I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 470 Professor Slughorn

The actual controller of the Bank of Commonwealth is now Irving's maternal grandfather, Grindelwald.

This happened decades ago.

Although Irving didn't know the full story behind it, that's the truth.

It wasn't until they bought the house over a decade ago that Irving learned Grindelwald controlled a British Muggle bank.

And after Irving finished speaking.

Vernon's eyes lit up instantly, like a greedy hunting dog or a drowning person grasping at a straw.

Then Vernon began to speak hesitantly.

Knowing he had to back down, he still acted as if he was only giving Harry a chance because of someone else, subtly implying to Dumbledore that he could allow Harry to stay for another year.

Dumbledore smiled.

Then he stood up from the sofa.

"It seems we can take our leave now. See you next time," he said to Vernon.

On the other side, Vernon seemed a little anxious, glancing nervously at Dumbledore, but the old headmaster ignored him.

Harry immediately stood up from the sofa and walked out without looking back.

The other young wizards followed them out.

The living room and sofa were immediately restored to their original size.

The Dursleys were left staring at each other in bewilderment.

The group of people vanished in an instant at the intersection of Privet Road.

No Muggle discovered them.

"Professor, where are we going?"

The surrounding scenery suddenly changed.

The group realized that they seemed to have arrived at the threshing ground of some abandoned village.

In the middle stands an ancient war memorial, along with several benches.

"Oh, right, I haven't told you yet," Dumbledore said. "Because the Federation has formed a new department, and your Professor Lupin is going to work there, so—I've said this so many times in recent years, but unfortunately, we're short of a professor now."

We're here to persuade one of my retired colleagues to come back to work and live to see Hogwarts.

"Um—Professor, how can we help?" Hermione asked briefly from the side.

"No—quietly on the contrary, Miss Granger, you can be of great help."

"This way." Dumbledore wrapped his travel cloak tightly around his neck and waved.

He walked with light steps, passing an empty tavern and a few houses.

Judging from the clock on a nearby church, it was about 1:30 a.m.

It's lunch break time.

"Oh, Harry, I forgot to ask," said Dumbledore, "tell me, is your scar still hurting lately?"

Harry instinctively reached up to his forehead and touched the lightning bolt-shaped scar.

"No," he said. "It hasn't hurt since that in Brazil, which is incredible."

"It's obvious, we suspect, that he may have realized you can access his thoughts and feelings. Of course, he may not be entirely sure yet, but right now, he's certainly putting all his effort into Occlumency," Dumbledore said with satisfaction.

"I'd love for that," Harry said.

He neither missed the tormenting nightmares nor the terrifying experience of suddenly gaining insight into Voldemort's mental state.

"That's true, but I think you should take the initiative. Occlumency is a very useful magic, and you should work hard on it."

"If you could give me a different teacher," Harry said, somewhat indignantly. He had always felt that he had some talent for learning spells. At Hogwarts, apart from Owen and Hermione, he was always the one who mastered the Dark Magic Defense Charms the fastest compared to others.

Especially the spells that Irving taught them last year.

He has achieved some success with various spells, including the Armor Counterspell, the Illusion Spell, and the Teleportation Spell.

If it weren't for Snape, he might have mastered Occlumency much earlier.

Dumbledore sensed Harry's resentment and sighed, "Alright, I'll find you another teacher."

"Huh?" Harry was a little surprised. He had just said it casually in a fit of pique, wondering if Headmaster Dumbledore would really find a professor to enter Hogwarts just for him!

Is he that important?

"No wonder he's the principal's favorite," Owen said sarcastically from the side. "He's got quite the influence."

"Go to hell, Owen." Harry glared at him.

He was met with nothing but ridicule.

Before they knew it, Dumbledore led them through the deserted streets, around a corner, past a phone booth and a bus stop.

This small town has an inexplicable strangeness; even though the sun is shining brightly at midday, they don't feel much of the warmth and life of the town.

It's like you're in a desolate graveyard.

"Professor, where are we?" Hermione finally couldn't help but ask. "This area looks terrifying."

"Oh, so this is the enchanting village of Badley Barberton, Hermione," said Dumbledore. "Someone has cast a spell here to calm the Muggles."

"Spellcasting on Muggles?" Hermione frowned. "That's illegal."

"Yes, it is indeed against the law, but given the current state of affairs, the Ministry of Magic can only turn a blind eye, and besides, they haven't even noticed, have they?" Dumbledore said noncommittally.

"Turn left, kids," he said.

Soon, the group walked onto a steep, narrow street lined with rows of houses on both sides.

It was so quiet around us that it would be an understatement to describe it as deathly still.

This reminded Irving of a famous seaside town, Innsmouth.

"Professor, why can't we just Apparate to your old colleague's house?" Harry asked again.

"Because that would be as rude as kicking down someone's door," Dumbledore said. "Politeness requires us to give other wizards the opportunity to refuse us, however, most wizarding dwellings have magic to ward off unwanted Apparitions. For example, Apparition is not allowed in Hogwarts Castle or the Hunting Grounds..."

"You can't use any Muggle electronics yet," Hermione added. But—she then looked at Owen, "but clearly, Professor, someone has almost broken your spell."

"Haha." Dumbledore suddenly laughed, appearing quite proud. "This is a good thing. Of course, although it poses a threat to our safety, it proves that you are making progress, doesn't it?"

"Moreover, Owen's magic is a special kind and does not have universality."

"But what if Voldemort also mastered that kind of magic?" Hermione said worriedly.

"Yes, that's exactly what we're worried about. And it's what the Federation is trying to avoid."

"Owen, is this what you've been doing all summer?" Harry asked Owen.

"I guess so," the boy said evasively.

"Did you encounter any danger?" Harry asked again.

"It sounds strange, like I have masochistic tendencies and need to get hurt to achieve my goals, but—yes, this time it was really easy, strangely easy. The Death Eaters have fallen silent again."

"They're definitely plotting something," Ron said with certainty, his eyes burning with rage. Clearly, the hatred between him and Voldemort was likely irreconcilable, a life-or-death struggle.

"Those obelisks of the gods must still exist elsewhere in the world. Didn't they compete with you for them?" Koyatl, who had been silent all along, finally spoke up.

She had long black hair and scarlet eyes filled with confusion.

She was wearing a light red modified robe and a pair of white boots.

It must be said that even without her ancient magic, her charm remains outstanding.

"It's probably because of the concealment," Owen thought for a moment before replying. "Each Divine Tower encounters different situations and faces different enemies."

The one in Italy was built by the legendary King Solomon, who supposedly defeated part of the Outer God's essence. Because he was mortal, his power wasn't enough to suppress the Outer God, allowing its power to seep out. The one in Brazil was defeated by the Feathered Serpent God, making it much more stable. In the end, the Outer God never truly escaped the Divine Tower. If it weren't for the excavation by the Purifiers and the fairies, which destroyed something, the Feathered Serpent God might have been able to suppress the Outer God for decades, even centuries.

Owen paused for a moment and then continued, "Other divinely inspired towers are not all the same. Sometimes, only specific people can encounter the magic leaked from a divinely inspired tower."

"So you've encountered another wizard like me?" Koyatl was perceptive; she immediately guessed what Owen meant.

"Hmm—although it seems simple, this time it is actually more dangerous than before." What Owen said was true. If Miss Zhang regains consciousness and retains either the supreme will or the personality of the goddess Diana, either way it would be a disaster for this world.

"Perhaps it was fate, but in any case, some unexpected things did not happen."

"You're quite lucky," Koyatl said inexplicably.

"Lucky? Maybe."

Irving smiled noncommittally.

luck?

He had already marked the price with fate, and he only bought some with a loan.

"By the way, did you receive a pamphlet like this from the Ministry of Magic?" Harry suddenly asked, taking a pamphlet out of his pocket.

"No!" Irving said.

"I didn't receive it." Hermione shook her head. "What is it?"

“You weren’t in England then,” Ginny said. “We all received it.”

"It's about security measures to deal with Death Eaters."

"Published by the Ministry of Magic?" Owen raised an eyebrow and said dismissively, "Heh—I'd find it too stiff to use as toilet paper."

“I also think it’s useless,” Ron said. “If they are real Death Eaters or Imposters, ordinary wizards can’t tell the difference. Even Aurors make mistakes. Printing these pamphlets only serves to increase public panic and waste paper.”

"It would be more practical to teach everyone a few useful spells."

"Moreover, Scrimgeour doesn't seem to be much better than Barty Crouch."

"They just copied certain passages from the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook," Ginny said. "DA's activities didn't stop during the summer; we expanded our team."

"Expand?" Owen was somewhat surprised. He looked at Hermione, the de facto leader of the DA.

"At first, it was just young wizards going home and teaching their parents spells."

"That sounds kind of funny," the boy chuckled.

Hermione shook her head and continued, "Gradually, more and more wizards are getting involved. I met Fleur when I was in France, and she was also very interested in this kind of mutual learning. We organized an exchange meeting."

"Neville and Hannah happen to be in Paris, at the Rozier Magical Disability Hospital."

"I also met Nefertari."

"Hmm? That Egyptian girl? How is she?" Owen asked.

Owen and Hermione haven't seen her since she was rescued last year.

After all, her father had become a wizard rebel, and her grandfather had an ambiguous connection with the "Impersonator." This must have been a huge blow to her.

"Not good, she's like a different person. Her grandfather resigned as Minister of Magic in Egypt because of his son's situation, and his reputation plummeted. His family can no longer even live in Egypt."

"Hmm—another Barty Crouch."

"Anyway, we met, studied together, and that lasted for two weeks," Hermione explained. "There were probably a few dozen people, mostly students from Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and some Swedes, Italians, and Greeks."

"Wow—you've essentially created a transnational organization, wait—is this considered a political party?"

Owen looked at Hermione, a smile playing on his lips. "Step by step, Miss Granger, what you're doing now is almost no different from what my grandfather did back then. In fact, he's even better. He didn't start acting until he was thirty."

"This is just a normal academic exchange," Hermione rolled her eyes at him and said, "I have no intention of building a wizarding army."

"When that time comes, it won't be up to you," Owen said calmly. "Even if you never wanted to be a leader, just fighting evil will attract followers with all sorts of motives. You should be prepared."

"Owen is absolutely right," Dumbledore finally said.

"You should be stricter to prevent unscrupulous people from sneaking in."

Hermione's expression gradually turned serious. She hadn't thought that much about it; she simply hoped that everyone could survive the turmoil to come.

"I will."

She nodded.

Dumbledore smiled gently at the girl.

A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a neat little stone house nestled in a garden.

"Oh my god! What happened here?"

With Ginny's exclamation, everyone's hearts sank.

They saw that the hinges of the front door were open, and the door was hanging crookedly.

It looks like thugs just broke in.

Dumbledore cautiously looked at both sides of the street; there was no one there.

"Get your wands," he whispered. "Come with me."

Dumbledore pushed open the front door and quietly strode quickly onto the garden path.

The young wizards hurriedly followed.

At the front, Dumbledore slowly pushed open the front door, wand in hand, ready to strike at any moment.

The room was in a mess, as if a fierce battle had just taken place.

An old clock shattered at their feet, its face cracked, the pendulum lying a little further away like an abandoned sword. At the far end of the living room, a piano lay overturned, its keys scattered everywhere. Nearby, fragments of a broken chandelier glittered. Cushions were strewn about, deflated, with feathers peeking out from the cracks. Broken glass and porcelain shards were scattered like powder all over the floor.

There were many dark red, sticky stains on the wall; they were bloodstains.

"This is not good," Ron said gravely. "A horrific incident has occurred here. It's very likely the work of the Death Eaters."

Ordinary dark wizards wouldn't be so bold and cruel; only Death Eaters would be so depraved.

"Owen, what do you think?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.

"Me?" Owen shrugged. "I think that sofa over there is in the way. Why don't we burn it?"

"."

Dumbledore smiled.

In a moment that was imperceptible to most people, the sofa over there trembled.

"How did you discover it?" the old wizard asked again.

"The room is filled with traces of magic, but none of it is dark magic. The sofa is clearly tattered, as if it's been separated by some kind of magic, but there's no trace of magic on its surface. It's obviously a disguise—"

"Of course, ordinary wizards can see the abnormality from these things, but me—" Owen opened his emerald green eyes, and the sofa in front of him was completely visible under the perception of ancient magic, making him look as ridiculous as someone who was painted black and standing in the shadows pretending to be invisible.

"Unless you're surrounded by ancient magic, Professor, ordinary disguises are useless against me."

He said very sincerely that this was the truth.

It does sound a bit arrogant, though.

"Yes, I should ask others."

In the blink of an eye, Dumbledore suddenly struck, plunging the tip of his wand into the bulging cushion of the armchair, which let out a pained cry: "Ouch!"

"Good afternoon, Horace," Dumbledore said, straightening up again. "Long time no see."

Just a moment ago it was an armchair, but in the blink of an eye it has turned into a bald, fat old man squatting there.

He rubbed his belly and squinted at Dumbledore with one painful, teary eye.

"You didn't have to stab me so hard!" he said angrily, struggling to get up. "It hurts so much!"

It was an old wizard with a bright bald head, bulging eyes, a walrus-like silver beard, and wearing a pale purple robe. He looked very old.

He was not tall; his head only reached Dumbledore's chin.

"Are all the young wizards this good now?" He rubbed his stomach, looked at Owen, and then turned his gaze to the other young wizards, his eyes gleaming.

"The world has changed dramatically," Dumbledore said. "Do you need me to help you clean up?"

"Please!" the man said.

They stood up back to back, one tall and thin, the other short and fat, yet their steps were surprisingly synchronized as they waved their wands.

(End of this chapter)