read my new story : American Fast & Furious NSFW
Voldemort has die-hard fans, just like pop stars have obsessive stans.
So, his desire to resurrect is just a matter of time. Trying to stop it completely is futile. Since Dumbledore is already handling that, there's no need for Owen to get involved.
On the parchment, the word "Resurrection" was crossed out with a large X. Owen's gaze shifted as he wrote a new word on the paper: Horcruxes!
Find the Horcruxes first. Destroying them is equivalent to taking out all of Voldemort's extra lives in advance. That way, when he finally pops up, he'll be stuck in his one and only mortal body. One Avada Kedavra—or a Straw Man Curse—and it's game over. Easy.
But that raises new questions.
What are the Horcruxes? And how many are there?
"I hate trying to get inside the head of a psychopath!"
Owen let out a long sigh, stood up from the sofa, and threw his arms open wide. "I am the Savior of this world! No, wait, 'Savior' is too humble. A young wizard shouldn't have such noble thoughts. Being young means being arrogant. The correct line is—I am the one true God of the magical world!!"
Spending the whole night roleplaying a lunatic in the common room took a toll on his mental energy, but the results were promising. Looking at the items listed on the parchment, Owen decided to go verify one when he had the time. If he was right, things would get a lot simpler.
And if he was wrong... well, he'd just keep looking. It's not like the items could be anything other than what was on this list!
Having finally finished empathizing with the soul-split, noseless psycho, Owen decided to reward himself by attending a Charms class.
But as he entered the castle and headed toward the classroom, he heard an argument. And it sounded like it was about him?
"Impossible! No one can surpass Mr. Harry Potter's achievements! Not even Mr. Corlett!"
Now this was interesting. Owen quickened his pace, turned a corner, and saw a group of students surrounding a small wizard with a magical camera around his neck. The kid's face was flushed red; he looked ready to explode with anger.
"Everyone, there's no need to argue about this."
Owen's appearance silenced the crowd instantly. They parted to make a path for him. He walked into the center and wrapped an arm around the small wizard's shoulders. "We all know about Mr. Potter's greatness, and we praise it constantly. But have you ever considered whether Mr. Potter actually wants this fame? Remember, he gained that fame the day he lost his parents. If it were you, which would you choose: the fame, or your mom and dad?"
The hallway fell silent. Owen smiled gently. "What Mr. Harry hopes for isn't for people to remember a reputation bought with his parents' lives. He hopes people will treat him normally, rather than constantly bringing up how he became a hero or how his parents died, over and over again."
"Mr. Creevey, what do you think?"
The little wizard nodded. "Mr. Corlett, I understand. You are great, but... I still like Mr. Harry more."
"Hahaha!"
Owen laughed heartily, aggressively ruffling the little wizard's hair. "Of course you can, little Colin! That is your freedom. Alright everyone, class is starting soon. If you're late, points will be taken."
The students scattered, but Owen kept his arm around Colin, not letting him go. He rubbed the kid's head a few more times. "Hey kid, you hold a grudge, don't you? What, are you still mad that I tricked you?"
Colin Creevey. His father, David Creevey, was a wizard obsessed with alchemy and a fan of Nicolas Flamel. Two years ago, when David took little Colin to visit Master Nicolas's estate, Owen had met them.
Back then, the innocent little Colin had asked Owen how the Sorting at Hogwarts worked. Owen had whispered to him that there were three trials: First, defeat a Troll. Second, survive a hunt by a Wampus Cat. Third, last two minutes under the claws of a Dragon.
The poor kid's face had gone pale instantly, and he had nightmares for a whole week!
Now that he was a Hogwarts student and knew how the Sorting actually worked, of course he was mad.
"Hmph!"
seeing the kid act all tsundere, Owen gave him a gentle shove. "Go on, get to class!"
---
Seventh-year Charms class covered deep magical applications. Even if you self-studied the textbook, you could grasp the basics, but Professor Flitwick's class always offered deeper insights and visible improvement.
However, the class was completely different depending on whether Owen was present or not.
If Owen wasn't there, everyone understood Professor Flitwick's lecture. But once Owen showed up, the other students were lost. They understood every individual word Flitwick said, but strung together, it sounded like gibberish from a celestial tome. By the end of the lesson, their brains were empty.
It wasn't just Charms; Transfiguration was the same. Without Owen, Professor McGonagall taught from the book. With Owen, the curriculum abandoned the book entirely and went into realms no one else could comprehend.
The tragedy was that Owen didn't have to do homework, but they did. Consequently, the library was never empty. Even on weekends, it was packed with upper-year students.
The seniors needed theoretical knowledge, while the juniors needed practical experience. To satisfy this, Owen had set up a considerable number of magical training dummies on the edge of the Forbidden Forest for the little wizards to practice on anytime.
The entire Hogwarts was filled with an atmosphere of intense learning. The students who already loved studying looked like they wished they had rocket boosters on their shoes!
---
By chance, Owen spotted a figure hurrying along. He raised an eyebrow. A few steps later, he saw the same figure again.
He was only confused for a second before his feet left the ground. He took off, flying straight for his target: The Transfiguration Office!
He definitely wasn't seeing things. Seeing two Hermiones at the same time meant only one thing: Time-Turner!
He had applied for one for years without success, yet someone else got approved? Mom McGonagall owed him an explanation!
Seeing Owen storm into her office, Professor McGonagall smiled before he could even speak. She gave him a warm hug, instantly dissipating more than half of his anger.
"Mom McGonagall, I want to apply for a Time-Turner!"
Professor McGonagall froze for a moment, then grabbed Owen's hands. "What did you call me?"
"Mom McGonagall... I've actually wanted to call you that for a long time, but I was afraid you'd be unhappy..."
"No, my dear. I am very happy..."
The witch started to cry, weeping tears of pure emotion. Once she finally stopped, Owen prepared to retreat, only to remember why he had come in the first place.
Anyone else might have come back another day, but not Owen. He turned right back around—and was immediately pulled into another hug by the witch.
"My dear, it's not that I won't give it to you. It's that you cannot use a Time-Turner. Your natural magic is too powerful. The slightest instability could stretch the time span too far. You might disappear into time forever."
Fine. It seemed the gadget was out of the question. But he had another objective.
"Mom McGonagall, I saw the new Firebolt broomstick is out. I think it can handle my magical output. Can I try it?"
"You may, but you cannot test it alone. Rolanda must be present."
"Deal!"
He had been a wizard for five years and a staff member for three, yet he had never taken a single flying lesson. He knew how to fly (levitation), but he had never experienced the sensation of riding a broomstick at high speeds.
Even a Firebolt might not handle him perfectly, but he at least wanted to try it once, right?
He had already bought the broom, so there was no waiting. Madame Hooch was curious too, so she agreed to Owen's invitation immediately.
"Hold out your hand over it and shout."
"Up."
The broom flew instantly into Owen's hand. Madame Hooch's eyes lit up. "Very good, Owen! You succeeded on the first try. Now, mount it, and kick off gently—"
Before she could finish her sentence, Owen launched.
It lived up to the name Firebolt. He shot straight into the sky like a rocket. Madame Hooch jumped in fright, but before she could react, Owen was already coming back.
Except, he wasn't sitting on the broom.
He was standing on it.
"Owen, what are you—"
"Ma'am, sitting increases the contact surface area, which makes the magic flow harder to regulate. Standing makes it easier to control."
Contact surface area?
Madame Hooch had taught flying for years and seen all sorts of styles, but riding a broom while standing up? That was a first.