The world is so beautiful, but even the best world has small shortcomings - for example, some people don't play according to the rules at all. Pen @ fun @ pavilion wWw. ｂｉｑUｇE。 ｉｎｆｏ

For example, a certain goddess of water, although she is not the same god as many of the gods worshipped by writers on a certain website, she has a well-known attribute - a very low four-dimensional that is highly related to mages.

In the same way, although some people behave differently on the outside, there is a certain fault that is completely the same as that of this goddess.

She is one of the least capable professors hired by Hogwarts, and in a sense, has the exact same level and practices as the big parallel Professor Lockhart - she relies on weak language to intimidate herself in an attempt to cast a psychological shadow on the young wizard to maintain her position, while Professor Lockhart relies on other people's stories to turn into brilliant feathers to cover up her dull black wings.

Sybil Trelawney—the professor had an innocent face and an insult at the time of torture from Umbridge—but even the world would raise the knife in its hand when it couldn't stand it anymore.

In fact, in Allen's opinion, the malevolent influence of a professor like this one is no less than that of a Dementor, and her class is filled with the fear of young wizards - unlike when the Dementors were in power at the Ministry of Magic, it was not much to worry that the Dementors spent most of their time in Azkaban, and when Professor Sybil Trelawney was in class, she would announce the death of those she was dissatisfied with at any whim.

With just a few prophecies, the professor was given permission to set up his own web at Hogwarts that would spook the whole of Hogwarts into terror.

The funniest thing is that she herself doesn't know when she made a real prophecy and when she faked it, so it's completely understandable that Allen sneered at the professor.

Of course, since Alan came to this class with a chaotic attitude, he was doomed to have no intention of antagonizing the attitude of other professors - after all, crossing a river and demolishing bridges is not a virtue worthy of praise.

It's a pity – when you're going to be a harmless kitten, there's always someone trying to push your limits.

It was a sunny afternoon.

Alan and several of his roommates arrived at the North Tower of Hogwarts.

In the same way that we usually have to be in a group when we go to the bathroom, Alan and the others chose the same class throughout their dorm room - although it may seem a little irrelevant, it is indeed an undeniable truth.

Most of the boys who go to the toilet are there to smoke and go to class — either for roll call or homework.

Although the phenomenon of roll call does not exist much in Hogwarts, it is better for everyone to learn from each other for homework or something - can it be called copying the things of the readers?

As they lazily walked through the hallway, the conversation naturally turned to the class they were about to take.

"Hey, Alan, you say, is the lesson in divination really useful?" - it was Shane, a man who looked like a fifth-grader, who was now firmly holding the divination textbook in his hand, "Piercing the Fog and Looking to the Future", on the index finger of his left hand, and fiddled with his right hand as he walked, trying to make the book spin beautifully, but the book flew straight up under his fuggling, and almost smashed Marshall's head on the side - apparently, Shane, who was not skilled in this way, did a little trick with the book.

"Alright, Shane, don't get it, there's no little witches around to stare at - even if you conjure flowers, they won't see them and promise to go on vacation to Hogsmeade with you, and this kind of Muggle trick is not new at all - it might as well be to join the Quidditch team and score a nice goal or something. Marshall threw the book back in displeasure, shrugged his shoulders and muttered.

Obviously, his words hit the nail on the head - no way, since the third grade was able to enter Hogsmeade on the weekend, many of the little roosters had almost started crowing and showing off their feathers - Shane blushed slightly and tucked the book back under his right arm.

This interruption successfully turned the topic off the floor and turned to an unknown corner, and then, in a hurry, Allen, they met another combination - twin brothers plus Angelina and Lee Jordan.

As if there was a stark contrast - they were completely different from Allen's roommates, and at the moment the group was frantically debating which Quidditch team from the major clubs was stronger this year - yes, there were three players and a commentator here, and it was completely false to say that they were not obsessed with this.

The two groups of people who merged quickly shifted the topic to Quidditch - no way, there was no way to continue the topic in front of the girls, and judging by the three ignorant faces, it would take time for them to figure out the problem.

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The Divination classroom is probably the most remote except for the Wednesday trip to the Astronomical Tower, and both its interior and the roads outside are extremely in line with Professor Sybil Trelawney's misshapen aesthetic - a common problem of all soothsayers, who believe that the more mysterious everything is, the better, even if it is a passageway, you should not easily find it without asking.

In a nutshell - if you don't fool me, I'll lose.

After many inquiries, the group finally chose the boss's room in the maze of roads - this complicated road reminded Alan of a game he played back then, writing an RPG that Sword and Fairy read as a maze legend.

The adventurers were already lining up in front of the dungeon's door, and in front of the dungeon's door was a small bronze plaque with the dungeon's name inscribed on it—Antoun, phew, yes—Sybil Trilawney, the divination teacher.

As the crowd arrived, the trapdoor in the ceiling suddenly opened, and a silver ladder came out of it—the Hogwarts uniform without a skirt was a bad review—eh, how did that happen?

Behind the ladder, behind the building that resembled an attic and an old-fashioned teahouse, an emaciated figure slowly walked to the brightest spot in the room where the clutter of light mingled – a sign that the owner had carefully arranged it.

A erratic voice suddenly rang out - "Welcome to the Delai Alliance." "-Well, it must be a good fit, but it's a pity that this is Allen's brain.

"Welcome," the voice said, "it's good to see you in the tangible world at last." ”