A Certain Magical Hogwarts

Visiting William's place quickly became Luna's habit.

She sat on one side of the small table, successfully occupying Boba Tea's spot.

However, Luna didn't come to study. Most of the time, she held The Quibbler and sat there.

She would often slump over the table, clearly asleep, but insisted it was advanced meditation passed down in Ravenclaw that supposedly enhanced wisdom.

Ravenclaw's coffin lid probably couldn't stay shut anymore.

Occasionally, Luna would float around William's house like a ghost, searching for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

She still believed William earned the Order of Merlin by discovering it.

Everyone grows up, just at different speeds.

Especially younger children. Once they decide to focus on something, they'll pour their heart into it.

Like Luna's habit of visiting, Hermione had recently taken up a new hobby: cooking.

As she put it: "William, I want to learn to cook!"

Hermione's enthusiasm wasn't as desperate as Mitsui's desire to play basketball, but it was still a solid start.

William always believed that dreams should be encouraged.

Thus, almost every morning in his small house started with the crisp sound of dishes breaking, marking the beginning of the day.

If it weren't for Reparo, at Hermione's current rate of breaking plates, William would probably declare bankruptcy within a week.

Hermione's sharp academic mind didn't seem to apply to cooking; she was terribly clumsy.

But Hermione never lacked perseverance. William's pantry supplies were rapidly consumed, turning into practice materials for her.

In the morning, Hermione showed up in the kitchen, wearing an apron identical to William's. She followed the recipe closely while fiddling with a small kitchen scale.

Humming a tune, she weighed the ingredients according to the recipe's requirements.

"300 grams of chicken, 300 grams of onion, 3 tablespoons of butter, 3 tablespoons of flour… Wait, how big is a tablespoon supposed to be?"

Hermione's gaze wandered between the small, medium, and large spoons on the rack.

After a moment of hesitation, she compromised and picked the middle one.

When breakfast was ready, Hermione stood at the bottom of the stairs and called out: "William, Annie, Boba Tea, come down for breakfast!"

William came down from the study on the third floor and sat at the dining table.

"This Oxford Orange Marmalade Sandwich was made strictly according to your instructions. The Scottish Curry Chicken Soup was made following the recipe. Try it!"

Under Hermione's eager gaze, William picked up the spoon.

He took a sip of the soup, swallowed it gently, and after a moment, covered his throat and said with difficulty: "It's delicious! Just… the butter and honey… are a bit much… too sweet... Water!"

Hermione quickly poured him water and patted his back to help.

Wait a minute… William suddenly realized something: wouldn't such an overly sweet taste temporarily numb his sense of taste?

If he hurriedly swallowed the Oxford Orange Marmalade Sandwich while his taste buds were out of commission, wouldn't the pain be greatly reduced?

Genius!

Meanwhile, Boba Tea carefully stretched out a paw, picked up a burnt corn sausage from its plate, took a bite, and immediately spat it out with a "bleh." Its eyes rolled back, and it collapsed to the ground, playing dead.

"…" William's hand froze mid-air, still holding the marmalade sandwich.

Cowardly little creature!

"Boba Tea, what's with this reaction? Are you playing dead?" Hermione tugged disapprovingly at Boba Tea's tail.

"Huh? Where's Annie? She's not eating breakfast?" Hermione asked.

"She snuck out through the window before sunrise and went to Luna's house. She said she'd have breakfast there," William explained.

Taking advantage of their conversation, Boba Tea quickly got up and ran for its life.

Once Boba Tea was gone, Hermione sighed heavily.

She stretched out her legs, slumped forward with her arms dangling, and rested one side of her face on the table, gazing out the window.

"Ugh, I used the same method, the same measurements—why does it taste so weird?"

William, however, didn't leave. He gently lifted Hermione's chin and turned her face toward him, only relaxing when he saw she wasn't crying.

Running his hand through her messy brown curls, William gently comforted her:

"Hermione, it's not your fault. That dish was supposed to taste like this to begin with."

Hermione grabbed the marmalade sandwich from William's hand, took a determined bite, and with her cheeks puffed out, muttered grumpily:

"Don't comfort me. I know it's awful…"

"Not at all." William took the half-eaten sandwich back, stuffed it into his mouth, and swallowed it without chewing.

He flicked her smooth forehead with a finger and smiled: "Awful? Who said that? Let them stand up so I can teach them a lesson!

"If Annie dares complain when she gets back, I'll turn her into a cat!

"And no more snacks for Boba Tea!"

Hermione squinted, smiling warmly as her dimples deepened.

…

After breakfast, the two headed to the basement.

William and Hermione stood facing each other.

"Spellcasting requires fluency, but more importantly—accuracy."

"You've mastered a few spells well enough to duel your peers, but you're far from ready to face stronger Dark wizards."

William taught Hermione seriously, and she listened attentively, ready to jot everything down in her journal later.

Hermione had a journal specifically for recording William's teachings, which she would repeatedly review afterwards.

In truth, William had considered creating a Pensieve. That would allow him to store his memories, so Hermione could study his battles firsthand.

That would be the best learning material.

"Your next goal is to hit these balloons accurately."

With a wave of his wand, a row of balloons floated into the air.

Hermione swished her wand, shooting a red beam of light—but it missed by a wide margin, hitting the wall instead.

William shrugged. No matter how powerful a spell was, what use was it if it didn't hit its target?

William could stand still, and Hermione might still miss him entirely.

But there was no shortcut to mastering combat; it required constant training.

Even if someone memorized countless spells and could perform them in private, they were still just flashy tricks. In a real fight, they'd be doomed.

William's teaching style closely resembled Professor Flitwick's.

On top of that, he incorporated experience gained from duelling Dumbledore, Snape, and other professors during his time loops.

However, William didn't believe in making Hermione lift weights. What was the point of a girl building a body full of muscles?

William much preferred a cute and soft Hermione.

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