Inside the familiar, retro-styled room, an owl perched on the windowsill, its head tilted as it stared intently at her.
Hermione's lips curled up slightly.
What do you do when you transmigrate into the wrong world?
No big deal — just transmigrate back!
Taking the envelope from the owl's beak, Hermione turned to calm her cat, who had fluffed up again at the owl's sudden appearance.
She opened the envelope and read:
Dear Hermione Jane Granger,
Thank you for your concern. I wish you a pleasant new semester at Hogwarts.
Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall.
Hermione blinked. …Well then.
Good heavens, even this cat Professor is awfully polite.
When she first received her Hogwarts acceptance letter, Hermione, ever courteous, had written a brief thank-you note and handed it back to the owl. She hadn't expected Professor McGonagall to actually reply.
Shaking her head with a smile, Hermione looked around the room. This was the original Hermione Granger's bedroom — here in the Harry Potter world.
As for why she was here?
That was thanks to the last page of the magic book lingering in her mind.
After obtaining the book back in the Marvel Universe, Hermione had calmed down and thought things through. She realized something crucial:
She was now in the Marvel world. Hogwarts might've accepted her, but she couldn't exactly attend school there!
Where could she even go to practice Charms?
She was just a twelve-year-old, unregistered girl — no family, no friends, and even basic survival would be a challenge.
But Hermione wasn't one to give up so easily.
She had flipped through the mysterious book again and discovered two icons on the last page: one marked with an "M," the other a castle.
The "M" was gray and unresponsive no matter how much she poked at it. The castle icon, though, was colored.
Without hesitation, Hermione had touched the castle icon with her mind.
Next thing she knew, she was back in the Harry Potter world.
The castle icon turned gray, while the "M" lit up, and a progress bar appeared beneath it.
Hermione immediately understood.
Through repeated tests, she confirmed that the magic book let her travel between the Marvel and HP worlds — but only after a cooldown of about twelve hours. Once the progress bar filled up, she could jump worlds again.
So, she'd bought a wand and some spellbooks from Diagon Alley, memorized all the magic she could access at her level, and then returned to Marvel to practice non-stop.
With a whole world separating her from the Ministry of Magic, they couldn't possibly track her random spellcasting.
Now, after packing her bags and politely declining her parents' offer to see her off, Hermione made her way to King's Cross Station.
More precisely — to Platform 9¾, hidden within the station, where the train to Hogwarts waited.
Upon arriving, Hermione observed how Muggles around the station seemed oblivious to students vanishing through the wall.
Ah, she thought. Some kind of Muggle-repelling charm must be in place.
Otherwise, people would be in a panic, seeing kids crash into walls one after another.
Ubisoft feature, as expected, she joked inwardly.
Hermione also remembered that the portal to the platform only stayed open during certain times.
Not daring to dawdle, she gripped her ticket and passed through the wall in one go. If she were late, she really would smack into solid brick.
On the other side, her vision opened up: a special platform bathed in warm light.
The scarlet steam train, Hogwarts Express, stood waiting. Young witches and wizards bustled about, carrying their trunks aboard.
Hermione climbed onto the train, found an empty compartment, and settled in.
Leaning against the window, her reflection stared back at her — a lovely, twelve-year-old face. But her eyes betrayed a maturity far beyond her apparent age.
She had a mountain of things to consider:
Harry Potter… Marvel…
Dumbledore, Voldemort…
S.H.I.E.L.D., Avengers…
And above all, the mysterious book that had triggered her transmigration.
As her thoughts tangled, the compartment door suddenly slid open.
"Uh… is someone sitting here?"
A bespectacled boy peered in, blinking nervously.
"Sorry, sorry. All the other compartments are full. Could I sit here?"
Hermione glanced at him briefly and gave a small nod.
"Thank you."
The boy entered and plopped down with a sigh of relief.
Of course, Hermione recognized him instantly.
Harry Potter.
But something seemed off — wasn't he usually with Ron Weasley at this point?
Or had she unknowingly taken the seat meant for Ron?
Hermione decided not to overthink it.
In both the books and movies, only parts of this world were shown — the real sequence of events could be messier.
Besides, she wasn't sure where the "original" Hermione was supposed to sit either.
Not long after, a red-haired boy appeared at the door.
"Hey, uh… mind if I sit here too? Everywhere else is packed."
Ron Weasley.
Harry glanced at Hermione, who remained silent but gave a tiny nod.
"Sure," Harry said, patting the seat next to him.
Then came the iconic line:
"That scar… you're Harry Potter!"
Just like in the original story, Ron recognized Harry's lightning-shaped scar and reacted with exaggerated excitement.
Harry, ever the humble celebrity, ended up pulling out his stash of wizard sweets, dazzling the poor Ron, who gawked at his apparent wealth.
And just like that, a tentative friendship sparked between them, mirroring the original tale.
After their chatter died down, the two boys turned toward Hermione.
They noticed that the quiet girl hadn't reacted at all to Harry's famous name — unlike every other young witch or wizard.
Hermione, sensing their stares, finally looked at Harry — specifically, at his cracked glasses.
"Reparo."
She flicked her wand casually. The glasses' crack sealed instantly.
A minor act of courtesy — and it also soothed her obsessive need to fix things.
Repairing Spell proficiency +1.
Harry and Ron both gaped at her.
A first-year student, casting Charms so effortlessly before even starting school? Unheard of.
Hermione turned back to the window, ignoring their amazement.
She wasn't about to fangirl over Harry Potter like everyone else.
First, because in her past life, she'd read the books and watched the movies — she already knew Harry and Ron far too well.
Second, because at heart, she didn't really enjoy playing pretend with children, even if her current body was technically one.
Night fell as the Hogwarts Express finally rolled to a stop.
Disembarking, the first-years gathered by the lake, where Hagrid greeted them.
They climbed into small boats that floated across the dark waters toward Hogwarts Castle.
As they neared the shore, Hermione caught sight of the castle looming above.
Even after seeing countless skyscrapers in her previous life, she couldn't help but sigh.
So this is Hogwarts…
No movie or book could ever capture the feeling of seeing it in person.
They climbed the steps leading into the massive hall, where Professor McGonagall stood waiting.
Her green robe and pointed hat made her look exactly as Hermione remembered from both versions of her past life.
Behind McGonagall, the sounds of scuffling echoed faintly.
Ron and Draco Malfoy were already at it — hurling taunts at each other and dragging Harry into the fray.
Hermione shook her head. Some things never change.
After settling the small commotion, McGonagall began leading the group inside.
As Hermione passed her, the Professor unexpectedly turned and called out:
"Miss Hermione Granger."
Hermione froze. Her mind spun in alarm.
What?
She had purposely stayed at the back of the group, trying to avoid attention — quite the opposite of the original Hermione, who had rushed to the front.
She hadn't expected to be singled out.
Turning, she forced a polite smile.
"Good evening, Professor McGonagall."
The Professor stared at her a moment longer before smiling warmly.
"Miss Granger, thank you for your concern. I wish you a pleasant new semester."
Hermione blinked in realization. Ah… it's about that letter I sent.
So even here, McGonagall had remembered.
She bowed slightly and replied,
"Thank you for your kind words, Professor. And I wish you smooth teaching this year."
Following the others into the grand hall, Hermione glanced at the upperclassmen seated along the sides.
But her attention was quickly drawn to the Professors seated at the main table up front.
Most conspicuous of all was the old man in the center — white-bearded, grand, almost Gandalf-like.
Dumbledore.
His gaze swept the hall, pausing briefly on Harry Potter…
Then it shifted — and locked directly onto Hermione, standing quietly at the back.
Hermione stiffened. …??
Why are you staring at me like that?
She forced a brittle smile, her insides churning.
Out of everyone here, she least wanted to attract attention from these powerful wizards.
Sure, they seemed kindly on the surface — but Dumbledore, Snape, and the rest were no joke.
Her transmigration and the magic book were her deepest, most dangerous secrets.
Secrets no one could know.
Especially not in a place crawling with skilled Legilimens — mind-readers.
And Dumbledore?
Top among them.
Even if they wouldn't usually peek into a first-year's thoughts, there was always a chance.
But what choice did she have?
If she wanted to systematically learn magic, Hogwarts was still the best, most convenient place to start.
She had to come here.
No matter how risky it felt.