I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 215 End-of-Semester Miscellaneous Matters

"It's good to be young, you can still feel the pain of love."

At some point, Dumbledore appeared in the corridor of the infirmary.

He crossed his arms, his white beard was bound by a silk thread, and he wore a light blue robe that was both elegant and deeply symbolic.

Owen had never seen Dumbledore dressed like that before.

You know, the old principal loved brightly colored clothes the most.

He often wore his purple wizard's robe.

Such an elegant robe is something only Gandalf would wear.

It seems that Headmaster Dumbledore has been quite influenced by that white-robed swordsman!

—The last time he was at Black’s ancestral home, he was shocked to find that the old headmaster always carried the Gryffindor sword with him.

"Oh! I should have said hello before coming in," he said.

"You're in, Professor." Owen glared at the old, childlike principal with annoyance.

"That's true." The old principal winked playfully, then walked step by step toward the bedside.

"You have to admit, she's a truly remarkable witch," the old headmaster said, leaning against the hospital bed and looking at Hermione lying there. "Perhaps the most outstanding witch to have ever emerged from Hogwarts."

"I wrote a book on basic alchemy principles in just over two months."

"Two months?" Irving was stunned.

"The headmaster always has some privileges," Dumbledore said with a smile.

Then Owen suddenly remembered the peephole in the principal's office—could it even see what was happening in the Requirement Room?

"But I must say, the Time-Turner is a rather dangerous magical item," the headmaster said calmly. "I originally thought you would use it for good, Owen."

"When you own it, you are responsible for it."

"You have a responsibility to both you and her."

The old principal spoke slowly.

Then he waved his hand.

From the inside pocket of Hermione's robe, a funnel-shaped magical item appeared in his hand.

He held the time converter in his hand, feeling its exquisite craftsmanship, and couldn't help but sigh, "Time is the most fascinating thing, but also the most dangerous."

"You must manipulate it carefully, not be manipulated by time."

At this moment, Madam Pomfrey finished feeding the potion.

Owen then laid Hermione down straight.

Then, at Professor Dumbledore's invitation, the two walked out of the school infirmary together.

What she needs is rest.

I am of no use here.

As soon as he stepped out of the infirmary, he saw a large group of young Gryffindor wizards rushing towards him.

Harry and Ron were among them; they wanted to visit Hermione.

But all of these requests were ruthlessly rejected by Mrs. Pomfrey.

In the school infirmary, Madam Pomfrey held absolute authority, and even Dumbledore could only smile to himself and shake his head helplessly.

Reluctantly, Harry and his friends sighed and agreed to visit again the next morning.

As for Owen, he was taking a walk with Headmaster Dumbledore in the corridors of the South Wing of Hogwarts.

under the moonlight.

The marble floor, as if it had been waxed, shone brightly, clearly reflecting the two figures.

The gate was gilded and magnificent, and the entrance was occupied by a shrub called mistletoe.

Everywhere is lush and green.

This makes one realize that spring has indeed arrived.

"You know what? It took me a long time to understand even a simple truth," Professor Dumbledore said slowly, his crescent-shaped spectacles gazing at the distant mountains. They were standing on the covered bridge between the Great Hall, the castle, and the Observatory Tower. This was one of the best viewpoints at Hogwarts, with the Black Lake below and a waterfall behind them, its gentle stream gushing from the cracks in the rocks, seemingly having flowed for thousands, even tens of thousands of years.

"True magic, the truly precious things, are all around us." A visible pain flashed in his eyes. "Don't let those who love us most get hurt, Owen. Remember, having a time-tamper doesn't mean you have a second chance. What's done is done."

His thoughts were as complex as his gaze; the old headmaster seemed to see his sister's image in his mind. Years later, the girl's appearance had become blurred.

But the deep-rooted pain and regret remain clear for millennia, as if carved into stone.

Finally, the scenery in the distance no longer seemed to attract his attention.

He turned his attention back to Irving.

He took off his glasses, his blue eyes sparkling as he looked at the child in front of him who resembled him in his youth, and a ripple of love welled up in his heart.

Dumbledore reached out and patted Owen's head, saying casually, "You've grown taller."

"I don't know when it happened, but you've become a little adult," he said.

"Youth is in full bloom, Miss Granger is a good girl, perhaps you should give it a try and experience love."

A smile spread across his face, as if he were speaking affectionately to Irving's family, his grandfather.

"Me?" Irving paused for a moment.

Then, staring at the professor with his usual expression, he said indifferently, "Love is nothing more than a chemical reaction for animals to reproduce. It makes you dizzy and excited at first, then it slowly fades away. Life should be about self-improvement, about magic."

"Is that so?" Dumbledore smiled. "Then why did you show up in the Gryffindor common room?"

"child."

"When I learned about your mother, I knew you would be a good person. I never doubted that. You, like Harry, possess the most precious thing in the world: love. A great and selfless mother protected you, and that love naturally influenced you. That's probably why you're not affected even though you often use dark magic."

Upon hearing this, Irving remained silent.

He was annoyed by Dumbledore's notion that love was the key to everything.

He disliked things that couldn't be controlled, even if he was covered in traces of love; dislike was dislike.

After a long pause, he looked up again, met Dumbledore's gaze, and a smile spread across his face. "Professor—"

"You and Nicolas Flamel shouldn't be communicating by owl mail; he's getting senile and sometimes sends letters to the wrong addresses."

A gentle breeze wafted from afar, rippling across the Black Lake, which was dotted with silvery-gray light. It ruffled Dumbledore's beard and Owen's black hair.

Irving replied, "I know. Death is just the beginning of another, greater adventure."

The professor looked at him, his tone unusually kind and gentle: "Yes."

"You can always spout off道理 (principles/truths), but do you really understand them?"

He patted Irving on the shoulder and said, "Go love someone, go experience a story, go embrace an adventure, don't let the outcome become a shackle. The process is what matters."

Dumbledore smiled at him, but Owen could clearly see a hint of pity and pain in his eyes.

Under the moonlight, the old principal's gaze was deep and lingering.

Like a bottle of wine passed down from ancient times, it is made with bitter memories and heartbreaking past, plus a little bit of sweet love, to create a fruit wine that is bitter on the palate but sweet on the aftertaste.

"Oh! By the way," he suddenly changed the subject.

"Mr. Basil sent me a letter saying that the Ivermoni Magic Academy is very interested in the teaching methods of magic schools in Europe. How did you manage to get them to agree to send a team over?"

"The team?" Irving scratched his head, guessing it might be related to the Triwizard Tournament.

"Did you scold him? Threaten him?"

"It was just a very ordinary method." Feeling that he was making things worse, Owen quickly explained, "It wasn't me who threatened him, it was Neville. He used a Patronus Charm to scare him so much that he left without even eating."

"Is that so?" Dumbledore's deep blue eyes scrutinized him, then his brow relaxed. "In any case, we've finally achieved our goal."

"Go back to sleep, child."

Tomorrow will be another day.

------

The villagers of Little Hangton still refer to the house as "Riddle House," even though the Riddle family hasn't lived there for many years.

The house sits on a hillside, from which you can see the whole village.

That once magnificent building is now a dilapidated ruin, although you can still vaguely make out from the broken walls that there used to be a beautiful big house here.

On the hillside, an elderly man who looked to be over seventy years old with a limp was bending over, tidying up the vines on the fence outside his house.

For some reason, this old man named Frank did not choose to leave after the Riddle family died one night fifty years ago. Instead, he stayed here and diligently guarded the house and yard.

The neat lawn outside the courtyard is the result of his hard work.

Normally, he would never allow anyone else to enter the manor.

But today is different.

Just a few feet away from him, a large crowd was surging.

Countless wizards draped in black robes came and went.

Their faces were somber, and they were all exhausted.

Moody stood in the open space of the courtyard, watching the wizards carrying in corpses one after another. Just moments ago, those were their vibrant colleagues, but now they were cold, lifeless bodies.

"What are you thinking about?"

Theseus Scamander limped over.

His left leg was stained with blood. Although he had received basic treatment, the wound was imbued with dark magic, and waves of pain reminded him that he was still lucky to be alive.

"That's a bit strange~"

Moody's magic eye not only expanded and contracted, but his gaze swept over the corpses of them or the dark wizards on the ground.

"Most of the dead here were ordinary dark wizards; not a single Death Eater loyal to Mystic was captured."

"I think we've fallen into a trap."

"You guessed right." Theseus nodded, forcing himself to stand. "The mysterious man used our hands to kill those dark wizards who were not loyal to him, which not only dealt a blow to other dark wizard forces but also severely weakened our strength."

"But we have no choice but to shed blood," Moody said in a deep voice. "Are we just going to stand by and watch these dark wizards run rampant?"

"This is an open conspiracy."

"Both the Mystic and we need this result," Theseus said in a deep voice. "The British Ministry of Magic must return to normal immediately; the people cannot afford any more turmoil."

"That's the only way," he said.

"It's hard to accept, but—the Ministry of Magic really can't afford any more risks." Moody sighed as well. "Now it's Barty Crouch's turn to worry about this. We've done all we can."

Both of them fell silent.

We mourn for the great battle that has just taken place.

This was the largest such operation since the Battle of Hogsmeade. The Aurors arrested and killed dozens of dark wizards.

Of course, they also paid a heavy price, with more than a dozen comrades sacrificing their lives and almost everyone being injured.

Summer is just around the corner.

Who could have imagined that this would actually be the coldest winter before summer?

More than a dozen Aurors have died.

"The Ministry of Magic has arrested dozens of dark wizards all at once!!!"

Hogwarts.

In the school nurse's room, Owen was sitting with Harry and the others around Hermione's bedside.

He was peeling an apple, lost in thought.

However, there was no smile on his face, which was completely unlike his usual self.

Harry, meanwhile, was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet. Ever since he subscribed to the Daily Prophet in anticipation of when the Ministry of Magic would reopen Sirius Black's case, he had developed a daily interest in reading newspapers and reading books.

"They say that the Aurors, along with the dark wizards, have essentially wiped out the British magical world."

"Barty Crouch has announced the reinstatement of the Unforgivable Curse Restriction Act and has begun arranging compensation for the sacrificed Aurors."

"I thought he wouldn't learn his lesson until he hit a brick wall," Ron scoffed, taking a bite of his unpeeled apple. "At least we'll be safer during the summer vacation."

"There are still two months left, and you're already looking forward to summer vacation," Hermione said irritably from the bed. "What you should really be worried about is the final exams~~~"

As she was speaking, she was about to get up, but just as she braced herself on the bed with both hands and was trying to overcome the discomfort from the soreness in her arm muscles, a gaze suddenly fell on her.

Hermione's face froze instantly, and she quickly relaxed and lay back down.

"Why is it so difficult for you to just lie down!" Owen looked at her with a hostile gaze, casually handing her the apple he was holding, and then continued, "Lie down for a week. No reading, no using your brain!"

"Why!" Hermione asked instinctively, holding an apple in her hand but feeling utterly dejected.

"I'm not discussing Miss Granger with you; I'm just giving a routine notification!"

"Or—why don't you want to try lying there petrified for a week?"

"But my drafts, my parchments, I..."

"Heh." Owen chuckled coldly, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes. "So diligent, Miss Granger."

"Then I definitely can't let you read! I don't want you to steal my title of being number one in the grade!"

"."

Hearing this, Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at him.

Who cares about your title of being number one in your age group!

With that thought in mind, she slowly opened her mouth, took a bite of the green apple in her hand, and yum—it was so sweet!

(End of this chapter)