I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 296 Rozier's Visitor

To this day, we still don't know whether Ron was happy or miserable.

Perhaps both.

"What exactly does that woman want?"

At that moment, George and Fred also came over.

They danced with their partners for a long time, probably to relax, and then they planned to sneak out of the castle to find a grove of trees.

"Is that even a question? Could it be for the seven chicken legs in Ron's belly?" Owen glanced at the witch. This woman is strange. If you really wanted the Weasley family treasure, why were you acting so annoyed? As if you wanted everyone to know you had ulterior motives?

"The Weasleys' treasure?" Fred said quietly. "But how did she know? I mean, who told her?"

"Who told her isn't important. What's important is that she didn't want to get involved, but someone demanded she do. What I want to know is, who's behind this?"

"Could it be Professor Yurali?" Fred immediately suspected the current headmaster of Ifamoni. After all, if Koyatl had to take orders from one person, the only person the young wizards could think of was the headmaster.

"Professor Yurali is a Dumbledore follower through and through, ever since she was in Ilvermorny." Owen shook his head, took a sip of his butterbeer, and looked at Hermione, whose eyes were shining with interest. She seemed very interested in the possible huge conspiracy.

Seeing this, Owen's face darkened slightly, revealing his displeasure. Tonight was a special night; wasn't their most important task going into the woods?

What Weasley's treasure—to hell with it!

He could probably defeat the Outer Gods even without those treasures.

As he spoke, he squinted at Miss Granger beside him.

Beneath that deep blue dress lay skin as smooth and lustrous as jade, with glimpses of snow-white skin peeking out. Her taut, elastic thighs possessed a beautifully curved figure, a symbol of youth, honed through Hermione's constant running around.

Of course, the girl's beauty is definitely not limited to these aspects.

It's like seeing a range of mountains and peaks. The undulating peaks and valleys are indeed beautiful when viewed from afar, but the mountains are just there, and the alluring mist on the mountainside is like a veil, making people want to get closer and peek at their true appearance.

Especially this year.

This year is not a good year.

Miss Granger's unexpected transformation into a warrior has made her even busier than before, given her already limited time.

It's important to know that in addition to eleven courses (seven compulsory and four elective), Hermione also has a lot of alchemy experiments and manuscript preparation work to do.

During the first week of their holiday, while they were dating, she carried two notebooks with her. One was a collection of ancient runes that she had copied from an underground chamber, and the other was his book, "Unveiling the Secrets of Ancient Alchemy." Whenever she remembered something she didn't understand, she would openly ask him.

Before they were inseparable, she was shy and didn't often ask him questions. Now, however, she felt no pressure at all. This sometimes gave Owen a strong sense of déjà vu, as if he were tutoring Hermione.

Beside her, Miss Granger felt uneasy under Owen's intense gaze. He often did this, but in the past, whenever he looked at her like this, there was always a hint of scheming in his eyes, as if he was plotting how to trick her. But now—those messy expressions were discarded, and what remained was something that made the little witch feel hot.

"Never mind them." Owen grabbed Hermione's smooth hand, then turned to Harry and the others, saying, "It's a ball today! Don't any of you have girlfriends? You must be bored."

With that, he turned to leave the Great Hall with Hermione.

He knew several places where little wizards wouldn't be around, and where their bond would reach a new level!

"Owen—" came a woman's voice from behind him.

Irving did not turn around.

Even when his own mother came, he still left without hesitation.

"Irving Sanchez!!!"

The voice sounded more serious and strangely familiar.

Owen turned around abruptly and saw the familiar witch looking at him. "Grandma?" (to distinguish her from maternal grandmother).

The person who came was his maternal grandmother, Wenda Rozier.

"Ahem—Wow, it's so nice to see you!" A smile immediately spread across his face. "By the way, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Someone wants to see you." She wore a fitted trench coat and a black flat-bottomed hat with a few strands of black lace dangling from the edge. Her noble bearing stood out from the crowd; even the air seemed to carry a faint scent of roses as she approached. "Now, immediately," she said in an unquestionable tone.

"But—I..." Irving stammered.

But Wenda had already turned and left.

She stepped towards the small door that was originally next to the podium.

"Uh—is it really that domineering?" He shook his head, looking at Miss Granger beside him with some regret.

He wouldn't turn back even if his own mother came—but unfortunately, it was his mother who came.

This should still be respected.

"You're very lucky, Miss Granger," Owen said. "I'll eat you up next time I have the chance!"

After saying that, Irving quickly followed.

The little witch, her face flushed, was left standing there.

After squeezing through the side door and walking a few steps, Owen noticed several unfamiliar adult wizards standing in the corridor ahead.

At the ball, he saw these wizards; they stood with Wenda and said something to each other.

"Is that him?" One of the three spoke first as Irving approached.

She was an old woman with a wrinkled face, nearing the end of her life, dressed in gorgeous clothes, with jeweled jewelry around her neck and wrists. But the clothes didn't suit her very well; they were loose and baggy, as if she were wearing someone else's clothes.

"Perhaps these are clothes from when she was young," Owen guessed.

"Hmm." Wenda replied calmly. Owen noticed that she had put some distance between herself and the three people.

After saying that, the four people nodded and then turned and walked towards the spiral staircase.

The old woman said in a dry voice, "Keep up."

The four of them walked towards the spiral staircase, one in front of the other, maintaining a certain distance.

"Tap tap!" The crisp sound of high heels clicking on the marble floor carried far down the empty corridor.

Although the group did not identify themselves, Owen was certain they were all members of the Rozier family based on their impeccable attire and overflowing elegance.

Soon, they arrived at the second floor.

Next to Professor McGonagall's office is another room.

This used to be his grandmother's office last year.

It seems that Professor McGonagall cleared out the clutter after she returned.

Pushing open the oak door, you see a thick brown carpet on the floor and blue-black wallpaper on the walls, with blue as the base color and black roses as embellishments.

The only stove in the room was burning.

The crystal chandelier overhead lit up automatically the moment they opened the door, and there were several armchairs in the living room.

Wenda removed her black robe, revealing a dark green silk dress. She placed her hands on her lower abdomen, her fingers slightly interlacing, and the teapot on the stove floated up. Then, the glass cabinet in the corner slowly opened, and an exquisite porcelain teacup floated down into her hand, along with the coffee that had been poured from the teapot.

Irving didn't feel comfortable either. He snapped his fingers, and the same teapot, the same teacup, the same coffee were served.

He even sat down on the armchair, just like his grandmother.

He crossed his right leg over his left, his foot raised high, placed his right hand on the armrest, and then leaned his whole body against it.

The two, one big and one small, moved as if copied and pasted. They picked up their coffee cups, took a small sip, and then let them float down onto the table next to their armchairs.

"Are you looking for me?" He clasped his hands together, a slight smile playing on his lips, his gray eyes fixed on the three strangers, once again echoing his grandmother's sentiments.

Judging by appearance alone, you can clearly see that Irving looks almost exactly like his grandmother, with the same gray eyes, the same black hair, and the same confident, arrogant, and languid aura. If it weren't for the slowly emerging legacy left to him by his mother, such as the few silver strands in Irving's hair and the emerald green accents in his gray eyes, they might look even more alike.

Very well—the old witch showed no emotional fluctuation at all because of Owen's rudeness; in fact, she was quite pleased.

At least she could assert that the child was indeed of the Rozier family bloodline.

"Owen Rozier." The witch also found an armchair and sat down. Unlike the languid posture of the grandmother and grandson before her, her legs were together, her back straight, and her expression dignified. Although age had caused her skin to sag, her elegant demeanor was still striking. This couldn't help but evoke the thought that perhaps decades ago, she too had been a beauty who could outshine even the roses. "I have just arrived in England," she said calmly.

Irwin noticed that her grandmother didn't seem to have any intention of pouring them coffee as well.

"Everything here shocks me. It's astonishing that the Rozier family, so active in Britain, could be so foolish as to bring themselves to the brink of destruction."

"It's Sanchez—" Irving pointed at her.

"Don't utter that foolish surname." The witch looked at him sternly, her gray eyes still cloudy, yet a majestic light shone from them.

Then, she changed the subject, "You should go back to France, not stay here. Being so close to the eye of the storm is not good for you."

"But I don't see any storm," Owen said calmly. He then used his magic to levitate the teacup, took a sip, and continued, "An ant might think the waves of a stream are a deadly storm, but to a petrel battling the ocean, it's just a ripple, barely noticeable without careful observation."

"Heh—" The old witch chuckled slightly, speaking with a mocking tone, "You really are just like my sister, equally arrogant. But most of the time, arrogance is like a slow poison; you've already reached the point of death without even realizing it."

"Alright." She leaned back slightly and raised her head gently. "I didn't come here for you. As far as the family is concerned, we won't acknowledge your status until you demonstrate sufficient talent."

"It's best not to admit it," Irving said lazily, tilting his head back. "I find it troublesome anyway."

The witch snorted, perhaps disgusted by Owen's ignorance, then changed the subject, "I heard from Wenda that you have a Muggle girlfriend?"

"?"

Upon hearing the sound, Owen looked at his grandmother with considerable surprise. At that moment, Wenda was holding her coffee and savoring it. She was sitting the furthest away from them, with a calm expression on her face, showing no desire to participate in their conversation.

She must have arrived at Hogwarts tonight, because when I first saw her, her trench coat was still covered in snowflakes.

Moreover, he had seen Grindelwald and Dumbledore discussing something in the corridor yesterday, but his grandfather was nowhere to be seen today. So his grandmother must have come to take his place.

If she hadn't heard any rumors tonight, she should have figured out his relationship with Miss Granger a year ago.

That's really sharp!

"She was indeed born a Muggle," Owen said calmly.

"Hmph!" The old woman suddenly snorted heavily, then her tone abruptly changed, becoming hysterical, "If the upper beam is crooked, the lower beam will be crooked too!"

She said, "One never married, the other married a Muggle, and now it's your turn?"

"To actually mate with a Mudblood! How many more times will you tarnish Rozier's noble bloodline!"

She stared at him, her hands gripping the armchair handles tightly, as if she were about to drag him back and lock him in the family dungeon.

"Tsk tsk—" Owen chuckled softly.

Then he slowly pulled the wand out of his coat pocket.

"I haven't heard this word in many years."

He smirked, tilting his head to look at his grandmother. "Can you give me a reason not to kill her?"

Owen flicked his wrist slightly, and his wand swayed as he aimed it at the witch.

"How dare you!" Before the adult could even speak, the brat was already eager to show off.

Behind the old witch, the man on the left stepped forward, quickly drew his wand, and stared at Owen with a vicious look.

"How young and fearless!" Owen said coldly, his smile gradually fading.

Hmph—he's really changed!

I was influenced by Miss Granger.

"Avada Kedavra!" The next second, his wand lit up with a blinding green light, like the shadow cast by the Grim Reaper. Accompanied by countless shrill screams, the spell grazed the wizard's cheek with lightning speed.

"Shh!" He raised his left hand, extended his middle finger, and put it to his lips. He said coldly, "Children shouldn't interrupt adults!"

"Otherwise—" The next second, the wand in his hand slid rapidly in a small motion, and the Silent Cutting Charm was cast instantly.

"what!"

Only one piercing scream escaped its lips.

The wizard's hand, the fingers that held his wand, had several cut off, but when the pain forced him to scream, his mouth, like a wound, slowly healed and eventually merged back into one.

"Waaah—"

"Bang!"

He collapsed to the ground, clutching his hands in agony, howling but unable to utter a sound. His eyes were filled with nothing but terror.

"Phew!" But Irving picked up his coffee and downed it in one gulp. "All done."

He stood up from his chair. "No one can stop me from getting what I want. Before choosing to be my enemy, I suggest you think carefully about your own capabilities."

Irving smiled slightly: "People always have to pay the price for their ignorance."

"I hope that next time we meet, what you'll have to pay isn't your life!"

"etc--"

Irving turned to leave.

But before he could take a step, the old witch beside him shouted.

She showed no anger at Irving's brutality; in fact, she could even see excitement on her face.

It was as if they had discovered some rare treasure.

"Sit down—" Wenda said appropriately. The teapot floated up to the table next to Owen's armchair, and the brown coffee poured out like a stream into his teacup.

"She was my cousin," Grandma said. "The most important thing she did for you was to invite your mother back into the family. She convinced most of the family wizards at the time—"

"snort."

"While some madman was chasing his own daughter, he provided his niece with a safe house," the old witch said coldly. A hint of hatred flashed in her eyes as she looked at Wenda.

"If it weren't for my sister's foolish actions, perhaps my exceptionally talented niece would have led Rozier to even greater glory!"

"Uh." Owen pursed his lips and sat down again.

"Very good, that's a very good reason."

He then looked up and examined his maternal grandmother and her cousin.

Your family's love-hate relationship is damn complicated.

Although Irving no longer intends to pursue all the crimes of the previous generation, he was still shocked by the complicated and tangled relationships between these people after hearing these hidden stories.

The old woman who dared to speak ill of Miss Granger in front of him was probably his mother's dearest aunt.

It can only be said that this world is neither black nor white, but rather a delicate shade of gray.

"What's her name!" the old witch suddenly asked, staring intently at Owen. "I'm more curious about that Muggle witch who's worthy of Rozier."

"Although I would never allow Rozier to marry a Muggle!"

"Hermione Granger!"

"Hermione Granger?" The old witch frowned slightly, her tone softening as she realized she'd heard the name somewhere before, and found it amusing.

"Wait—" Before the old woman could speak, behind her and to her right, another male wizard, a man who looked about the same size as Sirius Black, suddenly looked shocked, his mouth agape as if it could fit a fire serpent egg.

"Miss Granger?"

"Is it Miss Granger? The heiress of Gryffindor, one of the champions of this tournament, the Miss Granger who's been making headlines in the newspapers lately?"

The loud voice behind her rattled off all of Hermione's titles in one breath.

Then, a glint of light flashed in the old woman's eyes.

She remembered.

It's that girl!

"Is the village just connected to the Daily Prophet?" Irving scoffed.

"This—" The old woman suddenly fell silent.

Her face was a whirlwind of emotions, sometimes excited, sometimes conflicted, and sometimes showing a hint of regret—it was all incredibly fascinating.

It took her more than a minute to process this astonishing news.

"Ahem." She coughed lightly, her expression contorted like a dough ball, and after a long while, she managed to force a smile. "Oh, it's that lady."

Then, with a hint of urgency, she asked, "Is she really a descendant of Godric?"

"If you think it is, then it is; if you think it isn't, then it isn't."

"That's it!" Her resolute voice startled Owen. Well—just now he thought this old witch would be a character like Sirius's mother, but now—you've become pragmatic way too fast!

No wonder the Rozier family has branches all over three continents; this flexible bottom line is definitely an important reason.

Suddenly, his great-aunt's back and legs stopped aching, and her gloomy face disappeared; she was as happy as a sunflower.

"Is that young lady still in the auditorium?"

"exist."

"Could we invite her over? Oh! This old lady, nearing the end of her life, would like to see her."

"Okay, fine!"

Irving was caught off guard by how quickly his aunt changed her mind.

Honestly, he still preferred that rebellious look from just now.

Because that way he wouldn't feel any psychological pressure if he started to fight.

But now—as the saying goes, you can't hit a smiling face—he's in a really awkward situation.

Feeling restricted and constrained.

Then he stood up and strode quickly toward the oak door.

After pushing it open, it quickly disappeared into the corridor.

"It really does have the aura of that Dark Lord," the old witch said in the room, her tone a mixture of mockery and melancholy.

There was nothing that could be done about it—all three generations of Rozier's children had close ties with that man, and most importantly, they had all been infected with the Dark Lord's lawless personality. As a result, although the family had produced top wizards for three consecutive generations, it did not bring any benefits whatsoever.

Even Rozier's career has declined.

It has to be said, sometimes the world really is a dark comedy.

"That's just his nature," Wenda said calmly, moving her fingers to loosen the mouth of the poor fellow struggling on the ground.

Then a dark purple potion floated out of the glass display case.

When the medicine was applied to his suspended, reattached severed finger, white smoke rose up, followed by white foam emerging from his wound. As the foam gradually disappeared, the severed finger had miraculously healed completely.

She wouldn't change her opinion of that little monster—although she promised Gellert she wouldn't be his enemy anymore, some things can't be changed with just a few words.

A silence gradually fell over the room.

Silence—nothing could be heard except for the sound of the wind outside the window.

It must be that Wenda put some kind of magic on the walls, otherwise the noisy music in the auditorium and the singing trumpet flowers in the corridor would definitely have made noise.

"Snap!"

It was the sound of crackling firelight, a sudden sound that brought a little bit of life to the quiet office.

Not long after, someone knocked on the office door.

Owen then returned and led Miss Granger inside.

(End of this chapter)