I, Hogwarts Second Week

The old principal had an inexplicable smile on his face, and he patted Owen on the head. This kid seemed to like the matryoshka identity.

But - Harry, just be Harry! It doesn't matter. Harry probably won’t come to France anyway!

The old principal doted on him.

After passing through the sea of ​​beautiful flowers blooming.

Before Owen could continue to enjoy the scenery, a rather burly woman walked over from a distance.

She was almost as tall as Hagrid and had a very handsome olive face. A pair of black, big, watery eyes, and a very pointed nose.

Her hair was combed back and tied into a shiny bun at the base of her neck.

She was wrapped from head to toe in a shimmering black wrought garment, with many gorgeous opals shining around her neck and on her thick fingers.

The person coming was none other than Madame Maxime, the principal of Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Welcome." Her gentle voice was like the gentle wind blowing from the mountains.

In accordance with French tradition, Professor Dumbledore kissed the hand.

As for Owen, his eyes stayed on Madame Maxime, a woman with blue eyes and long waterfall-like silver hair. A girl who exudes amazing charm.

Fleur Delacour, who has Veela blood.

Okay~ She is indeed very beautiful.

Frankly speaking, Fleur was the most beautiful girl Owen had ever met. And he seemed to have an indescribable affection for this girl with Veela blood.

just like.

They are like family members.

It's strange, but there's no way it's true.

"Hello, Fleur Delacour, it's an honor to meet you!" She walked forward with a smile and extended her hand gracefully. (French)

"Hello, I'm Harry -" (French)

"Ahem, it's not good to always use other people's names, little Owen." Dumbledore coughed twice and reminded. (English)

"Uh - well, I'm Owen, Owen Sanchez." He held Fleur's hands together, and the other party smiled sternly, seeming to like Owen's 'prank'. (French, French all the way.)

"You speak French very well, and you seem to have a Parisian accent."

Furong's voice was very pleasant, with a hoarse quality and a hint of charm.

"Accent?" Hearing this, Owen was suddenly startled.

When a young boy leaves home and his boss comes back, his local pronunciation has not changed and his hair on his temples has faded?

he.

"Strictly speaking, maybe, probably, maybe I'm actually French?" Owen touched his chin and thought about it carefully, hey! It seems to be true.

Oh my god! I seem to be really French!

knock! He has become a traitor.

"Are you French?" Fleur was very surprised by this, and then asked: "Then why did you go to Hogwarts?"

She cautiously glanced at Dumbledore, who was discussing something with Madam Maxime.

Although that gentleman does have a great reputation.

But as a Frenchman, I went to a British magic school. I always felt that it was weird.

Moreover, Owen~this name sounds so familiar!

I seem to have heard it somewhere.

"Family reasons, family reasons." How embarrassing! Owen said with a careless eye.

Good guy, if you keep talking, you will really become a traitor.

Look, he said before that those little wizards from Beaubaston School surrendered as soon as they were beaten, and there was no sense of achievement at all.

Co-author, I'm the fucking fastest one on the rails.

Damn Da Ying, you are so crazy about PUA that I almost thought I was from old London.

It turns out to be the white flag of old Paris!

? ? ?

knock! This is not as good as the Zhengmi flag!

Hearing the sound, the enthusiasm in Fleur's eyes began to decline at an alarming speed. I guess the young lady has already marked Owen as a traitor in her heart.

Okay - slightly embarrassing.

However, it doesn't matter.

If we had stayed in France back then, it would have definitely been a red flag for old Paris! ·Long live the society L('ω')┘三└('ω').

What does your Fifth Republic have to do with me?

————

After a few pleasantries.

Madame Maxime led them into a splendid building.

In something like the Great Hall of Hogwarts. A small banquet was held for them.

Only then did Owen know that although Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's holiday was two weeks later than Hogwarts', it had already started before July 10th.

Only students can choose to stay in school.

And all Irving saw were students who chose to stay in school. Most of them had family matters or some other special reasons. Students would not leave school one after another until the end of July. But there are still some left.

However, although the number of people was small, the momentum of the old Parisians could not be lost. About dozens of senior students attended the banquet.

They sang a loud and elegant school song in the auditorium.

The melody is inexplicably like a Marseillaise, full of power in its euphemism, and actively calls on generations of Bubaston students to move forward into the future.

Hmm--it's really good.

Irving, whose soles of his feet could make a hole in the ground (fake), sometimes turned white, and sometimes turned dark. (As usual) Owen never expected that Dumbledore's first stop would be Beaubaston! This made him, a French-born man with a French Muggle father and an unknown mother, feel uneasy about his conscience.

The most embarrassing thing is that as soon as the opposite song comes up, he knows how to sing it.

But it wasn't the Beaubaston school song he sang. But Marseillaise.

ah!

No!

My conscience! My tortured conscience!

A certain demon and ghost is about to reveal its true form under the splendid righteousness of this song born in the era of the Great Revolution.

In order to cover up his embarrassment and reaffirm his position.

After the song ended, Owen, who bowed his head in a fighting song, stood up suddenly and opened his mouth to sing a version of the Hogwarts school song, the theme song of the 1940 Tour de France Armored Car Competition.

I am born as a Ming Dynasty person and die as a Ming Dynasty ghost. Even if I am reincarnated, I am still the soul of the Celestial Empire. Merely French.

Stand up, my fragile conscience!

Seeing that Owen seemed to be a monster, Principal Dumbledore was startled. Then, before he could open his mouth, he quickly reached out his hand, grabbed him, and pressed him firmly on the chair.

It can be seen that the old principal is quite anxious.

To use Owen's words to translate this look, it probably means - don't be embarrassed, this is in Bubbaston, you are shameless, Hogwarts is still here!

After pressing Owen, Dumbledore continued to chat with Madam Maxime with a smile. The two seemed to be talking about some competition or something like that, but the other party was obviously somewhat resistant and seemed to be worried about the recent arranging incident in the UK. Feeling worried and dissatisfied.

This kept Dumbledore from discussing the topic too deeply.

Like Owen said, he should hang out more with the principals of these magic schools.

The competition can be left to next year, and he is not in a hurry.

Without discussing those grand things, the two principals who have dedicated their lives to education naturally talked about the students around them.

Well, even the magical world cannot escape the daily routine of comparing relatives with each other during the New Year.

Madame Maxime praised her outstanding student Fleur, saying that she was the best student in Bubaston in a hundred years.

Professor Dumbledore, on the other hand, was obviously much more modest. He used an ambiguous and obscure tone and roundaboutly said that Owen might be the best student in the millennium history of Hogwarts.

As they talked, the two principals suddenly burst out laughing.

There was an inexplicable sparkle in his eyes.

Owen knew that an invisible war was about to begin.

As the two most important people in this war, Owen and Fleur walked out of the auditorium after simply dealing with the two of them.

Don’t bring the kids with you when adults are competing, okay?

Very tiring.

"Mrs. Maxim told me before to take the guests to visit the school." Fleur shook her long silver hair like a waterfall.

He smiled proudly and said: "Let's see how Hogwarts compares to yours."

"Well - does it count as being warmer than Hogwarts?" Owen, walking in the garden, felt the sunshine from the south of France, and his whole body felt warm.

"There is no time when the temperature is this high at Hogwarts."

"Is it cold?" Owen's sudden thought made Fleur a little stunned for a moment. The words she had just prepared to talk about each other's feelings were stillborn before she could say them.

"Cold?" Owen showed an embarrassed yet smiling expression, "It's only over 20 degrees in summer and over 20 degrees below zero in winter."

"The black lake in front of the school is frozen solid for at least four months of the year, and the water surface is covered with a layer of ice for another two months."

"So exaggerated?" Fleur was a little shocked. There was also a river outside Bubaston's manor, but the river would not freeze.

"We'll find out next year when you live there for a year." Owen replied calmly.

Then, the two of them walked among the flowers, some talking.

They walked through small splendid buildings and finally came to the Quidditch pitch.

"Hi, over there." The two of them strolled through the sea of ​​flowers and enjoyed the beautiful life alone.

Suddenly, a rough voice from the sky interrupted everything!

Then a tall, rough-looking, strong man rode a broom across the sky and landed directly in front of Owen.

"I know you."

"You are that Owen, right? The shameless guy who attacked Kuresi and Mazuhe. I have seen your photo in the newspaper. What is your name?"

"Harry Potter!" Owen opened his mouth.

"You're fooling me! I know your name." The boy threw the broomstick aside and pulled out the wand from the inside of his robe. To Owen.

"Oh! Am I so famous?" Owen grinned, but that expression turned into a provocation and a sarcasm in the boy's eyes.

Why does he know Owen.

It’s not just the battle in London, now wizards throughout France are questioning the teaching level of Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

They don't care about the Secrecy Act!

The only thing they care about is, why can't several of their own little wizards defeat a British guy?

The writing is so dangerous, I feel that if I encounter readers in the more serious history section, they will definitely scold me.