"Harry, You Are Not Allowed to Drink"

Near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the scene was lively and chaotic.

George and Fred were being chased out of the forest by some magical creature, followed closely by Hagrid, who was waving a giant broom and shouting curses.

A few couples were sneaking off to find secluded spots for romantic moments.

Every now and then, a few mischievous Nifflers would sneak out of the Forbidden Forest, trying to make their way into the castle. But they never got far—Fang would catch them and carry them back to the forest, or Mrs. Norris would chase them out of the castle.

Even if a Niffler managed to slip into the castle unnoticed, there'd be a sharp "pop!" as they reappeared back at the forest's edge, their previously stuffed pouches now mysteriously empty.

The Nifflers would scratch their heads in confusion before stubbornly attempting another run toward the castle, only to be herded back to the forest by Mrs. Norris or Fang.

It was a peaceful day at Hogwarts.

But one figure was conspicuously absent—the boy in armor.

A shadow suddenly loomed over her.

A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts:

"Advanced Potion-Making? I thought you finished reading that book ages ago."

The small figure sitting on the lakeside grass looked up, her heart skipping a beat.

It was him.

The person she had been thinking about for days.

Harry stood there, his expression slightly weary. He looked as though he had traveled far, covered in dust from the road. His school robes were gone—only his armor remained.

He was clean, though. Wizards had magic for that, after all. Not everyone was like Sirius, who would barely ever use a "Scourgify" spell.

But precisely because the armor was so clean, the scratches and battle marks on it stood out even more clearly.

There were claw marks, pecking scars, sword cuts.

One of the fingers on his Basilisk-hide gloves was completely torn.

"Hmm?" Harry tilted his head in question.

Hermione snapped out of her daze, shaking her head quickly. "Just needed something to read to relax. Studying's been exhausting lately."

She stood and walked around him, inspecting him from head to toe. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Harry chuckled softly. "I thought you'd ask about the trial first."

Hermione punched his shoulder lightly. "You need to smile more."

Harry didn't resist or force a smile, and his natural expression made her relax.

He wasn't forcing himself to act strong.

"That's harder than making Dumbledore give up sweets," Harry said, glancing toward the eighth-floor window of the castle.

He could feel a gaze fixed on him from there.

Raising a hand, he waved.

Hermione turned to look. "Was that Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. He must've sensed the Portkey magic from earlier."

"Do you want to rest in the hospital wing?" Hermione asked as they started walking back toward the castle.

Harry shook his head. "No need. I'm not hurt, just a bit sleep-deprived. I'll get some rest tonight."

Hermione frowned, worried, but Harry cut her off before she could say anything more. "Relax. I know my limits. If I had any injuries I couldn't handle, I'd go straight to Madam Pomfrey."

Hermione nodded slowly, reassured.

The Sorting Hat suddenly piped up, breaking the calm.

"Sorry to interrupt your... romantic chat," it said, placing heavy emphasis on "romantic chat." "But isn't it about time you let Godric out?"

Hermione froze, her cheeks turning red.

Her mind spun in two directions at once.

On one hand, she was mortified by the Hat's words.

On the other hand, she was shocked by the name "Godric."

Wasn't that the first name of Godric Gryffindor?

Harry flicked his wand, and a rolled-up painting flew out of his pocket, unfurling slowly behind him.

"Harry, next time, give me a heads-up before doing that!" the man in the painting grumbled as he came to life. "I wasn't ready. You rolled me up so badly my head was touching my backside!"

Harry glanced at the painting, unimpressed. "You're a painting."

"I'm still a person in the painting!" Godric Gryffindor protested, hands on his hips. "And I'm a very dignified person, mind you! I'm the great Godric Gryffindor!"

Harry raised his wand again, threatening to roll the painting back up.

"Wait! Wait!" Godric shouted, throwing up his hands in surrender. "I was wrong!"

Hermione was still staring, wide-eyed. "That's... Godric Gryffindor?"

Harry smirked. "A bit different from what you expected?"

Hermione hesitated, glancing between Harry and the painting. Finally, she nodded.

Godric didn't care about their conversation. He was too busy taking in his surroundings with wide, awe-filled eyes.

"This is my school... My beautiful castle..." he murmured.

It had been a thousand years since he had last seen Hogwarts.

As they walked toward the Gryffindor Tower, Harry couldn't help but drop a bombshell.

"Oh, by the way... Helga Hufflepuff kidnapped children."

Hermione froze in shock, nearly missing a step.

Harry grabbed her by the back of her robes to steady her.

"What? That can't be true!" Hermione gasped, eyes wide.

"She did it to protect young wizards," Harry explained calmly. "Back then, Muggles weren't very kind to wizards. Especially to Muggle-born children."

Hermione's expression darkened. "They would've become Obscurials."

Harry nodded. "Exactly. Their parents wouldn't always sell their children for money, so Helga... took them instead."

Godric snorted. "Don't be naive. Of course, they'd sell their children. The price just wasn't high enough."

"Helga was too honest. She actually offered real food and money. If it were me, I'd have conjured the coins with Transfiguration."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. "So... she really did that?"

Godric nodded. "Yes. The first time I met her, we didn't exactly get along. We had a massive fight."

Harry grinned. "And you lost."

Godric hesitated. "I was younger then! My swordsmanship wasn't as good, and my magic wasn't as polished."

Harry didn't hold back. "And she had a greenhouse and children to protect."

Godric grumbled, embarrassed. "Well, I'm better than her now!"

They reached the Gryffindor common room, entered through the portrait hole, and were met with silence as the students inside stared.

Then, recognition dawned on their faces.

"Harry!" Fred's voice trembled with excitement. "Did you pass the trial?"

Before Harry could reply, Godric spoke proudly. "Of course he did! Harry Potter is Gryffindor's rightful heir!"

Fred and George's jaws dropped as they stared at the painting.

"Wait... Is that—"

"Godric Gryffindor himself!" the Sorting Hat announced.

Fred raised his wand with a grin. "Champagne, come here!"

George followed suit. "Whiskey, fly over!"

"Vodka, to me!"

Drinks and party decorations quickly filled the room.

One older student ran off to gather more Gryffindors, spreading the word:

"The heir of Gryffindor has returned! Everyone, come celebrate!"

Soon, the room was bursting with laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses.

But when Harry picked up a bottle of vodka, Godric's voice cut through sharply:

"Harry! You're only in your third year! You can't drink!"

"Relax, Godric." Fred waved him off. "It's normal now. We let younger students have a sip during celebrations."

George added with a grin, "In Britain, you can drink at five—legally, as long as you're with your parents."

Harry deadpanned. "With parental supervision."

Fred pointed at Percy. "He's our 'parent' in this case."

Percy stepped in, crossing his arms. "And as your responsible parent, I'm telling you—you're not drinking until you're at least in sixth year."

Fred pouted. "Oh, come on! It's the perfect time to celebrate our little lion king!"

Godric shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand... How can you let children drink?"

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates