Advancing Her Magic

During the rest of practice, almost every ball Hermione hit went straight at someone. Though she swore it wasn't deliberate, the sight was downright terrifying.

Wood looked utterly miserable throughout. He finally understood why Professor McGonagall had recommended her as a Beater.

It was terrifying.

"HarrythisistheGoldenSnitchyou'retheSeekeryouronlyjobistofinditandcatchitcatchingitearnsyou150pointsandendsthematchrightawayyoucanpracticeI'vegotsomethingtodosoI'mleaving."

Wood took a golden ball the size of a hazelnut, fitted with a pair of wings, out of the chest and shoved it into Harry's hand. After rattling off his instructions faster than he ever had in his life, he fled as though his life depended on it.

Harry was left standing there in a daze.

After Wood fled, only the two of them remained on the field.

Hermione sat sideways on her broomstick, flying up, down, left, and right.

Watching Hermione fly around like a headless chicken, Harry asked cautiously,

"Maybe... you should sit astride it instead?"

"Got a problem?"

"No, no."

Hermione flew shakily, sitting sideways on her broomstick.

There was nothing for it. The Spellbook had no broomstick-riding skill, so she had to rely on herself.

One lap, two laps...

At first, she wobbled, but gradually her flight steadied.

By the fifth lap, she could make sharp turns sideways at low altitude without even ruffling her skirt much.

Just then, the Spellbook in Hermione's mind suddenly trembled.

By dinner, the news had spread throughout the Great Hall.

"A first-year? A Seeker? Are you sure you're not joking?"

"It's absolutely true. And the Library Witch, too. Wood said it himself-she's a Beater."

Ron's mouth hung open. He held a chicken drumstick for ages before it finally dropped back onto his plate with a clatter.

We were supposed to be the witch trio, and you two went ahead behind my back!

I wanted to join the house Quidditch team, too!

Over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy was animatedly describing Potter's expression when McGonagall had hauled him away to Crabbe and Goyle. He was waiting for someone to bring him the good news that Potter had been kicked out that evening.

Then he heard someone behind him say, "Have you heard? Potter made the team. He's the youngest Seeker in a century."

"And that Granger girl got picked, too. Two first-years on the team at once."

Malfoy's smile froze.

Wait, wasn't Potter supposed to get expelled, while that useless Granger could only watch her underling get kicked out?

How had both of them made the Quidditch team he'd dreamed of joining?

What was wrong with this world?

He turned and met Hermione's gaze from across the hall.

She raised her apple juice in a distant toast, smiling innocently, then mouthed something.

Although the noise drowned out her words, Malfoy could just make them out from her lips.

"Thanks for your help."

Thanks?

For what?

Malfoy's thoughts raced. The next instant, he suddenly realized something, and his eyes widened.

Had it all happened because of him...?

No, please, anything but that!

The hateful girl opposite him seemed to read his thoughts and nodded gently.

Plop.

Malfoy turned to stone, his fork falling into his soup.

Back in the dormitory, Hermione drew the curtains and opened the Spellbook's panel before her two roommates, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, returned.

While she had been taking pointers from Harry and practicing on her broomstick, the Spellbook had trembled. Without her noticing, her magic experience had filled up.

Apparently, controlling a broomstick was itself a form of precise magic-control training.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Hermione let her thoughts sink into her mind and tried to meditate.

The next second, magic burst forth inside her like a gushing spring, flowing through every part of her body. Boundless vitality welled up within Hermione, and her mind became much clearer, as though she had entered a new realm.

She felt completely renewed.

[Hermione Jean Granger]

[Magic Level lv2 (1/10000)]

She eagerly checked the Spellbook. Sure enough, her Magic Level had risen to lv2.

Hermione could clearly feel the magic flowing within her surging more powerfully, while her perception and control of it had become much finer.

She looked at the other sections again.

[Spells]

[Levitation Charm lv2 (1/10000), Disarming Charm lv2 (1/10000), Full Body-Bind Curse lv2 (1/10000), Shield Charm lv2 (1/10000)...]

[Dark magic]

[Dark Harvest (Talent)]

[Sectumsempra lv2 (1/10000), Levicorpus lv1 (138/1000)]

As expected, once her Magic Level reached lv2, the spells whose proficiency had already maxed out naturally advanced along with it.

"Reducto!"

A flash of blue light shot out, and the vase in the room shattered.

Hermione nodded in satisfaction.

Compared with the lv1 Reductor Curse, lv2 was clearly more powerful. Before, it had only broken the vase into several pieces; now, it reduced it to granules in one go.

She could also feel improvements in casting speed, range, and the maximum size of a target it could affect.

After estimating its power, Hermione had a rough idea of her current level.

Above a fifth-year, but below an adult wizard.

The magic of first- through fourth-years probably fell within lv1, with a very few outstanding wizards reaching lv2.

Fifth- through seventh-years generally had lv2 magic, while adult wizards usually topped out at lv3.

Stronger adult wizards and ordinary Ministry of Magic Aurors could approach lv4, while renowned elite Aurors could reach lv4.

As for those on the level of Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Grindelwald... it was still hard to say. Hermione couldn't estimate that with her current strength.

All told, although Hermione was only a first-year, she had already mastered dozens of spells. As long as their proficiency kept pace with her Magic Level, she could unleash one hundred percent of her current magic's maximum power.

Compared with other wizards, it was practically cheating.

Not even those famous magical prodigies could compare.

After all, even among wizards with lv3 magic, spellcasting ability varied greatly.

Depending on their constitution, affinity for particular spells, practice, and other factors, some people could bring out the full power of most spells they knew, or even exceed their level. Others could only cast them at the level of a student.

That led to enormous differences in combat strength.

Take the famous Gilderoy Lockhart, for instance.

The man was hopeless at other spells, yet extraordinarily skilled with the Memory Charm. He might even have surpassed the limits of his own Magic Level with it.

Or there was the Weasley family's natural aptitude for the Reductor Curse.

In the original story, Barty Crouch Jr., otherwise known as Fake Moody, had said that, at those students' level, even casting Avada Kedavra at him would give him no more than a nosebleed.

With the Spellbook's help, however, Hermione could grind any spell to its maximum given enough time. She had no weaknesses.

She was an all-rounder, with nothing she was bad at.

"Reparo."

Having gauged her current strength, Hermione repaired the vase and went to a cubicle in the bathroom.

She silently willed herself to cross worlds, preparing to return to the Marvel Universe to farm again.

The next second, she appeared directly inside her hotel room.

Hermione looked around.

Fortunately, no new guest had moved into the room. Otherwise, things would have been awkward.

Previously, she'd been in a hurry to return to Hogwarts for class. Having woken up late, she hadn't had time to think and had crossed back directly from the hotel in the Marvel Universe.

Next time, I'll find a good spot before going back... Hermione thought.

Wherever she crossed over from was where she would return next time. She had confirmed that rule many times.

Before opening the door, Hermione first opened the Spellbook in her mind.

[Magic Level: lv2 (1/10000)]

Ten thousand points.

Her excitement over leveling up had made her selectively ignore that terrifying experience bar. Now that she'd calmed down, she had to face the problem again.

The previous level had required a thousand points, and she'd spent an entire month grinding at Hogwarts.

This level required ten times as much.

If she relied solely on practicing spells, she might have to slog away until her fourth year.

Hermione remembered those three hours in Hell's Kitchen.

A dozen or so criminals had made a visible difference in a pool of a thousand points. In a pool of ten thousand, they barely made a ripple.

"I'll need bigger hunting grounds."

She casually cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself.

Looking down, she found that the faint optical-camouflage effect from lv1 had become almost imperceptible at lv2. Even her shadow had vanished along with her.

Satisfied, Hermione dispelled the charm.

At this level, never mind the naked eye-even an ultra-high-definition camera probably couldn't catch her.

She opened the door, walked down the corridor, and headed to the front desk.

When the hotel owner saw Hermione emerge from inside, his eyes widened, and he shot to his feet.

"Little girl, how did you..."

"Oh, I left something in my room earlier, so I came back to get it," Hermione lied without batting an eye.

The hotel owner looked conflicted, as though he wanted to say something but was holding himself back.

"Is something wrong?"

Noticing his unusual reaction, Hermione's gaze shifted, and she asked.

The hotel owner glanced around, then made up his mind and leaned forward.

"Little girl, I don't know what trouble you've gotten into, but some FBI agents came here a few days ago asking about you. If you know what's going on, you'd better find a way to sort it out quickly."

Huh?

Hermione was baffled.

The Feds were looking for her?

Had they discovered what she'd done a few nights ago?

That shouldn't be possible. She'd kept the Disillusionment Charm active the whole time. Even if they investigated, they shouldn't trace it to a twelve-year-old girl.

Wait... the Feds... could it be...?

Hermione's heart tightened as something seemed to come back to her.

She remembered that most S.H.I.E.L.D. agents used FBI identities as cover.

"Looks like you know what's going on."

The hotel owner noticed the change in Hermione's expression.

Hermione nodded. "I understand. It's nothing serious, but thank you for the warning."

You're surprisingly nice.

Hermione took out a few dollar bills to express her thanks, then strode out of the hotel.

Half an hour later.

Hermione sat by the window, sipping a cappuccino. Her gaze passed over the rim of her cup and settled on the other side of the street.

S.H.I.E.L.D. coming looking for her wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

She was undocumented, had no money, and didn't even have a usable identity. Those were problems a twelve-year-old girl couldn't solve herself, but S.H.I.E.L.D. could handle them with a word.

More importantly, she needed a "legal" pretext for farming.

She'd gotten away with that night in Hell's Kitchen because everyone who died had been a criminal. If she wanted to keep coming to the Marvel Universe to farm, she needed someone to stamp her actions with the label of "justice."

So she didn't hide.

She had deliberately chosen this café, right opposite a street surveillance camera, ordered the most expensive coffee, and drank it slowly.

While she was on her second cup, the wind chimes at the entrance rang.

The café was rather quiet at this hour. Apart from Hermione, there were barely any customers.

As the wind chimes rang, a young man and woman entered arm in arm, chatting and laughing.

After ordering two coffees, they looked around and sat at a table not far from Hermione.