 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 30→2ch | 60→5ch | 100→8ch | 200→15ch | 400→25ch⏰ Resets Monday!
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Hermione plucked the envelope from the owl's beak, then turned to soothe her cat—who'd puffed up the moment the owl appeared.
She opened the letter.
[Dear Hermione Jane Granger, thank you for your kind regards. Wishing you a pleasant new term at Hogwarts.]
Signed: Minerva McGonagall.
Hermione: "…"
Well. The cat lady's polite.
When she'd first received her Hogwarts acceptance, Hermione had written a brief thank-you note and stuffed it to the delivery owl. Just being courteous.
She hadn't expected Professor McGonagall to actually reply.
Shaking her head, Hermione's gaze drifted across the room.
This was the original Hermione's bedroom. In the Harry Potter world.
As for why she was here…
Credit the magic book's final page.
After obtaining it in the Marvel world, once she'd calmed down, Hermione realized something critical.
She was stuck in Marvel. Hogwarts had accepted her, sure—but how was she supposed to attend?
How was she supposed to collect spell recordings?!
And a twelve-year-old undocumented girl, no family, no connections—survival itself was a problem!
Desperate, Hermione had flipped through the magic book. The last page displayed two icons.
M and a castle.
M was gray. No response. The castle was in color.
Hermione didn't overthink it. She mentally touched the castle.
Found herself back in HP.
The castle icon turned gray. M turned colorful. A progress bar appeared.
She understood immediately.
After repeated testing, she confirmed: the magic book could traverse between Marvel and HP. But it needed cooldown.
Each world-jump required roughly twelve hours. Once the bar filled, she could cross again.
So after shopping in Diagon Alley for a wand and books, Hermione immediately recorded every accessible spell, then bolted to Marvel to grind proficiency.
Separated by an entire dimension, surely the Ministry couldn't track her illegal spell usage.
Luggage packed. Parents' offer to see her off politely declined. Hermione headed for King's Cross.
More precisely: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, hidden within King's Cross. The Hogwarts Express departed from there.
Arriving at the platform, she watched students phase through walls while bystanders remained oblivious. Hermione instantly understood—some kind of Muggle-Confounding Charm.
Otherwise, the spectacle of kids ramming headfirst into brick walls would've caused mass hysteria.
Very Ubisoft.
Hermione remembered the platform had time restrictions. No time to waste. Ticket clutched tight, she walked straight through.
Enter late, and you'd actually hit the wall.
Through the barrier. The view opened up. Special platform.
Not far ahead, a steampunk-style train sat idle. Young witches and wizards hauled luggage aboard.
Once on the train, Hermione found an empty compartment. Sat down.
She leaned against the window. Her cute face reflected in the glass.
Though her exterior was eleven or twelve, her eyes held maturity far beyond her years.
Mountains of things to think about.
Harry Potter. Marvel.
Dumbledore. Voldemort. S.H.I.E.L.D. The Avengers.
The Mysterious Magic Book in her mind.
And… transmigration.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice the compartment door slide open.
"Oh… someone's here?"
A boy with glasses spotted Hermione and apologized profusely.
"Sorry, sorry! All the other compartments are full. I saw empty seats here—mind if I sit?"
Hermione glanced at him. Said nothing. Gave a slight nod.
"Thanks." The bespectacled boy sat.
Hermione recognized him instantly.
Harry Potter?
Not hanging with Ron? Why's he here?
Or had she taken the seat they'd originally occupied?
Hermione didn't dwell on it.
The original story—book or film—only showed fragments of this world. She had no idea where those two were supposed to sit.
Hell, she didn't even know where she was supposed to be.
Before long, a red-haired boy appeared at the compartment door. Asked the same question.
Ron Weasley.
Harry glanced at Hermione. She didn't react. He nodded and patted the seat beside him.
"That scar… you're Harry Potter!"
Just like in the original, Ron recognized Harry's identity. Exclamations followed.
Rich kid Harry flexed his purchasing power. Shocked poor student Ron for ten thousand years. The two began building their revolutionary friendship as scripted.
After the commotion died down, both turned toward Hermione.
Only now did they notice: the aloof girl hadn't reacted at all to the name "Harry Potter."
In the wizarding world, thanks to the Dark Lord, Harry Potter was a household name.
Feeling their stares, Hermione glanced at Harry. Her gaze settled on his glasses.
"Reparo."
She casually flicked a Mending Charm. Fixed the crack running across his lenses. A greeting of sorts. Also cured her OCD.
Reparo proficiency +1.
Harry and Ron gasped again. Completely stunned that a new student could wield spells so fluently before even starting school.
Hermione turned back to the window. Ignored the two of them.
Facing Harry Potter, she lacked the awe and enthusiasm of other young wizards.
First: she'd read the books, watched the films. She knew these two inside and out.
Second: she had zero interest in playing house with children. Even if her current body was a little girl.
Night fell. The train arrived.
Off the train. Into boats. Under Hagrid's guidance, the new students took the water route to Hogwarts.
Gazing at the massive, magnificent castle, even Hermione—who'd seen countless towering structures in her past life—couldn't help but marvel.
"Screens never compare to the real thing."
Up the stairs. Into the entrance hall.
As expected, Professor McGonagall stood at the edge of the staircase. Green robes. Pointed wizard's hat. Just like the original.
Behind her, muffled noise spilled from the great doors.
Ron and Draco still couldn't stand each other. Passionate bickering ensued. Harry got dragged into the crossfire.
Minor storm passed. Everyone filed inside.
As Hermione walked past Professor McGonagall, the latter spoke.
"Miss Hermione Granger."
Hermione froze. Her mind raced.
Hm?
Unlike the original Hermione—who'd rushed to the front—she'd done the opposite. Stayed in back. Avoided attention.
Didn't expect to get noticed anyway.
Hermione turned toward McGonagall. "Good evening, Professor."
McGonagall stared down at her for a moment. Then smiled warmly.
"Miss Granger, thank you for your kind regards. Wishing you a pleasant new term."
The same words from the letter.
Hermione understood. It was about the thank-you note.
"Your words are most kind, Professor. I wish you smooth teaching as well." She returned a textbook smile.
Entering the center of the hall. Aside from the older students lining both sides, the most conspicuous sight was the row of professors at the head table.
Especially the white-bearded old man in the center. Very Gandalf-esque.
The old man stood. His gaze swept the room. Lingered briefly on Harry Potter. Then shifted directly to Hermione at the very back.
Hermione: ??