In other words, could we buy stocks when Tony Stark disappears and the Stark Industries stock price plummets?
Hermione felt a brief thrill at the thought, but her excitement quickly faded.
Not only did she lack money and knowledge of how to invest, but even if she had funds, what could an illegal immigrant with no identity do with it?
Frustrating.
After repeating "Money isn't everything" three times in her mind, Hermione found a small hotel, using some of the cash she'd taken from the criminals as payment.
The hotel owner had never had such a young guest before. After hesitating for a while, he decided to rent her a room, lured by the money.
Only then did Hermione quietly put down the wand hidden in her sleeve.
She had been prepared to defend herself, but the owner, surprisingly, had no ill intentions despite her young age.
Tsk, boring.
...
The next morning, several men in black suits, expressionless, arrived at the hotel.
The leader showed his ID, and a bald middle-aged man approached Hermione's door, knocking a few times before cautiously stepping back.
No answer came, and the room remained silent.
The bald man frowned, used the key provided by the hotel owner, and swiftly entered.
The room was empty.
After checking around and confirming nobody was hiding, he touched the messy bedding, noting the lingering warmth.
"It hasn't gone far. Look around!" the bald man ordered decisively, and the men in black immediately sprang into action.
Ten minutes later, they returned one by one, shaking their heads at the bald man.
Seeing this, he took out his phone and made a call.
Once connected, he said, "The person vanished, but didn't leave the room. We suspect the target may have some sort of teleportation ability."
Whatever the other party said, the bald man nodded and replied, "Yes, sir."
Then he hung up and left.
Meanwhile, in a spacious office.
A bald black man wearing an eyepatch put down his phone, gazing at documents on his desk, deep in thought.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in."
A neatly dressed young woman entered, handing him a folder.
"Director, last night a call reported a murder at a barbecue restaurant in New York. The content was strange, and our surveillance team thought it necessary to alert you."
The bald man reviewed the documents before setting them aside.
A photo of a girl lay quietly among the papers.
...
On the grass in front of Hogwarts Castle.
Dozens of young wizards stood in two rows, facing each other, with a broom beneath each of their feet.
Today was Madam Hooch's flying class.
Seeing the eager Slytherin students, Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes.
Who decided to group Gryffindor and Slytherin together?
Class hadn't started, and the two sides were nearly at each other's throats.
They glared at each other, neither side backing down, with a vibe of "What are you looking at?" "What's your problem?"
Professors knew Gryffindor and Slytherin never got along. Was this supposed to be motivational teaching?
Maybe it's a Hogwarts tradition.
When Hermione watched Harry Potter before, she felt that the wizarding world's chaos was partly due to something called the "Sorting Hat."
Better to hand the Sorting Hat to Voldemort than let it perpetuate division.
Across the seven movies, did it serve any purpose other than forming cliques among wizards?
New students at Hogwarts were immediately labeled.
You go to Gryffindor, you go to Slytherin.
To those familiar with it, it seemed like the four houses of Hongxing were recruiting.
Dividing by personality is fine, but how about teaching according to those personalities?
There's nothing. Everyone takes the same classes. What's the point of labels if they only intensify conflicts?
Are they afraid they won't fight?
Although Voldemort wasn't a good guy, Hogwarts itself deserved some blame for the current situation.
How could someone raised in Slytherin have the same personality as those from the other houses?
Despite her complaints, Hermione had no objection.
This setup gathered everyone who didn't get along with her, sparing her the trouble of seeking them out.
Besides, she wasn't the one being targeted.
As Hermione daydreamed, Madam Hooch arrived.
"Good afternoon, students!"
Her voice boomed.
"Good afternoon, Madam Hooch!"
The young wizards responded in unison.
"Welcome to our first flying class. As you all know, flying is crucial for a wizard, especially..."
As customary, she began with a lecture on flying's importance and precautions.
After much explanation, seeing the eager young wizards, Madam Hooch said:
"Alright, everyone, place your right hand over your broom and say 'up.'"
Instantly, the lawn echoed with "up."
Hermione joined in, whispering, "Up."
Nothing happened.
Hmm... again.
"Up."
The broom rolled on the spot but failed to rise.
Get up already... Hermione thought, exasperated.
Hermione was nearly an all-rounder, except for flying a broom.
It wasn't that she couldn't fly, but compared to her other skills, flying a broom was merely average.
The magic book didn't cover this skill, so she had to practice.
Beside her, Harry had already summoned his broom and was surprised to see Hermione struggling.
Finally, on her third attempt, the broom rose to her hand.
"With feeling!"
Seeing many still struggling, Madam Hooch encouraged them.
After much effort, everyone succeeded in summoning their brooms.
Madam Hooch nodded and instructed, "Now, listen carefully. Mount your brooms, hold tight, and don't slip off."
Hermione watched others straddle their brooms, hesitating.
No, the broom handle's so thin, wouldn't it get uncomfortable...
Wouldn't it hurt?
But then she felt a pang of sadness.
Yes, she'd almost forgotten; now it really wouldn't...
Damn!
Annoyed, Hermione opted not to straddle the broom but sat on it sideways.
Seeing this, Ron leaned over and whispered, "Hermione, Madam Hooch said to ride..."
"Shut up!"
"Oh..."