Chapter 8 - Chapter 8: On How to Ride a Broom Without Crushing Your Balls

 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 30→2ch | 60→5ch | 100→8ch | 200→15ch | 400→25ch⏰ Resets Monday!

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In other words, she could buy the dip when Tony Stark went missing and Stark Industries' stock crashed?

Hermione got excited for one second. Then her face fell again.

Forget having no money or knowing how to buy stocks—even if she did, what did it matter to a ghost without even an identity?

Damn it!

Angry.

Mentally chanting "money is external to the body" three times, Hermione sulked her way to a small motel. Slapped several bills she'd looted from criminals onto the desk.

The owner had never hosted such a young child before. Hesitated a long while. But seeing the cash, still gave her a room.

Only then did Hermione quietly lower the wand in her sleeve.

She'd been fully prepared to blast him on the spot. Didn't expect he wouldn't harbor twisted thoughts just because she was a kid.

Tch. Boring.

The next morning, several men in black suits, expressionless, arrived at the motel.

The leader flashed credentials. Then a middle-aged balding man approached Hermione's room door. Knocked lightly a few times. Carefully stepped back two paces.

No response for a long time. No movement inside either.

The balding man frowned. Pulled out the key the owner had given him. Opened the door directly. Quickly slipped inside.

The room was empty.

The balding man checked around. After confirming no one was hiding, reached out and touched the messy bedding.

Still warm.

"Hasn't gone far. You guys search the area!" The balding man decisively ordered. The black-suited men immediately sprang into action.

Ten minutes later, they returned one by one. Shook their heads at the balding man.

Seeing this, he pulled out his phone. Made a call.

Once connected, said directly: "Subject just disappeared. But never left the room. Suspect target may possess some kind of teleportation ability."

The other side said something. The balding man nodded. "Yes, sir."

Then hung up. Turned and left.

Meanwhile, in a spacious office.

A bald Black man wearing an eyepatch put down the phone. Looked at the files on his desk. Thinking about something.

A knock sounded.

"Come in."

A capable-looking young woman—secretary-like—walked in. Handed the bald man a folder.

"Director, last night a shawarma shop in a New York district received a police report about a homicide… but the content was somewhat strange. Our surveillance personnel flagged it. Felt it necessary to report to you."

The bald man took the file. Looked for a moment. Set it on the desk.

A photo of a girl lay quietly in the middle.

On the lawn in front of Hogwarts Castle.

Dozens of young wizards stood in two rows, facing each other. Each had a broom at their feet.

Today was Madam Hooch's flying lesson.

Looking at the eager Slytherin students opposite, Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes.

Who the hell scheduled this? Did Gryffindor have to pair with Slytherin?

Class hadn't even started and both sides were about to brawl.

They glared at each other. No one backing down. Total "What you looking at?" "Looking at you, so what?" energy.

The professors weren't ignorant—Gryffindor and Slytherin never got along. Don't tell me this was called "motivational teaching."

Whatever. Probably just Hogwarts tradition.

When Hermione had read Harry Potter before, she'd had a feeling… the reason the wizarding world was such a mess probably traced back to one thing: the Sorting Hat.

For the series' ultimate villain, rather than Voldemort, she'd award it to the Sorting Hat.

Looking across all seven books, what did that cursed thing do besides make wizards form cliques?

Wizard kids arrived at Hogwarts, and the first thing that happened was getting a hat slapped on them.

You go to Gryffindor. You go to Slytherin.

Those who knew called it house sorting. Those who didn't would think it was gang recruitment.

Fine, you sort by personality. But then teach according to personality!

Nothing. Everyone took the same classes. Besides slapping on labels and escalating conflicts, what was the point?

Like they were afraid people wouldn't fight.

If you asked her, though Voldemort wasn't exactly a saint, Hogwarts itself bore thirty percent of the blame for how he turned out.

Growing up day after day in Slytherin's environment versus the other three houses—could personalities end up the same?

But complaints aside, Hermione had no real objections.

After all, this conveniently grouped everyone she couldn't get along with in one place. Saved her from finding them individually.

Not like it screwed her over.

While Hermione's mind wandered, Madam Hooch finally arrived fashionably late.

"Good afternoon, students!"

A vigorous voice rang out.

"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch!"

The young wizards responded in unison.

"Welcome to our first flying lesson. As everyone knows, flying is extremely important for a wizard, especially…"

The usual routine. Started with a wave of education and safety precautions.

Blah blah blah. After covering everything, seeing the young wizards' eager expressions—clearly couldn't wait—Madam Hooch finally said: "Alright, now everyone place your right hand over your broom. Then say 'Up.'"

Instantly, the entire lawn filled with cries of "Up!"

Hermione joined in. Said lightly: "Up."

Nothing happened.

Mm… again.

"Up."

The broom rolled in place. But showed no signs of flying up.

Come on, get UP already… Hermione felt speechless.

Hermione was practically all-around talented. Except for broomstick flying.

Not that she couldn't use it at all. Just compared to her top-tier aptitude in everything else, flying brooms only ranked in the ordinary-excellent category.

The magic book hadn't produced this skill either. She could only practice slowly.

Beside her, Harry—who'd already summoned his broom to his palm—saw Hermione in this state for the first time. Very curious.

Finally, on the third summoning call, the broom successfully rose. Hermione gripped it.

"Put some feeling into it!"

Seeing many young wizards still hadn't succeeded, Madam Hooch loudly reminded them.

After some struggling, everyone finally completed the summoning.

Madam Hooch nodded with satisfaction. Said: "Now, on my command, everyone mount your brooms. Hold tight. Don't slip off."

Hermione watched people around her straddle the brooms. Hesitated.

Wait. The broomstick was so thin. Riding like that—wouldn't it pinch your crotch…

Wouldn't it really crush your balls?

But the next second, a wave of sadness rose in her heart.

Right. She'd almost forgotten. Now it really wouldn't…

Damn it!

Rage maxed out, Hermione ultimately didn't choose to straddle the broom. Instead sat sideways on it.

Ron saw this. Leaned his head over. Said quietly: "Hermione, Madam Hooch told us to ride—"

"Shut up!"

"Oh…"