I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 267 Owen: I Heard Someone Wants to Report on Me

Owen walked over to Hermione and beckoned Colin, who had just arrived at the door, to come over and take a picture.

"I've heard of you." Rita Skeeter flashed a greasy smile, her thick rouge even showing signs of crumbling. "You defeated hundreds of Dementors last year."

As a reporter for The Daily Prophet, Rita Skeeter certainly remembered this news.

This was news that once caused a sensation throughout Britain.

"Since you're so skilled, why didn't you participate in this competition?"

"Hey—Old Deng gave me some money. He advised me not to participate in the competition. After all, I'm too strong; dealing with the little wizards is a piece of cake."

"Oh?" Rita Skeeter's eyes lit up instantly.

Shameful money transactions are a favorite subject for the general public.

"The specific amount?"

"Twenty thousand!" Irving said calmly.

"Twenty thousand?!" Rita Skeeter nearly ground her teeth to dust.

However, as a professional journalist, she immediately thought of a news article published by the International Alchemist Association in the Daily Prophet a few months ago, shortly after Hogwarts started.

A young wizard from Hogwarts won the annual Alchemy Grand Prize—the Sage's Cup, with a prize of exactly 20,000.

And that little wizard

"It's you!" Rita Skeeter exclaimed in surprise. "You're the little wizard who won the Alchemy Prize?"

Her heart was in turmoil.

Given her intelligence, she would never believe that a mere wizard could make any significant alchemical invention; there must be a conspiracy behind it.

"This is a perfect example of 'a good teacher produces a good student'! It's all thanks to the teacher's excellent instruction that I have achieved what I have today," Owen said in a relaxed tone while directing Granger and Fleur to pose.

"A renowned teacher?" Rita Skeeter was overjoyed, her cheeks trembling with excitement.

Big news!

This is absolutely big news!

It must involve a famous wizard, or even—Dumbledore, who is highly accomplished in alchemy.

Sordid money dealings, the dark side of the famous white wizard, bribery issues within the Alchemy Guild—each of these could be major news stories worthy of extensive discussion.

Now all of this has come together in one person.

How could she not be excited?

"Oh! Yes. You know Nicolas Flamel, right? My alchemy professor. He likes me very much."

"Why, why does he like you so much?" Rita Skeeter asked excitedly, her voice trembling. The green automatic sketching pen never stopped for a second. Through the shadow of her muscular body, one could vaguely make out words like "academic fraud" and "hereditary circles" on the parchment.

"Maybe it's because I'm Dumbledore's favorite kid!" Owen explained.

"Stop fiddling with your hair, Miss Granger. Your ahoge is your true form, so give up the struggle."

"Then why does Dumbledore like you so much?" Rita Skeeter's eyes reddened, her eyes bulging with greed.

"Hmm—it's probably because my maternal grandfather was Grindelwald," Owen continued.

"You're a descendant of Grindelwald?" Rita Skeeter stared in disbelief.

Big news, another major news story.

"Grindelwald and Dumbledore are an old couple in the wizarding world, how could they possibly have offspring? My grandmother is the current headmistress of Durmstrang, Vanda Rozier."

Oh! Right, haven't I introduced myself yet?

My full name is Irving Wendy Rozier.

"Rozier?" Rita Skeeter immediately thought of that famous pure-blood wizarding family.

"The current head of the French Rozier family." At that moment, the other three warriors walked in, and Owen quickly gestured for them to stand together so they could take a group photo for the front page of the newspaper. "The former vice president of the Federation, you know him! He personally handed me the family tree."

"Merlin's beard!" Even the battle-hardened Rita Skeeter couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.

This child, surrounded by such a vast network of relationships, was practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

—Aside from not being very bright, good heavens—she blurted out all his dark and sordid thoughts without even using any seduction techniques.

This made her feel a little frustrated.

But that didn't matter, because by then, her sketching pen was almost sparking.

A spoiled young master from a powerful family, born into nobility and with close ties to several famous wizards, leaps off the page.

She even fabricated a story of shady money transactions spanning from the Federation to the International Academic Association and then to the British Ministry of Magic.

I'm sure that if this is published in the newspaper, it will cause a huge uproar.

She quickly stuffed the quill and parchment into her crocodile-skin handbag and fastened the clasp.

Haha!

Make a name for yourself today—now!

"Um—this big-haired lady, are you planning to publish that nonsense you just made up in the Daily Prophet?" As Rita Skeeter put away the parchment, Owen began interviewing the warriors—that was impossible.

This kind of thing is naturally handled by Miss Granger!

Hahaha—Let the Warriors investigate the Warriors, let the reporters deal with the reporters!

"Oh! Of course, this would be good news, wouldn't it?" Rita Skeeter smiled tactfully, then walked straight toward the other warriors.

Hmm—we've already eaten the main course; the rest will just be some pastries.

"Hmm—you're quite interesting." Just as she turned around, Owen's voice reached her ears, "Did you graduate from Ravenclaw?"

"This is an insult to the word 'intelligence.' If you have a modicum of sense, you should know what the consequences would be if you published that fabricated article."

Irving sat on the table, his hands behind his back.

"Let me summarize for you what you wrote."

"A young wizard whose maternal grandmother is the headmistress of another magic academy and an assistant to the Dark Lord who sparked the First Wizarding War; whose maternal grandfather is the Dark Lord himself, who possesses the Animagus disguise; oh—he also has a deep relationship with the world's most powerful white wizard and maintains a friendship with a famous alchemist who has lived for over six hundred years; most importantly, this young wizard's family holds a pivotal position and power in the International Wizarding Federation and maintains influence in various associations."

Now—you intend to slander him?

"I mean, is it possible that you shouldn't have come to Hogwarts at all, and you should have gone to St. Elizabeth Hospital instead, because you definitely have some kind of mental illness?"

"."

Irving spoke clearly, word by word.

Rita Skeeter's face grew increasingly dark as he spoke.

In the past, she slandered all sorts of wizards, even Dumbledore, knowing that they might be angry but would never lay a hand on her.

They specifically bully honest people.

But that's Grindelwald!

If it gets published, whether she survives or not is no longer important; what she should be worried about is whether she'll be cut into eight pieces.

"Hmm—maybe you should look back?" Owen looked at her meaningfully.

Because at that moment, the door was suddenly opened.

The sudden sound of the door being pushed open made Rita Skeeter tremble like a startled bird.

Then, she turned around with a blank look in her eyes and an embarrassed expression.

"Dumbledore!" Rita Skeeter shouted.

She turned around and saw the smiling, white-bearded old man!

And the guy next to Old Deng—Good heavens! I'm not seeing things, am I?!

That's—Grindelwald, the Dark Lord!!!

"Hello," Dumbledore greeted him warmly, his eyes shining brightly. "I read the article you wrote this summer about the International Confederation of Wizards."

He said, "It's really well written. I especially loved the part where you described me as a rigid old madman."

At this moment, Rita Skeeter felt like dying.

But it wasn't because of the old principal's lame joke, but because of Gellert Grindelwald, who has certainly jumped on his coattails quite a bit.

As we all know, what readers love most is the fall of angels and the return of prodigal sons, the collapse of towering idols, and nitpicking with a magnifying glass.

This is the evil of human nature.

Rita Skeeter excels at depicting this kind of thing, and it's hard to imagine what kind of character Grindelwald would be in her writing.

"It's just artistic embellishment, nothing more."

"Oh, and that biography of Bathilda Bagshot, though it's just a brief, but—you know, she might not agree with some of the points you make in it." Dumbledore said with a smile, glancing at Grindelwald beside him.

His grandfather's response was nothing more than a cold laugh.

Bathilda Bagshot, a renowned historian of magic, author of the History of Magic textbook at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was a friend of Dumbledore and their neighbor.

Many years ago, it was she who introduced her grand-nephew Grindelwald to Dumbledore.

Last year, when rumors about Grindelwald spread throughout the wizarding world, Rita Skeeter, always eager to capitalize on the hype, immediately went to "visit" Bathilda Bagshot.

Given her despicable nature, it was impossible for her to get any information from Ms. Bathilda Baghatt, but that guy could still fabricate stories.

In her writing, Bathilda Baghatt is portrayed as a grumpy, eccentric, and obsessive woman obsessed with stories of celebrities.

"I--"

It felt like someone was choking me.

Her face flushed red, and she stared at Grindelwald with eyes full of terror.

She knew Dumbledore wouldn't do anything to her, but Grindelwald—that was the infamous dark wizard.

I've really had a run of bad luck this time.

Furthermore, why is Grindelwald here?

Dumbledore protected him!!!

In an instant, Rita Skeeter felt a chill run down her spine as she realized what was happening.

"Hooray! Looks like some people won't be making it out of Hogwarts alive!"

Behind her, Owen's sarcastic voice could still be heard.

It sounded like the whispers of a demon.

The contempt was mixed with schadenfreude and a certain allure of death.

"roll!"

A cold, disdainful, yet heavenly voice suddenly rang in Rita Skeeter's ears, and an ingratiating, salty smile immediately appeared on her face as she picked up her crocodile skin bag.

He bowed and scraped to the crowd, his tight green clothes bulging, which only added to his greasy appearance.

Then, as if she were fleeing, she slipped away from the room.

Never looking back.

"Hmph~~~" Owen felt nothing as he watched Rita Skeeter flee in disarray.

He skillfully jumped off the table, turned around, and went with Luna to discuss how to write the manuscript.

He will never have anything to do with someone like Rita Skeeter.

They are from two different worlds, and an unexpected encounter will not become an insignificant footnote in their lives.

On his journey to the top, those who truly accompanied him were always people like Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Perhaps someone else will walk with him in the future.

But for a clown like Rita Skeeter, he only needs to maintain a certain level of intimidation over her.

She's a smart person; otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to stir up trouble in the magic world for so many years without crossing anyone's red line.

So she would know how to write reports about him.

Meanwhile, the interviews for "Singing a Different Tune" are also in full swing.

Honestly, there wasn't much to interview. Miss Granger aside, he was familiar with Cedric and Fleur Owen, and as for Krum, the Quidditch superstar, the tabloids had already thoroughly investigated his background.

The only person that none of the people present knew was perhaps the witch Koyatl Stewart, the Iphamoni.

Unfortunately, this woman was incredibly aloof. Even Hermione, a fellow warrior, couldn't get any information out of her. No matter what she said, she only received a contemptuous sneer.

It made people furious!

If Dumbledore hadn't been there, Owen would have beaten her to a pulp.

Having no other choice, Owen finally decided to go to Professor Euryale to learn about her background.

He's not like Rita Skeeter, a scoundrel who just makes things up.

Next, it seems to be time for Ollivander to help the warrior examine the wand.

This has nothing to do with him.

The only thing that Irving was wondering was what kind of expression Ollivander would have when he saw his grandfather Grindelwald again.

It's funny to think about.

So he resolutely stayed!

However—Dumbledore seemed to have seen through his thoughts; the grandfather did not come in, nor did he linger after Rita Skeeter left.

This is a real shame for Irving.

"Brave warriors, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Ollivander," Dumbledore said to the five warriors, standing still. "He will be checking your wands to make sure they are in good condition before the match."

As he finished speaking, an old wizard with two large, light-colored eyes quietly walked in through another door.

He outlined his body, his whole body trembling.

His face was deathly pale and lifeless.

It was Mr. Ollivander, who looked the same as before, just as angry.

"Oh! Mr. Ollivander, hello there!" Owen waved enthusiastically, trying to add fuel to the fire of his anger.

"Mr. Sanchez," he looked up and said, emphasizing each word, "you are truly an honest boy."

Mr. Ollivander turned his head to look at the other doorway.

"Ever since you left, I've believed you were deceiving me, just trying to trick me out of that wand."

He said angrily.

He was met with Dumbledore's gaze. "Alright, Ollivander, I think we shouldn't bring the grudges of the previous generation into Hogwarts."

"Miss Delacour, would you like to be the first one here?" he said.

"Yes, sir." Fleur nodded and gracefully walked toward Mr. Ollivander, handing him her wand.

After catching his breath and calming down, Mr. Ollivander finally looked a little better. He calmly took Fleur's wand and, as if handling a conductor's baton, twirled it between his slender fingers, causing it to spew out many pink and gold sparks.

Then he brought the wand close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Not bad!" he said softly. After touching the wand, Mr. Ollivander seemed to have transformed back into the professional wand maker that everyone knew, one of the three great European wand makers.

"Nine inches, very strong, made of maple, contains... um?"

"It contains a Veela hair," Fleur said. "It's my grandmother's hair."

Fleur's words drew the attention of the young wizards present.

Although most of them had different expressions, it was still quite surprising to see a living wizard with magical blood standing in front of them.

Luna, in particular, blinked her silver eyes and carefully examined Hibiscus.

Because she knew that Owen also possessed some kind of magical bloodline.

“Yes!” said Mr. Ollivander. “Of course, I myself have never used Veela hair. I find wands made from Veela hair too sensitive and capricious, but everyone has their own preferences, and since it suits you…”

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers over the wand, clearly checking it for scratches and dents.

Then, he murmured, "The orchids are in full bloom!"

The next second, a bouquet of flowers bloomed on the wand.

"Very good, you're in great shape!" said Mr. Ollivander, gathering the flowers and handing them, along with his wand, to Fleur. "Mr. Diggory, it's your turn."

Fleur put away her wand, then smiled gently and walked toward Hermione.

Cedric's wand is a product of Ollivander, one-twelfth of an inch long, made of elm wood.

This wand is very flexible, and its core is made of male unicorn tail hair.

“Yes, I remember it very well,” said Mr. Ollivander. “There was a hair in there, probably five or six feet long, plucked from the tail of a particularly beautiful male unicorn. Hagrid said she was a docile child, but when I plucked her tail hair, she almost poked a hole in me with her horn.”

Mr. Ollivander's sarcastic remarks brought a knowing smile to the faces of the young wizards at Hogwarts.

Hagrid, huh!

His aesthetic sense is always different from that of ordinary people.

"This wand is very powerful; only a skilled wizard can wield it."

Mr. Ollivander praised Cedric's wand highly, nodding in satisfaction.

He waved it gently, and a string of silvery-white smoke rings shot out from the tip of his wand, drifting from one end of the room to the other.

(End of this chapter)