Professor McGonagall's eyelids twitched uncontrollably.
It was her first time seeing someone use a hat like that—especially the Sorting Hat, an ancient relic that had witnessed the entire history of Hogwarts.
Acting as if she hadn't seen anything, she took Harry's wand, then raised her own and tapped them together. "Priori Incantatem!"
Magic surged from the tip of Harry's wand, striking a book on the table and causing it to hover in the air.
Professor McGonagall paused.
That was the magic of the Levitation Charm. After a fight, he had used a Levitation Charm to clean up the battlefield?
She increased her magic output, and the point where their wands met began to glow brightly.
The Wand-Lighting Charm.
Professor McGonagall frowned.
This... didn't make sense.
How could a wandfight possibly involve the Wand-Lighting Charm?
Priori Incantatem could reveal the spells a wand had previously cast, but... what kind of chaotic mess was this? Even if it wasn't the Imperius Curse, it should have been the Charm of Mind-Meddling that Harry had mentioned.
"Is this reviewing the spells I've used before?" Harry realized why Professor McGonagall had asked for his wand. When Witchers were investigated, their weapons were always confiscated first; he assumed it was the same here.
Professor McGonagall's expression was grave. "Yes, Mr. Potter. I believe you owe me an explanation?"
"I don't need a wand for that little spell." Harry waved a hand. "Shall I demonstrate it for you, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall returned Harry's wand, gave a casual flick of her own, and transformed a book on the table into a hamster. "Go ahead, Mr. Potter."
Harry raised his hand and cast the Axii Sign.
The hamster stood up in a daze.
"Little fellow, spin around." Harry coaxed the hamster, which looked bewildered yet utterly obedient.
Professor McGonagall leaned back slightly, her gaze still severe. The effect of this magic certainly bore a strong resemblance to the Imperius Curse.
"This is likely a form of charm-based enchantment," Harry explained simply. "It works exceptionally well on creatures with little intelligence, though its usefulness drops when applied to highly intelligent beings."
The lower the intelligence, the longer the unconsciousness lasted. Back during his trial in the nightmare—where he had needed to survive an entire night in a swamp—he had relied on this Sign to pull himself alive from the claws of a Drowner.
Professor McGonagall thought for a moment, then looked at Madam Hooch. "Mr. Potter, perhaps you could try using it on me..."
Before she could even finish her sentence,
"Axii!"
Harry immediately raised his hand. He had been wanting to try this for a long time.
The Sign worked wonderfully on ordinary people—at least, it certainly did on his aunt's family.
However, he had no idea how effective it would be on a wizard.
Malfoy didn't count; he was merely a first-year young wizard—just as no one would ever mistake an apprentice for a Witcher.
Almost instantly, Professor McGonagall snapped back to her senses. Harry's brow twitched slightly—the effect was very weak. The magic within the professor's body had instantly begun to resist and dissolve the power of the Sign.
She shook her head, her expression completely relaxing as she explained to Madam Hooch beside her, "It's similar to a Confundus Charm."
Madam Hooch also let out a breath of relief.
"A Confundus Charm?" Harry blinked, realizing this fell outside his current reservoir of knowledge.
Professor McGonagall waved her hand, restoring the squeaking hamster in Harry's palm back to its original form. "A powerful and dangerous enchantment. You'll encounter it when you reach the fifth year."
"Did you research this spell yourself?"
Harry nodded silently, his attitude serving as confirmation.
"Inspired by the spell-repelling techniques of your group?" A hint of a smile touched the corners of Professor McGonagall's eyes. "An outstanding spell. It managed to briefly rob me of my thoughts while leaving me with a favorable impression of you."
"Using only hand gestures—that will be terribly useful in a duel. Filius is bound to love it."
"You call it the Charm of Mind-Meddling?"
"A thoroughly fitting name, indeed."
"Mr. Potter, you are remarkably talented."
Harry straightened up, standing obediently. He knew that this tone invariably meant the conversation was about to take a sharp turn.
"However!" Sure enough, just as Harry had anticipated, "An exceptional spell cannot excuse the rules you've broken—especially not fighting with a Slytherin."
"Let me see..."
Professor McGonagall flicked her wand, sending a schedule fluttering before her. "Every Wednesday and Friday evening, come to my office. Detention, for a month."
"Understood, Professor." Harry nodded in acknowledgment.
Madam Hooch led Harry back to the Quidditch pitch in a hurry, and the remainder of the lesson proceeded without further incident.
Though a great deal of time had been wasted, they finally managed to get some flying in.
Harry rather enjoyed the sensation. Setting aside the physical enhancements granted by his Witcher conditioning, he could sense that he possessed a natural aptitude for flight.
Flying class ended.
The starving young wizards streamed toward the Great Hall.
"Harry, what did the professor want when she called you over?" Hermione asked, deeply worried. "After you left, Malfoy kept bragging that you were about to be expelled. If I hadn't held Ron back, he nearly got into another fight with Malfoy."
Ron sneered, "You shouldn't have held me back..."
"No, Hermione did the right thing," Harry interrupted.
Having someone take her side instantly restored Hermione's sense of righteous confidence.
"You wouldn't necessarily have beaten Malfoy," Harry added as a counterpoint.
Ron's eyes widened. "No, Harry, how can you say that? You saw it yourself—I gave Malfoy a black eye."
"That was a sneak attack," Harry shook his head. "And he got that black eye from tripping himself."
"He's built a bit sturrier than you, and he's more fluent with his spells. But most importantly, his wand..."
Hermione cut off their debate. "No, that's not the point!"
"Stop talking about fighting!"
"Harry, what kind of punishment did Professor McGonagall give you?"
Harry waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Just another twenty points deducted, plus a month of detention."
"Another twenty points!" Hermione's voice pitched upward. "That makes forty points in total! We won't even be able to earn that many all month."
Ron piped up, "Don't worry, you'll definitely earn them back..."
"No, we won't!" Hermione pressed harder. "And don't forget Professor Snape's point deductions. You can't leave those out."
Harry offered some consolation. "Hermione, caring about house points is certainly a good thing, but take my advice: you really shouldn't stress over it so much."
Hermione gritted her teeth. "If you could actually think like that, it would be just wonderful!"
"But you don't!"
"If you had listened to me and avoided getting into a fight with the Slytherins, we wouldn't have lost so many points."
Harry sighed and said no more.
Ron curled his lip and fell in step behind Harry.
Hermione kept muttering, ticking off scores on her fingers.
It was only the beginning of the term, yet forty house points vanished in a single stroke—an astonishing sum. Gryffindor, who had briefly pulled ahead thanks to Harry and Hermione, saw their gem count plummet to the bottom.
The upperclassmen were thoroughly startled.
The professors had always been stingy with point awards and deductions, usually dealing in singles or twos. Losing five points at once was treatment reserved for when Harry stood before Snape.
They speculated whether those two troublemaking Weasley boys had finally put their grand ideas into practice and blown up a lavatory.
Or perhaps some senior student, buckling under the pressure of their upcoming exams, had finally snapped and beaten up Professor Quirrell. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a vitally important benchmark; anyone hoping to enter Gringotts or the Ministry of Magic needed at least an "E" for Exceeds Expectations.
It had been far too long since they'd had a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
When dinnertime arrived, they learned it was neither.
It was that boy Harry, who had led Gryffindor in thoroughly trouncing Slytherin during flying class. As a result, Harry had cost them forty points and earned a month of detention—though the other young wizards had escaped punishment entirely.
That very night.
The Gryffindor common room hosted a grand celebration.
George and Fred smuggled a mountain of food up from the kitchens, alongside a few bottles of butterbeer they had acquired from goodness knows where.
"To our great Lion King!" George raised his goblet high, offering it to Harry. "A title well deserved!"
Percy looked thoroughly displeased and tried to intervene. "No, George, Harry shouldn't be drinking. He's only eleven."
"I'm George, my dearest brother." Fred wrapped his arms around Percy's waist, dragging him backward. "Today is a day for celebration, so don't bother yourself with such trifles."
"Besides, Harry grew up in the Muggle world; he must have tasted alcohol ages ago."
Great Britain was the only country where children aged five and older were legally permitted to drink alcohol in the company of their parents.
Harry took the goblet and took a small sip. It had a slippery, buttery texture paired with the crispness unique to beer. "Not bad at all. Though a bottle of vodka would be even better."
Witchers rarely drank, but they had no aversion to alcohol.
George's eyes lit up. "Indeed, vodka would be brilliant."
"Wood, did you hear our Lion King's command?"
"In your dreams!" The tall Quidditch team captain stood up and spat in George's direction. "We have practice tomorrow, and if I recall correctly, Harry has Potions."
George looked disappointed. "Oh, very well."
Hermione found the entire spectacle incomprehensible. She stared blankly at the rowdy crowd—including Percy, a prefect whom she had expected to stand on her side. Yet his primary concern wasn't the lost points; instead, he was fixated on making sure Harry drank less and Ron didn't drink at all.
"But we lost forty points, and Harry has a month of detention!" Hermione sought out Percy, her face etched with anxiety. "Why is everyone acting like this?"
Fred leaned in, entirely unbothered. "So what?"
"We beat Slytherin!"
George, feeling the effects of the alcohol, looped an arm around Fred's neck. "Led by our Lion King, it wasn't just a win—it was a sweep, an unstoppable triumph!"
Percy chuckled merrily. "It's an honor. An honor far greater than the House Cup."
Slytherin had monopolized the House Cup for seven years running.
Gryffindor had always harbored resentment—not because they cared all that much about the cup itself; after all, in the thousand-year history of Hogwarts, which house hadn't won it a few hundred times?
What they hated was being constantly kept under Slytherin's heel.
Harry's arrival had given them hope for a counterattack, and Harry hadn't disappointed. And this was only the first month!
The lion hunting the snake, a resounding victory!
Hermione remained bewildered. This clashed violently with her brief eleven years of life experience, as well as her schooling in the ordinary world.
By the following day,
Hermione discovered an even more frightening reality—she seemed to have been isolated.
Previously, despite her constant chattering, her refusal to let anyone copy homework, and her drive to introduce academic pressure, those "flaws" fell within the tolerance limits of the little lions.
But that scene on the Quidditch pitch yesterday...
Everyone else had thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the brawl with Slytherin, while she had stood on the sidelines pleading with them not to fight.
She had chosen not to join the group, and naturally, the group no longer welcomed her.
Aside from Harry, only Ron could still bring himself to exchange a few words with her.