I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 306 The Last Thing She Left for Hogwarts

What do you think is the reason for this?

Dumbledore looked at him, his crescent-shaped eyes gleaming with wisdom.

"It looks like something has been taken away. It can't be the soul, because a person becomes very different when their soul is taken away, like that idiot Voldemort who lost his hair. It also doesn't seem like magic, because if it were magic, he shouldn't have been weak for so long."

The little wizard did cast spells until he was exhausted and fainted.

Most of them would spend the night in the school infirmary, take a dose of Madam Pomfrey's thick, stinky rag-smelling potion, and be back to their old selves the next day.

Unlike Weasley, who remained weak for over a month.

"Yes!" the old principal murmured.

In a fleeting moment, he glanced back at the petrified old monster, a flash of anger crossing his azure eyes.

Did those fairies mistake him for Blake?

"The answer will be available soon."

Following Dumbledore's gaze, Owen also looked in that direction. He saw Snape walking over, his eyes full of disgust, because there seemed to be several goblin corpses there, shriveled bodies, emitting a foul stench, as if they had been dead for a month.

He took out his wand, cast a levitation spell on the old goblin, and then flicked his finger to teleport him to the other side of the black wall.

Irving could probably guess what would happen to the old man if Ludo Bagman was forced to drink a few drops of truth serum.

Then this fairy must have truth serum injected into her meridians.

Haha—just kidding.

Truth Potion is such a precious potion; if there's another way to pry open its mouth, it's better not to use it.

It doesn't deserve it.

"However, we are not entirely ignorant." Just as Owen was pondering how Snape would pry open those two, the old headmaster suddenly spoke up.

He took an ampoule from his large robe.

"Mr. Victor's research on ancient magic is astonishing! In this respect, he has probably surpassed all of us."

As he spoke, he opened the bottle, tilted it slightly, and bright red liquid flowed out, dripping down the wound on Ginny's arm.

"Um?"

Irving's eyes widened.

The instant the red liquid touched the wound, he saw it faintly glow, a pale silver light. The flowing blood began to seep into her skin at a visible speed.

Then a miracle happened.

Ginny's skin, which was as pale as paper just a second ago and looked like she was about to die, was visibly regaining its rosy glow.

It was as if someone had painted colors onto her; in the blink of an eye, the girl appeared no different from an ordinary person, based solely on her appearance.

The wound on my arm healed in the blink of an eye.

As if stung, the little girl's brows furrowed slightly and her eyelashes trembled as the wound healed.

But this was only temporary; her expression soon returned to calm, as if she were asleep.

"What the hell?" Owen exclaimed.

Hermione looked at Dumbledore, thinking it was some kind of miracle drug.

Harry followed the professors here. He came closer, his face also filled with surprise.

He suddenly became inexplicably concerned about Ginny's situation, his eyes fixed on her the entire time.

When Dumbledore used the "potion" to heal Ginny, Harry's gaze towards the old headmaster held not only admiration and gratitude, but also a hint of resentment.

If Professor Dumbledore had a magical potion that could heal such wounds, why didn't he give Ron some?

Is this punishment for him?

Harry couldn't help but turn his head to look at Ron, who was standing next to him.

When he saw Ginny lying there covered in blood, he went crazy and tried to rush over, but he stopped himself.

Harry believed that Dumbledore would definitely have a solution.

Now that I look at it, it's true.

As for Ron, Harry was in favor of teaching his friend, who had gone completely insane, a lesson.

But on the other hand, he couldn't help but wonder if Cho Chang were a champion at Hogwarts, would he tell her about the competition?

Whenever these thoughts crossed his mind, Harry would immediately snap out of it. He dared not think about it too much, because he didn't think he could keep quiet about it.

Meanwhile, Harry was lost in thought.

Owen looked at Dumbledore with a face full of surprise.

He certainly knew what was in the ampoule in the old principal's hand.

Because that ampoule was the one he gave Dumbledore yesterday.

"What kind of principle is this? It's neither scientific nor magical!"

When did his blood acquire this effect?

Kyrie Irving was completely stunned!

So when I cut myself, why didn't the wound heal quickly? Does this magical effect only work on others and not on myself?

"Uh—no, that's not right either. It should only work on Weasley and his ilk," he guessed.

While Irving was racking his brains trying to figure out what was going on, Ron came over to him.

He craned his neck, his eyes fixed on Ginny. "Professor, my sister. Ah."

Before he could say anything, Irving kicked him to the ground.

Taking advantage of the troublemaker falling, he immediately pressed down with his knee.

"What are you doing!" Ron was still struggling, but Owen was unmoved. Shout away—he'd come back with his hoarse voice to save you.

Then, taking advantage of his unpreparedness, he activated his transformation technique, and the surrounding seaweed suddenly began to twitch wildly, then stretched out to bind his hands and feet tightly.

Then, with a "rip," he ripped off Ron's clothes.

The wand grazed his palm, and after a few drops of blood seeped out, a punch—no—a palm strike landed on his waist.

"ah----"

Someone let out a scream like a pig being slaughtered. The pitiful sound made it seem as if Owen was about to do something to him.

Its body twisted and struggled, like a caterpillar.

"What are you yelling for!" he said, and then slapped her again, cough cough—the kind of slap that was absolutely not motivated by any personal grudge.

"Daddy is passing on his powers to you!"

"Damn you, Owen!" Ron cursed, a painful cry escaping his lips as if the Dark Lord had cast a Cruciatus Curse on him.

"Wow! Full of energy!" Owen raised an eyebrow and slapped him again. "Looks like it's having some effect!"

"."

The scene was incredibly cringeworthy; Kyrie Irving was practically ready to be whipped.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout both looked away, their lips twitching.

Of the others present, only Dumbledore maintained a constant smile, perhaps because the headmaster was very experienced in this matter, though he probably wasn't using a small leather whip.

The other professors covered their faces and turned away, an awkward atmosphere spreading throughout the room. Several professors couldn't help but sigh inwardly, "These young people nowadays—they're really bold."

The magical world has indeed changed.

The world is going to the dogs, it's really going to the dogs!

Irving didn't notice the professors' gazes; he slapped them a few times, oh—that felt so good!

"Huh? It's not working!"

Ron's kidneys were still a deep bluish-black, completely unlike Ginny's, which had fully recovered.

"That's because you beat him up!!!" Harry quickly pulled Owen away. At first, Ron was yelling, but his complexion returned to normal at a visible speed, and a blush appeared.

Harry thought it was some kind of special treatment.

But he soon realized that Irving seemed to be simply beating up Ron.

Look what they did to his "real leading lady"!

"Oh! It really works!"

He took a few steps back, glanced at Ron's half-dead face, and saw—his face was streaked with tears.

Then, Irving looked down at his palm with great displeasure. The wound was slowly healing (he was casting a spell on himself: Heal quickly), but in his heart, a million curses were running through his mind.

Why?

Why can't I be completely intimate with Miss Granger?

Why are they a bunch of rough men?

He's at odds with the Weasleys, right?

Meanwhile, after Irving finally calmed down, the professors began to carefully examine the hidden place beneath the lake.

There were no legends about the Black Lake in the castle, not even in Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, where there were only a few words left, but this place—such a magical place—was truly the first time they had ever seen it.

Look over there.

The professors walked side by side to where the old monster had originally been.

They were absolutely certain that it was an altar.

A very simple altar.

However, the items that made up the altar looked very precious. At the center was a silver pillar that had been erected, about ten feet high, narrow at the top and thick at the bottom. The professors had reason to believe that it might be a single piece of mithril.

This pillar is ornately decorated. It is covered from top to bottom with densely packed ancient runes, carved with a knife or something similar.

At the top, where runes converge, is a blurry portrait, its abstract style making it look more like some kind of terrifying monster.

The monster's body was noticeably widened, its eyes were disproportionately large, and its feathers leaped like flames.

When Owen's eyes fell on the monster, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his head, as if he had been hit hard with a hammer.

Fine beads of sweat seeped from his forehead. The next second, it seemed as if his vision was suddenly obscured by something, and he seemed to see something, but that moment was very quick, probably only a few frames, and it was over in an instant.

When he turned around, Irving was already struggling to stand.

"What's wrong?" Miss Granger, who was beside him, quickly steadied him, her face filled with worry.

As clever as she was, she naturally realized that the contents of Dumbledore's bottle were Owen's blood; she had guessed it when he cut his hand to heal Ron.

She looked up at the statue on the silver pillar, but didn't notice anything unusual.

So she assumed that Owen had overexerted himself trying to heal Ginny and Ron.

"It's nothing." He took the little witch's hand. "She probably didn't sleep well. She caught a cold."

He smiled but didn't say anything more.

Meanwhile, the professors had arrived at the edge of the altar.

Professor Flitwick, holding his wand.

Faint blue lights flashed continuously from the tip of his wand, like a searchlight being turned on and off.

Everyone knew that he was checking the surroundings for any magical traps.

It's no wonder the professor was so cautious; that altar was simply too evil.

The silver pillar, besides being covered in evil runes, also had an iron chain extending from its top.

It was an iron chain about two fingers thick. The chain passed through the ribs of more than a dozen fairies, hanging them on a pillar. Their bodies were devoid of blood, and each one had become a dried corpse.

The corpses were pressed tightly against the pillar, giving the impression that the silver pillar had drained their blood.

The looming evil could not be ignored by Professor Flitwick.

Continuing downwards, there is an even more complex magic circle on the ground.

The hexagonal patterns are interwoven, surrounded by concentric circles of equally profound ancient runes.

The runes shimmered, with a pale blue light flickering within them.

"Evil! Utterly evil!"

Professor Flitwick pinched his nose; he was in a terrible mood.

Unlike Hagrid, who hides his lineage, everyone knows that Professor Flitwick has some goblin blood.

Although the professor appears almost identical to a human in every way except for his short stature, he doesn't have a large head, a pointed nose and ears, or long hands and feet.

However, upon seeing this group of wicked fairies, the professor's heart was still stirred. Even with his wisdom, he couldn't help but worry that the young wizard might harbor resentment towards him because of this incident.

"The scent of ancient magic."

At that moment, a young man with a limp walked up behind him.

"Most of the surrounding magic runes mean gathering, extracting, and condensing," Victor said, frowning. "Someone extracted something from these fairies' bodies, I guess it was flesh and blood, and then gathered it into something."

"Sacrifice?" Professor Flitwick immediately understood and uttered the word.

"That's probably right, that's how they can open the altar."

"Where does the altar connect to?" Professor Frivi pressed.

"I don't know, that's not my area of ​​research. In fact, extremely evil and dark magic such as demons, altars, and sacrifices was completely destroyed when the International Wizarding Federation was founded. All books and research reports on this kind of magic were destroyed."

I don't believe that kind of book still exists in the wizarding world today. Even in ancient magic schools like Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, their libraries don't contain a single record of sacrificial magic from the Dark Ages.

"What about those pure-blood families?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"I don't think they have any either." Victor took a booklet out of his pocket, and the booklet floated up, waking up the automatic recording quill that had been sleeping on one of the pages.

It began to write furiously, recording all the runes on the ground as they were.

"So many years have passed, it's impossible for them to suddenly produce such an evil spellbook now. If they really had one, they would have produced it during the First Wizarding War when Voldemort was at the height of his power."

"Hmm!" Professor Flitwick nodded. "Let's seal this place off; we can only study it slowly."

Then he looked to the side, his gaze passing over the altar, behind which was a lush area with abundant water and grass, and a large pile of rubble scattered on the ground.

Their regular shapes clearly indicate that they were formed from the cracks in a sculpture.

Immediately, the professor cast a restoration spell, and sure enough, these were parts of a statue, and they had just been damaged. It wasn't time that had brought them down.

The stones began to recombine.

It was as if the undo button had been pressed, and everything returned to its original state.

"This is?"

Professor Flitwick looked surprised.

Then the other professors also noticed this.

They walked over, gathered together, and countless eyes fell on the four statues.

Statue of the founder of Hogwarts!

Moreover, it is a statue of the founder of Hogwarts in his youth.

The statue must have been protected by a powerful spell, as it has not weathered over a thousand years. The features, clothing, and even the texture of the skin are still clearly visible.

They looked to be in their early twenties.

At that time, the founders had not yet established Hogwarts; they were traveling together, like an adventure team in a fantasy story, throughout Europe.

Four exceptionally gifted wizards, four young wizards with lofty ambitions.

Just like when Dumbledore met Grindelwald, they were passionately connected.

The four statues, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, walk in the middle. One holds a golden cup and looks happily at the girl beside him, seemingly about to discuss what to eat for dinner. The other has a calm expression, holding a manuscript, and looks helplessly at the girl who is lower than him and chattering about the recipe.

On the other side of the two—beside Hufflepuff stood Gryffindor, carrying a sword, his eyes gazing elsewhere, leading one to wonder if he was searching for something like a blade of grass.

Standing beside Ravenclaw was Slytherin, who was clutching a parchment scroll in his hand. His eyes, however, were not on the scroll. Instead, he turned his head away and looked at Gryffindor as if they were idiots, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

Lifelike, the statue seems to come alive.

I could almost hear the four of them laughing.

Just like the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, just like it was a thousand years ago.

"This sculpture"

There are never any portraits of the four founders in their youth at Hogwarts.

In their memory, the founders all seemed to be in their sixties. Perhaps Ravenclaw was luckier, as she was the first of the four founders to pass away, and she did not leave behind her gray-haired appearance for posterity.

Apart from that, most of the other portraits of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor are of them in their middle age, while the only portrait of Slytherin is hanging in the Slytherin common room, where he looks old and frail.

Today, you can see sculptures of the four founders in their youth.

Suddenly, the wizards present realized that the legendary wizards, the creators of Hogwarts, who were once so famous and renowned, had also been young, had been so impetuous, and had once been like the wind, going wherever they wanted.

"here--"

Professor Flitwick frowned. He had no idea what this place, this underwater chamber, was, or who created it.

This statue must have been sculpted a thousand years ago, because only someone who had seen the founder in his youth could have created such a lifelike sculpture. It's impossible to achieve such a vivid depiction through mere imagination.

Even the other professors, including Professor McGonagall, couldn't guess where this place was.

Snape watched calmly, seemingly uninterested in any of it.

Only Irving noticed it.

These are inconspicuous signs scattered all over the mountains and fields.

"This is Helga Hufflepuff's final resting place." Owen held Hermione's hand and walked slowly towards them, followed by Dumbledore, Harry, and Ron with his hunched back.

Ginny's breathing had stabilized and her body had fully recovered, but she was still unconscious for a while, possibly due to the shock. Dumbledore checked on her and found that she was simply asleep.

"Irving—"

Upon hearing Owen's words, Professor Sprout's eyes widened as he looked around in disbelief at the seaweed swaying in the wind and the massive tree.

Gradually, she understood.

this--

The professor slowly squatted down, his fingers brushing against a seaweed.

"This isn't seaweed," she said. "This is wheat without ears of grain."

Then she pointed to the tree, "That's—an apple tree?"

The professor had never seen such a huge apple tree before and hesitated for a moment.

"It's an apple tree," Owen answered sincerely. "The cheapest fruit in Europe—because everyone can afford it."

Suddenly, a solemn wind blew through this peaceful resting place buried deep beneath the black lake.

"The great Hufflepuff left Hogwarts its last treasure."

"It's a wheat field and an apple tree."

Countless branches and leaves swayed in the wind, their glossy leaves shimmering as if mirrors were mounted on the branches.

They seem to be telling people a story from a thousand years ago.

The story is like a deep instrument, the rustling of leaves softly singing, accompanied by sorrow and glory, creating waves of sound.

The sound spread, seemingly penetrating the dome, passing through the Black Lake, and resounding throughout the entire Hogwarts.

"oops!"

Suddenly, a dark-colored branch appeared above Irving's head, its tender buds swaying slightly. Then, an apple fell from the tree trunk and hit him squarely on the head.

It was as if Lady Hufflepuff was rewarding his intelligence.

In a daze, he even heard a gentle and warm laugh in his ear, and a sentence, "Hufflepuff plus five points."

In an instant, that concern that had spanned a thousand years landed on Irving's shoulder. Time inflated that simple emotion, and then it suddenly burst. People's emotions were like this balloon, as if they had reached a certain peak, and then burst out with a bang.

It moved everyone.

Miss Granger even felt a lump in her throat.

After a long pause, Irving held the apple, rubbed his head, smiled at the apple tree, and whispered, "Thank you, Professor."

Immediately, the wind picked up, the branches and leaves began to sway violently, and the rustling sound became louder, as the waves crashed against the shore.

This was also Hufflepuff's response to him.

"God—"

"Incredible."

Harry and Ron exclaimed in shock.

They felt as if their bodies and minds had been purified.

The professors, led by Professor Sprout and including Dumbledore, all wore solemn expressions.

They faced the apple tree that Lady Hufflepuff had become, removed their hats, and bowed slightly in respect.

(End of this chapter)