I, Hogwarts Week Two

Chapter 570: Heroic Spirits - Meeting Dumbledore Again

The personality and memory of a portrait need to be constantly injected by the wizard. As long as a portrait drawn by a wizard in his youth is continuously injected with new magic, the portrait can keep pace with the wizard.

This lack can only be attributed to the fact that the wizard never injected magic into the portrait again later.

The most likely reason for this is the wizard's death.

"Death," Principal Dexter's words echoed in the empty hall, with an indescribable solemnity and sorrow, "For those wizards who set out on the journey to the Tower of Divine Grant, it is both the end and the test. Every step they take is on the edge of life and death, using their flesh and blood to build a defense line to prevent the wanton expansion of darkness.

Regulus, that brave boy, was one of them."

Owen listened quietly, with complex emotions flashing in his eyes, but not fear. After several years of growth and experience, he had already learned the courage to face the unknown.

Moreover, not all wizards who entered the Tower of Divine Bestowal lost their lives. At least her mother came out alive.

"Sir." He said slowly, "Has Principal Dumbledore been here?"

"Hmm - did you guess?" said Headmaster Dexter. "He came three times. Two of those times he came with a wizard named Grindelwald."

"Grindelwald? My grandpa too." Owen repeated the name in a low voice, an inexplicable emotion surging in his heart.

He never told himself.

"The headmaster of Hogwarts has fulfilled his responsibilities. Just as he promised when you first came here before I fell, my students will never embark on that ridiculous fate alone."

Owen took a deep breath and tried to calm his inner turmoil.

"Well, now it's my turn," he said.

"I'm ready."

"Be prepared to live, or to die."

There was dead silence in the hall, as if even time had stopped at this moment.

Principal Dexter stared at Owen quietly, his eyes that had experienced many vicissitudes of life and seemed to be able to see through the long river of history were slightly tearful at this moment. These tears were not only for the young man who was about to embark on an unknown journey, but also for the deep remembrance of the countless heroic sacrifices in the past.

Complex emotions surged in his heart. Those young wizards who once shone before his eyes and had infinite possibilities were like the brightest stars in the night sky, throwing themselves desperately into the torrent of fighting against darkness.

Some turned into brilliant fireworks, lighting up the sky; others were like faint flames, which, despite having gone through wind and rain, still stubbornly flickered, but that light was no longer dazzling, and was even shaky, and could be extinguished in the endless darkness at any time.

He had figured out a long time ago why the Hufflepuff lady had asked him to stay here before she died.

Watching young lives die. Saving the world in the unknown darkness, year after year, until the end of time, is not a glory at all, but a torture.

Only the good-natured Hufflepuffs could have held out for so long without going mad.

Only Hufflepuff would be so foolish as to keep their original intentions, even after going through so many hardships.

Badgers are stronger than lions, snakes and eagles.

"I wish you good health." Principal Dexter finally spoke, his voice choked with sobs.

Then, the sapphire ground under Owen's feet seemed to be stirred by some force like ink.

The light flowed and gathered delicately like running water, eventually weaving into a brilliant galaxy that spanned the sky, as if all the mysteries of time and space were poured out here, as if all the secrets of the entire universe were condensed here, ready to be revealed to him.

The light of the Milky Way became more and more dazzling, and the stars were like countless eyes twinkling in the night sky, gently and mysteriously wrapping Owen in it.

Suddenly, he felt an irresistible force rising from the soles of his feet, as if he was being pulled by an invisible vortex, and his body sank involuntarily.

At that moment, he seemed to have crossed the boundary of time and space and fell into the abyss of another dimension - it was a lonely, dark and deep world, like the unknown area hidden under the Black Lake.

When Owen opened his eyes again, the scene before him was completely different.

Everything around him was no longer what he was familiar with.

Owen stood up slowly. The sand under his feet was soft, and a hint of coolness penetrated through the soles of his shoes and went straight to his heart. The air around him was filled with a faint, indescribable smell, which was neither the salty and humid sea breeze nor the dusty smell of the land, but a strange smell mixed with antiquity and decay.

He looked around and found that he seemed to be on a small island.

The island is very small, much smaller than the Black Lake.

It was dark outside, as dark as ink and smoke.

There should be a large building on the island, but now it has become a ruin.

Moreover, it seemed that a fierce battle had taken place here, and the ruins were covered with scars.

Just as he was immersed in his thoughts, a faint sound of wind broke the silence of the night, bringing whispers from afar. The sound came and went, like a ghost humming in his ear.

Owen involuntarily walked in the direction where the sound came from, passed through a ruined area, and came to a relatively intact stone staircase.

The stone steps led to the highest point of the ruins. When he stepped onto the stone steps, each step seemed particularly heavy. As he climbed higher, the whispering became clearer, until he stood on the top of the ruins. Suddenly, his eyes opened up - in the middle of an open space, stood a half-ruined stone tablet, engraved with ancient runes, flickering with a faint blue light, like the brightest star in the night sky.

Owen walked closer to the stone tablet, reached out his hand and gently touched the runes. A warm and powerful force instantly surged into his body, followed by a series of fragments of memories that came like a tide.

He saw many phantom figures.

There were many he could name.

Dean Brigid, Chronos Stewart, and the sixteen-year-old young Weasley heir, Galahad Weasley.

There were many more figures whose names he couldn't remember.

What these people have in common is that they all possess ancient magic power, no matter how they obtained it, whether it was inherited or through magic props or other methods. And they all rest here.

These memories are a brief summary of their lives.

Full of sacrifice.

Owen didn't have time to digest more.

Because the malice from the darkness is already surging.

"call--"

As Owen sighed softly, the Phoenix Crystal Wand seemed to respond to some kind of call and appeared out of thin air in his palm, emitting a faint warm light.

He lowered his head, placed his other hand gently on his furrowed brow, and tried to sort out the chaotic memories that were pouring in.

These memories came flooding back like a tide, mixed with fragments of the past, unsolved mysteries, and deep-seated emotions, making his heart churn and difficult to calm down.

It wasn't until he saw the countless wands lying next to the half-destroyed stone tablet at his feet that his heart suddenly calmed down.

"Source Flow: Star Rain of Creation."

"Illusion spell."

"Source Flow: Star Rain of Creation."

Two Owens suddenly appeared on the ruins.

They all held their wands high.

Staring coldly into the endless darkness.

This strange place suddenly blew up with gusts of wind. Perhaps it was because the Phoenix Wand had spit out too many galaxies, squeezing the sky and causing some kind of impact on the air pressure.

The winds, carrying the long-silent dust from the ruins, shuttled between the mottled carvings on the stone tablets, blew through Owen's snow-like pure hair, and seemed to blow away the remaining thoughts and dreams of countless talented and ambitious people over the past thousands of years.

Faintly, Owen seemed to hear the whispers of the star rain around him.

He heard a familiar voice.

"You can't help them."

Owen turned his head sharply, his almond-shaped eyes narrowed in surprise, and Albus Dumbledore suddenly appeared beside him.

The old principal stood straight, wearing a flowing dark blue robe.

"Professor?" Owen's voice was filled with confusion and puzzlement. He wanted to say something, but was speechless for a moment. The scene in front of him was so shocking that he almost forgot how to organize his words.

But then his eyes passed over Dumbledore's shoulder and fell on the half-destroyed stone tablet.

The stone tablet was now emitting a soft milky white light, like the gentlest moonlight in the night sky. Light balls kept leaping out of it, and then condensed into specific human figures in the air - those were all familiar faces in his memory, the ancient talents and patriots who sacrificed their lives here to resist the spread of darkness. Among them were heirs and wizards with powerful magic. Every name was worthy of being engraved on the monument of history.

"I didn't want to help them." Owen retracted his gaze, glanced at the heroic souls that were rushing into the darkness like sparks, and said calmly.

"I just"

"I feel somewhat unwilling and in pain, and feel that it's all not worth it." Dumbledore said lightly.

He stretched out his phantom hand and gently patted Owen on the head.

"Owen."

"Do you know why Professor Quirrell can't accept Harry touching him?" Dumbledore suddenly changed the subject and asked a seemingly unrelated question.

Without waiting for Owen to answer, he continued, "Because of his mother. Lily Potter, she sacrificed herself because her love was more powerful than Voldemort's."

"You've known this all along."

Dumbledore looked at him, "Child, do you really understand?"

Owen remained silent, his eyes following the ancient heroic spirits that shuttled between the ruins and darkness. They were fighting against the malice of darkness.

Those illusory monsters, those abominable beasts beyond his imagination, were disappearing one by one.

Above the sky, the star shower cast by Owen is still continuing, and the starlight is falling like rain on this forgotten land.

That was the galaxy created by the spell he cast.

However, at this moment, Owen felt an unprecedented throbbing.

He suddenly realized that compared to the empty galaxy, the heroes shining milky white under the galaxy seemed brighter.

"Why are they here?" Owen finally spoke, breaking the silence, with a hint of urgency and desire in his voice.

"Why did you show up?"

"Is this just my imagination?"

He did not directly answer Dumbledore's question, but instead dumped out all the doubts in his mind in one breath.

"It is certainly not a fantasy," said Dumbledore mildly.

"Because those who love us never really leave us. You will always find them."

"As for why I'm here." The old principal said, and then looked around, "Hey, I was just about to ask you, why do you think we're here?"

Hearing this, Owen frowned, and after thinking for a while, he said, "Because of the ancient magic? The ancient magic left by the heroic souls who died here was stimulated by me? The specific reason may still be related to the principle of causality. You appeared here because some of your magic was left here. I heard from Principal Dexter that you came here three times. More than the previous heirs. Although you left this place alive, did you leave magic behind?"

"When did you become as boring as an old man?" Dumbledore suddenly said. "Consider your age. You are only seventeen years and two months old. Child."

"." Owen was silent.

After a moment, he raised his head again. "You are here, and they are here. It's because of love. The heroes who save the world love everyone in this world. I need them, so they show up?"

Hearing Owen's answer, Dumbledore's smile became more obvious. "Not a bad answer."

“Remember kids—be loving to Stardust.

Only if we can do this can we reach the other side of the stars.

Don’t make the same mistake again.”

"What do you mean?" Owen frowned, he hated that Dumbledore treated him like he treated Harry the Riddler.

The Riddler is the most annoying thing.

"You will understand, but not now. I left the most important thing to others."

"." Owen rolled his eyes at his headmaster. Before Dumbledore could get even more irritated, he asked again: "About Grandpa, about the Elder Wand and Harry. You..."

"Oh - the Deathly Hallows." Dumbledore's face changed slightly when he mentioned the name, and Owen was happy to see that the smile on his face disappeared.

"Yes." The old principal's expression was indifferent yet full of sadness.

"The Holy Relic, the Holy Relic! A bait for fools. I used it as bait. I hid what was truly important.

And Gail."

"Child. We are all old," said Dumbledore, taking a deep breath. "He agrees. We all made our own choices."

"So he's going to lose his life?"

“I didn’t choose him originally.”

"Originally you chose Snape." Owen blurted out.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, surprised that the child in front of him knew all this.

He had no way of answering this question.

Because someone has to sacrifice.

Someone's soul will always sink into the abyss.

"After this, will it be my turn?"

"Die the right way?" the boy asked bitterly.