Hermione: I think you're wearing pants (Seeking follow-up and votes)

Harry hesitated, continuing to flip through the hat carefully, paying special attention to the lining.

The Sorting Hat squirmed, roaring, "I am clean! In all these thousand years, I have never been as clean as I am right now, inside and out!"

"Put me on, quickly!"

"You were the one who tossed me at the entrance of the washroom, so why are you acting so picky now?"

Harry reluctantly placed the hat on his head.

"You are truly excellent," the Sorting Hat whispered impatiently in his ear, "and you have great courage, standing up for your friends. Ah, what a song-worthy deed."

"I must think about how to weave this into a ballad."

"Enough nonsense, get to the point." Harry rolled his eyes.

"How unrefined. Gryffindor loved listening to me sing," the Sorting Hat sighed. "Fine, let's get to the point."

"I had originally intended to wait until you were at least in your third year before telling you about the trials."

"But you have proven yourself now. You have courage without recklessness, and determination without being overly calculating. A strong man does not draw his sword against the weak—that is the philosophy of Gryffindor."

"And you succeeded. First year, solo, killing a Troll..."

"Just say it." Harry said listlessly, interrupting it once more.

The Sorting Hat grumbled, "I am trying to compliment you, you impatient little wizard."

"The first task of the Gryffindor trial."

"You need to enter the Slytherin common room and take the portrait of Slytherin—the content of the second trial is on the back of that portrait."

Harry's face turned a shade of green.

"Isn't it a pleasant surprise?" the Sorting Hat teased. "It really is a genius idea."

"Who would have thought that Gryffindor would arrange the test for his successor in the common room of Slytherin—the house founded by the man who hated him most?"

Harry rubbed his face hard. "That is truly a difficult problem."

"Indeed." The Sorting Hat tipped its point. "Gryffindor once said that courage is not a rare quality, but courage without brains is merely recklessness."

"Yet, it is often harder for clever people to find courage."

Harry agreed with this sentiment.

Clever people... they are too good at weighing pros and cons. It is not that they lack courage, but their reason tells them to cut their losses in time.

"How to enter the Slytherin common room requires using your brain. Let me tell you, Slytherin is probably the most exclusionary..." The Sorting Hat rambled on.

Harry took the hat off with an expressionless face.

Ron looked at Harry with longing. "What is the content of the trial?"

He paused. "May I know?"

"You impolite little brat, I hadn't even finished speaking yet," the Sorting Hat shouted.

Harry poked it. "You are too long-winded. Have you been in the office for so long with no one to talk to that you have such a strong desire to vent?"

Before the Sorting Hat could retort, it was poked by Ron again. "So, can I know the content of the trial?"

"I can only tell the content of the trial to those who are qualified," the Sorting Hat shook its head. "But I cannot control the successor's thoughts; I am just a hat."

Ron understood, turned his head, and looked at Harry with longing again.

"I only know the first task for now." Harry had no qualms; in such matters, having one more person to know meant one more perspective, which was beneficial to him. "I have to find a way to get into the Slytherin common room."

Ron was stunned, looking at the hat in disbelief.

What kind of test was this?

"So, do you have any ideas now?" He frowned, struggling to think for a long while without finding a solution, then turned to look at Harry, who had taken off his clothes and picked up fresh ones, preparing to head to the washroom.

Harry shook his head. "My only idea right now is to take a bath. Want to come?"

Ron was startled. "Aren't you thinking about the trial?"

"There are seven years to go." Harry shook his head. "There is no rush for this. I'll wait until tomorrow to see Hermione and discuss it with her. I'm too tired today."

"Oh, you're telling her about this too?" Ron paused, feeling a slight sting of jealousy—not the romantic kind, but the realization that the Savior's only best friend was now becoming one of two, losing that sense of uniqueness.

Harry nodded. "Of course, she is very clever."

"I think I am enough to help you," Ron muttered.

Harry sighed. "I don't know who it was today that I asked to bring the professor, only for him to forget everything I told him."

Ron's face flushed, his tone pleading. "Oh, no, Harry."

"Not going to bathe? Then I'm going alone." Harry shook the clothes in his hand.

Ron rummaged through his trunk. "Wait, I'm coming too."

They went down to the fifth floor where the bathrooms were. It was late, so there weren't many people around. In the relatively quiet environment, soaking in the warm water, Harry let out a long sigh.

Too many things had happened today.

Even though he was a Witcher, he was only eleven years old after all, and he could not help but feel mentally and physically exhausted.

What worried him most was that curse of love.

Harry felt a bit dazed; it wasn't until his conversation with Dumbledore today that he finally felt a solid sense of belonging, as if he were truly a part of this world.

Parents?

Witchers never had such things.

Harry submerged himself in the tub, blowing bubbles, and only struggled to shake his head out of the water when Ron started to worry that he was drowning.

After washing up, he returned to his bed and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Halloween was not a holiday, and they still had classes the next day—Friday was Potions.

Snape, for once, did not target Harry too harshly, only deducting a measly five points.

When the class ended.

They headed toward the Hospital Wing on the second floor to visit Hermione, but as they passed Professor McGonagall's office, Harry stopped and asked Ron to wait for him.

He went inside and came back out just a moment later.

"What happened?" Ron asked, handing Harry his schoolbag.

Harry's tone was relaxed: "Just received my detention; this time it's only for two weeks."

Ron's voice rose involuntarily: "You just finished your last one!"

"Besides, you saved Hermione, Professor McGonagall should be giving you..."

Harry waved a hand: "Keep your voice down, this is to protect me—Professor Snape was there yesterday too, you heard him, he wanted to give me detention."

Ron bit his lip and made a loud clicking sound: "I knew it, Professor Snape is definitely not a good person."

Harry did not contradict him.

They soon arrived at the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey was busy, but seeing the two of them enter, she immediately put down what she was holding and asked hurriedly: "Is something wrong with either of you?"

"No, we're here to visit Hermione Granger," Harry replied.

Madam Pomfrey's brow relaxed slightly: "She's inside."

She walked forward to lead the way.

"How are Hermione's injuries?" Harry asked.

Madam Pomfrey said: "One more day of rest, and she can go back on Saturday night. Her injuries weren't affected by magic, so they are easy to treat."

As she spoke, she pulled back the curtain: "Miss Granger, you have visitors."

Hermione, who was half-sitting in bed, was startled and turned to look: "Harry, Ron, you're here?"

"Sorry," Harry said, his expression blank, "about yesterday..."

Hermione shook her head: "I'm the one who should be sorry. If it weren't for you, that Troll's club would have crushed me, and I might have been dead. You saved me."

"Look at your face." Harry looked back, pulled over a stool, and sat down: "Didn't sleep all night? Is it the pain?"

Hermione shook her head. She did look haggard, her skin sallow and dark circles under her eyes: "I was thinking about things."

"Because of me, Gryffindor lost another ten points."

Harry raised an eyebrow: "Didn't Professor McGonagall add twenty points later?"

"Those twenty points were yours," Hermione emphasized, her tone heavy, "they had nothing to do with me."

Ron silently twisted the knife: "It's not just the points, there's also two weeks of detention."

Hermione gasped in shock: "Another two weeks of detention?"

"Yes, just now, when we passed Professor McGonagall's office," Ron added.

The look on Hermione's face grew even more guilty: "I'm sorry, Harry..."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Harry shook his head, "if it were you, would you have been willing to step in and save me at that moment?"

Hermione nodded firmly: "Of course."

Harry spread his hands: "Then there you go."

Hermione lowered her head; she was struggling with more than just this.

Harry glanced at Ron: "Don't you still have something to say to Hermione?"

Ron froze, clenching his fists.

Harry raised his hand and lightly tapped the back of his head: "Go on."

Ron stammered—he had spent all day yesterday rehearsing, but after a night's sleep, he had forgotten it all. Now, he could only speak dryly: "I... I'm sorry, Hermione, I shouldn't have said such harsh things yesterday."

Hermione shook her head: "No, you were right."

"It was my fault."

As she said this, she paused, her voice choking up slightly: "It's just that I still can't quite understand it; after all, those are the school rules."

Harry flicked his wand, and the hand towel on the nightstand flew over, landing in Hermione's hand: "Rules are rigid, but people are flexible."

"You break school rules, and the only punishment you get is losing points."

Ron added: "Maybe detention, too."

Harry rolled his eyes at him and continued: "This goes to show that at Hogwarts, school rules are only a very light constraint. When you want to do something out of the ordinary, they are there to remind you whether you have the courage and whether you are prepared to bear the consequences."

"To a certain extent, they represent the House, Hermione, but they are not the most important thing."

Hermione was taken aback.

Harry's tone softened: "The most important thing is not what the regulations say, but the connections between people."

As these words spilled from his lips, he found them somewhat ridiculous himself.

Witchers were supposed to be emotionless monsters.

The look in Hermione's eyes gradually grew firm: "Thank you, Harry. I think I understand."

Harry nodded, clapped his hands, and composed his expression: "Then let's talk about the next matter. The Sorting Hat told me about the trial yesterday. The first stage is to enter the Slytherin common room and take an item. Do you have any ideas?"

Hermione froze, her expression flustered and caught off guard: "Oh... let me think."

A moment ago, he was offering such tender, warm comfort.

Now, he had suddenly brought up such a pragmatic topic.

Coupled with the fact that she was lying in bed—Hermione suddenly had the distinct impression of watching Harry nimbly pulling on his trousers.

I hope everyone will show their support.

If you find any issues, please criticize them harshly. Thank you!