What Are You Thinking!

Mrs. Granger was not having a pleasant time.

Every day she sat in her villa's garden, watching other parents pick up their children—mothers and fathers driving sleek cars, children hopping in joyfully.

That should be her.

Driving her MG sports car to pick up her daughter.

Even if it was a boarding school, they should still be able to see her weekly.

But her daughter went to that place—Hogwarts, a school for magic. She only got to see her two months a year. And now, not even that—her sweet, obedient, newly-fashionable daughter had barely finished one month of summer before her heart floated right back to that boy named Harry Potter.

Hmph.

Her husband had met the boy.

Spoke highly of him—good looks, orphaned but respectable family background, and top academic performance. Her daughter had even called him great.

Still...

What's so great about a boy who's lured away her daughter?! Okay, maybe her daughter had made the first move—so she claimed. That's not the point! The point was, her daughter barely spent any time with her anymore.

She sighed and took a sip of her tea.

A snowy white owl swooped down, flapping noisily, landing on the table. It reached for a macaron and stuck out its leg, which bore a letter.

"Hedwig, you're the one delivering today?" Mrs. Granger deftly untied the letter.

She recognized the owl—adorable and well-mannered, only flaw being that she wasn't their daughter's pet. No, she belonged to that Harry Potter.

"Finally writing to her mum?" she murmured happily, settling in to read what she assumed would be a heartfelt letter full of longing.

Then she read the first line.

Her expression froze. She blinked, stared at Hedwig, then slowly looked down again.

Oh.

No, she hadn't misread.

"Dear Mum, would you please send me some books on early childhood language development?"

Early... childhood... language?

Those words strung together sent her mind reeling. Clouds suddenly darkened the sky above.

She knew it!

There was no way things wouldn't go wrong!

Teenage boys and girls, locked up in a castle year-round, with no parental supervision—just a handful of professors, one per House. Compare that to universities these days, swarming with admin staff—yet Hogwarts didn't even have an "administration department" concept.

She'd prepared herself for this day.

But not so soon.

She got up, went to the bedroom, then downstairs to the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed her husband's hospital.

When he picked up, she said solemnly, "I regret to inform you we have a very serious problem."

That evening—

Hedwig returned with a heavy parcel.

Books on early childhood language education, yes.

But also baby clothes, bottles, and a foldable stroller.

The table overflowed with neatly arranged supplies.

Hermione stared in stunned silence.

Pretty sure she'd only asked for books?

What was all this?

Hedwig ruffled her feathers in annoyance. She was a poor, innocent owl—flying all the way to the Scottish Highlands and up the Gryffindor Tower wasn't cheap, especially considering owl feed per mile!

Hermione opened the letter. After reading just a few lines, her face flushed. She jumped up so fast that Hedwig startled.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, baffled.

Harry glanced at the table of baby goods, frowning. "Looks like your parents... misunderstood something."

"Misunderstood?!" Hermione slammed the table, seething. "This is insane! How could they think that!"

"How could they possibly—!"

She took a deep breath. Just as Ron tried to sneak the letter away, she flicked her wand, summoned flames, and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Hermione, I didn't even read it," Ron protested indignantly.

"It's from my parents," she snapped.

"But Harry already guessed what it said," Ron grumbled, looking at Harry.

"I didn't read it," Harry replied, eyes still on the books. "I just guessed."

"Hedwig must've tipped him off," Ron said, squinting at the owl now sitting smugly on Hermione's head.

Hedwig narrowed her eyes, fluttered onto Ron's head, and glared at his messy hair like she was choosing a spot to peck.

Slander would be punished.

Hermione ignored them.

She pulled out a quill, carefully protected the parchment, and started drafting a reply.

She had to explain everything—she hadn't done anything! And yes, just like her mum feared, Hogwarts was a boarding school, and yes, teenagers in close quarters did bring risks. But still, even if someone noticed, there was no way to prepare for every situation.

Then again...

Madam Pomfrey was a miracle worker.

There was nothing one dose of potion couldn't fix. And if twins were involved? Two doses.

That night, Hedwig had a rough job.

She flew back again and dropped Hermione's letter onto Mrs. Granger's desk.

Mrs. Granger tore it open, desperate.

"What does it say?" Mr. Granger asked, bringing a glass of whiskey, face heavy with worry.

Mrs. Granger read it carefully. "I think... we may have misunderstood Hermione."

"She says the books were for Mr. Hagrid's younger brother—a giant. A real, proper giant. Apparently, he doesn't speak human language. That's why she needs the books—to teach him."

Mr. Granger relaxed.

"But," she continued, brow furrowed, "Hermione added that what we feared 'couldn't possibly happen,' and that the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, has potions that are pain-free, highly effective, and let you return to class the next day."

Mr. Granger opened his mouth.

Technically... that's good?

But hearing it from their own daughter—it just didn't sit right.

They lay awake that night, drafting a heartfelt reply. By noon the next day, they had it ready and asked Hedwig to deliver it.

Hermione was furious.

Utterly livid.

Her parents could think such a thing?!

She decided not to write them back for a month. After that, maybe she'd consider it.

Hogwarts remained peaceful.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape expelled two students. Two whole weeks, and they still couldn't produce even a wisp of mist from their wands.

Their convictions were weak—or their intentions impure.

Unexpectedly, Malfoy surpassed both Neville and Ron, becoming the third student—after Harry and Hermione—to summon a corporeal Patronus.

A python.

Over five meters long, blind in one eye—just like him.

Neville still hadn't managed a full form.

His Patronus was barely more than a shadow, no bigger than two fists combined.

Other students remained at the mist stage.

Snape had no patience to wait for each of them to succeed. The Patronus Charm was only allotted a month in the syllabus. Most of the time, Harry taught in his place. Though Snape had demonstrated it once, he clearly despised the spell.

Especially the Patronus and Killing Curses—his most hated incantations.

Outside of Slytherin, few students liked Professor Snape.

But they couldn't deny his mastery of the Dark Arts rivaled any of his predecessors.

Still, it was Potions class that created the most stir at Hogwarts.

For the first time, students realized potions could actually be... fun.

Slughorn was a highly skilled professor, generous with rare ingredients and amusing in class. He instantly became the most beloved teacher after Professor Sprout.

By sixth year, professors opened a new door for top students—clubs.

Each week, selected students would meet to discuss not just exams, but magic beyond the classroom.

Occasionally, recent graduates would attend to share insights—preparing younger students for life beyond Hogwarts.

It wasn't hard to get alumni to come.

Professors sent letters, and former students happily returned.

But tonight was different. Professors didn't even need to send letters—students flocked to join the clubs.

Most aimed for Transfiguration—everyone knew Harry Potter was a master. Second was Potions—anyone who survived Snape's class and earned an O had to be brilliant. Plus, Slughorn's reputation was a draw.

The Slug Club wouldn't pass up someone as famous as Harry Potter.

Other clubs also got applicants—some due to past participation, others because the Potions and Transfiguration clubs had long waitlists.

Everyone shared a common goal: meet Harry Potter. Befriend Harry Potter.

Reality had smacked them hard outside school.

Now, as October approached and autumn blanketed the land with chill...

Somewhere in a long-abandoned village in Britain, Barty Crouch Jr. paid a visit.

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Powerstones?

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