldemort, shrouded in a cloud of black mist, looked arrogantly at the young wizards and said, "What do you want? Power, authority, glory—I can give you all of that."

The sudden turn of events truly frightened the wizards present.

Sirius immediately drew his wand and shielded Harry and the others behind him.

"Get out of here," he said.

His angry eyes glared at Voldemort, a mocking smile playing on his lips: "You sewer crawler, hiding in those cold, dark places, living a miserable life, huh?"

"Sirius?" Voldemort, in his black mist form, paused slightly as he spoke, not expecting Sirius to activate his Horcrux.

However, he didn't care. First of all, the Horcrux was incredibly sturdy, and he didn't think Sirius had any ability to destroy it. Secondly, he had considerable confidence in his Legilimency ability.

"Black, a wanderer of the Black family! So, you wish to return to the family, to reclaim the glory of the purebloods?" Voldemort whispered again. "Do not be ashamed; the great Dark Lord will forgive all your past sins."

His voice is incredibly seductive, and that seduction is growing exponentially over time.

It was clear that Voldemort was using Legilimency on all of them.

However, this does not include Dumbledore and Owen.

"Tom?" Dumbledore, standing behind the black mist, looked at Voldemort, who was now in the form of black mist, with mixed emotions.

"Who? Dumbledore?"

Upon hearing the voice, Voldemort turned around in astonishment, his body trembling slightly. He was shocked when he saw the familiar white-bearded old man.

this--

It was Dumbledore who opened his own Horcrux?

Voldemort's pupils contracted slightly.

Then the muscles in his face began to twitch uncontrollably, a mixture of anger and fear, hatred and mockery.

"You've grown old, Dumbledore," he said, waving his black robes with feigned elegance. "But I remain as new as ever."

"Is that so?" the old headmaster said calmly.

"Can't you even see your own soul? Look at yourself now. Is this how you turn yourself into something neither human nor ghost?"

"Hmph!" Seemingly knowing that falling into Dumbledore's hands would not end well, the person in front of him was probably Voldemort's split soul during the First Wizarding War, when Voldemort's power was at its peak, suddenly opened his mouth and laughed: "What do you know?"

The great Voldemort, his soul is immortal, he will be reborn forever.

Tom was screaming madly, but neither Dumbledore nor Owen behind him changed their expressions much from beginning to end.

The old headmaster watched him quietly, as if he were a clown jumping around.

However, if you look closely, you can see a hint of pity behind his half-moon shaped glasses.

"I came closer to immortality than anyone else, until I realized it was a sweet trap. I've warned you, Tom, more than once: if you pay close attention to the little things happening around you, those fleeting things are what's worth remembering."

"Ha, put away your pronouncements on love. Don't you find it ironic, Dumbledore?" Tom sneered, his bloodshot eyes filled with a laughable expression. "You are old and frail, while I am still brand new. What truly constitutes strength? Do you still need to quibble over it?"

That's just the surface.

"But I think you're scared!"

"Tom," Dumbledore said, taking a deep breath, "I still think you've improved over the years."

"Well, I have to thank myself."

The argument between the two gradually came to a conclusion.

Dumbledore simply sighed.

He gazed intently at Tom Riddle, his former most outstanding student.

Gradually, he turned his gaze to Irving.

It was all too late.

Now all his hopes are pinned on Irving.

—Feeling the gaze that Dumbledore was casting at him.

Irving coughed lightly, then looked at the figure shrouded in black mist before him and said:

"Hello, Tom."

His eyes shone, and a faint smile played on his lips.

Hearing the voice, Riddle turned around in surprise; this soul, of course, did not recognize Owen.

But that's okay, he'll get to know him in a bit.

"Ahem." Owen coughed a few times feigning an attack, then blinked and looked at Tom with his captivating gray eyes that had a hint of green (his eyes really were green), saying, "Cosmetic hair transplants, plastic surgery, dental work—interested?"

"Wh-what?" That one sentence threw Tom's mind into a daze.

"Cosmetic hair transplants, plastic surgery, and dental work~"

"Hey, don't refuse yet!"

Looks are what matter. Look at yourself now, where is the image of the Dark Lord?

Do you know why my grandfather, Grindelwald, was able to sweep across all of Europe?

He's handsome!

Why is Professor Dumbledore the greatest white wizard?

He's handsome!

Why were you able to win people's hearts when you were young, but not now?

It's because he's handsome!

"Looks are the most important fighting force. From the first Dark Lord, I was a fifth-year transfer student at Hogwarts. His reputation was so great that any dark wizard who heard his name would flee hundreds of miles at night. (The girl I created is so cute.)"

Then there's Tom Riddle, the student from the third generation Dark Lord.

Haven't you noticed the pattern yet?

Only a handsome guy can be the Dark Lord; an ugly guy can never be one.

Whether it's a savior or black and white stones, which one is ugly?

Look at yourself. Since your disfigurement, your prestige has plummeted. Haven't you noticed that all your followers were recruited before your disfigurement, and since then, no one has volunteered to serve you?

Why is that?

Irving continued rambling on and on, his mouth never stopping.

The little wizard behind him was stunned.

Especially Hermione.

She looked at the boy holding up the Gryffindor sword and a question arose in her mind.

Isn't he tired of holding it up like that?

Irving, still rambling on, didn't stop there. He continued, "Looks! Looks! Back when your looks didn't match your position, there were bound to be people who rebelled."

If you still had that handsome face that could charm countless girls, how many people would be crying and begging to join the ranks of Death Eaters?

You! You've destroyed your most powerful weapon.

After Kyrie Irving's "whobility" speech, it doesn't matter whether others believe it or not, as long as he believes it.

Just kidding, how could someone who's ugly be the main character?

Its face is like parched, cracked earth; this thing can only be a villain, and an elite monster at that, one that can be killed with a single blow, because ugly creatures can't be bosses.

Can you imagine Grindelwald, with a Filch face, giving a presentation on his research on the Muggle and wizarding worlds at Père Lachaise Cemetery?

With that face—nobody would believe a word you say.

It's so ugly, nobody comes back.

So thinking about it this way, although what he said didn't have much logic, you could still squeeze out some truth from it.

"What are you saying, brat!"

Even Voldemort, who had seen countless storms, had never encountered anyone who dared to openly admit that he was ugly.

He was still at the peak of the First Wizarding War and had never experienced defeat.

Being suddenly confronted with a barrage of criticism left him somewhat disoriented.

"I said."

Owen's arm was sore from holding the Gryffindor sword.

Finally, he couldn't hold on any longer, and the sword fell horizontally.

"Cut in two with one stroke—uh—no! Wrong."

"Victory is certain! Dragon Ascension Sword~~~"

He said he would cut it in two, but in reality, Irving simply held the sword up and plunged the tip into the locket.

He couldn't bear to destroy this precious magical item.

And what about Voldemort, who was shrouded in the black mist?

When Owen's sword pierced through, a huge hole appeared in his body.

A golden void, light spilling into the room like blood.

"You~~~"

His face contorted in a grimace, and he let out a painful roar.

Then the surrounding darkness suddenly converged towards the center, slowly leading to its self-disintegration.

The hole in his chest suddenly split open again, as if some mysterious thing was watching the world through that hole.

It was just a fleeting feeling, and Irving thought it might be an illusion.

The next second, Voldemort's bloodshot eyes vanished from the spot.

The agonizing sound, like that of every villain leaving the stage, screamed, "I will definitely be back."

However, this time, Irving had the upper hand.

"Bang!"

The moment Voldemort disappeared, Harry also collapsed to the ground, clutching his forehead in pain, his face covered in a fine layer of sweat.

"Harry, are you alright?" Sirius Black quickly knelt down to check on Harry's condition.

He was breathing heavily, his face deathly pale. It was as if everything that had just happened had happened to him.

"I don't know, my forehead," Harry gasped, his face flushed red, looking like he had a fever, "it's going to split open from the pain."

That kind of pain is beyond what ordinary people can tolerate.

The next moment, his eyes rolled upwards, and he fainted.

"Harry! Harry!!"

Sirius Black and Ron called out Harry's name together.

But he didn't react at all.

"Hmm?" Owen also glanced over.

To be honest, Harry's reaction was a bit too much.

As one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, Harry does react when the Horcrux is destroyed, but generally it's just a slight headache.

When he destroyed the soul on the Ravenclaw crown last semester, he didn't have such a strong reaction; it was just a momentary pain that would quickly pass.

Why such a strong reaction this time?

Dumbledore strode forward.

His hand touched Harry's forehead.

In an instant, a scalding temperature burned his palm.

"He needs to cool down," the old principal said in a deep voice.

Then he picked up Harry and, in the next instant, Apparition was activated.

In an instant, he and Harry disappeared from the spot.

Sirius was also anxious on the other side.

He didn't bother to ask Kreacher why Voldemort's Horcruxes were here.

He hurriedly went to Dobby's side.

"Take me to Hogwarts."

"No problem, sir." With that, Dobby grabbed everyone else present.

Together, they distorted time and space and returned to Hogwarts Castle.

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.

Harry's condition is not serious.

In the magical world, it's not a serious matter.

After Madam Pomfrey gave him some kind of magic potion, his body temperature began to drop rapidly.

She said Harry had developed severe inflammation, as if something foreign had entered his body.

But everyone knows that there is no such thing as a mystery.

Aside from Owen and Dumbledore, they might have some guesses in their minds.

After his fever subsided, Harry slept soundly all night, only waking up the next day.

Sirius stayed by his side the whole time.

He begged Madam Pomfrey to check Harry several times before allowing him to leave the school infirmary.

"Hey buddy, you scared me yesterday."

After the morning spells class.

A group of young wizards gathered in the Great Hall.

Ron, still shaken by Harry's presence, said, "I thought you were under some kind of curse!"

"You know, that's something belonging to a mysterious person, so there's no guarantee they won't take some measures against it."

"I'm fine," Harry said weakly, looking listless and out of sorts.

He seemed reluctant to talk about the scar on his forehead.

Harry seemed unwilling to associate himself with Voldemort, even though he had some suspicions.

"Cheer up, Harry," Ron said, patting his buddy on the shoulder. "There have been some changes to the curriculum this semester since Professor Lupin left."

"Sirius's Defense Against the Dark Arts class this afternoon."

"This is his first lesson. The only downside is that we're having to take it with Slytherin students. It would be perfect if it were Hufflepuffs," he said, taking some sausages and fried tomatoes from the table.

"What do you think he'll write for us?" Hermione asked, glancing at Harry with concern before continuing the conversation with anticipation in her voice.

"I don't know, but I hope it goes smoothly and doesn't turn out like Hagrid's first lesson." Harry nodded solemnly. "If Malfoy dares to cause trouble in class, I won't let him get away with it."

"Don't worry, he wouldn't dare. Sirius isn't Hagrid."

(End of this chapter)