It had been two days since Harry was turned into Harry-chan by Snape, and now it was Thursday.
The good news was that Harry had already returned to his original appearance yesterday afternoon, transforming back into a handsome little boy.
The bad news was that Thursday morning's first class was Snape's Potions lesson.
As soon as the Potions class ended, a petite girl immediately ran out of the classroom with her face covered, tears the size of beans rolling down her cheeks as she fled.
That's right—it was Harry, once again persecuted into becoming Harry-chan.
Every Tuesday afternoon and Thursday morning, Gryffindor shared Potions class with Slytherin, and Snape's improved Gender-Swapping Potion had an effective duration of twenty-four hours. This meant that Harry would likely appear in public as a girl from Tuesday afternoon until Friday morning, barring any surprises.
What a joyous occasion, truly joyous... cough cough, that's going too far.
Having barely recovered his masculine form, Harry was once again nitpicked by Snape and forced to drink that potion that would make him lose something important. His heart was filled with indescribable sorrow.
But an even greater trial awaited him, because today was different from Tuesday—Potions was scheduled as the first class of the morning.
Next, Harry would have to face a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson and a History of Magic class.
Those two classes, plus break time and lunch, would last nearly seven or eight hours. Realizing this, Harry felt like dying.
As the saying goes, crossdressing happens only once or countless times—the same applies to gender transformation.
Harry was deeply pained by this. If only he could have refused Snape's punishment before drinking the potion for the first time and died heroically, then so many people wouldn't have seen him in such a wretched state.
But now that he'd already experienced it twice, dying now seemed like a loss.
After all, everyone had already seen it.
Invisible psychological suggestions had already appeared in Harry's mind without his awareness. What kind of future would he face next?
Glenn had no interest in this anyway. Compared to that inexplicable matter, he was more concerned about the upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
After all, the Defense professor was Lupin—someone Glenn knew absolutely nothing about.
"Ah—I hope this new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is reliable and not some strange insider. It seems like the only valuable Defense classes we've had so far were when Professor Snape substituted—though he covered almost the entire year last year."
"But I still hope we can have a peaceful and perfect school year. Please don't let those troublesome matters get involved—my academic pressure is already big enough!"
Hermione took out her textbook, notebook, quill, and parchment, arranging them neatly on the desk surface, then leaned back and slumped in her seat with such a sigh.
In just four short days, Hermione had experienced how much pressure her course selection brought.
Studying so many courses simultaneously while wanting to delve deeper into the knowledge in these courses was indeed exhausting.
Although Hermione could still handle it and maintained a good mindset, this didn't prevent her from complaining a bit to release the physical and mental pressure she felt.
However, when it came to releasing pressure, training with Glenn was truly refreshing—what a perfect multi-benefit method.
It would be even better if those two light bulbs Draco and Neville could be more self-aware and go train independently.
A small regret, but no big deal.
"We can visit Hogsmeade village this weekend. Just hang in there a bit longer."
Glenn obviously misunderstood the focus of Hermione's words, simply ignoring her first few sentences and focusing on the matter of "Hermione feeling academic pressure."
But he couldn't say much, since he'd already promised to let Hermione manage her own study situation.
"Oh my, that was just exaggerated talk, following the topic naturally. You're really being too literal."
Hermione tapped Glenn's nose and said coquettishly:
"But thank you for your concern. We definitely can have a good time in Hogsmeade village this weekend."
Just as Hermione was about to continue speaking, the classroom door opened again. A shabbily dressed adult man carrying a tattered suitcase walked into the classroom.
That was the person Glenn had once observed with his enhanced senses on the Hogwarts Express, though his physical condition was much better now than at the beginning—probably because he'd been eating properly during these few days at Hogwarts.
Yes, Professor Lupin had arrived.
He smiled gently at the young wizards, then walked up to the podium.
"Good afternoon, students."
Professor Lupin said this, setting down his suitcase.
"Please put all your books back in your bags. We won't need them today. The upcoming lesson is a practical class—all you need to prepare is your wand."
"Oh?"
Hearing this, Hermione couldn't help but raise her eyebrows.
This Professor Lupin was quite interesting—actually arranging practical classes for the young wizards.
It must be said, this really suited Hermione's taste. Armchair strategizing was ultimately just empty talk; practice was the only standard for testing learning results.
The other young wizards were also deeply surprised, exchanging amazed glances with each other. But everyone had seen their share of the world by now, so they all obediently put their books back in their bags without anyone speaking, waiting for Lupin's next arrangement.
Lupin was first somewhat surprised by this scene, then showed a barely perceptible smile of satisfaction.
"Well then, since everyone is ready, would you please follow me?"
Hmm? Not having class here?
Everyone felt very confused, then pushed back their chairs and stood up, following Professor Lupin out of the classroom.
After leaving, Lupin led everyone along an empty corridor, turned a corner, and there they first saw the mischievous Peeves, hanging upside down in midair, doing who-knows-what to the nearest keyhole.
Probably nothing good.
Peeves keenly sensed movement from his blind spot, then did a somersault in the air and distanced himself from Lupin and the young wizards following behind him.
No choice—Peeves had been ambushed by mysterious spells coming from nowhere in the middle of the night for the past few years, giving him some PTSD. The slightest disturbance could startle him.
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