I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

The man had red hair draped over his shoulders, a handsome face, and a beard on his chin.

His skin was like flakes of wood shavings stuck to his body—it gave the impression of a wooden man.

John's mind rang with warning bells. He quietly gripped his sword, and his left hand was ready to fire a spell from his wand at any moment.

"Who are you?"

The final flake of wooden shaving settled onto the man's face. The large wooden sword in his hand shrank into a wand made of thin twigs.

The man opened his eyes—they were bright and piercing. The first thing he said was, "You must be a Gryffindor, right?"

"Uh… I'm a Slytherin."

"Slytherin?"

The man looked at John in confusion. He was holding a greatsword in his right hand and a wand in his left—clearly a combat style that matched Gryffindor values. Yet John claimed to be from Slytherin?

Godric Gryffindor burst into laughter. "Don't try to fool me. You passed the test I left behind—my hat would never have sorted you into Slytherin."

He was confident the boy was joking, but John felt something was off.

Your hat?

The Sorting Hat?

John cautiously asked, "Excuse me, may I ask who you are?"

"Godric Gryffindor. If you prefer, you can call me the old Head of House."

Looking like he was in his prime, Gryffindor instinctively tried to stroke his beard before remembering that this body was modeled after his younger self. He stopped mid-gesture.

"You're one of the Founders?!" John was utterly stunned.

"You could say that. This is the secret chamber I left behind. What do you think—pretty useful, huh? So how's Gryffindor House doing these days? Have we beaten Slytherin for the House Cup?"

Gryffindor still assumed John was from his own house. When he thought of his old friend Salazar Slytherin, he let out a snort.

Clearly, the grudge between Gryffindor and Slytherin dated all the way back to the school's founding.

Seeing his disdain for Slytherin, John silently pointed at the green on his robes. "I really am from Slytherin. Look."

The eye-catching green and silver stood out on his wizard robes. Gryffindor immediately looked appalled.

"Merlin's beard! Is my hat broken? It actually sorted you into Slytherin?"

Even Gryffindor himself now seriously questioned the Sorting Hat's judgment.

John had no idea what to say, so he just gave an awkward smile.

The student who passed his trial wasn't even a Gryffindor. This visibly unsettled Godric Gryffindor.

But he had originally designed this chamber to be open to all houses, hoping to find a worthy heir.

Even if that heir turned out to be a Slytherin, he would just have to grit his teeth and accept it.

"Alright. You've passed my trial. You are now qualified to inherit my legacy."

With a flick of his wand, the wooden dummy on the ground returned to normal and walked into the fireplace. Two chairs appeared out of thin air.

Gryffindor sat in one, twirling his wand, which now looked like a twig.

"As long as you complete my next trials, I will grant you the power you seek."

John quietly sat down across from him. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "Um… if I accept your trial, will I get expelled from Slytherin?"

Gryffindor waved off the concern. "Expelled? Wouldn't that be great? Pure-blood families usually have money to spare anyway."

"Uh… Head of House Gryffindor, I'm Muggle-born."

"…What?!"

Gryffindor was stunned. A Slytherin and Muggle-born?

What on earth had happened at Hogwarts while he was gone?! Even Slytherin was admitting Muggle-borns now?

The overwhelming amount of information made Gryffindor need a moment to process. The more he thought about it, the more confused he became.

"Wait… did Gryffindor and Slytherin switch names?"

He looked at John again, and the more he looked, the more he felt that might be the case.

It turned out Godric Gryffindor had the personality of a big-hearted young man. He and Salazar Slytherin had been opposites—one brave and adventurous, the other calm and ambitious for magical knowledge. They were best friends despite their differences, and even their eventual parting had been peaceful.

Eventually, Gryffindor decided to stop overthinking it. "Don't worry. My legacy is open to the entire school. You won't be expelled."

"Alright then."

John was relieved. Though the legacy was tempting, getting expelled could make him a target if Voldemort returned.

"The trial consists of three parts: Bird of the Forest, Lion of the Mountain, and Hero of the Blade."

"During these trials, I will observe your performance."

Gryffindor raised his wand to begin, but John quickly raised his hand to stop him.

"I'm really sorry, Head of House Gryffindor," John said apologetically. "But it's time for curfew—I don't think I can do the trial right now."

Gryffindor looked like he'd swallowed a toad. He was all ready to go, only to be stood up by John.

"…Fine. We'll reschedule," Gryffindor finally muttered.

"Thank you, Head of House Gryffindor."

John bowed and left. The thought of immediately starting the trial had startled him.

[Ding! Challenge Quest Triggered: Gryffindor's Legacy – Stage One: Bird of the Forest. Reward: 1 free stat point, Buff: Forest Ranger]

At the moment, John didn't have a single protective charm or proper equipment. He wasn't about to go on a reckless adventure unprepared.

Caution ensures longevity.

Once he got back to the dormitory, he decided to rest and prepare.

The Next Day

John entered the Great Hall. Breakfast was hearty—porridge, pickled herring, bread, eggs, and salty meat.

Even though eating pickled herring for breakfast felt like having stinky tofu with plain porridge, John's stomach had become ironclad over the years.

He ate his bread with porridge, and a blonde girl sat down next to him.

Daphne stared at John's handsome side profile and inexplicably giggled.

Casually, she said, "John, did you know our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is Gilderoy Lockhart? My mother is a huge fan of his."

John took a sip of porridge and ate some of the salty meat. He replied flatly, "I read his books. They're well-written… though I'm not sure how good he is at teaching."

One new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher per year had led to very inconsistent student skill levels.

John couldn't understand why the school insisted on such a cursed position. Why not just rename the subject? Call it Combatting the Dark Arts instead—it's the same thing.

If Voldemort cursed the "Defense Against the Dark Arts" role, what did that have to do with the "Combatting the Dark Arts" professor?

Whether the curse was real or not, the yearly turnover was.

Last year's professor, Quirrell, hadn't taught seriously. John later trained under him in Dark Arts and knew Quirrell was actually quite skilled—he had just been holding back.

Malfoy arrived with his two lackeys, clearly excited. "John, Potter and that annoying Weasley got into trouble! They flew a car to school! Too bad you missed the show in the Great Hall yesterday."

News spread fast. That same night, Gryffindor had celebrated Harry's reckless act.

Harry himself soon realized he'd done something stupid—Hermione was furious.

As the brain of the trio, she couldn't believe someone could be that dumb.

She buried her head in Voyages with Vampires, completely enchanted by the book and its author, Gilderoy Lockhart.

Then came the mail delivery. Dozens of owls crowded into the Great Hall, flapping in chaotic flurries overhead.

One elderly owl flew toward Gryffindor House. It meant to land but crashed headfirst into Hermione's milk jug.

"Errol!"

It was the Weasley family's owl. Ron pulled it out and noticed the red envelope it had been carrying.

A Howler.

Now this was going to be good. John saw Malfoy deliberately change direction to get a front-row seat—he looked like someone settling in to watch a juicy soap opera.

"Haha, a Howler! Weasley's in for it," Malfoy sneered. His sidekicks mimicked crying noises.

Ron really didn't want to open it. Neville whispered, "You'd better open it. If you don't, it'll be worse. My gran sent me one once—I ignored it, and…"

Just thinking about it gave Neville the chills.

Ron swallowed hard. He knew this was going to be terrible.

His hands trembled as he opened the Howler.

The deafening roar from the envelope made the entire Great Hall shudder. John watched a clump of ash fall into his porridge… and silently switched bowls with Malfoy.

Malfoy was thoroughly enjoying Weasley's humiliation. He picked up the porridge and gulped it down—only to be annoyed that it was over so quickly.

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