I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 400 This was just a magical accident!

"A guardian spell?"

Irving stared intently at Victor.

This is one solution.

As the embodiment of a wizard's will and soul, a guardian spirit can be considered a personal identity card.

but--

"Someone already guessed your method."

Irwin said, "Italian wizards used this method to test Aurors a long time ago."

Make sure they haven't been infiltrated by the "imposters".

But you can't expect all wizards to know the Guardian Charm, especially if the wizard in disguise doesn't.

"Then the only options are either a truth serum or a spell to attract the mind."

"One is too precious to be mass-produced, and the other can be blocked by the Ironclad Charm, and is extremely difficult to learn."

"What?" Victor slowly leaned back and sighed softly.

His brown eyes turned serious. "Are you in such a hurry?"

"Are you in a hurry?" Owen frowned. "Rozier's Magical Disability Hospital has recently received several patients from North America. You know what that means? This 'disease' has spread to North America. Perhaps there are also 'Impersonators' in other places, just well hidden and not exposed."

"But technology needs testing, verification, and time." He slowly stood up, holding onto the edge of the table.

"You're just like your grandmother." He looked at Irving, "radical and forgetting the original purpose of technology."

"It should be used to benefit the world!"

"Wasn't defeating the 'Impersonator' for the benefit of the world?" Owen asked, frowning.

"Then you'll have to bear the technical consequences!" With a thud, he placed his lame leg on the chair.

It was covered in crystals, glowing with a purple light, and its surface flowed with blue blood—strange and cold.

"Do you know how he got here?"

Irving remained silent.

The ancient magic flowing across his body glowed in his eyes.

Ancient magic has a powerful mutating effect on organisms—this person before me should have already experienced it on himself.

"I know"

Irving looked away and murmured.

He knew that it was highly unrealistic for Viktor to fight against the technology accumulated by the Outer Gods over tens of millions of years.

Leaving aside whether he can provide a solution, it would take countless years just to read through all the documents in the Ionia collection, and that's just for one reading.

A thorough understanding of all of this is beyond the scope of an individual's capabilities.

As Makarov, the former director of the Black Sea Shipyard, once said: Building an aircraft carrier requires the state, the central government, the planning committee, the military-industrial committee, nine defense industry ministries, 600 related specialties, and 8000 supporting manufacturers. In short, it requires a great nation to complete.

For the magical world, however, the very first step was a stumbling block, because the Ministry of Magic was a disorganized mess.

"I'll come back in a while," Owen said, getting up.

"No need." Viktor rested his hands on the table and said calmly, "I'll contact you if there's any breakthrough."

The intention to drive them away was extremely strong.

Irving naturally understood the unspoken meaning in Victor's words.

With one last glance back, he left.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

After leaving Victor's office, Irving went to the library.

He wants to find a solution himself.

Hopefully, there will be records of this in the books in the underground warehouse of Ionia.

No technology is perfect.

There must be some flaw, he just doesn't know it.

noon.

During dinner, Hermione found him in the library.

The little witch seemed quite surprised, because he was never one to walk into a library on his own.

There's always another reason I go to the library.

She carefully inquired whether Owen had encountered any trouble.

Irving didn't hide it from her.

Then the number of people searching for the records became two.

After lunch.

Hermione explained why she had come.

She came hoping Owen would teach her the Apparition spell.

She had wanted to learn this magic since summer vacation, but they didn't have much time at that time, and Hermione lacked theoretical knowledge, so Owen just found some relevant books for her.

Now, three months later, Hermione has already memorized the theoretical knowledge perfectly.

In fact, Hogwarts has an Apparition training class. Sixth-year students who are 17 years old by August 31 of the following year can voluntarily sign up to participate in the Apparition class.

This course, taught by an Apparitions instructor from the Ministry of Magic, lasts 12 weeks and costs 12 Galleons.

After completing the course, students who are 17 years of age or older can go to Hogwarts for special training and register for the Apparition exam.

Students who pass the exam will be awarded a certificate.

Apparition without a license will result in a fine from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Transportation.

However, it's clear that Hermione won't be able to wait until next year to continue her studies.

She desperately wanted to learn this magic.

Irving agreed.

But not today, not tomorrow—it's the weekend.

By then, Hermione's fake Galleon would be finished.

This is perfect for building up the DA organization.

Hogwarts already had a study support group, which Hermione organized when Owen was teaching magic to young wizards.

Now all we need to do is get the existing staff back together.

In the afternoon, aside from class time, Irving spent all his time in the library.

Until night fell.

He then returned to his dormitory.

I didn't even have time to eat dinner.

But that's alright, the kitchen is right next to Hufflepuff, and the elves will be happy to prepare a midnight snack for every hungry little wizard.

"What are you doing?"

As the oak planks were opened one by one, Irving crawled through the barrel.

As soon as he entered, he saw many young wizards surrounding Justin.

Everyone's expressions were solemn, as if they were holding back their anger.

"What happened?"

"You're back, Owen." Hannah waved to him.

As she got closer, she grabbed Justin's arm and pulled the back of his hand in front of Irving's face.

Some of the skin was deathly pale, with red blood seeping out.

These bleeding spots form a list—I must respect my teachers and elders.

"Umbridge did it, that old shrew," Ernie muttered with disgust. "Justin talked back to her in class, which has happened before, but this time Umbridge called him to her office. Before, it would just be a deduction."

"It's obvious this is aimed at you," Cedric said.

He frowned.

Deep down, I was acutely aware that a bloody storm was brewing.

Irving stared at Justin's wound.

The wand was aimed at the wound.

As the silver light shone.

Some black smoke emanated from the wound.

"There are traces of dark magic on the wound. I applied some white stigma, but it didn't work very well," Hannah continued. "Professor Sprout is furious. When we went to the greenhouse to find her just now, she smashed a pot of Babo tubers on the ground. I've never seen her so angry."

"And the professor now?" Irving asked again.

The wand glowed green, "Healed as before".

The next second, Justin's wound was completely healed, as if he had never been injured at all.

"They went to confront Umbridge," Ernie blurted out. "Wow, that's amazing!"

He looked down at Justin's hand.

It's really completely healed.

Professor Sprout didn't have any good ideas either; she said the only thing to do was wait for the wound to heal on its own.

Upon hearing the sound, Irving turned and walked out of the common room.

"Wait—" Hannah quickly stepped forward and grabbed Owen's arm.

"What are you going to do? You're not planning to kill her, are you?" As a young wizard who had experienced the Battle of Hogsmeade and the Battle of Hogwarts, she, along with Harry, Justin, and Hermione, had witnessed Owen's brutal treatment of the dark wizards, werewolves, and Death Eaters.

She wouldn't doubt it at all if anyone said that Owen lost control in a fit of rage and killed Umbridge.

"No—why would I kill her?" Owen smiled cruelly. "She's a professor, isn't she?"

"So you're going to torture her?" Hannah still wouldn't let go. After all, this was different from before. Owen had dealt with Death Eaters and Dark Wizards before, and it was very chaotic at the time. The people in the Ministry of Magic had no idea what Owen had done.

But this time—if he were to take action against a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Magic, the Daily Prophet would be publishing it on its front page tomorrow.

The reputation he spent three months building may not be completely destroyed in an instant, but it will leave a stain.

She didn't want to see that happen.

"We can talk to Professor McGonagall, or Headmaster Dumbledore," Hannah suggested.

"Through formal channels."

"Hey, kid!" Owen patted Hannah's shoulder solemnly. "When violence happens, you must stand up and stop it immediately. Tolerance will only embolden them."

After saying that, he turned and left the lounge.

They looked at each other, and each saw a hint of determination in the other's face.

They nodded to each other.

They followed together.

That's right—we Hufflepuffs are going to rebel!

They will support Kyrie Irving no matter what he does.

Moreover—they'd rather see Umbridge suffer!

The large crowd marched down the stairs, giving off a distinctly gangster vibe.

That night, some of the night owls who were still awake immediately realized that something big had happened when they saw this scene.

Then, with lightning speed, he spread the word.

Around nine o'clock—long past the curfew time set by Umbridge.

They met Filch on the auditorium floor.

However, upon seeing that Irving was leading the team, Felch did not stop him or go up to ask him anything.

Holding his cat, she shakily left the spiral staircase.

We made our way to the fourth floor.

The young wizards were very familiar with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.

When Sirius was here, this place was practically deserted. Some witches, especially the seventh-year students, came here quite often.

Want to be Harry's godmother

However, ever since Umbridge took over this place...

No young wizards wanted to come into this corridor anymore.

Even passing by it feels unlucky.

Far away—not even at the door yet.

The group then heard faint sounds of arguing.

As they got closer, the sound suddenly became clearer.

It was the voices of Umbridge and Professor Sprout. They were arguing.

However, the voices were mostly filled with Umbridge's reprimands, while Professor Sprout's argument was very quiet.

That makes sense—when it comes to witty banter, how could this witch, who has spent her entire life dealing with plants, possibly be a match for Umbridge?

Unless Professor Sprout carries around a dozen or so Ming Dynasty man-eating cabbages with him when he goes out.

The office door was ajar, not closed.

So Irving didn't knock and just pushed the door open and went in.

When Quirrell was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, garlic was everywhere here, and the whole room reeked of it.

During Gilderoy Lockhart's lifetime, the walls were covered with smiling photos of himself.

Later, after Professor Lupin moved in, every time I came to see him, I would encounter some very interesting evil animal, locked in a cage or box.

During Sirius Black's time, this place was filled with all sorts of interesting Auror gadgets and Muggle car and motorcycle magazines. He also had a miniature Porsche 911 that would run around the office on its own.

As for Moody, he had all sorts of tools and handicrafts on display, as well as various spyglasses—used to detect other people's misconduct and hiding places.

Now—Irving feels that if the house could talk, it would say it has been insulted.

As far as the eye could see, everything was covered with lace-trimmed cloths and tablecloths, and there were several vases filled with dried flowers, each placed on a separate small cushion. On one wall hung a set of decorative plates, each with a brightly colored large cat wearing a different bow around its neck.

To be honest, these things are absolutely disgusting.

It's not the food that's disgusting—it's the people who use it!

If this room were occupied by a beautiful and kind-hearted seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl, or Ron's crush, the lady of the Three Broomsticks pub whom he always had to get from every time he went to Hogsmeade, the graceful and still charming Mrs. Rosmerta, it would certainly have a unique charm.

Unfortunately, Umbridge lives here—can you imagine a toad wearing a pink tutu?

That's pretty much the feeling.

"Oh—good evening, Mr. Rozier."

Umbridge, who was engaged in a heated debate with Professor Sprout, changed his tune the moment he saw Owen.

She forced a smile onto her chubby face and called out to Owen in an cloyingly sweet tone.

At this moment, she was wearing a bright red printed long dress, the color of which blended in with the tablecloth on the desk behind her, making it almost indistinguishable from the other garment.

Irving took a deep breath.

If the person in front of him was trying to disgust him in order to launch a mental attack, then Owen could only say that her entire outfit dealt him a critical blow.

"Owen? What are you doing here?" Professor Sprout called out sternly. She was still wearing that patched robe and a thick hat, with her flowing gray hair falling from the brim of the hat down her back.

Her face looked terrible.

It is clear that they have lost out in the fight against Umbridge.

When Owen appeared, she was startled, then immediately called out to him seriously.

They were afraid that the child would do something outrageous.

"It's nothing, Professor. I just couldn't sleep and wanted to chat with this Professor Usher."

Irving said coldly.

He increasingly felt that he was becoming more and more hesitant and indecisive.

In the past, he would have rushed over, kicked the toad against the wall, pressed his wand against her head, and chanted "Avada Kedavra".

Now—I can actually have a conversation with her, it's unbelievable!

"Oh—kid, what do you want to talk about?" Umbridge's smile was fake and disgusting. She stood firmly in place, as if she were Owen's boss, with her head held high.

"That's how it is, Professor." Irving walked over.

"Because I am French." He found the specially made quill pen on Umbridge's desk.

It was a black thing with a metal casing, like a feather stuck in a pen.

Irving raised his hand, and the quill pen automatically floated into his hand.

In addition, there was an inconspicuous hair on her desk.

"So you don't need to be too fluent in English. I'd like to ask if you have any calligraphy practice books or anything like that."

This black magic quill pen is actually a curse. The user writes with their own blood as a medium of exchange to activate the magic, thus leaving wounds on the skin.

Owen, in a moment when Umbridge was unaware, embedded her hair into the pen, replacing the target of the curse.

Then ancient magic poured in, amplifying the curse and doubling its effect.

Of course—Irving probably wouldn't be able to write more than a few words before the quill pen broke, but he didn't care.

"What?" Umbridge asked with a forced smile, not understanding what Owen meant. Why did he come looking for her and ask for some calligraphy copybook?

But her smile quickly faded.

Owen sat down in the chair opposite her desk and grabbed a piece of parchment.

Then he wrote on the paper—

I've always known that Voldemort is inferior to me; compared to evil, he's just trash.

Tom Marvolo Riddle is nothing but a mixed-race bastard, the product of an affair.

Oh—although I am also a half-blood, my father is a noble employee of the Ministry of Magic, specializing in repairing doors for the Ministry of Magic.

Compared to oxen and horses—I'm a high-class ox or horse!

They're not your average type, unlike those brainless idiots like Little Tom.

My success depends entirely on myself.

My path to promotion depends entirely on flattery—my boss's ability to flatter is unparalleled.

It started when Irving wrote the first word.

Umbridge, who had been smugly standing to the side, immediately let out a painful scream.

Everyone was stunned.

Including Professor Sprout and the little wizards outside.

Everyone watched as Umbridge scratched his head and twisted his body.

Although they were puzzled, they had no idea what had happened.

It wasn't until Umbridge cried out again, clutching her neck and twisting her toad-like mouth together, that everyone noticed blood flowing down her neck, as if someone had carved words into it.

The hurtful words appeared one by one on her neck—combined with her face—hands—and in places they couldn't see.

But at this point—she could no longer make a sound.

For some unknown reason, Umbridge seemed to freeze, standing motionless in place.

A statue of a figure with a ferocious expression.

"Oh my god—Owen, stop right now!" Professor Sprout was the first to react.

She was closest to Umbridge, so she had the clearest view.

"Professor—I'm practicing my handwriting," Irving wrote rapidly.

The sound of the pen tip rubbing against parchment is pleasing to the ear.

He has a very scholarly air about him.

And judging from his appearance alone, he really didn't do anything. He was just writing something on the side.

But neither Professor Sprout nor the young wizards outside believed it.

"Alright, take your hand off that pen." Professor Sprout had seen the wound on Justin's hand and knew perfectly well that the pen Owen was holding was probably the one Umbridge used to torture the young wizard.

Although she didn't know what methods the little guy in front of her had used to transfer the curse to Umbridge,

"Okay." Owen obediently let go, but the quill pen didn't stop, just like the automatic sketching pens sold in Wenrenju Quill Pen Shop, it was still writing swiftly.

"Bang!"

A beam of magical light shot from Professor Sprout's wand and struck precisely the quill in front of Owen.

Then, under the torment of several different forces, the pen finally exploded with a "bang" and broke into several pieces.

"Get out." The professor glared at him.

"Professor, you've destroyed the evidence of the crime!"

"go out!"

"Alright!" Owen immediately got up and left without a trace.

"Go back, all of you. Don't you need to sleep?" Professor Sprout said to the group of young wizards outside the door.

At this moment, it wasn't just the young wizards from Hufflepuff who came to watch.

The Gryffindors, hearing there was excitement, ran off as fast as they could.

Among the crowd were quite a few young wizards wearing red bow ties.

"Professor, you..." Hannah said with some concern.

She was terrified that once Umbridge recovered, she would go berserk at her headmaster.

"Alright, this is none of your business," Professor Sprout said seriously. "I will report this 'accidental' magical incident to Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore."

"An accident?" Hannah was taken aback, then her face lit up with joy. "Yes, it was just a magical accident. We could see it clearly; Owen didn't do anything at all."

"That's right, that's right!"

"It was indeed an accident; we witnessed the whole thing."

The young Hufflepuff wizards all wore smiles and had cunning eyes. At this moment, they were completely different from the image of Hufflepuff in people's minds. If you didn't know better, you would think they were a group of Slytherins.

"Unexpectedly good, unexpectedly wonderful!" Justin couldn't have been happier.

When he saw Irving strut out of the office with a triumphant air.

Their calm, indifferent gazes swept over them as if they had done something insignificant.

Oh God—I want to repay him with my body!

Everyone was overjoyed, as if it were a festival, and they crowded together as they returned to the lounge.

As Professor Sprout said.

Ultimately, the farce was brought to an end with the intervention of Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.

When faced with Umbridge's subsequent accusations, Irving denied them all, saying he didn't know anything no matter what was asked.

I didn't know the quill pen possessed a cursed magic.

I didn't know it would hurt other people.

I have no idea why Professor Umbridge is so full of rebellious words.

He didn't even admit to knowing that the quill pen had magic.

(End of this chapter)