Of course, it's about making money by selling courses! (You already know that.)
Meanwhile, in the open space outside Hogwarts Castle, near the Quidditch pitch, Owen had been waiting for quite some time.
In the distance, panting young wizards arrived one after another.
Seeing them hunched over and sweating profusely, Owen—who had prepared a full speech in advance—immediately blurted out:
"Terrible! Absolutely terrible! You're out of breath after walking a few steps. You're the worst class of wizards I've ever taught!"
???
Even Hannah and Justin—along with the entire group—were filled with question marks.
What happened?
What did he just say?
"In view of Mr. Harry Potter's repeated requests—"
(He had only asked once.)
"—I'm going to give you all a special training session."
"Special training?" Harry perked up immediately. "Are you going to teach us new spells?"
"No! Not spells."
"It's principles. Principles, you know?" Owen continued seamlessly, "Learning magic at Hogwarts is just for fun. To truly learn magic, you need to go to Azkaban."
"Why?" Hermione tried to ask, but Owen overrode her.
"I knew you didn't understand anything! Look at Hogwarts—Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers change every single year. What's the point? It's always the same old lectures!"
"Even Voldemort had something to say: 'Who were my opponents? Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix, and at the very least, an Auror from the Ministry.'"
"And look at us now. Quirrell? Could he teach Defense Against the Dark Arts properly? Of course not! You all know that."
Owen paced dramatically. "If this continues, what will become of Harry Potter? Neville Longbottom? Those poor kids are doomed before they even start!"
"He's already lost at the starting line, I tell you!"
"Let's be realistic. We need to understand the philosophy of magic. Honestly, Snape doing part-time Defence wouldn't have been a problem at all—why didn't Professor Dumbledore allow it?"
"If this goes on, Hogwarts will lose to Durmstrang, then to Beauxbatons, and eventually even to Ilvermorny. There'll be no one left to lose to—and Hogwarts's reputation will be ruined!"
He stopped and faced the bewildered students, speaking with grave sincerity.
Whether Harry and the others understood any of it was unclear, but they did feel a sudden pressure, as if they were falling behind.
Which was exactly Owen's intention.
Because if you were eleven years old and had to listen to Owen ramble like this, you'd panic too.
"So, what we urgently need right now isn't learning spells—it's creating our own Hogwarts magical philosophy!"
"Do you all agree?"
Owen spread his arms wide, waiting for applause.
He received only blank stares.
"Hmph. Clearly you haven't understood my good intentions."
"Alright then, it seems everyone was deeply moved by what I said!" he declared shamelessly.
He cleared his throat, then dropped his voice to a confidential tone.
"What I'm about to share with you is all internal material. Top-level secrets."
"Hannah and the others are one thing. But Harry—"
"Huh?"
"I'll give you three a discount," Owen continued, "but it'll cost two Galleons."
"Why?!" Ron's head snapped up instantly at the word money. He glared suspiciously.
"Why? Because I'm a Hufflepuff!" Owen folded his arms solemnly. "Teaching Hannah and the others counts as internal house enrichment. Teaching you is basically assisting the enemy! Besides, I need to eat, don't I? Are you going to watch me starve on the streets?"
"???"
Everyone rolled their eyes.
What a terrible lie. It didn't even sound creative.
Hermione thought silently: If he'd said he needed it to save up for hospital fees after being beaten by Aurors someday, I would've believed him more than this nonsense.
Starve to death?
You?
A Hufflepuff?
Impossible.
But then—only at this moment, seeing him say it himself—Hermione realized with dawning horror:
This ridiculous man was actually from Hufflepuff, not Slytherin.
(A sudden mental cry: Azkaban!!)
"Harry, stop—" Hermione raised her hand quickly as Harry actually took out the two Galleons.
Are you serious?! Are you actually paying him?!
"Come on, Hermione, it's just two Galleons," the very wealthy Harry said casually, brushing past her hand.
With a smooth flick, he tossed the Galleons to Owen.
Hermione froze.
She had forgotten—this boy was a literal millionaire.
Instantly, the natural resentment of remembering her humble Muggle upbringing resurfaced.
Every Galleon she owned had to be budgeted carefully, especially with all the books she wanted to buy.
And Harry—
Humph!!
An unbridgeable gap has opened between us!!!
"Ahem." Owen caught the money with a sycophantic smile. "Boss, you're generous. But remember—this is two Galleons per lesson. It's not a buy-out."
Harry's smile vanished instantly.
Two Galleons each time? Even he couldn't afford that long-term.
Still, since he'd already paid, he might as well attend this one and worry about the rest later.
Seeing no further objections, Owen began his lecture.
"Alright! Little Sunflower Mom's class is now in session."
"First, we need to understand the most important skill a wizard must master."
He pointed at Hermione. "Granger, answer."
"Me?" Hermione pointed at herself, annoyed. "Spells? Magic? Duel skills?"
"Correct. Gryffindor gets two points. But Ravenclaw looks down on you, because knowledge is the most important thing."
Owen continued confidently, "However, since most wizards are wand-swinging baboons, expecting them to have any actual combat ability is harder than Harry getting an O in Potions."
Harry made a strangled noise.
"So—what's the most important thing for a wizard?" Hermione snapped, irritated. She had paid for this—she didn't want nonsense padding!
"Rolling!"
"…Rolling?"
"That's right!" Owen announced proudly. "Rolling! A wizard who cannot roll in battle is basically someone who only knows how to stand still and wait to die. Do you think you're Dumbledore? Do you think you can just stand there dramatically and duel people?"
"A true wizard's combat style should be like an assassin! Slip into a village—cut their throat. Kill one person in ten steps, leave no trace for a thousand miles! Nothing is true, everything is permitted! Understand?"
With perfect theatrical timing, Owen pulled out his new wand.