I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 266 Warrior Interview

At this moment, a small metal box gradually drooped down from the ceiling of the classroom.

There was a camera at the front, and as a beam of light shone out, images of many strange alchemical creations appeared in the classroom.

"Wow!"

The classroom was filled with exclamations of surprise.

It looked like Owen's commemorative pocket watch, but Victor kept only phantom images of various magical items.

"Is it that you don't need it, or that you simply don't know?" Koyatl's eyes revealed a disdainful expression.

Her face was cold and beautiful, with a high nose bridge and tightly pursed lips. Her words and actions exuded arrogance and indifference that almost overflowed.

"Ancient magic only blossoms within wizards who inherit the will of the gods." She glanced at Victor with disdain, her eyes roughly scanning his body.

His body was disabled.

Koyatl's eyes were clear: the gods would not deign to look down on a body like yours.

Your broken body is beneath the notice of the gods. What right do you have to spout nonsense here, as if you know a lot about ancient magic?

Owen was also curious; this wasn't Piltover, where he could easily use potions to heal himself.

Even damage caused by dark magic, like that of Moody, could be replaced with a magical prosthetic body.

Viktor has absolutely no need to maintain this appearance.

But—what's the deal with that Iphamoni witch?

Is the brain completely undeveloped, or is the level of development slightly uneven?

At first glance, that face that looks like everyone around her owes her a hundred gallons might seem aloof, but after a while, all you want to do is punch her!

I, Owen Sanchez, have never seen anyone so arrogant in the magical world!

He stole all the limelight from his buddy!

Immediately, as he returned to his seat from the lectern, he raised his voice in a mocking tone and said, "Wow! You're absolutely right! You're right!"

In reality, there were hardly any seats in the classroom.

The deformed circular steps in the classroom became the little wizard's seat.

"So who made you bloom?" He stared at her with innocent eyes, propped his cheek on his right hand with his legs, and turned his head toward her.

"What did you say?"

Koyatl immediately understood the double entendre in the boy's words.

Her gaze was sharp; if this weren't a classroom, Owen had no doubt she would have immediately unleashed a vicious curse upon him.

"Huh? So you're disabled too!" Owen feigned surprise, looking at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were deaf and mute. I sincerely apologize, I'm so sorry!"

His round, gray eyes looked at her with sincerity, his tone full of apology.

But the shameless witch Iphamoni did not accept his apology and instead acted coldly and unsympathetically.

A light shone in Irving's pupils.

It was a dazzling red light, appearing from nothing.

"Enough!" Viktor, leaning on his cane, raised it and pointed it into the air.

Miraculously, the spell floated in mid-air.

Then the flashlight that had cut through the eight-eyed giant spider shot out a beam of intense light, shattering the spell.

"If you don't believe me, then you shouldn't have been here in the first place!" He frowned, his face pale, and looked at Koyater. "If you think someone is better than me, then go ask him. Please don't waste my class time!"

"It should have been done long ago!" Koyatl was not intimidated by Victor's gaze at all. "The greatest wizard in alchemy is Mr. Nicolas Flamel."

"Perhaps you should teach according to the textbook." She said with a sneer, holding up the textbook in her hand—"Deciphering Ancient Alchemy"—the gilded name of Nick clearly visible on the title page. "At least that would make you seem more professional!"

"puff!"

The next second, a little wizard in the classroom couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Of all the sounds, Hermione's laughter was the most prominent.

Just a minute ago, she was still fuming about Professor Victor's cruel dismemberment of an eight-eyed giant spider, and with a dark face, she planned to have a good talk with him after class.

But suddenly, when she saw the textbook in Koyatl's hand, she couldn't help but laugh out loud along with the other young Hogwarts wizards around her.

"What are you laughing at?" Koyatl stared coldly at Hermione.

"Can't I think of something happy?" Hermione didn't even glance at her, turning her head directly to rewrite the complex formulas on Victor's blackboard.

In the classroom, the little wizard covered her mouth, and everyone's attention turned to Koyatl, watching her.

To her, it seemed like a mockery.

This made her very uncomfortable.

She always looked down on others, habitually imposing her will on them. No one in Ilfamony dared to look at her like that, but at Hogwarts...

Even those wizards who knew they had no chance of defeating her showed her no respect whatsoever; they mocked her blatantly and subtly.

Hiding in a dark corner, waiting for an opportunity to steal her ancient magic.

No no no —

Suddenly, Koyatl pressed his forehead to the ground.

A piercing pain shot through her brain.

The pain made her tremble all over.

The little wizards around her could clearly see that her face suddenly misted over.

Those are sweat stains.

She was nervous.

"So it was all bark and no bite!" the twins' voices followed.

They were interested in Viktor's mechanical modifications to create some kind of life.

They felt this should lead to a brighter future.

"And he hasn't even read the book properly," George said.

"Of course, anyone with normal eyesight would notice that there's another name under Nick's name," Fred said mockingly.

They're still holding a grudge about what happened on the day their names were cast into the Goblet of Fire.

Miss Granger, who suddenly attacked us, don't you know she's a treasure of Gryffindor?

The Geminis said they could trade ten Ron for one Miss Granger.

After all, the academy war wouldn't have much of an impact on them without Ron, but without Miss Granger, they would likely lose.

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.

As the atmosphere in the classroom grew increasingly tense, Professor Victor used the special technique that Professor McGonagall had taught him.

"Alright, if you don't concentrate, you'll only get a P grade on the final exam for this course!"

The professors' ultimate weapon.

take an exam!

Suddenly, everyone in the classroom jolted awake!

Everyone sat up straight and stared intently at the blackboard.

In Hogwarts today, failing an exam is very shameful, because the four houses are all competing with each other, so no one dares to relax. The house that comes in last place in the exam will automatically receive the honorary house title that Barnabas had back then.

The wizard Barnabas died tragically under the troll's club because he wanted to teach the troll to dance ballet, and his image has been associated with words like stupid and idiot for hundreds of years.

The young wizards argued endlessly about which house he graduated from at Hogwarts, but no one would admit to graduating from their own house.

Therefore, this has become one of the ways in which colleges that rank at the bottom in school exams are humiliated.

The classroom returned to calm.

After class, most of the young wizards left the classroom with ambiguous smiles.

Irving originally intended to talk to Victor about the game, but as soon as he stepped out of the classroom, Professor McGonagall suddenly appeared and blocked his way.

She informed the warriors that, as arranged by the Ministry of Magic and the school, Mr. Ollivander would be inspecting their wands this afternoon.

The Warriors will also be interviewed by the media at that time.

As for Irving, Dumbledore invited him.

Actually, Irving already knew about this, because the sales of "The Quibbler" have increased significantly this year, and the sponsorship fees he can offer have also increased dramatically.

For the sake of Galleons, the Ministry of Magic had to reluctantly allow the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler to jointly interview young wizards.

And the interviewer for "Singing a Different Tune" was naturally Luna.

She told Irving about it a few days ago.

After lunch, Hermione and Fleur, who had no classes in the afternoon, went to the Gryffindor common room for a while, and then arranged for Owen and Colin Luna to come to their room on the second floor early to wait for them.

My main duties are taking photos and writing articles. After all, this is a great opportunity to promote Hogwarts. If Luna were to write the articles, who knows what she would produce?

So naturally, this task fell to the great student council president of Hogwarts.

It was arranged by Dumbledore himself.

This is a great opportunity to promote the school. Although the old headmaster doesn't care about fame or fortune, he's more enthusiastic than anyone else about making Hogwarts famous.

An empty classroom on the second floor.

When Irving and Luna went inside, there were already people inside.

This is a small classroom, with most of the desks pushed to the back, leaving a large open space in the middle.

There were three desks placed side by side in front of the blackboard, covered with a long piece of velvet.

Behind the velvet-covered desks were several chairs, where Fleur and Hermione were already seated.

The two of them were whispering to each other, their long silver hair shimmering dazzlingly in the sunlight. Upon seeing Owen enter, Fleur's face immediately broke into a mocking smile, her gaze sweeping back and forth between Owen and Hermione.

Miss Granger's cheeks flushed again at the sight.

Cedric and Krum hadn't arrived yet. At the desk, Mr. Ludo Bagman was talking to a witch who was wearing a magenta robe.

"Ah, Owen, you've arrived." Upon seeing Owen—and more importantly, Luna, Bagman's expression froze instantly. He then forced a smile and walked over. "Dumbledore has informed me that you're in charge of writing the manuscript for this year's 'The Quibbler'."

Mr. Bagman's face darkened, and he whispered in Owen's ear, "If possible, please write more about truth, goodness, and beauty. You know, most people aren't really interested in conspiracies and the like."

"We'll report it truthfully!" Luna grabbed Owen's arm and pulled him to her side, then stared at Mr. Bagman with an ethereal voice and scrutinizing eyes: "My dad said that Barty Crouch has a group of goblin assassins who specialize in eliminating those who oppose him. I'm definitely going to tell this to the still-naive public in the newspapers."

"The Ministry of Magic doesn't keep goblin killers!" Mr. Bagman shouted, which was why he hated the Lovegoods. "We don't have that much money! We can't afford a bunch of greedy goblins."

"But Hermione's name appeared in the Goblet of Fire, there must be a conspiracy," Luna said calmly. She wore a headdress with two rabbit ears and pointed to a notebook in her hand, which was covered with messy doodles, like a comic strip, recording many names.

It seems that those were all the 'criminal suspects' she suspected.

Irving even saw Mr. Ludo Bagman's name on it.

Instantly, Mr. Bagman's face darkened further.

"Enough! I don't have time to correct your already broken head." He said angrily, pointing quickly behind him.

He was furious.

It's also possible that the woman behind him was too close.

Mr. Ludo Bagman turned sharply, stepping on her shoe and poking her stomach with his finger.

"Oh, sorry!" he said casually.

The director of the sports department hates all reporters.

"This is Rita Skeeter, a special correspondent for The Daily Prophet, who is responsible for covering the tournament."

Irving raised an eyebrow and looked over.

The woman—her hair was styled into elaborate, stiff, and oddly curled waves, which looked particularly awkward against her large chin.

He wore jeweled glasses and had thick, fleshy fingers clutching a crocodile-skin handbag.

The fingernails were about two inches long, painted bright red, and looked very strange, like the claws of some kind of animal.

While Irving was observing Rita Skeeter, she was also carefully scrutinizing him.

"Perhaps you'll work together on the report, or perhaps you'll each do your own thing, whatever! But I want to say, don't use any words that smear the Ministry of Magic. I'm warning you, your minister hasn't been in a good mood lately, so watch your words!" With that, he turned and walked toward an empty seat in the classroom.

Then he sat down abruptly.

"Don't worry, Mr. Bagman, I know all about newspapers," Owen said happily. He wasn't Luna, and he wouldn't write about those kinds of nonsense. Besides, he was here on a mission. His report was mainly to promote the spirit of Hogwarts. "I've read all the London newspapers, and I know everything about them."

"Oh, really?" Rita Skeeter let out a sharp, grating, and greasy sneer. "I didn't know that young wizards these days enjoy reading newspapers so much."

Rita Skeeter's expression darkened the moment she saw Luna.

As for Irving—he was simply caught in the crossfire.

The competition was originally supposed to be her exclusive interview, but now there's an additional segment called "Singing a Different Tune," so of course she's not happy about it.

"Of course," Irving said confidently, tilting his head back. "Newspapers, they just cater to readers' prejudices."

I know those newspaper readers very well.

The readers of the Daily Mirror are those who think they are governing the country; the readers of the Guardian are those who think they should be governing the country; the readers of the Times are those who are actually governing the country; the readers of the Daily Mail are the wives of those who are governing the country.

The readers of the Financial Times are people who own countries; the readers of the Morning Star are people who want to hand over their countries to other countries to govern.

"The Daily Telegraph readers think the country is being governed by another country..." Owen chuckled. "As for the Sun readers—oh—the Sun readers don't care who governs the country, as long as she has big breasts!"

"The most popular way for British men to greet each other is – Oh! I'm so glad you enjoy reading The Sun."

"So, do you like it?" A voice suddenly drifted over.

It's Miss Granger.

She couldn't help but giggle as Irving talked at length about the London newspapers.

She was the only one present who understood the jokes Irving was making.

But when he mentioned The Sun, Miss Granger immediately stopped trying to suppress her smile.

His eyes narrowed, and a dangerous gaze was fixed on them.

"Oh, Miss Granger, you know—I'm French, why would I like the things you English men like?"

Owen, with an air of profound wisdom and self-assurance, continued in a kind voice: "For example, the first and second pages of The Sun are full of news about the Labour Party's election defeat and the Conservative Party's comeback."

So I usually just flip directly to the third edition.

"Sanchez!!!" Miss Granger exclaimed in a fit of rage.

Third edition?

The third edition had nothing but a nude cover girl.

"Hey—such a big reaction, have you seen it too?" Owen raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on his face. "Oh—you're allowed to see it, but I can't? What kind of logic is that?"

"Shut up!" Hermione's face turned red.

Was she going to tell Owen that she saw him at her father's dentist's shop?

As we all know, the boring time while waiting for the doctor always requires some entertainment to pass the time, and newspapers are the cheapest form of entertainment. Among them, The Sun is very popular.

Its sales volume is several times that of serious newspapers like the Daily Mail.

She only glanced at it a few times by accident!

Just a few glances!

"Oh my! Miss Granger, you're much prettier than those cover girls, so there's absolutely no need to be nervous!"

Irving looked at Granger, whose hair was tied up with only a few stray strands framing his forehead, and said admiringly.

"She's just dressed too conservatively."

"Go to hell!" Hermione blushed and glared at him fiercely.

Irving and Hermione were chatting enthusiastically.

The wizards on the other side were quite confused, their faces full of awkward smiles.

"Are you French?" At this moment, Rita Skeeter, who was standing next to her, suddenly grasped the key point.

She opened her mouth, revealing three gold teeth, and quickly reached into her crocodile-skin handbag, pulling out a long, dazzling green quill pen and a roll of parchment.

Then she spread the parchment on the velvet-covered desk.

He put the tip of the green quill pen into his mouth and sucked on it with relish for a while.

Then place the pen vertically on the parchment, with the quill pen tip upright and trembling slightly.

Then he began to write with great flourish, the pen tip gliding nimbly across the parchment.

The headline above read: Shocking! The French Amphibious Operation.

At this point, Irving hadn't said a single word.

"Of course—I'm a genuine old Parisian, a true-blue tricolor player."

(End of this chapter)