A second later, Dumbledore's gaze slid away, his expression serene, as if the intense focus had been a mere coincidence.
Was I just imagining that? Hermione's heart, which had leaped into her throat, began to beat again. God, that was terrifying. She couldn't shake the feeling that the headmaster's stare had been anything but random. Forcing the thought down, she shook her head slightly, clearing away the useless paranoia. Focus on what's in front of you.
As per tradition, Dumbledore gave his ironically cheerful warning to the first-years about the Forbidden Forest being, well, forbidden, and then announced the start of the Sorting Ceremony.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. One by one, she called the names.
"Abbott, Hannah!" A nervous-looking girl went to Hufflepuff. "Malfoy, Draco!" He swaggered to Slytherin before the hat even touched his head. "Bones, Susan!" Hufflepuff. "Weasley, Ron!" A moment of suspense, then Gryffindor.
The list went on until the name everyone was waiting for.
"Potter, Harry!"
The Great Hall erupted in a wave of whispers and craned necks. The name, famous throughout the wizarding world for its connection to the fall of the Dark Lord, caused a stir just by being spoken. After a tense, minutes-long negotiation with the Sorting Hat, Harry was finally sorted into Gryffindor, to the thunderous applause of his new house.
"Granger, Hermione!"
Finally. For some reason, the roll call was out of alphabetical order, but now wasn't the time to question it. She walked forward with a steady, confident stride and let Professor McGonagall place the dusty old hat on her head. It slumped over her eyes, plunging her into darkness.
A voice immediately echoed inside her mind. "Well now… this is interesting. There's courage, yes. A fierce mind. But there is ambition here… oh, a great deal of ambition. Cunning and a thirst to prove yourself. It has to be…"
"Gryffindor," Hermione interrupted flatly in her thoughts. First choice. No adjustments.
She could feel the Hat's surprise. She'd nearly been sent to Slytherin. Do I really give off dark wizard vibes? she thought with a flash of annoyance. While Slytherin might have fit her ambitious, pragmatic personality, it was a terrible strategic choice. She knew all about their pure-blood prejudice against Muggle-borns like her. If she'd gone there, she'd be fighting half the house by the end of the week. While she was confident she could handle them, it would be a massive inconvenience.
More importantly, being in Gryffindor allowed her to keep an eye on Harry Potter. She knew from the original story that wherever he went, chaos followed. And chaos created opportunities. It was the perfect cover for her to operate under the radar while everyone was focused on him.
"Are you certain?" the Hat pressed. "You could be great, you know…"
"Positive."
"Very well…" the Hat conceded reluctantly. To the hall, it bellowed its decision: "GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table cheered again. As Hermione walked over, Ron nudged Harry.
"Hey, look. It's that girl from the train. The one who fixed your glasses. I thought a brain like that would for sure be in Ravenclaw."
Hermione slid onto the bench next to them, ignoring the comment. From her seat, she finally had a clear view of the staff table. There was Snape, looking exactly like a giant bat in his flowing black robes. The shortest professor had to be Flitwick. And Dumbledore… Damn, what happened to you? she thought, a spark of meta-humor flashing in her mind. How do you go from looking like Jude Law to… this? Time has been cruel.
Her eyes continued down the line, finally landing on the last person: a nervous man in a ridiculous purple turban. Quirinus Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. And, more importantly, the current host for Lord Voldemort's spectral form. He was the first boss battle of the school year, a man destined to lose his life and reputation to a first-year wizard.
Miserable, Quirrell. Truly miserable, she thought with a dark smirk. I look forward to your performance.
The feast appeared, and the hall filled with the happy noise of conversation and clattering cutlery. Hermione ate quietly, feeling Dumbledore's eyes on their section of the table again. She was sure he was looking at her, not Harry, but she pretended not to notice.
The next morning, Hermione was up before anyone else. The time-travel function on her grimoire had fully recharged overnight, but she chose to stay. Missing the first day of classes would draw exactly the kind of attention she was trying to avoid. While she didn't strictly need the lessons, she needed to build a persona. At Hogwarts, she would be the brilliant, studious, slightly aloof bookworm. A perfect disguise.
She borrowed a few books from the library and found her way to the Transfiguration classroom. True to her old-life habits, she picked a seat in the back row and opened Hogwarts: A History. She wasn't just curious; she was researching. The [Ancient Magic] category in her grimoire was still blank, and she hoped to find a clue about its nature—or if the magic from the Hogwarts Legacy game existed in this world.
As other students trickled in, they glanced at the solitary girl already deep in a book, and the "do not disturb" aura she projected was enough to keep them away.
Just as she was getting absorbed in a chapter about the founders, a tabby cat with spectacle-markings around its eyes leaped silently onto the professor's desk. It then hopped to the floor and padded toward her with an elegant, deliberate gait.
Hermione looked up. A cat? No… Professor McGonagall.
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. It wasn't just the memory of the story that tipped her off. The moment the cat came near, the magic book in her mind vibrated with a new notification.
[Spells]
Transfiguration: Animagus (Cat) (Copied/Learned)
The sudden, effortless acquisition of such an advanced piece of magic sent a jolt of shock through her. She quickly smoothed her expression back to one of mild curiosity.
"Hm, is that Mr. Filch's cat?" she murmured to herself, loud enough for any magically-enhanced feline ears to hear. "Did she get lost?"
She gave the cat one last uninterested glance and went back to her book.
The cat, Professor McGonagall, paused. She had expected the girl to pet her or shoo her away, not ignore her. The brief look of surprise, she reasoned, was likely just confusion at finding a cat in the classroom. She would never imagine her perfect disguise had been instantly compromised.
Intrigued, McGonagall padded closer, circling Hermione's chair before peering at the open book on the desk. Her feline eyes showed a flash of very human confusion. Hogwarts: A History? Most new students were eager for flashy charms, not dry historical texts. What an interesting child, she thought.
Seeing that Hermione was completely engrossed in her reading, McGonagall left her be and leaped back onto the podium, settling into a watchful, cat-like stillness as the class bell rang.
The classroom fell silent, save for the rustle of turning pages. A moment later, the door burst open and Harry and Ron stumbled in, panting. Seeing no professor, only a cat on the desk, they let out a collective sigh of relief.
"Phew, we made it," Ron whispered loudly. "Can you imagine McGonagall's face if she caught us being late? Terrifying!"
The rest of the class stared in silence. Even Malfoy rolled his eyes at their stupidity.
PLS SUPPORT ME AND THROW POWERSTONES .