Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Hermione frowned, thinking hard for a moment. "Sorry, Harry. I can't think of anything right now..."

The knowledge base of a first-year student was still too limited—they'd only been studying magic for two months.

"No rush," Harry said, waving his hand. "Focus on recovering."

As he spoke, he stood up.

That strange feeling of déjà vu Hermione had intensified. Her tone turned odd. "Aren't you going to stay a bit longer?"

"You need to rest," Harry replied gently.

Hermione nodded but looked slightly reluctant. "Alright, let me think about it. When I get back tomorrow, we'll discuss it properly."

Harry hummed in agreement and left with Ron.

Ron seemed a bit hesitant to speak.

No, this wasn't right.

Madam Pomfrey walked over, pulling the curtain shut behind her. "You have such wonderful friends, Miss Granger. If all Gryffindors were as quiet as them..."

She paused midway through her comment, noticing Hermione's expression—a scrunched-up little face. Concerned, she changed her question. "What's wrong, Miss Granger? Are you feeling unwell?"

Physically, Hermione was fine. But mentally... she was unsettled.

Hermione didn't say much, though. She worked to smooth out her expression. "Madam Pomfrey, when people come to visit patients, do they usually behave this way?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "No, they're usually loud and rowdy—quite lively. But this is the hospital wing."

"Patients need quiet to recover."

"A quick check-in to ensure the patient is fine, then leaving—that's the proper way. It's also best for the patient."

"Now, young lady, rest well."

With a swish, she stepped out and pulled the curtain closed.

The knot of frustration in Hermione's chest unwound and dissipated after hearing those words.

On Saturday, Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room.

The other Gryffindors looked at her with complicated expressions—relief, surprise, and even disbelief. At least, they no longer ignored her like before.

"What did Professor Snape assign for homework?" Hermione asked as she sat next to Harry.

Ron grumbled, "An essay on Swelling Solution—three inches long. It's awful. But Harry has to write eight inches."

"Hermione, I'm relying on you this time. Please, I'm begging you."

He couldn't copy Harry's essay—the length was completely different.

As for picking out the parts he could copy? Well, if he was already copying, why bother distinguishing between useful and irrelevant bits?

Hermione turned to Ron with a calm expression. "Do you know how to brew a Swelling Solution?"

Even though she'd missed class, knowing Ron as she did, she was sure he didn't.

As expected, Ron froze, his face stiffening. "It's not my fault! Fred's second-hand cauldron leaks—it's poor quality."

"You can borrow mine," Hermione offered, tilting her chin slightly. "Of course, if you think mine isn't good enough, Harry, would you lend yours to Ron?"

Harry, busy writing his essay, didn't even lift his head. "No problem, Ron. You know where I keep it."

Ron let out an awkward laugh, not responding, and buried his head.

Hermione scanned the faces of the other students crowded around the table, then bit her lip, stood up, and slapped the table with her uninjured hand. "This can't go on anymore."

"Ron, and all of you! This has to stop—you can't keep copying assignments!"

Her voice was loud, and that last statement wasn't just aimed at Ron—it was directed at all the first-year students. Even some older students nearby turned their heads to look.

Seamus frowned. "Granger, you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Harry doesn't seem to mind."

Harry raised his head, shooting Seamus a cold look. "It's not that I don't mind—I just haven't said anything. I originally only intended to help Ron."

"After all, I can ensure he'll learn those spells."

"But Ron clearly can't resist your pleas."

Ron avoided Harry's gaze, looking guilty.

Seamus opened his mouth but couldn't find the words to respond.

"Copying won't make the knowledge yours," Hermione pressed, her confidence bolstered by Harry's support. "Seamus, aside from the Levitation Charm that Harry helped you with, can you cast any spell reliably?"

Seamus's face froze.

"You're not completely useless, though," Hermione added, mimicking Harry and Snape's tone, lacing her words with a touch of sarcasm. "If you ever get into another fight with the Slytherins, you can shove your wand into their noses and use it like an Exploding Charm."

Seamus's face turned even darker.

"What about the rest of you?"

"Is Harry supposed to fight the Slytherins alone while you stand by and clap?"

"Gryffindor has one lion, and the rest of you are little kittens," she said, mimicking Malfoy's snide drawl.

Ron muttered, "McGonagall is a tabby cat."

"That's Animagus!" Hermione snapped, glaring daggers at him. "Only seven people have ever managed it."

"If you can turn into a cat right now, I'll admit you're a lion!"

"If not, shut up."

Ron obediently clamped his mouth shut.

The other Gryffindors collectively winced.

They remembered the flying lesson. If it happened again... and nothing had changed...

And when they thought further, they realized that the entire Gryffindor first-year class relied solely on Harry—and this bossy otter girl they didn't even like.

Gryffindor's little kittens.

The thought of wearing such a label weighed heavily on their hearts. Even Harry's essays and spellwork seemed less enticing now.

Hermione spread her hands. "If you can live with that, go ahead—keep copying. Use the time you save to ask the upper years how to be a proper cheerleading squad."

The Gryffindors' faces twisted with discomfort.

"If you don't want to write essays, fine. But at least learn the spells and potions." Hermione softened her tone. "If you can do that and still don't want to do the homework, I think I can help."

"Harry probably wouldn't mind either."

Harry nodded.

With that, Hermione sat back down. Her legs trembled slightly—she'd spent a whole day rehearsing and preparing to say this, convinced it was the best way to reintegrate into the house.

Her reasoning was sound.

But coming from Hermione's mouth, it still felt strange. The Gryffindors weren't quite used to this otter girl bossing them around.

"What do you think, Harry?" Seamus asked hesitantly, turning to Harry.

"I think she's right," Harry replied.

With someone to back them up, the Gryffindors reluctantly agreed, consoling themselves with the thought that if Harry says so, it must be fine. They began listing what they could and couldn't do and lined up for Hermione's help.

Just like that, Hermione rejoined the Gryffindors.

After dealing with the Gryffindors, Hermione turned to Harry, who had finished his essay and thrown it onto the table.

"Well done, Hermione," Harry said.

"Thanks," Hermione replied, blushing. "You reminded me."

Quickly changing the subject, she added, "Let's get back to the trial. The Slytherins, like us, require a password to enter their common room—and it changes regularly."

"The password isn't a problem," Harry said.

Hermione blinked.

"I'll use that spell I cast on Malfoy," Harry explained. "I can make a Slytherin say it for me."

"Then why not just do that?" Hermione asked.

"I need to retrieve something from inside," Harry replied. "Specifically, I need to take one of Slytherin's portraits."

Magical portraits could talk.

Harry could sneak in using the Invisibility Cloak—but once he stole the painting, the commotion...

The Slytherins would swarm him. Even he might not escape unscathed. And even if he did, Snape would force him to return the painting.

"My plan is to transform into a Slytherin student, use Snape's name to justify taking the painting, and leave."

Hermione frowned. "Transform into a Slytherin student... Wait, I have an idea."

She stood, hurried to her dormitory, and returned with a book. "I read about this in The Complete Guide to Modern Magical Developments."

"Look here," she said, pointing.

Harry and Ron leaned in.

"...He was a Metamorphmagus, capable of altering his appearance at will, which made him invaluable to Auror operations..."

Hermione read the passage aloud. "Harry, maybe you could learn to become a Metamorphmagus."

Harry shook his head. "That's innate—it can't be learned later."

Hermione flushed, hastily closing the book. If Ron hadn't moved his hand in time, her hurried motion might have caught his fingers.

"And even if it could be learned," Harry continued, "it's on the same level as Animagus transformations. I wouldn't be able to master it anytime soon."

Hermione sighed, visibly disappointed. "Alright, let me think some more."

After pondering for a while, she stood abruptly, her tone firm.

"We need to visit the library. Sitting here won't get us anywhere."

"It's the weekend," Ron protested. "And it's late."

Hermione turned to Harry.

"Tomorrow," Harry said. "You just got out of the hospital."

Hermione obediently sat back down.

"By the way, Hermione, do you know what the Philosopher's Stone is?" Ron asked, leaning forward seriously.

Hermione looked puzzled. "The Philosopher's Stone? No... Why are you asking?"

Ron leaned in conspiratorially. "There's a good chance it's hidden on the fourth floor."

"And?" Hermione said dismissively. "That's a restricted area. Whatever's there isn't our concern."

Ron lowered his voice. "Quirrell might be trying to steal it."

"Who?" Hermione's eyes widened in shock as she stared at Ron.

Ron tugged on her sleeve. "Keep your voice down."

"Oh, no—I'm just surprised," Hermione whispered, lowering her head as she leaned toward Harry. "How could it be Professor Quirrell? Even if it's a professor, wouldn't it make more sense for it to be Snape..."

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Why do you two have such a grudge against Snape?"

"It's true, Hermione."

"Both Dumbledore and I confirmed it."

Hermione sighed in relief, giving Ron a scathing look. "If even the Headmaster knows, then it's definitely not our concern. Right now, the most important thing is Harry's trial!"