I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 5 I feel my words have touched your soul (Please continue reading)

As Hagrid knocked on the door.

The next moment, the door opened wide, and a tall, black-haired witch in a green robe stood in front of it.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take care of you here." The witch nodded slightly to Hagrid with a serious expression.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

Then the young wizards followed Professor McGonagall one by one through a high hall and into a place that looked like a meeting hall.

Harry, Ron, and the others craned their necks, staring intently at their surroundings. Hermione, however, didn't boast to the others about the little-known facts about candles she'd learned from the book.

Her eyes haven't left Irving since she got off the train.

If it weren't for the rage in her eyes, this narcissist would definitely have thought that the witch had taken a liking to him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." As the group walked to the stage in the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall began to introduce the four houses of Hogwarts and the rules of sorting.

Stepping into the auditorium, Irving felt like he was coming home.

Look—these are the ghosts he knows.

Oh—the professors are all normal.

Look—the young wizards are all full of energy, especially those at the Slytherin table, who are constantly being met with disdain, disgust, and pride.

Good heavens! Kyrie Irving absolutely adores them.

This is the taste.

hiss~

He felt a wave of refreshing coolness spread from the top of his head to his toes, like drinking liquid nitrogen on a hot summer day and then stepping into a refrigerator – incredibly invigorating. (PS: Kids, don't try this at home! If the protagonist can time travel, you're definitely doomed.)

What a normal Hogwarts!

I feel like I'm about to cry.

"Mr. Sanchez!" Professor McGonagall, who was explaining the House Cup to the young wizards, was suddenly drawn to a child with tears in his eyes.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?" the professor asked with concern, puzzled.

"No, Professor," Owen said, wiping away tears as he sobbed, "I'm so excited to be here at Hogwarts, and it's wonderful to see you."

Good heavens!

What an innocent child!

He will definitely grow up to be a quiet, reserved, and taciturn good student.

A fleeting hint of fondness flashed in Professor McGonagall's eyes.

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name 12199.99]

If only this child could come to Gryffindor.

As he spoke, the professor couldn't help but glance in the direction of his college's long table, where two red-haired twins stood out conspicuously in the crowd.

Look at this, my own college is full of troublemakers.

"You don't need to be sad." Professor McGonagall's heart softened with affection. She walked over and ruffled Owen's hair, her serious expression gradually melting away. "I believe you will be very happy in the days to come."

"Um!"

Irving nodded in agreement.

happy.

He will certainly be very happy in the days to come.

Hey.

The little incident ended with Hermione giving it a look of utter disdain.

Professor McGonagall, regaining her usual serious expression, slowly opened the parchment scroll in her hand.

"Whoever's name I call now, put on your hat, sit on the stool, and await Sorting," she said. "Hannah Abbott!"

Upon hearing the sound, a little girl with rosy cheeks and two golden braids stumbled out of the line, put the Sorting Hat on her head, and sat down.

"Hufflepuff!" The Sorting Hat gave its answer almost as soon as it stood on top of his head.

"Susan Burns!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Terribut!" Professor McGonagall continued reading.

"Ravenclaw!"

Immediately, the second table on the left clapped and applauded, and when Terry joined them, several Ravenclaw students stood up and shook hands with him.

"Owen Sanchez." Professor McGonagall's sudden gentle tone warmed Owen's heart.

Her cheeks flushed.

That was one of the few times he was lashed out by his conscience.

With a heavy heart, Irving lowered his head, walked over with practiced ease, sat down in the chair, and put the dirty hat on his head.

Then a faint voice sounded in his ear.

"Oh! Another troublesome little fellow has arrived." The Sorting Hat's singing tone was quite unique.

It seems to have a calming effect.

Of course, it could also be some kind of psychological suggestion.

"It's clear you have a great talent for magic, ambition, and are very intelligent. You also have plenty of courage."

"Several colleges would be suitable."

"so--"

"Numontard!" Owen thought to himself.

In Azkaban and such, everyone there is someone I know; it's kind of awkward.

"Hmm?" The hat paused for about half a minute before sobbing, "Child, how could you have such thoughts? Do you know what Nurmengard is?"

"I know, like Azkaban, it's a place specifically for imprisoning dark wizards," he said.

"So—as the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, how could I sort you into a place like that?" the Sorting Hat questioned angrily.

"Ahem—Mr. Hat, is it possible, I mean, that all the wizards of Azkaban are Hogwarts graduates? If we do a simple deduction, then Azkaban could be Hogwarts' fifth house, right?"

"???"

These words stunned not only the Sorting Hat, but even Professor McGonagall, who was standing next to him, couldn't help but turn her head and scrutinize him with the eyes of someone examining a prisoner.

Did I just have some kind of illusion that I thought this child would be an obedient and well-behaved child?

For the first time, Professor McGonagall expressed doubt about her ability to judge people.

"Good heavens! How could you come to such a conclusion? Merlin's beard, I can't imagine how your parents introduced you to the magical world." The Sorting Hat let out a sharp exclamation.

"Um—that—maybe—I don't have parents?"

The sound of the hat suddenly stopped.

Well, Irving has to admit, he just delivered the game-winning shot.

Wow! These days, is telling the truth really that damaging?

This hat has such poor mental fortitude!

However, upon closer reflection, it's normal for it to have a few minor issues after being used for over a thousand years.

"I'm fine, there's nothing wrong with me," Hat practically shouted.

Clearly, Irving's words had touched its very soul.

"However, since the founding of Hogwarts, there has never been a young wizard like you."

"Thank you for the compliment."

"This isn't a compliment!" the Sorting Hat snapped hysterically.

Then there was another pause of about ten seconds, "I originally thought Slytherin would be the perfect place for you to showcase your talents."

"But now, I'm responsible for your future, and Slytherin isn't right for you."

"Um, Mr. Hat. Can I sue you for discrimination for what you just said?" Owen continued to push the Sorting Hat's limits. His expression remained unchanged as he shifted his gaze to the Slytherin table. "Does entering Slytherin necessarily mean becoming a dark wizard?"

"Not all the wizards imprisoned in Azkaban are from Slytherin."

"As far as I know, there's also Gryffindor."

"Um—do you really have the mindset of the four founders?"

"You just made disrespectful remarks about the entire Slytherin house!"

"Does Salazar know about this?"

"Are there four little people fighting in your head?!"

"Hmm—Mr. Hat? Mr. Hat? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Has it broken again?"

"Hey! I knew it! It's been used for over a thousand years, it's bound to have some minor problems!"

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.

"Minerva!" Just as Irving was sighing, the hat on his head finally spoke up.

A hurried voice, tinged with anger, cried out, "Quick! Get me off this brat's head!"

(End of this chapter)