I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 208 We are all Harry Potter's uncles?

"Hey! Kyrie, over here—"

Ron noticed that Owen and Luna walked in together.

He immediately waved his hand enthusiastically.

As he got closer, he realized that Irving was accompanied by an acquaintance.

It's Mr. Ober Benny from the Ministry of Magic.

An employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"What's he doing here?" The young wizards had never been very friendly to this Ministry of Magic official who was "acting" to scare them.

Yes, Mr. Ober Benny has admitted that the second year was a play he and Ravenclaw acted out.

He was already a Ravenclaw student, so he had no reason to refuse.

In short, this reason was very far-fetched, and whether the other young wizards believed it or not, Owen believed it.

And once he believes it, everyone else will believe it too.

It wasn't that he had great prestige; it was mainly because under his "education of love," they had no choice but to believe!

-

"What do you think?" Owen walked over and sat down with them. "The Godfather of Dogs almost got killed."

"The Ministry of Magic sent someone to inquire."

"Actually, it's just to apologize."

Mr. Ober Benny, like most Ministry of Magic officials, had messy hair, deep-set eyes, and severe dark circles under his eyes.

The skin on my face was dull, and I had a pimple on my forehead.

It's clear he hasn't had a proper rest in a long time.

"We haven't even written a letter of complaint yet." Ron was stunned. How did the Ministry of Magic know?

"Old Raymond came to the department to turn himself in." Aubrey Bennett walked over and explained simply, "He learned from the newspaper that Sirius was innocent, and he couldn't get over it, so he came to the department to turn himself in early this morning."

"I need to go talk to Sirius right away," he said, "and then go home and sleep!"

He turned to leave.

In a hurry.

"Why did he turn himself in?" Ron asked, puzzled, watching Mr. Ober's departing figure. "Doesn't the law allow the use of the Unforgivable Curse? And Sirius won't pursue it."

Besides, his spellcasting skills are so poor, even if he used the Killing Curse, it wouldn't be very powerful.

"Heh, do you think everyone else is as heartless as you?" Owen sat down, picked up a slice of bread, and spread a thick layer of jam on it.

"Some people can't bear the inner torment; they're too kind."

"By the way, what are you guys talking about?"

"We were talking about Sirius's first Defense Against the Dark Arts class!" Hermione replied. "Harry's worried Malfoy will cause trouble in class."

"He wouldn't dare," Ron said confidently.

"That's not necessarily true," Owen said jokingly, taking a bite of his bread. "Malfoy's mother is Sirius's cousin, so Malfoy is his nephew."

"Huh?" Harry glanced at Owen, it was the first time he had ever heard of such a relationship between Malfoy and Sirius.

"Tch~ What's so special about that? My mom and Sirius are cousins ​​too," Ron said dismissively.

"Then I'm his nephew too!"

He held his head high, his face showing a mixture of pride and disdain.

It's as if this isn't a commendable identity.

Then he saw Harry's puzzled look, and Ron explained, "My grandmother was a member of the Black family—haha—she became famous after marrying my grandfather—it's nothing unusual for pure-blood families to intermarry, I guarantee it, Harry, your family must have had a marriage alliance with the Black family before."

"Hey! You guessed right this time, Ron." Owen took the last bite of his bread, then dipped it in the jam on the spoon and swallowed the last piece. "Harry's great-grandfather married a member of the Black family."

"If we're talking about seniority, Harry, your dad James is two cycles older than Sirius. He could easily be Sirius's great-uncle."

"It's a pity that now you're calling him Godfather, tsk tsk—how fickle fate is!"

"Huh?" Harry scratched his head, this complicated relationship was giving him a headache.

So, does that mean he and Ron are relatives?

"Don't be so surprised. The wizarding world is only so big. Who isn't related by blood? Neville, Ron, you, Hannah, Luna, Malfoy—as long as you're a wizard from one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families, you're all related by blood."

"Hey, Owen, we're not one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families. We've been kicked out, you know? Kicked out." Ron said with a smirk, "Who wants to stay in that so-called Holy Family? They're sick, seriously sick."

"Yes, they are indeed quite ill." Irving also showed disdain.

Because he also has a pure-blood surname.

That's his mother's surname.

Rozier.

It's unclear what this surname will bring him.

"Purebloods—it's certainly a mess." Hermione squinted, her gaze sweeping over Harry Ron and Malfoy in the distance.

This was the first time she had ever known that the three of them had this kind of relationship.

"Speaking of which, Miss Granger is probably the person with the cleanest bloodline, she has no relation to anyone!" Owen blurted out.

But the next second he was met with Hermione's unfriendly gaze.

What do you mean by that?

Are you implying that they are all related by marriage, and I am the only outsider?

"But that's not necessarily true. Maybe one of his ancestors was a wizard, or maybe he was a Squib born into that pure-blood family. If you look back, you'll find that everyone is related by marriage. The wizarding circle is only that big."

Perhaps sensing Hermione's unfriendly gaze, Owen changed the subject and quickly called her back in.

"So, if we're talking about bloodline, lineage, and even DNA, almost all wizards in this world are related by blood. There are no pure-blood or Muggle-born wizards at all, because pure-blood is definitely not pure, and Muggle-born doesn't necessarily mean that their family lineage is all Muggles. After all, if they were pure-blooded Muggles, how could a wizard possibly emerge from their descendants? Magic comes from genetic mutations."

Irving then went on and on.

Unfortunately, Hermione was probably the only one present who truly understood what was being said. Harry could understand what genes were, but he definitely couldn't understand what DNA was.

"Irving—"

As they were eating, Professor McGonagall suddenly rushed over from the auditorium door.

Her face was grave, as if something was troubling her.

"Uh—Professor?"

Irving shrank his neck slightly, his mind automatically searching through all his experiences during this period.

He hasn't done anything bad lately!

Ahem—mainly because Christmas has just ended, and he's still getting back on his feet.

He is always ready.

But I haven't done anything bad recently.

"Come here." Professor McGonagall beckoned to him, then pulled him out of the auditorium in a deep voice.

"What's wrong, Professor? Has the sky fallen? Has the earth caved in? Has Voldemort returned?"

"No." Professor McGonagall gave him a disapproving look. "It's about your family."

"???"

"Our home?" Owen scratched his head, staring blankly at Professor McGonagall. "The Sphinx Orphanage caught fire?"

"It's not an orphanage, it's the Rozier family." Professor McGonagall led him to the entrance to the Headmaster's office on the third floor, explaining as they walked, "Do you remember the Vice-President of the Guild who died unexpectedly in Hogsmeade?"

"I know, so what?" Owen asked calmly. "She's from the Rozier family?"

"Yes." Professor McGonagall looked deeply at Owen, then continued, "The Rozier family is a very old family. They have descendants all over the world."

"Mm." Owen nodded.

That's right.

He even killed one of the British Rozier's dogs.

Right in Azkaban

"This family originated from France. The deceased Madame Swan was the matriarch of the French Rosier family."

"So?" Owen Bear shrugged, then suddenly seemed to realize something, his face showing surprise. "You don't mean to say that after she died, I'm the only heir left in the French Rosier family?"

"No—it was Ms. Swan who left the Rozier family's inheritance to you."

"ha?"

"You're even less reliable than Rosier from France, who's practically all alone. I don't even know her. Why would she leave her inheritance to me just because I'm handsome?" Owen was full of questions. "Besides, I'm mixed-race! Aren't they a pure-blood family? How could they possibly be interested in someone like me?"

"I don't know," Professor McGonagall said, then gave the command to a hideous, enormous stone beast in front of her: "Bloody Lollipop."

"Go ahead, someone's waiting for you up there."

The professor had no intention of following.

Irving, on the other hand, stepped alone onto the spiral staircase that appeared after the crack in the wall.

He soon arrived at the eighth floor.

He pushed open the gleaming oak door and walked into the office.

"Oh! Hello."

He didn't see Dumbledore; instead, he saw a stranger sitting somewhat awkwardly in a chair next to a table filled with all sorts of strange and bizarre things.

"I am, Irving, uh—Irving Rozier."

"Hello. I am the liaison officer of the Federation. Basil Pierre."

He was a young man. He was wearing a black robe and a gray bow tie.

She has short brown hair, black eyes, and wears glasses.

He looks quite refined.

It possesses an elegant quality that can only be nurtured by the soil of the Far East.

Of course, it would be even better if his eyes didn't wander around aimlessly.

"Have some candy," Owen said, pointing to the pile of cockroaches on his plate.

"No—no need." The man was a little nervous. He got up, moved away from the plate of cockroaches, and then walked towards Owen with a reserved smile.

He slowly pulled a stack of sheepskin scrolls from his pocket.

Then it was folded and unfolded repeatedly, and this was repeated several times.

Finally, they produced an ancient magical parchment, about ten inches in size.

"This is a contract left behind by Chairman Swann, from the Rozier family. Sign it, and you will become the sole legal heir of this family."

"No—no, please don't rush." ​​Owen decisively did not reach out.

Just kidding, this is a magical world.

In the Muggle world, signing contracts haphazardly is at most selling oneself into servitude.

Signing a contract blindly here could mean selling your soul.

He didn't want to die working for Satan.

"Let me take a look first." He took the thick magical parchment scroll from Basil's hands.

Then he examined it carefully.

His eyes started to hurt after just one glance.

Because this was not the magical contract he had imagined at all.

It is a family tree.

A family tree made of strange materials.

It feels very hard to the touch, but looks like parchment.

He slowly opened it, and the next moment the brown paper turned bluish-gray, like some kind of metal.

Immediately afterwards, a family tree slowly grew out.

It was a huge rose bush.

The vines spread rapidly.

Each rose bears the mark of a name, and in an instant, the rose bush, like a grapevine, has taken over the entire table. Yet it doesn't stop there; it continues to grow.

"Oh! Merlin's beard is poking me."

On the high wall, a portrait of the principal suddenly opened its eyes and shouted.

"Excuse me, Principal Dippert." A growing rose blocked the portrait.

This caused Dumbledore's former headmaster to exclaim in surprise.

"Child, is this your family?" another principal asked.

"Yes, Headmistress Deventer." Delis Deventer, the healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries.

A renowned witch in the magical world.

She gave up her position as headmistress of Hogwarts so that she could devote herself wholeheartedly to helping the injured.

"The Rozier family?"

Then another portrait began to speak.

Owen looked up at the sound and saw the wizard who bore a resemblance to Sirius Black.

Phineas Nigellus Black.

Sirius's great-great-great-grandfather.

He was the first headmaster to graduate from Slytherin.

Severus Snape had a strong sense of pride in Slytherin and later, the second headmaster of Slytherin House.

However, he had a terrible reputation and was considered by young wizards to be the most hated headmaster in history.

However, during his fifty-nine-year tenure, the headmaster was not without achievements. Like Professor Dumbledore, he nurtured the first Dark Lord of Hogwarts.

Yes, that fifth-year transfer student at Hogwarts obtained the dark power right under his nose.

"Yes, sir," Owen said calmly.

"Hmph! You rude brat, calling them 'principal' but me 'sir'?" Phineas glared fiercely at Owen with his cloudy eyes.

"Uh, yes, Principal Black, I am a descendant of the Rozier family."

"Hmph, not only a descendant of the Rozier family, but also a descendant of Druella's sister." He seemed to notice a certain name on the family tree.

Irving followed his gaze and, sure enough, saw the name among a cluster of flowers.

Druella Rozier, next to a green leaf with the words Signas Black written on it.

Another exceptionally prominent name belongs to the same branch as her: Wenda Rozier.

And the branches above them each correspond to two names.

Hoddle Rozier.

Swann Rozier.

Below, his mother's name was prominently listed. On a flower more radiant than any other rose, golden stamens wove together a name: Gabriel Undine Rozier.

Eventually, the flower stopped growing.

It finally sprouted a tip.

His name was also woven from the stamen of the last rose.

Irwin Undine Rozier.

"."

Honestly, Irving is having a real headache dealing with such a huge family.

Although his mind was a complete mess, he quickly found a clue in the mess and gradually figured out a direction.

He vaguely remembered the name Signas.

It seems to be Sirius's grandfather's generation.

I don't remember clearly, I'll ask later.

But if this is true, then it means that his mother and Sirius's father were of the same generation.

Then he'd be just like Ron, a contemporary of Sirius.

(Ron's father is a generation older than his mother. So Arthur is Sirius's uncle, and Molly is his cousin.)

Knock—it's such a mess!

We're all Harry Potter's uncles!

Depend on!

Oh dear—who could have predicted this?

Also, Sirius's seniority is really low!

His companion, James, was two generations older than him. Professor Lupin didn't know, but he was definitely older than him.

And Harry—now Sirius's godson, which puts him in an even lower generation.

I've gotten a nephew for free.

Ha ha.

"I never thought that the boasts I made before would actually come true."

Previously, he had boasted about being on friendly terms with Sirius Black in Azkaban and even chased after Harry, demanding that he call him uncle.

No need to brag anymore.

He's really become an uncle now.

"Ahem—so, what should I do now?" Owen asked, looking at the association's liaison officer with some uncertainty.

But who would have thought?

That person's dreamy eyes held even more depth than his own.

"Forehead--"

"Idiot, drip your blood onto the flower with your name engraved on it." From the ceiling, Principal Black looked at Owen as if he were an idiot.

"Are you really a member of that family?"

"Don't you know this basic common sense about pure-blood families?"

"My damn illegitimate son." Irving retorted, throwing in his own insults.

I'm just a country bumpkin, how would I know the rules of your pure-blooded family's high-walled compound?

As he spoke, he extended his left index finger and looked at the portrait on the ceiling with a hint of suspicion. "Hey Principal Blake, are you sure it's blood? This isn't some kind of evil ritual for selling one's soul, is it?"

"Enough!" Sirius's great-great-grandfather puffed out his beard and glared at Owen. "I am the headmaster of Hogwarts, not the dark wizard of Azkaban."

"Don't worry, child, this is not some evil ritual." At this moment, another portrait spoke up. It was Principal Delis De Winter. "This is how the family confirms the true heir. Every family is different, but the older the family, the more it is related to blood."

You can take a close look at your family tree; are the flowers any different from the others?

"different?"

With Principal Delis De Winter's guidance, Owen examined the roses more closely and indeed found that although they were both roses...

However, the roses on the family tree have two distinct sizes and colors.

One type is a small rose that resembles a Chinese rose, but with a lighter color.

These make up the majority.

Other, rarer varieties, with their large petals and vibrant colors, resembling roses that could drip blood, stand proudly among the other roses.

(End of this chapter)