I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 7 The Strange Dumbledore (Please continue reading)

Dinner at Hogwarts is quite plentiful.

After a hearty meal.

After singing the school song in its strange accent.

Dumbledore wiped his eyes, and his booming voice echoed throughout the Great Hall. "Music is far more captivating than anything we do here! It is bedtime. Everyone, go back to your quarters."

The sound faded.

The auditorium was immediately packed with people.

Hufflepuff has the most first-year students.

They followed behind Prefect Truman, preparing to return to their dormitories.

Irving followed.

Walk through the noisy crowd, exit the restaurant, and climb the marble steps.

Just as he followed the crowd into the basement.

Suddenly, the professor's shouts came from ahead.

"Mr. Sanchez."

It's Professor McGonagall.

She stood at the top of the spiral staircase, looking down at him with a serious expression.

"What's wrong, Professor?" Owen pushed through the crowd and came to Professor McGonagall's side.

"The Headmaster wants to know more about what happened on the Hogwarts Express," the professor said slowly. "Come with me."

Then he turned around and walked towards the spiral staircase.

-

On the eighth floor, amidst the puzzled gazes of the Gryffindors, he and Professor McGonagall walked together toward the corridor with the griffin statue.

Professor McGonagall shouted a command at the stone sculpture: "Cockroach Pile!"

Immediately, the griffin statue turned halfway around, revealing a spiral staircase leading upwards.

At the end of the stairs was an oak door that shimmered with fluorescent light.

Push open the wooden door.

The lighting inside seemed a bit dim.

Owen's first thought was that Professor Dumbledore might need some candles.

Although the office in front of us is filled with all sorts of strange and unusual items that are very much in line with the description in the original work.

But he still preferred the principal's office in the first playthrough.

It was sparkling, filled with golden light, like a warm sun overhead. The office was decorated with cozy items and all sorts of flowers.

On Dumbledore's desk is a family photo.

Irving has met him.

Aberforth, Credence, Nagir.

And her daughter.

He didn't know the full name, but Irving knew the middle name must be "Ariana".

"Oh! That annoying brat is here."

Upon seeing the appearance of the newcomer, the Sorting Hat spoke first.

It seemed like it hadn't calmed down yet, and its tone of voice wasn't like when it was singing normally.

Beside Dumbledore's desk stood a tall, gilded perch, with the phoenix Fawkes perched on its tip.

Further down, there was a semi-circular bookshelf embedded in the wall, filled with all sorts of books and magical items. Owen even spotted the Gryffindor sword.

The Sorting Hat was placed in one of the compartments.

"Mr. Sanchez." Dumbledore seemed quite relaxed, showing no intention of accusing him. He slowly rose from his desk and walked over to Owen. "Would you like some sweets?"

On the desk, a large pile of licorice cockroaches lay quietly in a silver tray.

Owen recognized it. As a potential foodie, he had tried most of the snacks in the wizarding world, including this strange candy.

A pile of cockroaches looks no different from ordinary candy when it's just sitting there; they only move when you pick it up.

As for the taste—it wasn't very good.

It's too sweet for Irving; it's a bit cloying.

"No need, Professor, my grandpa says that eating too much candy can cause cavities."

"Really?" Professor Dumbledore didn't seem to care about the cavities at all. He casually picked one up and put it in his mouth. "It looks a bit strange, but it tastes pretty good."

"Young people should be brave enough to try new things."

"You're not British?" Then the professor suddenly changed the subject, starting to talk about Owen's family in a casual, conversational manner.

Owen wasn't surprised by this; it wasn't a secret, the Ministry of Magic had records, and he hadn't smuggled himself into England. "Yes, I was born in France."

"I spent at least four years of my life in a Muggle orphanage in Paris."

"Oh? What about your grandfather?" Dumbledore suddenly became interested. He couldn't possibly not know about a wizard who could make an eleven-year-old wizard cast a spell like the Petrify Charm.

But when he actually looked through Owen's file, he found that almost all the information recorded by the Ministry of Magic was incoherent nonsense, completely written haphazardly.

It's like—someone used the Imperius Curse to control some poor British Auror, and just recorded it casually.

"My maternal grandfather?" Owen was taken aback. "Actually, I don't know him very well. We shouldn't be related by blood. He took me out of the orphanage and brought me to England."

The reason Owen called him "Grandpa" (there is no such word as "Grandpa" in English, they all call him "Grandpa") was entirely because of Rick's name. Anyway, Owen just called him that, and the other person didn't object. Over time, Owen got used to it.

As for the grandfather's identity.

He had some guesses, but wasn't sure.

I'm about 99% sure!

He was afraid of becoming arrogant with the last 0.1.

"Yes, I understand." The professor nodded slightly, a serious look appearing behind his crescent-shaped eyes. "Mr. Sanchez, I still must say that bullying classmates is never the right thing to do, regarding Harry—"

Suddenly, Dumbledore's tone changed, becoming somewhat urgent, "Is that your wand?"

Because of his habit from the first playthrough, Owen always kept his wand in the most conspicuous place on his waist, where there was a small pocket. About two-thirds of the wand was tucked into the pocket, while the rest was exposed, making it easy for him to quickly retrieve it.

"Hmm? This is my grandfather's wand. You know, buying a wand costs a lot of money."

Wizards have a tradition of passing down their wands, but most wizards choose to buy a new one.

Because no matter how close the blood ties, it's never as comfortable to use someone else's wand as it is to use your own.

Owen took his wand out of his pocket.

"May I take a look?"

"Of course, here you go." Owen handed over the wand, his expression twitching involuntarily. He wanted to laugh, and he could barely hold it in.

Dumbledore took the wand and examined it carefully.

It was a magic wand shaped like a withered branch.

The only highlight is its material: silver linden wood, which is a very precious material.

Silver linden wands were very popular in the 19th century. Due to the shortage of this wood in the market, some unscrupulous merchants dyed substandard wood to deceive consumers.

These wands are popular not only because of their beautiful appearance, but also because they perform exceptionally well in the hands of "prophets" or wizards skilled in "legendary magic," which bestows upon the holders of silver linden wands a very high status.

Wizards who possess such wands are not common.

The most famous holder of the silver linden wand, the one most familiar to Dumbledore, was only one person.

The air in the principal's office seemed to freeze.

For several minutes, Dumbledore remained silent.

He was pulled out of his reverie only when Professor McGonagall, who was standing next to him, spoke up to remind him.

"Irving, is it?"

"Want some late-night snacks?"

I'm about to sign the contract, I'm about to sign the contract, I think I'll be in that state by tomorrow.

(End of this chapter)