Harry Potter: Returns Back From Game of Thrones (ASOIAF) - 43

Chapter 43: Hermione Wants to Win Everything

Magical learning proved more interesting than Harry had imagined.

After mastering the basic foundational knowledge completely, Harry's coursework became increasingly engaging and complex.

Hogwarts gave him a genuine feeling of belonging—except for Snape, who still made him deeply uncomfortable.

Many Gryffindors naturally rallied to Harry's cause. They believed Harry was a natural-born leader. When he returned to the Gryffindor dormitories, it felt like a king returning to his kingdom—he had that legendary presence that made others instinctively want to follow him.

Even other houses produced many devoted first-year admirers, like Malfoy.

Malfoy, having paid the friendship fee, wasn't ashamed but rather proud of the arrangement, occasionally bragging that he was Lord Potter's friend.

Being mocked with comments like "if you can't beat them, join them," he didn't care in the slightest. You're just jealous. Now I'm the winner—you want to pay friendship fees but have no opportunity.

Attaching himself to the strongest was wisdom's manifestation. His family had done this since William the Conqueror's time—a thousand-year tradition, understand?

Power only belonged to the strong—wizards included.

Malfoy felt Harry might possess genuine emperor potential. Defeating You-Know-Who at age one, far stronger than that loser Dark Lord. Maybe Harry could become the Wizard King someday.

Everyone had beautiful futures ahead.

However, Hermione wasn't so fortunate—she was increasingly isolated.

Though other students would show Harry respect and avoid using violence, their jealousy toward people close to Harry was genuine and growing.

Everyone knew that beside Harry stood two loyal companions—Harry himself described them as his strategic advisors—Ron and Hermione.

Anything Harry didn't know, couldn't figure out, or didn't want to think about deeply, he often discussed with these two.

Ron was fine socially—relatively outgoing, with a bunch of Weasley brothers backing him up, pure Gryffindor stock.

Plus he shared Harry's dormitory, making them practically inseparable all day. Ron had no trouble making friends.

But Hermione was an outsider in many ways. Harry wasn't permitted to enter girls' dormitories, limiting his ability to help her navigate social situations there.

Hermione loved studying intensely, refused to let anyone copy her homework, demanded that everyone avoid rule-breaking activities that lost house points, and occasionally policed or threatened other students—claiming that if they continued misbehaving, she'd report them to Percy or even Professor McGonagall directly.

Earning points was extremely difficult for her personally. Harry understood her frustration at wanting to win the House Cup while teammates constantly undermined those efforts through careless point losses.

Harry also understood the other perspective—with Slytherin winning every single year, many Gryffindors had simply given up trying.

Won't let us give up when we clearly can't win anyway? Many Gryffindors didn't originally care much about house points in the first place.

Having points was naturally nice; not having them meant nothing serious. Caring too obsessively about points could alienate people's natural contributions and house spirit.

Some students too academically weak who lost points unintentionally would complain about Hermione's criticism, but sometimes Gryffindors viewed those who violated minor discipline to dare contradict Snape, or who fought Slytherins despite losing points, as courageous warriors.

Having someone constantly telling them not to give up, demanding they quickly earn points back, even threatening to tattle on them—of course they didn't want to associate with Hermione.

Besides this social friction, even when no one asked for her opinion, she always interrupted conversations, explaining how charms should be cast more effectively or showcasing the advanced knowledge she'd already mastered.

Harry could understand this eagerness to teach—perhaps in Hermione's view, sharing knowledge was part of being genuinely helpful to classmates.

Moreover, having specialized knowledge and wanting to demonstrate competency was natural enough, but there were boundaries that needed to be respected.

Most students didn't want to hear her show off constantly, feeling she was acting like a prefect or putting on airs before actually earning any leadership position.

Even Harry doesn't force us to obsessively earn points—what authority do you have to demand it?

Many first-year students felt she was more annoying than even Snape in her constant criticism.

Study that intensely for what? Can you finally defeat You-Know-Who through pure academics? Good enough is perfectly fine.

Harry greatly appreciated Hermione's attitude of persistently studying hard. Learning proved genuinely useful because he possessed the system—magical skills and combat techniques learned brought tangible gains through his unique progression mechanics. This was his advantage. How could learning ever be useless with such benefits?

Hermione learning more things also gave him a convenient strategic advisor—instantly accessible knowledge whenever needed.

But only Harry alone genuinely liked her personality—wasn't this precisely a favored minister situation?

So everyone else resented her more, refusing to socialize with her or even speak to her directly.

Ron, who frequently argued with her, already counted as having relatively good relations compared to others. Many students directly ignored her existence entirely.

Behind her back they sarcastically called her "Miss Know-It-All" with genuine contempt.

If not protected by membership in Harry's small inner circle, isolation wouldn't be her only problem. Without that social protection, Hermione would very likely face malicious pranks. More seriously, she risked legendary school bullying—depressingly normal in British institutions.

Harry had endured similar treatment throughout his childhood with the Dursleys. Dudley's cruelty had been even worse than Uncle Vernon's.

Harry also wouldn't force other students to befriend Hermione artificially. If she didn't adjust her own behavior, external pressure proved useless. Forcibly introducing friends could only create superficial relationships without genuine connection.

In what felt like a blink, Halloween Eve arrived. Harry sensed today might involve attribute point opportunities. He woke early, borrowing the Sorting Hat in advance just in case something important happened.

Returning from that errand, he smelled sweet, tempting baked pumpkin aroma drifting through the corridors. Let's feast!

After breakfast ended, Harry found himself distracted throughout the day. Besides Charms class, where he still focused intensely to improve, most of the time he constantly thought about potential attribute points.

First-years were currently learning the Levitation Charm. Harry naturally already knew the spell but remained only at entry-level mastery—still requiring repeated deliberate practice for advancement.

Professor Flitwick divided the whole class into pairs to begin practical training.

Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan—an old acquaintance from their explosive experiments.

Ron was paired with Hermione Granger.

Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed particularly pleased with the arrangement.

Hermione couldn't decide which was worse—constantly arguing with Ron, or being ignored by silent classmates who wanted nothing to do with her.

She desperately hoped to be paired with Harry, who could both tolerate her and help her improve her magic.

She felt that despite being the same age, Harry possessed a maturity far beyond his years—almost like a wise mentor.

If not Harry, Neville would have been acceptable—at least she could guide him through lessons like a patient tutor.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" Professor Flitwick squeaked as usual from atop his stack of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Professor Flitwick's detailed explanations provided Harry with extra proficiency gains in his system, though he already knew all the theoretical knowledge being taught.

But proficiency advancement mattered significantly—consistent practice brought measurable gains.

Harry had initially wondered why simply being taught provided extra proficiency bonuses. Eventually he stopped questioning the mechanics.

This was the system's inherent power. Professors' explanations functioned as rituals for obtaining advancement. Harry never overthought these fundamentally incomprehensible metaphysical matters.

Seamus predictably didn't follow Flitwick's standard operating procedures, attempting self-taught modifications, and once again exploded his practice feather spectacularly. Harry calmly waved his wand to extinguish the small fire, encouraging Seamus afterward—blasting the feather away might technically count as making it fly. Why wouldn't explosive propulsion qualify as a form of levitation?

At another table, Ron struggled initially even with his new replacement wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted forcefully, waving his two long arms around like an uncoordinated windmill.

First, this wand hadn't been personally selected by him at Ollivanders—it only counted as reasonably compatible at best. Second, most young wizards simply couldn't master new charms immediately on the first attempt. Everyone possessed their own learning methods and pace. Many students naturally grasped proper techniques only after mentally processing the theory thoroughly first.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione state unceremoniously, citing the textbook's precise pronunciation guidance. "It's Wing-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa; make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled with obvious irritation.

Hermione rolled up her sleeves with determination. Harry almost thought she intended to physically fight Ron—another impromptu wizard duel brewing.

Instead, she waved her wand with perfect textbook form, enunciating clearly, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their practice feather immediately rose smoothly from the desk surface, floating suspended approximately four feet above their heads in perfect stable levitation.

"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick cried enthusiastically, clapping his small hands together. "Everyone observe—Miss Granger has succeeded perfectly! One point to Gryffindor for excellent first-attempt execution."