Learning magic was more fascinating than imagined.
Once the basics were fully mastered, Harry's coursework grew increasingly engaging.
Hogwarts gave him a sense of home—except for Snape, who still made him deeply uncomfortable.
Some Gryffindors naturally rallied around Harry, seeing him as a born leader. Returning to the Gryffindor dormitory felt like entering his own territory, exuding a legendary kingly aura that made others instinctively want to follow.
Even students from other houses gained new admirers for him, like Malfoy.
Having paid the "friendship fee," Malfoy took pride in it rather than shame, frequently boasting that he was Potter's friend.
When mocked with "if you can't beat them, join them," he remained unfazed. "You're just jealous," he'd say. "I'm the winner now. You lot don't even get the chance to pay the friendship fee."
Aligning with the strongest was a mark of wisdom, he believed. His family had done so since the time of William the Conqueror—a thousand-year tradition, got it?
Beauty, like wizards, belonged only to the strong.
Malfoy felt Harry might even have the makings of a great emperor. Defeating the Dark Lord at age one? Far better than that loser. Harry could become the Wizard King.
Everyone had a bright future ahead.
But Hermione might not have been as happy. She was isolated.
Though the kids respected Harry enough not to resort to violence, their jealousy of those close to him was palpable.
Everyone knew Harry had two steadfast sidekicks—whom he jokingly called his "Crouching Dragon and Fledgling Phoenix"—Ron and Hermione.
Whenever Harry didn't know something, couldn't figure it out, or didn't want to bother thinking, he'd discuss it with them.
Ron was fine. He was sociable, backed by a gaggle of Weasley brothers, a true-blood Gryffindor through and through, practically stamped with a lion's crest.
Plus, he shared a dorm with Harry, always by his side. Ron only ever met good people.
Hermione, though, was an outsider. Harry wasn't some foreign exchange student who could visit the girls' dormitory.
Hermione loved studying, refused to let others copy her homework, and insisted everyone avoid rule-breaking to prevent losing house points. She'd occasionally patrol or even threaten to report rule-breakers to Percy or Professor McGonagall.
Earning points was hard for her, and Harry understood her drive to win the House Cup while her teammates slacked off.
He also understood why, with Slytherin winning every year, many Gryffindors just wanted to coast.
A bit of perspective-taking here.
If they couldn't win, why not let them slack? Plenty of Gryffindors didn't care about points anyway.
Having them was nice, sure, but losing them wasn't a big deal. Caring too much about points turned people's efforts into something alien.
Some complained when they lost points for dumb reasons, but sometimes Gryffindors saw those who broke rules, defied Snape, or fought Slytherins and lost points as heroes.
And then there was Hermione, refusing to let them slack, urging them to earn points, even threatening to snitch. Naturally, they didn't want to hang out with her.
On top of that, when no one asked, she'd chime in about how to cast spells better or how much she'd learned.
Harry understood her need to teach. To Hermione, it was probably part of helping others.
Wanting to show off a skill was normal too, but people have boundaries.
Most didn't want her lectures, feeling like she was testing their obedience, acting like a prefect before she was one.
"Even Harry doesn't force us to earn points," they'd grumble. "Who does she think she is, the Ministry?"
Many first-years found her more annoying than Snape.
"Study, study, study—what's the point? You study so hard, but can you defeat the Dark Lord? Good enough is good enough."
Harry admired Hermione's dedication to learning. Studying was useful. With his system, learning magical or combat skills brought rewards. That was his profound wisdom—how could anyone say studying was useless?
Hermione's knowledge was like an external brain for him, plug-and-play.
But only Harry liked her. Wasn't that just favoritism?
So, people disliked her even more, refused to hang out or talk with her.
Even Ron, who bickered with her constantly, was one of her closer acquaintances. Most just ignored her.
Behind her back, they mocked her as "Miss Know-It-All."
If she weren't in Harry's circle, it wouldn't just be isolation. Without a group, Hermione could face pranks—or worse, the legendary school bullying. In Britain, that was normal.
Harry had lived through it himself. Dudley's nastiness outdid even Uncle Vernon's.
Harry wouldn't force others to befriend Hermione. If she didn't change, it wouldn't help. Forcing friendships would only get her superficial ones.
Halloween approached, and Harry sensed today might bring an attribute-point event. He woke early, borrowing the Sorting Hat just in case.
Back in the castle, the sweet, tempting aroma of roasted pumpkin wafted through the corridors. Time to feast!
After breakfast, Harry was somewhat distracted. He trained diligently in Charms to boost his proficiency, but his mind lingered on attribute points.
First-years were now learning the Levitation Charm. Harry had mastered the basics long ago but still needed practice to refine it.
Professor Flitwick paired the class into groups of two for training.
Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan, an old acquaintance.
Ron, meanwhile, was paired with Hermione Granger.
It was hard to say who was more annoyed about it, Ron or Hermione.
Hermione wasn't sure if bickering Ron was better or worse than the silent treatment from others.
She most wanted to pair with Harry, who was patient and guiding.
Though the same age, Harry felt as mature as her father.
If not Harry, Neville would do in a pinch—like a mom with her son.
"All right, don't forget that subtle wrist movement we've been practicing!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, perched as usual on his stack of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. Pronouncing the incantation correctly is crucial too—don't forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and ended up flat on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."
Flitwick's lessons gave Harry extra proficiency, even if it was knowledge he already knew.
Proficiency was all about practice and rewards.
At first, Harry wondered why lessons boosted proficiency. Later, he stopped questioning it.
Read a book a hundred times, and its meaning becomes clear. Or maybe it was the system's power. A professor's lecture was a ritual for gaining strength. Harry didn't dwell on things he couldn't understand.
Seamus, ignoring Flitwick's instructions, went rogue and set his feather ablaze. Harry waved his wand to douse the flames, encouraging him, "Blowing it up might count as making it fly. Isn't that the Levitation Charm in a way?"
At another table, Ron, even with a new wand, struggled.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, flailing his long arms like a windmill.
First, the wand wasn't one he'd chosen himself, so it was only decent. Second, most young wizards didn't master new spells instantly. Everyone had their own way, and many figured it out through trial and error.
"You're saying it wrong," Hermione said bluntly, citing the book's pronunciation tips.
"Since you're so clever, you try it," Ron roared.
Hermione rolled up her sleeves, and Harry half-expected her to brawl with Ron, another wizard duel in the making.
Instead, she waved her wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Their feather rose from the table, hovering four feet above their heads.
"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick clapped. "Everyone, look! Miss Granger's done it! One point to Gryffindor."
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