I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 383 An Ambiguous Night

"Of course it's your dearest Merlin!" A monster's voice rang out from outside the door.

"Get out of here!" Irving roared.

"Why are you knocking on the door so late at night? Don't you have any sense of public decency? Don't other people need to sleep? They have to get up at 8 a.m. tomorrow!"

"Hey hey~~~" A strange noise came from outside the door. "But I used to live in this room."

"You opened your own place, didn't you? You pre-deposited—and stole 20,000 Galleons from me, didn't you?" Owen said irritably. "I'm warning you, don't come knocking on my door again tonight."

He drew his wand and cast several protective spells on the door, though it might not be of much use to Merlin, just in case someone else disturbed him.

"Oh dear—it seems there's more than one person in the room. Did I disturb you?"

"."

"Bang!"

Owen heard something fall to the floor in the bathroom.

It's likely that Hermione, in her panic, accidentally spilled some kind of shower gel.

He was quite frank; Hermione and he were practically getting married, so what was there to hide?

"You already know, why are you asking? Get out of here!" he continued menacingly.

"Oh, you guys are still too young," Merlin said with a chuckle, though his tone was light but still carried a hint of seriousness. "I've always reminded you that starting too early isn't good for your health. Did you think I was talking about you?"

"That little girl has clearly been abused before. I don't know what you heartless bastard did. She's anemic now and has other minor ailments that require quiet rest to heal."

"Don't I know better than you?" Owen said, his voice softening slightly.

"Hmph—so, get out of here."

"Oh dear," Merlin sighed from outside the door, "it's so good to be young."

As they were speaking, the sound of footsteps walking away could be heard.

It seems he really has left.

Owen breathed a sigh of relief in the room. He couldn't explain things to someone who had never dated a girl before; he was just an idiot.

If you don't seize this opportunity now, you may never have another one.

The courage you muster will only erode if there's no response, and slowly even the feelings will fade away.

Sometimes it's not about doing more, but about doing something.

A little tenderness is enough.

About a minute later, the bathroom door opened.

Hermione walked out with a slightly flushed face.

Her hair was dry; it must have been the work of magic.

She was wearing a silk dress that was obviously not her choice; it looked more like the kind of pajamas that Furong would buy.

It's light pink, loose-fitting, like a dress, with delicate lace trim on the hem, and the soft fabric sways gently in the wind.

An atmosphere of romance and elegance permeates the air.

"This is a gift from Furong," she said.

"It's beautiful," Owen immediately chimed in, walking towards Hermione as he said gently, "It would be even better in black."

"."

Hermione glanced at him.

Then Irving also walked into the bathroom.

"It's my turn to take a shower," he said.

Then he quickly closed the door.

The room still smells of Miss Granger.

Ahem—this is getting a bit perverted!

It's okay—Hermione definitely won't notice anyway.

The inside was shrouded in mist, filled with damp water vapor.

The faint scent of lavender filled his nostrils.

This is Hermione's most frequently used shower gel. She knows this because it's a Muggle product, and she asks Dobby to buy it for her at school, paying for it in return.

Dobby had told him about it.

Turning his head, he saw Hermione placing her fanny pack, along with her clothes and underwear, in a metal basket by the door to prevent any unpleasant incidents from causing this chapter to be unpublishable. So Owen only glanced at it for a few seconds before solemnly stuffing the clothes back into his fanny pack.

Then, take off your clothes and turn on the shower.

I borrowed Hermione's toiletries to wash my hair. I applied shower gel, rinsed off, turned off the water, snapped my fingers, and dried myself.

The whole process took less than two minutes.

Then—Owen didn't rush to leave, but stared at the huge mirror on the wall, admiring his own body—to clarify, he's not a pervert—this was the first time he had clearly seen the changes in his body since he woke up.

Her once silver hair was now completely gone, her gray eyes had been replaced by emerald green, and even her face shape and features had changed considerably.

His limbs, however, had developed quite a few muscles.

You can still vaguely see your abs, but it's within the normal range that humans can achieve without special training.

However—Irving squeezed the metal pipe supplying the rain shower, and with a slight exertion of his hand, the pipe visibly flattened.

The body's strength has increased dramatically—no, it should be described as an exaggerated increase.

Owen wasn't sure if the force he used had reached the limits of human physical strength, but judging from how easily he could bend the metal pipe, there probably weren't many humans who could do it.

Ancient magic, then transform him into another person.

This is an undeniable fact. Now that I think about it, the human form that Outer God part of his essence showed may not have been imitating him, but rather his appearance was converging with that guy's.

"I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing," Owen muttered, waving his hand, and the dented pipe returned to normal.

He then took out his pajamas from his backpack, adjusted his mindset, changed into them, and left the bathroom.

The whole process took less than three minutes.

"Oh, you're still awake?"

Irving glanced around the living room, and—well—he didn't see the second bed that had transformed. Oh dear—oh dear—the result was already obvious.

Hermione, lying on the bed, seemed a little lost. She quickly gathered the blankets together and wrapped herself up tightly.

"Do all you guys shower this fast?" Hermione asked, her face flustered. She had been lost in thought, and in the blink of an eye, Owen was out—it felt like he had just gone in.

"That's slow," Irving said. "Most of the time I just rinse and use a cleansing spell. I only stay in the bath for a long time when I'm taking a bath."

The convenience of modern magic is beyond imagination.

In reality, a wizard's bath is entirely psychological; in most cases, waving a wand and casting a few cleaning spells on oneself will make one very clean.

Of course, unless you've been tainted by some kind of stubborn curse that can't be washed off, then the wizard will try other methods.

"By the way, speaking of bathing, let's not go to the prefectural hall anymore." He walked over and then lay down next to Miss Granger quite naturally.

Nighttime temperatures in Egypt can be above 25 degrees Celsius, and in cities like Cairo, the temperature is even higher.

However, the hotel seemed to have cast a spell on the rooms to keep the temperature constant, maintaining a temperature of around 20 degrees Celsius.

It's neither hot nor cold.

So he stopped fighting Hermione for the blanket.

Why?

Although Hermione and Owen had kissed and hugged quite a bit, this was the first time they had slept in the same bed.

The bed is the most private place for everyone.

It will probably take her a long time to get used to having someone suddenly sitting next to her in bed.

"It's that Myrtle again. She always sneaks into the prefects' bathroom to peep at other people showering, like Percy, Bill, Charlie, Cedric, and that hunky guy from Demster. They've all been seen naked, including you and Fleur, of course."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed in shock, then wrapped the blanket tighter around herself; she had no idea about this.

"Do you know what she thinks of you?" Owen turned to look at her and said teasingly.

"Hmph—I don't want to know, it's definitely not something nice." Hermione turned her head away. She always went to the bath with Fleur. Just thinking about Fleur's figure—even if she was pretty good, she would definitely be compared to her when she was with Fleur.

As she pondered this, Miss Granger suddenly felt a pang of resentment towards her good friend.

"Hey—pretty smart," Owen said, then, noticing Hermione's seemingly dazed look, he quickly grabbed a corner of the blanket and slid inside.

"Ouch!" Hermione tried to resist, but the man was quite fast, and her defenses had just relaxed a little, which allowed him to easily achieve his goal.

Under the blanket, the boy pulled the girl into his arms.

The silk pajamas feel incredibly comfortable to the touch, smooth and clinging to the skin.

The blankets were filled with the scent of lavender emanating from the girl, and the sound of two hearts pounding wildly.

The two were very close, and Irving could feel the softness in his arms.

Although he couldn't see, Miss Granger's fair and smooth little feet and her long, strong, and muscular legs were pressed under his legs, bringing them even closer together.

Hermione's head was spinning, and she could barely think of anything.

She only felt a wet sensation covering her lips, which then grew more intense.

A complex, sweet fragrance enveloped their noses.

Their breaths and heartbeats intertwined.

Gradually, an indescribable joy and happiness filled them completely.

A few minutes later, when it was all over, only heavy breathing could be heard.

Hermione bit her lip, and a bold idea suddenly popped into her head: she hoped things could continue like this.

"Ahem... Miss Granger, your kissing skills have improved considerably." A teasing voice rang out, its warm breath brushing against Hermione's cheek, causing her to tremble as if electrocuted. Then, she looked at Owen with dazed eyes.

"Um—you—what happened between the end of the naval battle and when you found me? Tell me."

Looking into that gaze—Irving's face also turned slightly red.

He then awkwardly and forcefully changed the subject.

"Mmm," Hermione responded softly.

After a brief pause, he began to recount what he had seen and heard over the past few weeks.

She spoke in great detail and gently, her head bowed, her cheek pressed against Irving's neck, as if she were talking to herself.

Her fluffy hair was teasing the hot-tempered boy.

Clearly, he wasn't really interested in Hermione; he wasn't really listening to her at all and was dealing with other things instead.

A few minutes later, Hermione finished recounting what had happened to her during this time.

Then silence returned.

An ambiguous silence.

Things were heading in a less than harmonious direction, which required someone to get into the driver's seat and slam on the accelerator—well, no—the brake, to slam on the brake.

Then Hermione looked up again and said softly, "Do you have a bedtime story?"

She was so embarrassed by how awkwardly she had broken the silence. "I—I used to like reading biographies of famous people and historical documents. Just before bed, it was interesting, and I would fall asleep while reading."

"."

Hearing this, Owen calmed himself down and then said, "So all those bedtime magic books you prepared before were for helping me fall asleep!"

"Some are," Hermione replied somewhat awkwardly, her little secret having been discovered. Her "genius" persona was about to crumble.

"But as you know, wizarding books are generally poorly written. Magic books are okay, but once they get to literature or history books, the reading experience becomes terrible."

"I understand," Owen said. He had even seen people write the history of magic in the style of Shakespeare, with long, complex sentences throughout, and just looking at the dense text on the title page would make him dizzy.

"A bedtime story—I do know one." Owen suddenly had an inspiration. He coughed lightly to clear his throat and then began to tell a story.

The Dursleys, who lived at number four Privet Drive, always proudly said that they were a very well-behaved family.

Please, please. They never get involved in anything mysterious or strange because they simply don't believe in such superstitious practices.

Mr. Vernon Dursley was a manager at a company called Groning, which manufactured drilling rigs. He was tall and burly, so fat he almost had no neck, and sported a large beard.

As she listened, Hermione suddenly realized that these were Harry's aunt and uncle.

"What are you talking about?" she asked irritably.

"Harry Potter!" Owen replied sincerely.

Hermione sighed. She was too exhausted to lecture this guy for his absurdity. Now—was he planning to use Harry to make up stories?

Ok.

Hermione, feeling a bit awkward, shrank back and settled herself into a comfortable position before whispering, "Please continue."

"Okay!"

The Dursleys lacked nothing, but they harbored a secret, and their greatest fear was that it would be discovered. They thought that if anyone found out about the Potters' affair, they wouldn't be able to bear the consequences.

Our story begins on a dark and gloomy Tuesday.

It was in the storage room under the stairs at Dursley House.

"Bang"

A sound came from the quiet storage room.

Then a beautiful girl with black hair and emerald green eyes collapsed onto the small bed beneath her. She reached out and rubbed her head, trying to sit up, but accidentally bumped her head on the ceiling.

"Ouch!" came another scream.

Harley, who had returned from another world, opened her eyes.

Hermione didn't speak, but her hidden expression gradually became strange.

Has Harry turned into Harley?

What is Kyrie Irving thinking about all day long?

The story quickly moves on to Hogwarts.

Just as Owen was talking about Harley and Draco's entanglement, Snape's interference, and Ron's plan to poach them,

Miss Granger simply couldn't take it anymore.

She kicked Irving, silencing him.

What a ridiculous story, it's not true at all.

The ten-odd minutes that were poured into my ears were all rubbish.

However, the story was quite soothing; her breathing quickly became steady, and warmth enveloped her as she peacefully passed the night.

The next morning.

The morning sunlight fell on Owen's face. He slowly opened his eyes, feeling the fresh air carried by the gentle breeze. Owen rubbed his temples; his eyes were a little sore.

Last night was a really tough night.

It took him a lot of effort to fall asleep.

Miss Granger was fast asleep, her face pressed against Owen's chest, her breath languid.

Owen looked at her quietly, then reached out and pinched her cheek.

Miss Granger seemed to notice Owen's movements; she shifted slightly and then slowly opened her eyes.

"Good morning, Owen," she said with a smile, her voice tinged with languid contentment and a rising blush.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Owen replied.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then he gently kissed Hermione's forehead.

After a brief period of ambiguity.

Hermione is about to get up.

She doesn't have the habit of sleeping in late. No matter how late she went to bed last night, she will wake up at seven or eight o'clock the next day, unless she stays up all night.

Irving wasn't in a hurry; he didn't have much to do today.

He has to wait for things to come to him.

So it doesn't matter if I lie down a little longer.

While Hermione was washing up, there was a knock on their door.

A moment later, Hermione came out of the bathroom and carefully opened the door.

The visitor was a witch in her thirties, whom she did not recognize.

This made Hermione wary.

"Hello, I... Did I knock on the wrong door?"

The witch was slow to react when she saw Hermione; she seemed completely unprepared for a girl to open the door.

No.

The sound came from inside the room.

It was Irving. He was already dressed and sitting on the sofa, taking a sip of tea to refresh himself.

"Why did you suddenly leave the hospital yesterday?" Before the witch could finish speaking, her voice was interrupted by Owen.

"Why don't we just talk to that old priestess? I never do business that isn't a monopoly." After drinking a cup of warm tea, the soreness in my eyes seemed to ease a bit, though that might just be psychological.

"The High Priestess wishes to meet you," the healer continued. "She is very interested in your healing methods, and wouldn't it be beneficial for learning to exchange between the two techniques?"

"It's good for her, but not for me. Okay, you can go now." Owen waved his hand impatiently.

The therapist didn't insist and simply turned and left.

Hermione closed the door again, then turned to Owen. "What's going on? Who is she?"

"The healers at the Ikur Magical Disability Hospital, um—a local Egyptian magic hospital," Owen explained.

Then he began to tell Hermione about what had happened the day before.

I also ordered breakfast delivered to my door.

Five minutes later, a sumptuous breakfast was laid out on the living room table, its aroma tempting and enticing.

"You mean, there's something strange about that high priest?"

"Obviously yes." Owen picked up a pie made of minced meat and spices, which Egyptians call farafa.

I took a bite, and mmm—it tastes delicious.

"Then let's report her right away! There's nothing more evil than cruelly exploiting a wizard's soul to achieve her unseen goals."

"Ha—he's a highly respected high priest, and an important healer for treating the mutations. If they really valued us, Merlin and I wouldn't have been able to leave the hospital yesterday; they would have kept us here. They wouldn't have sent some unknown healer this morning; they would have sent at least the head of the department." Owen took another bite of a soup called Talibott, made from chickpeas, broad beans, lentils, and other beans.

"They don't value us at all. Do you think they'll believe us if we tell them the truth?"

"What should we do then?"

"Just wait and see," Owen said. "That high priest's treatment methods are like boiling water in a hot pot; those patients will inevitably suffer complications sooner or later. And—aren't you curious where she got those souls? Hmph—someone's backing her. That's obvious." Owen said, "If we're going to make a move, we have to nip it in the bud, follow the trail and wipe everyone out."

"But—" Hermione was still worried, "This is Egypt—there are already people who want to harm us, how do we have the power and manpower to carry this out?"

"Hmm—" Hearing this, Irving nodded. "Indeed, looks like we'll have to call in reinforcements."

He said.

But suddenly there was another knock on the door.

Irving assumed it was the editor from the University of May. He put down Talibte and got up to go check the door.

When the door opened, the person who came in surprised him.

He had seen this person before.

Yesterday in the breakfast room, that Ministry of Magic official.

Miss Granger admires the little witch's father.

"Something wrong?" Irving raised an eyebrow.

"I am." The middle-aged wizard naturally noticed Hermione in the room.

He looked haggard, with faint dark circles under his eyes. Although he forced a smile, there was a hint of sorrow in his brows.

"I'm here to see Miss Granger," the man said. He didn't go inside, but stood behind the door and said to her, "Nefertir went home last night. She had a good cry and has been depressed ever since. She hasn't eaten all day."

"I think," the man sniffed, then pulled a letter from his pocket, "Miss Granger would like to visit my home and comfort Nefertir for me."

Seemingly afraid that Hermione would refuse, the man added, "I hope Miss Granger can understand a father's concerns. I wouldn't have bothered you if I hadn't been absolutely desperate."

Inside the room, Hermione quickly stood up. She looked at Neferpitou's father with a slight apology and hurriedly said, "Of course, sir, I will go."

(End of this chapter)