I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 508 My Eternal King!

Irving's idea is not just wishful thinking.

It is a product of the British national conditions, born from the country's deeply rooted culture of compromise.

This is how the United Kingdom has always been.

Scotland, Wales, and England were originally independent countries, but it just so happens that the king of all three countries was the same person.

This understanding is not entirely correct, but the United Kingdom was built on these shaky building blocks.

Constitutional monarchy is a product of compromise. If the emerging bourgeoisie were strong enough, the head of the British king should have rolled to the feet of the people like his French relatives.

"A very bold idea," Mr. Hack said noncommittally, his gaze toward Owen now carrying a hint of seriousness.

This girl in front of me doesn't seem like someone to be trifled with!

"It's not exactly bold," Irving said, spreading his hands. "That's just how Britain is. In the future historical process of global wizard-Muggle integration, you will definitely go down this path."

"This is almost inevitable."

He blinked, a smile playing on his lips, and looked at the prime minister before him. "Because they've tried it before."

"Try?" Mr. Hack's pupils constricted as a powerful and dangerous tsunami loomed over him.

The girl's meaning was clear: in the past, wizards had tried to take control of the country.

"A rather chaotic and dark history," Owen said. "But that history proves what I've always thought: wizards are not capable of ruling a large country. Like the legendary Camelot dynasty, this land needs someone like King Arthur, while Merlin can only serve as someone like the Hand of the King."

"And now, Queen—Prime Minister—this is just right, isn't it?"

He smiled slightly, stood up, and said, "Well then, Mr. Huck—have a good appetite, goodbye."

After saying that, he left the office directly.

The Prime Minister and his private secretary are silent in the empty office.

Number 10 Extra

Irving looked into the distance.

In reality, all he was saying was telling the Prime Minister that they were scheming against Miss Granger, hoping to turn her into a tool of the government to stir up the wizarding world. In doing so, they were digging their own grave.

Miss Granger is stirring up more than just the world of magic.

He shook his head, and the scene gradually became clearer in his vision.

It was around 4 p.m.

The heavy rain continued, and the sky was gloomy.

The area is mostly devoid of light, which is a good thing for Muggles, as thermal imaging or night vision devices give them better visibility than wizards.

Looking north, a line of ancient, greyish-white Gothic buildings from the Rose Dynasty can be seen. They were once magnificent, but now they are covered with cracks and decay.

The air was filled with a nauseating smell of gunpowder and sulfur.

Stretching from here to the banks of the Thames, the end often merges with the heavy rain, blurring the view. The scenery dances and dazzles within the curtain of raindrops, and only a black line can be seen.

Irving stared at the spot, a subtle and peculiar tremor stirring within him, arising spontaneously alongside his loathing.

Nearby, the clouds hung low, like huge boulders pressing heavily on the buildings, shrouding the entire city in mist.

In the deep sea sky, Dementors dart through the clouds like fish, silent yet carrying an inexplicable terror. Their figures appear and disappear among the dark clouds, seemingly blending into the darkness, sending chills down one's spine.

Those wisps of black mist were like fishhooks lowered by demons, which would suddenly drop and harass the souls of some poor souls on the ground. When a white light appeared, it was the time when the souls would fall into the hands of the demons.

The city became eerie and sinister. Distorted light and shadow reflected on the windows resembled the grinning faces of Dementors.

Irving was not involved.

He walked through the deserted streets, holding a transparent umbrella that had been conjured from his magic wand.

Light flashed intermittently across the dark sky, accompanied by bursts of lion roars echoing from the heavens.

We will arrive here soon, moving from afar.

Dementors are a group of creatures with little 'courage'. After being driven away by the power of the guardian deity, they will immediately choose to run away. The little witch is enough to deal with them.

Isn't this exactly what the government, represented by Mr. Haque, wants to see?

agent?

Irving smiled, and after leaving Downing Street, he Apparated to the top floor of a building.

The wind tossed his long silver hair, and the rain outlined his figure.

Throughout the millions of years that have passed, the unspeakable supreme will has remained unchanged in the memories of all the people of God.

A touch of emerald green. It's the color that represents life.

It simply looked down at the city with a detached expression.

In the struggle between people.

God chose to remain a bystander.

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.

In London, the war between mortals and wizards came to an end.

The heavy rain continued to fall, the pattering sound of the rain combined with a piercing, sharp sound like cutting glass, as if dragging terrified souls into an eternal darkness from which they could never escape.

Water droplets, like countless eyes or ghosts, lingered on the blood-stained streets of the ancient city.

Radiating outwards from Westminster, the city's inhabitants huddled together like frightened birds in small cages made of steel and concrete, as if they were startled by the mere sound of a bow.

They were cursed by some unspeakable, ghostly god, a curse that prevented them from seeing the sun.

Even a sliver of light.

The city's fragile power supply system had already collapsed.

As time passed, night gradually approached, and even the last glimmer of light was swallowed up by dark clouds.

People's minds slowly crumbled and disintegrated amidst the stench of gunpowder and some kind of sulfide.

Often, weak-willed people, when they see the ghostly face that devours souls, suddenly go mad, falling into a kind of hysterical frenzy. Some rush out of the room, embrace the darkness, and their figures disappear into the pouring rain of the night.

Someone brandished a knife, muttering lines from the Book of Revelation, listing past sins, and then slit their own throat.

In the city's gutter, those previously unremarkable fanatical religious followers began to spread their heresies, advocating that God would send a flood to cleanse this unclean world.

The administrators seemed to be under the mental control of a chaotic multidimensional entity beyond space and time, and thus began to perform some abhorrent rituals that violated the sacred laws of nature.

Such heinous criminal acts are clearly intolerable to any well-educated person.

God and religion have never been as powerful and urgently needed as they are today.

In a Protestant country, a country where the queen is equal to God, no one pays attention to the person on the high throne anymore. They wait from the bottom of their hearts, transforming into the most traditional and original evangelicals, waiting for Jesus to come into the world to cleanse this defiled world and save their sinful souls.

Waiting—just like what Irving is doing right now.

A cold gaze swept across the city.

Like the Father in the Trinity, mercilessly judging the world.

"Snap!"

"Buzz—!"

Suddenly, it was as if a hole had been torn open in the sky.

The clouds, carrying rain, rolled away, revealing flames—

An unknown flame suddenly emerged from a single point and began to burn rapidly. The speed was so fast that in the blink of an eye, the entire sky turned golden, as if liquid gold had been poured over it.

Perhaps the high temperature triggered the charged clouds in the clouds, and thunder and lightning continued to rumble within the flames.

The golden hue was streaked with blue and white, creating a bizarre and astonishing effect.

At this moment, the lines between legend and reality blurred, just like the myths and legends of the past, where in the darkest of times, the dawn, symbolizing hope, pierced the sky and illuminated the whole world.

"The Fiend Curse?"

"Irving said softly."

The next second, a loud lion's roar seemed to awaken from ancient history, shaking the hearts of everyone who heard it.

The lion was composed of silvery-white radiance, its entire body radiating waves of light. The light swept across the surrounding dark clouds like radar, and then all the abominable things in the sky began to scatter and flee.

Besides these, the hidden vampires, werewolves, and ominous monsters began to emerge from the shadows, like water being poured into oil. For some reason, these dark figures began to attack the witch who had released the guardian spirit.

"Perhaps it's an order from the Death Eaters?" Owen guessed.

Compared to Hermione, the inheritor of ancient magic in the minds of the Fallen Lords, the Prime Minister's value plummeted at this moment.

Killing Miss Granger was perhaps the highest order the Death Eaters received.

Unfortunately for the dark wizard, this was a trap.

Because an old man with a white beard suddenly appeared in the neighborhood.

Dumbledore held his wand high, and spells, like deft threads, slowly wove together a vast net.

"Super-strong armor protects you! Impregnable!! All protected!!!"

"Ultimate Ironclad Charm! Impregnable!! Protect all!!!" Behind Dumbledore, more and more wizards appeared one after another.

Owen saw Professor Lupin, Sirius Black, and more than a dozen wizards including Theseus Scamander and the Goldstein sisters.

All the wizards held their wands high, and spells gathered like fireflies, forming a fragile canopy in the sky.

And above that sky, Miss Granger's guardian spirit looked down upon the earth with disdain.

As for her personally...

All that could be seen was a vague image, too far away. In the distance, people could vaguely make out that it was a girl, a girl holding a sword.

She stood on the back of a giant British dragon with flapping wings.

He exuded an aura of compassion from head to toe.

Kindness, integrity, benevolence, loyalty, and politeness—for some reason, an ordinary person can discern these qualities in her at a single glance.

The silver light shines on this land time and time again.

At this moment, time seemed to have turned back more than a thousand years.

Camelot's brilliance still shines in this era.

"."

The Londoners who witnessed the miracle had completely lost the ability to think.

They were bathed in the glory of their guardian deity.

Just like the subjects protected by the king more than a thousand years ago,

The mortals' bewildered eyes were enveloped in silver light. Their lifeless, hanged-like bodies tilted their heads back, revealing expressions of fanatical joy as they accepted their salvation.

Irving frowned slightly as he stared at all of this.

The Muggle reaction was exactly what he expected.

Not everyone possesses an independent soul; most people are merely part of the "conformity." Moreover, this is a country where religious culture flourishes. Faced with unknown supernatural forces, even though they know of the existence of wizards, they still can't help but think of mystery and miracles.

Besides, this is not the incarnation of Jesus.

Rather, it is the return of the ancient king.

The impact on existing national politics may be more severe than that of God.

Prime Minister Haq couldn't possibly be unaware of this situation. Even if he wasn't, how could the experts in the government, the various psychological, physiological, and medical experts, not know?

This isn't about finding a proxy; it's about creating a god.

Do they have further plans?

A sense of doubt arose in Irving's heart.

Whatever the question may be, there will certainly be no answer today.

There's nothing here that he needs to do anymore.

The bells of Westminster Abbey rang, and Owen Apparated away from the place.

He returned to his house in the suburbs of London.

He hadn't been back there for over a year.

This summer he stayed at Black's ancestral home and his house in Hogsmeade Village.

Last year, I stayed in Egypt for a few days after returning, but not for long.

However, when Irving opened the door, he didn't see any dust or cobwebs everywhere.

It seems that all of this is thanks to Dobby.

He ate a simple dinner and went to bed early.

Tonight, Miss Granger is destined to be with Professor Dumbledore and the Prime Minister.

He'll find out what they've come up with tomorrow.

I slept without any dreams.

Irving didn't get out of bed until after 10 a.m. the next day.

After a quick wash.

He didn't rush out, but instead made breakfast and turned on the TV in the living room.

Yes, there is a television in this house.

However, Irving hardly ever looked at it, so it just sat in a corner collecting dust.

The current TV programs were really like chewing wax to him, and those old-fashioned vacuum tube CRT TVs had very low resolution, which was torture for Owen, who was used to 2K and 4K LCD TVs.

Therefore, he never watches television.

However today

Such a significant event happened yesterday.

The TV station couldn't possibly not report it; he just wanted to see what the British media would say.

Flames danced in the stove, and Irving heard voices coming from the television.

The BBC is doing an interview program where they are discussing the post-war losses and casualties.

As they were speaking, the host's voice suddenly changed.

The message indicated an important broadcast connection, then the scene shifted to an ancient castle, with the words "The Queen" appearing on the screen.

The camera then switched again, and the next second, someone familiar to all Britons appeared on the live television broadcast.

Queen Elizabeth, head of the Commonwealth of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and head of the Commonwealth, sat in grey behind a table adorned with white roses.

Her aged face remained calm, exuding a solemn and dignified aura.

Then her gentle voice rang out.

"We had a tough day."

"This is a time of devastation for our nation, and I have full confidence in my government's ability to protect the British people and their property. But this time, our enemy is not another country, nor any terrorist organization." On television, the Queen took a deep breath, a resolute glint in her eyes, and then slowly uttered a single word in the most authentic British accent.

"wizard.

A dangerous element among wizards.

"Yes, an evil wizarding organization has attacked us." As Her Majesty Elizabeth's voice rang out, her gaze turned to the camera, which then switched to Buckingham Palace, the surrounding land devastated, and London filled with ruins.

The Queen's voiceover continues: "London has been attacked—the worst the city has suffered since World War II."

"The last time a city was so badly damaged was in 1940, when I was just a girl. All I heard on the radio was bad news: Poland had fallen, France had fallen, and most of Europe had fallen into Nash's hands."

"London was being bombed by enemy planes all day long. Although I never doubted that we would lose, all sorts of bad thoughts would still creep into my mind: what if the enemy landed in our country, what if most of the country was occupied by the enemy, what if we really lost the war?"

"In those years, I asked myself countless times, what can we do?" As Her Majesty Elizabeth said this, the scene shifted to downtown London, a dilapidated city full of devastation, but the British flag still flew atop Buckingham Palace.

"But in the end, we all know that the King's government led us to victory in the war."

"And now, I will once again have unwavering faith that my government, and all my people on this land, will surely overcome all invading enemies without wavering or discouragement. We will persevere to the very end! Until the sun shines on this land again!" The Queen's words were deafening, and the voice coming from the television repeatedly inspired her people.

At the table, Owen ate his fried eggs while marveling at how authentic the Queen's London accent was.

What motivation did those words have for him?

Damn it—he's not British.

If Napoleon or De Gaulle were to climb out of their coffins to give a speech, perhaps they would be moved for a fraction of a second.

Besides, do the British really buy into this?

The citizens of London aren't blind. What did yesterday's magnificent miracle have to do with the British government? What they care about now is the name of the king who was born.

Today is the first day since the war ended, and most people are still deeply mired in fear. In a few days, once the unrest subsides, many will gather in front of Westminster Abbey to pray.

That place will become the Wailing Wall for the British.

There is a kind of feeling that only they can understand. After the Battle of London in 1996, the British people, who had suffered from the devastation of lost culture, knelt in the chapel of Westminster Abbey. When the light shone through the stained glass and cast dappled shadows, this nation found an eternal spiritual home.

Since the end of the Camelot era, the sleeping king of Avalon has returned once more.

His subjects, stroking the king's cloak, would murmur with tearful voices, "My eternal king—"

Today, we are finally back by your side.

(End of this chapter)