I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 24 First Experience with the Dark Lord

In the principal's office—once filled with all sorts of strange gadgets on the desk, a tender sprout has appeared.

That was something Irving specially chose to give to the principal.

He transplanted a pot of golden dandelions from the open space outside the castle.

Don't ask, it doesn't mean anything by it.

However—as the fox said: the wheat field and I have nothing to do with each other, which is really frustrating.

However, you have golden hair.

Just imagine how wonderful it would be if you could tame me!

I will love the sound of the wind in the wheat field—because it reminds me of you, with your golden hair.

Coincidentally, his maternal grandfather had blond hair when he was young.

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.

To Gellert.

Dumbledore picked up the gilded quill from the table, his blue eyes clear and bright.

He seemed lost in memories. He held his pen for a long time without writing a single word.

Deep down, he always believed that he had single-handedly destroyed one demon king while allowing another to run rampant. And now—just like fifty years ago—he had to focus his energy on dealing with one demon king, while potentially letting another one run rampant.

Irving Sanchez.

Could he be the next one?

He remained lost in thought for a long time until the cry of a phoenix pulled him out of his reverie.

Then, as if he had made up his mind, Dumbledore touched the paper and wrote down the first words he had written to him in 46 years: How have you been?

The sun rose high in the east outside the window, dispelling the last trace of morning chill.

Until the sun shines brightly.

A loud phoenix cry suddenly came from the horizon.

That was Dumbledore's phoenix.

With his exceptionally graceful figure, Fawkes, carrying a letter that should have been mailed 46 years ago, flew over Hogwarts Castle, over the tranquil Black Lake, and into the distance.

They flew towards the direction they had agreed upon on the plains of Godric Valley.

"He definitely knows everything."

During Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Quirrell's gaze gradually shifted to panic, pleading, and worry; this series of emotional changes almost made him lose his composure.

In an instant, countless thoughts flashed through his mind.

He wanted to use Voldemort's power to become an influential figure in the wizarding world, or, to be even more presumptuous, learn some powerful spells from Voldemort, and then report him to become a true savior.

So—Quirinas Chilo, in the forests of Albania, voluntarily opened his soul to parasitism.

After all, given Voldemort's state at the time—he could only parasitize snakes, which had little intelligence, and couldn't even parasitize large mammals—how could he possibly deal with an elite wizard?

But now—having made one wrong step after another, he regrets his decision.

Voldemort was far more terrifying than he had imagined; he was no match for the most powerful dark wizard in history.

"Owner--"

Quirrell, bewildered and filled with a strange excitement, awakened Voldemort, who was hiding behind his head.

"Quiet." Without Quirrell needing to wake him, Voldemort had already woken up the moment he started daydreaming while wearing his useless clothes.

"Yes."

Hearing the voice that suddenly popped up in his heart, Quirrell's expression instantly returned to its usual timid and submissive state.

Of course, if you observe carefully, you will begin to clearly see a peculiar glint in his eyes.

"Professor? What's wrong?" Owen had been observing Quirrell's expression. He didn't believe that Voldemort would suddenly act desperately and give him a green light.

However, with the mindset of "if I can get a little bit of fun out of it, Irving's eyes never left Keanu's."

He noticed even the smallest changes.

"Oh my! Is it that obvious?" Owen almost burst out laughing. Voldemort was parasitizing an iron wolf, and Dumbledore thought it was a loyal Death Eater. It was somewhat dark and absurd.

Professor Quirrell seems never to realize that the more abnormal his behavior, the less likely Dumbledore is to touch him, because it gives people the wrong impression.

It's as if he's some kind of black devil's suicide squad, vanguard, and most loyal subordinate. Of course, Old Deng would choose to continue playing the long game and catching bigger fish.

After all, Dumbledore never dreamed that Voldemort would play such a trick on him.

"It's nothing." Quirrell's tone suddenly took on a slightly different tone.

"A young wizard as talented as you is a rare find."

Owen realized almost immediately that the one speaking now was not Quirrell, but Voldemort, who had taken over his brilliant mind.

Wow!

My first experience with the Dark Lord!

Although he fought alongside the Dark Lord in the first playthrough, it doesn't mean he endorsed the Dark Lord's pure-blood ideology.

There was nowhere else to go; besides the Death Eaters, the only other organizations left in Britain were the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic.

First, let's kick the entire Order of the Phoenix, now that everyone's gender-swapped, out of the picture, and then turn our attention to the Ministry of Magic.

No way! No way! Surely no one actually travels to a magical world and goes to work there?!

So it wasn't that Irving chose the Death Eaters, but that he had no other choice!

"Excellent?" Owen said shyly. "It's alright, there were magical geniuses like me a thousand years ago too."

"?" The legendary Voldemort was taken aback by such a shameless statement. He couldn't recall who this kid was comparing himself to.

"Merlin! My grandfather always told me when I was little that only Merlin could barely compare to my talent. He even said I was Merlin reincarnated or something."

"Oh dear! How could I possibly be Merlin reincarnated!"

"I don't like men," Owen said casually, like a husky that had broken free of its reins, momentarily losing its bearings.

"Heh—is that so?" Voldemort looked at the arrogant eleven-year-old Owen, a ripple stirring in his heart. After all, his name was well-known in England, and this little brat actually looked down on him and directly compared himself to Merlin. It was really ridiculous.

In an instant, his interest in Irving diminished by more than half. He had originally thought Irving was a promising talent, but now it seemed that he was just an idiot who had become arrogant after learning a few spells.

"Really, I'm not kidding you. The love story between Merlin and King Arthur back then, wow, wow, it was truly heartbreaking to hear." (Reference: British TV series "Merlin")

Irving, feigning sorrow, gazed at the ceiling at a 45-degree angle, "We're under Merlin's shadow, unable to escape our fate, unable to have the one we love. Everything was predetermined."

"So life! Why is it so bitter, like a song?"

Irving's eyes revealed a mixture of indifference, mockery, and nonchalance.

A pair of fan-shaped eyes that see through the long history of magic.

This entire piece is full of absurd ramblings; only when the night is deep and all is quiet can one discern a single word from between the lines.

虐！

Ah! A great sword is slashing down on the history of magic, all because Amélie didn't start things right.

Today...it seems like nothing much happened. Sigh! I'm feeling really down now that I can't slack off anymore. Just thinking about how my boss is still making money makes my heart bleed. Ugh! My boss needs me, I have to contribute my surplus value to him. Damn it, why do I have to pay my own electricity bill for the air conditioner at home?!

(End of this chapter)