I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 381 Heretical Arts

"If you're referring to the Merlin mentioned in 'The History of Magic,' then he's definitely not him!" Owen slammed in, "He's a shameless con artist who uses someone else's identity. And whatever you do, don't go near him, because he steals!"

"Ara—is it really that heartless of you to say this?" Merlin murmured, feigning sorrow.

"So when are you planning to pay me back my 300,000 Galleons?"

"Huh? Another 100,000?"

"Do you understand interest? If you don't pay it back now, it'll be 500,000 tomorrow!" Irving said viciously.

There aren't many things he can't tolerate.

But stealing his money is definitely among the top things he does.

If it were any other wizard, Owen would have already stripped those bitter tea seeds off the tree and sold them for interest; he wouldn't have wasted any time talking to them.

"So...you really are Merlin?" Bill's eyes lit up. He could guess something from Owen's attitude toward the young wizard in front of him.

He didn't know Owen well, but from correspondence with other Weasley wizards, especially Ron, he knew that Owen was a powerful and unruly young wizard who only showed respect to Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Moreover, in the letter, Ron emphasized that the man was extremely greedy, and no one dared to owe him money. If you dared to do so, you would face a storm of retribution.

"Well, that's right! I am Merlin." Merlin raised his head and said with great pride, "Surprised? Didn't expect the legendary Merlin to be so handsome?"

"."

Irving noticed that Bill's lips twitched slightly.

Then he hurriedly said, "Indeed, I didn't expect that."

"I never expected it to be so unreliable!" Irving thought to himself, cursing wildly.

"By the way, where are the healers? I'm one of only two wizards who can cure curses, are they just being so negligent?" Looking around, Owen suddenly realized that the corridor was empty, and there wasn't a single healer in sight.

"They must have gone to the ward where High Priest Lavyu of the Voodoo Church is," Bill said, pointing to a side road not far away. In this well-connected hospital, this wasn't the only isolation area.

“That’s the intensive care unit,” he said. “Ms. Wilma Lawton has never been a fan of the Voodoo’s mystical rituals, but in these extraordinary times, every possible method is beneficial, and she cannot let her prejudice cause her to miss out on potentially useful treatments.”

"Oh! The special care area." Owen curled his lip. "Although they're all Ministry of Magic's lackeys, some lackeys are just a bit more high-class than others."

"."

Bill glanced at Irving, though, he was absolutely right.

"Let's go check it out and see what this priestess is really capable of." Owen jumped over, grabbing his stool as he went. "Let's see if she's a fraudster or just a lackey of some Outer God!"

After saying that, the three of them started walking towards the so-called key cattle and horse protection area.

Owen took the lead and walked very fast, with the two wizards following behind him like bodyguards.

Bill, that guy, was still very reserved, glancing at Editor Mei next to him from time to time.

She looked like a young girl in the throes of first love.

After all, with such a "historical figure" right in front of you, who could remain calm?

Pshaw—having a good name is always a good thing!

He gave Editor Mei a slightly envious look.

Merlin responded with an innocent smile.

A few minutes later, the three of them arrived at the door of a hospital room.

As expected of the care area for high-ranking cattle and horses, the rooms are different from those in other places.

Here, the entire corridor is carpeted, the walls on both sides are covered with ancient Egyptian murals, and there is a bronze nameplate on the door.

A name is written in gilded ink on it.

This must be the name of the person lying in the hospital bed inside.

Irving simply pushed the door open and entered without even knocking.

The people inside are competing with him for business! He's already being kind by not killing off such competitors outright.

Inside the room, the decor was equally luxurious.

The walls are carved with Egyptian myths and symbolic patterns, including owls, cats, and crocodiles. These patterns are brightly colored and have smooth lines, giving a sense of antiquity and mystery.

The headboard of the hospital bed features exquisite carvings, seemingly depicting some kind of Egyptian deity.

The lampshades overhead each have delicate metallic patterns, emitting a soft light.

The room was enormous, clearly enchanted with a wireless stretching spell.

Besides the hospital beds, the room is fully equipped with a lot of furniture, toilets, bathtubs, and so on.

At this moment, a large crowd had gathered in the room.

Most of them were healers wearing special robes.

They gathered around a dark-skinned woman.

A woman who dressed herself up like a peacock.

"What brings you here?" It was Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, who spoke.

She's here too.

"Let me see who dares to steal my business."

Irving said it bluntly.

As his gaze passed over the healers, he came into view a middle-aged male wizard.

His clothes were ripped off.

She lay on the hospital bed with her chest and breasts exposed.

The old witch beside him was drawing strange patterns on his body—yes, Owen could only think of them as patterns, because they didn't belong to any magic runes.

He didn't sense any trace of magic.

The high priest seems to have been drawing this image for a very long time.

She had just finished sketching the last stroke when he came in.

She then put away the pen, which was clearly made of some kind of animal bone.

Take a leaf from the colorful cloak around your waist, which looks like countless scraps of cloth pieced together inch by inch.

Then she pried open the wizard's mouth and poured a gray powder, of which who knows what it was, into it.

Finally, she took out a strange drum and a metal bell.

When the drums and bells rang out simultaneously, accompanied by strange incantations that Owen couldn't understand at all, the entire ward was instantly transformed into a live broadcast of a shamanistic ritual.

Irving had absolutely no idea what that guy was doing.

Judging from her actions, there was hardly any trace of magic.

It's not even as reliable as Bill's lucky break-the-curse-breaking.

If this really works, he'll definitely take action, capture the person, cut them open, and study them carefully.

Sure enough, after the shaman had been chattering away for a few minutes, the older brother was still lying on the bed. As Wilma Lawton's expression grew increasingly disappointed, the high priest finally stopped what he was doing.

She spoke in a string of gibberish to the group of wizards.

Then, a healer addressed the three of them, saying, "The High Priest has finished communicating with the gods. Now, please turn away and avoid looking directly at the upcoming ceremony."

"???" Irving was completely baffled.

Is your household deity the goddess of homebodies? What is social anxiety?

Are you saying we can't even watch it?

But before he could refute, he uttered a few witty remarks.

All the wizards present were very obedient and actually turned away.

Even Bill turned around.

Besides him and Editor Mei, they were also staring wide-eyed at the hospital bed.

"Sir!" the therapist said to Merlin again.

"Alright, alright," Editor Mei laughed heartily, then turned around and said, "What a shy deity."

After saying that, Owen saw that the wall behind him and in front of him had turned into glass—well, no, it should be said that it had acquired properties similar to glass. Most importantly, the other people did not react to it at all.

Only he can see it.

In an instant, Owen understood that it was an ancient magic spell, which was why only he and Merlin could see it.

"Wow, is that even possible?" Owen whispered, giving Merlin a thumbs up. "Brilliant, you've got it all figured out."

"A petty trick," Merlin said.

Then, Irving stared intently at the 'mirror' in front of him as he watched the live broadcast.

He saw the shaman pull out a wooden stick from his pocket; it was narrow at the top and thick at the bottom, about ten inches long.

On the stick, a humanoid image is simply carved with a knife or something else. The style is abstract, and it looks more like some kind of terrifying monster.

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

Then, the graffiti-like 'spells' on the man lying on the board slowly began to glow.

The high priest held a wooden stick and drew countless ancient runes in the air, which quickly formed a complex magical rune.

The geometrically beautiful runes mingled with the blue light emanating from the 'spell' on the man's body.

Owen could sense a strange magical power, peaceful and with a faint sense of healing.

"I have a feeling that I've seen the shape of the wooden stick in the old priest's hand somewhere before."

He stared blankly at the wooden root.

Then, in a daze, I suddenly remembered that the altar built by the goblins in Hufflepuff's final resting place at Hogwarts looked about seven or eight parts similar to the wooden stick in the old priest's hand.

Not exactly the same, but...

Irving is thinking.

Then I saw it.

The wooden staff in the high priest's hand suddenly emitted a faint light, and soon—the light transformed into the shape of a girl, about eight or nine years old, with a fair and clean face. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but she looked very pleasant.

Her eyes were calm as the sea, and below her small nose were thin lips with a slight upward curve at the corners of her mouth, carrying a hint of sorrow in her smile.

The girl was wearing a very classic long dress, a headscarf, and a simple wooden ring on her forehead.

Very Arabic-style clothing.

They are clearly not from Africa.

What is that high priest up to? Owen frowned.

A magical artifact capable of storing souls—its very function is utterly malevolent; it's unlikely this high priestess intended to provide a home for the souls of those who died young. These souls must have some other purpose for her.

Thinking about it.

Then Owen saw the high priest suddenly grip the wooden stick with all his might, as if holding a nail, and forcefully drive the stick into the head of the illusory girl.

Accompanied by a stirring.

Silence—but Irving could still hear a piercing scream, almost like a hallucination.

A soul, a vibrant soul, was crushed and turned into a viscous, silvery substance, like glue.

The so-called high priest had laid a wall-like layer on the male sorcerer's sickbed, and the eerie light emanating from the inscribed "spell" seeped into his skin little by little.

"grass!"

"Just when I think I've seen the depths of humanity, someone always jumps out and slaps me in the face."

He drew his wand from his waist, and Owen, with an icy expression, prepared to send the high priest to hell to compete with Satan in cruelty.

However, just as he was about to turn around, Merlin suddenly shook his head and stopped him.

"What?" Owen glared at him. "Why keep these things around for the holidays instead of getting them extinct?"

Merlin calmly replied, "It's not time yet. You'll understand in a few days."

"."

Irving narrowed his eyes. "Have you already seen something? The Great Prophet? Why don't you just tell me the ending of the story? I'm not afraid of spoilers."

"No—no, no." Merlin shook his head. "The fun of an adventure lies in the process, and this will be the most important adventure of your life. This time, you will see many things."

"You big idiot!"

Irving cursed.

At this moment, the wizards who had been avoiding the area turned around at the high priest's babbling voice.

When they saw the middle-aged wizard on the bed slowly opening his eyes, with most of the strange changes on his body subsiding and only a few 'traces' remaining on his leg wound, they all showed expressions of joy.

"Damn it!" Irving cursed again.

This method of pouring cold water into a pot on the stove is damn effective.

However, the fire in this stove never goes out. After a while, you'll have to add cold water, and the cycle will continue endlessly.

It's even quite possible that, because the water in the pot kept increasing, it wouldn't be enough to lower the temperature all at once. After adding cold water several times, two wizards' souls would be needed, then three? Four?

What kind of treatment is this?

It's downright heretical and evil magic.

"High Priest Rawiyu. You've had a long journey." Wilma Lawton, the witch doctor, greeted her with a smile, speaking in standard modern Arabic, the official language of Egypt.

Anyway, Irving couldn't understand it.

But Bill seemed to understand a few words.

Now I'll be his free translator.

"It's nothing," said the high priest named Rawiyu with a relaxed air. She also spoke Arabic, but according to Bill, her accent was quite strange, with a hint of local dialect.

She then said a few more words.

Bill, being a novice, couldn't understand it.

“It’s strange. I’ve never heard of High Priest Rawiyu ever living in the Arab region. Her accent is really strange, like a Jordanian Arabic dialect,” Bill said. After exchanging a glance with Irwin, he explained, “Although the Arab world speaks Arabic, the Arabic spoken in different countries is not the same. The Arabic spoken in Egypt is the so-called modern standard Arabic, but other parts of the Middle East have their own standards.”

"Ha—one region, one language, a dozen standards, the First Emperor would be overjoyed!" Owen quipped, then asked, "That Lavieu, how much do you know about her?"

"High Priestess Lavieu?" Bill was taken aback, then smiled and said, "She is a renowned high priestess throughout Africa, welcomed by many countries, and was famous two hundred years ago. She is over two hundred and sixty years old this year."

"Two hundred and sixty?" Owen's eyelids twitched slightly. In his vision, she was just a dark-skinned woman in her forties or fifties. Neither the wrinkles on her face nor her figure showed any signs of being two hundred years old.

"I've heard it's a blessing from the gods, a blessing from the power of nature," Bill said. "She's been like this for over a hundred years, isn't that amazing? It's truly magical, and many witches want to learn this spell."

"Heh." Upon hearing this, Owen let out a cold laugh. "Something's definitely fishy here. It seems this cult leader has already mastered some incredible skills!"

Is there any magic that can stop aging?

Irving can answer that with absolute certainty.

Have!

In a Far Eastern country, there is a magical plant called "Immortal Herb." Using it as the main ingredient, combined with dozens of other magical potions, and after a long brewing process, one can obtain a precious magical potion called "Elixir of Immortality."

By taking this potion, the wizard's body will be forcibly restored to the age of sixteen, and will not age again until death.

But this potion can only keep wizards from aging! It cannot extend their lifespan.

Nicolaes' elixir of immortality can extend lifespan, but it cannot slow down aging.

It's a pity the two potions can't be used together. Otherwise, the potion of immortality would have been developed long ago!

Besides this—is there any other way?

Have!

That involves some dark magic.

Voldemort did a lot of research on this kind of magic back in the day.

Irving had heard about it, but he hadn't studied it himself.

In addition, his maternal grandmother, Wenda, is also strangely young. She should be in her eighties or nineties this year, but she still looks so young.

Of course—Owen can now assert that his grandmother is definitely possessed by a demon, possibly related to ancient magic.

If properly guided, it is theoretically possible to maintain youthfulness by inducing mutations in an organism.

But no matter what, staying young is incredibly difficult.

That cult leader probably used some kind of evil method that he couldn't even imagine.

You can tell just from how easily she killed someone's soul.

Owen stared intently at the old scoundrel; he probably understood what Merlin meant.

This guy has lived for over two hundred years, so his influence in this land must be incredibly complex and vast.

If we cannot eliminate them all at once, taking rash action may cause endless trouble.

He didn't seem to care.

Come and attack Hogwarts if you dare!

Dumbledore won't twist your head off.

However, he didn't want to see wider chaos caused by his actions, just as even the worst positive-negative cult leader was better than nothing. Losing that cult leader would surely throw his underlings into chaos, leading to even bigger and more trouble.

Before her, the witch doctor Wilma Lawton was still happily conversing with the high priest, probably genuinely believing she had found a more effective treatment.

They paid much more attention to the high priest than to them.

Especially considering the other party's identity.

This greatly displeased Irving.

"Let's go, let's go—I can't be bothered with this anymore!" Owen said indignantly. "It's already been causing havoc for over two hundred years, what do I care if it causes havoc for another two hundred years!"

He turned and walked out of the ward, muttering to himself, "She cut off my livelihood, she's practically asking for it. I'll grind her to dust sooner or later!"

Meanwhile, Merlin maintained a detached attitude, not getting involved, and he also left.

And Bill—who's practically Merlin's shadow—naturally turned and left without stopping.

A few minutes later, the three returned to the Muggle neighborhood, and the noisy sounds immediately reached Irving's ears.

Bill led the two back to the hotel. He had wanted to get closer to Editor Mei, but just as he was about to enter the hotel, he bumped into one of his colleagues.

The two were very talkative.

I guess he's got a new job!

We're about to leave.

Reluctantly, Bill could only turn back every few steps, leaving the hotel like a resentful woman.

"Hehe—what an interesting child!" Merlin commented.

"Interesting perverts are the ones who should be here!" Irving retorted.

"Well, well—it's understandable to be a little excited when facing a famous wizard!" A woman with silver-pink hair proudly raised her head and said confidently.

"Tch, famous wizard, your time is long gone. Now—" Owen, with his sharp eyes, suddenly spotted a familiar little witch on the street outside the inn.

"Now is the era of Miss Granger."

As he spoke, Miss Granger, who was on the other street corner, also noticed him.

To be precise, they noticed the editor at Mei University.

Then she ran over quickly.

Her face was filled with anger, probably because he had disappeared again without her by his side.

"Oh!" Miss Granger stepped forward, her bright eyes suddenly falling on Owen, who was standing next to Merlin.

"Um?"

She squinted and carefully examined Owen, finding him increasingly familiar.

The anger on his face vanished completely.

Finally, after making eye contact with Owen and confirming his identity, the little witch immediately smiled, as if she had discovered some great toy—and reached out a hand to put it on the boy's head.

Bakal's crown slightly raised its head.

He glanced at Hermione, then lowered his head again.

"Whose child is this? So adorable!"

"Yours!" Owen said irritably, removing Hermione's hand. He had a slight understanding of the principles of Merlin magic, estimating that it was a magical technique created by utilizing the mutation effects of ancient magic on organisms.

Just as he guessed that Wenda's grandmother was still so young.

Wait a minute—if that's the case, ancient magic doesn't seem to have any restrictions on changes to the body—so, could it make you bigger or smaller? Change your gender? Or even transform into a bird or a beast?

Wow, that's really exaggerated.

Irving quickly put away this dangerous yet interesting idea.

However, the skill of changing size still requires practice, and you only need to practice on specific areas.

Hearing this, Hermione blushed slightly. She silently rolled her eyes at the boy. "What's going on? Is it this Archmage Merlin again?" She pointed to the man with exaggeratedly long silver-pink hair who was walking down the street and seemed to be under a spotlight.

(End of this chapter)