Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Harry, with a charm stat reaching five points and certain aspects of himself partially transformed, occasionally heard the whispers of the world. This time, he received a revelation.
He sensed more specific glimpses of the future.
Ordinary wisdom, often mocked as hindsight, allowed people to analyze events only after they occurred, either through their own reflection or with others' help, piecing together clarity with confident explanations. But Harry's extraordinary wisdom—his charm—enabled him to foresee events before they unfolded.
In the past, during his time in Westeros, participating in grand events had earned him not only bronze attribute points as rewards but also opportunities to enhance his divine power and charm.
Back in China, where his goal had been to excel in the college entrance exams and secure a spot at a prestigious university, he had foreseen that he'd missed the chance to boost his intelligence in that world.
Now, he saw a new vision: studying magic here at Hogwarts might offer opportunities to increase his magical power and charm.
Well, I thought schools were supposed to boost intelligence… Never mind. My intelligence is already sufficient.
Say what you will, but didn't he make it to the equivalent of Tsinghua or Peking University?
Completing a six-year journey in just two and a half years—speedrunning his way back to this world—wasn't that the mark of astonishing wisdom?
"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid bellowed, pointing at a fleet of small boats moored along the shore.
Harry and Ron climbed into one, followed by Neville and Hermione.
"Everyone in?" Hagrid called out, occupying a boat all to himself. "Right then—FORWARD!"
The fleet of boats glided smoothly across the mirror-flat lake. Everyone fell silent, their eyes fixed on the towering castle piercing the clouds. As they neared the cliff on which the castle stood, it loomed above them, majestic and imposing.
"Heads down!" Hagrid shouted as the first boats approached the cliff. They all ducked, and the boats carried them through a curtain of ivy concealing a hidden entrance. They sailed along a dark tunnel that seemed to lead beneath the castle, eventually arriving at an underground dock. From there, they clambered onto a rocky shore strewn with pebbles.
During the journey, Harry sensed the castle growing warmer, almost tender. This castle, it seemed, was no ordinary structure—it felt like a vast, sentient entity imbued with spiritual energy.
They disembarked, and under the glow of Hagrid's lantern, they ascended a tunnel carved into the rock, finally emerging onto a flat, damp patch of grass in the castle's shadow.
They climbed a flight of stone steps and gathered before a massive oak door.
Here, a pact was sealed.
Harry felt a new surge of foreign magic suppressed by the power within his forehead…
What was this? Did every first-year experience this hidden pulse of magic?
As the question formed, another revelation struck. Harry's eyes saw…
A serene Scottish riverbank… A dream. A boar led him to a cliff by a lake. Four wizards stood there, one bearing a sword. They boarded the same boat, united by a shared conviction, crossing the lake to the cliff. The dream revealed their purpose: to build the greatest school of magic in history.
Harry snapped back to reality, silent. What was that?
Then it clicked.
They had retraced the path of Hogwarts' four founders. Was this some kind of ritual magic?
Did this ceremony, undergone by every new student, greatly increase their chances of survival during their time at Hogwarts?
Harry recalled Hagrid's words: Hogwarts students were generally very safe, with few fatalities, especially under the protection of a powerful headmaster like Dumbledore.
If this was truly a grand ritual magic, sustained for a thousand years, the strength of the four legendary founders was undeniable.
To withstand the test of time was a testament to their power.
How would they compare to the modern legend, the most powerful wizard of the age, Dumbledore? Who would win in a fight?
If Harry were Dumbledore, with such a potent magical boost, he might train an army of recruits far more aggressively.
Hagrid raised a massive fist and knocked three times on the castle door.
The door swung open, revealing a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. Her expression was stern, but Harry's first thought was that she was kind at heart, her warmth hidden beneath a disciplined facade—a curious contrast.
Though her magical power was invisible to him and her physical strength seemed negligible, his instincts told him she was likely stronger than Hagrid, who stood beside her.
At a distance, she might pose a slight threat to him as he was now.
So, proper professors are stronger than regular staff?
"First-years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid announced.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here."
She opened the door wide, and Harry and the other first-years followed her inside. Harry naturally took the lead, unquestioned, as if it were his birthright.
Watching McGonagall's back, he tightened his grip on the wand hidden beneath his robes.
Not because he planned to attack—he wasn't deranged.
Unlike the days when he thought his aunt's family was being hunted, this was merely caution. You could never be too careful.
During his two-and-a-half years in China, Harry had mastered the knowledge in his purchased textbooks. Though he couldn't practice spellcasting to build proficiency there, he had gained deeper insights into wizarding combat and the influence of his high charm stat on his magic.
According to some texts, his spell effects far surpassed those of an average wizard.
Unfortunately, upon returning to his eleven-year-old body, the physical strength he'd regained in China had reverted to its former frailty.
His sword, too, was left behind at the Night's Watch temporary headquarters in Diagon Alley. All he had now was his wand.
If Hogwarts' professors were all of McGonagall's caliber, he might stand a chance against three or four in close quarters, unleashing a furious assault to turn the tables. But against eight or ten? He'd likely be outmatched.
Thankfully, McGonagall seemed kind, and Hogwarts didn't appear as dangerous as he'd feared.
They followed her across a stone-flagged floor.
Harry heard the buzz of hundreds of voices from a door to the right—the rest of the school must already be gathered. Professor McGonagall led the first-years to a small, empty chamber off the hall.
They crowded in, shoulder to shoulder, nervously scanning their surroundings.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting Ceremony is a very important tradition…"
Harry noticed that when she mentioned the Sorting, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk flickered across her face—perhaps mischievous—before her expression returned to sternness.
Trouble. These naturally wicked wizards are definitely plotting something!
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