It was early morning.
The air was filled with the scents of dew and grass.
A faint shimmer danced across the surface of Black Lake.
Beneath the surface, magical creatures stirred, appearing and vanishing again, so that one could never quite make out their true shapes. From the depths of the Forbidden Forest came the sounds of strange birds.
Could it be a phoenix?
But no one noticed.
"Morning."
"Morning to you too...uh, whose name I still don't remember."
"That's because you never bother to remember! You can't recall a single boy's name, yet you can list the girls from other houses backwards!"
"No, I forget the ugly ones, too."
…
Sunlight spilled through the windows of Hogwarts, warming the stone walls and driving away the chill. It also woke up all the students who had no idea what had happened the night before.
Students began to stir in their dormitories.
In the Gryffindor common room, boys emerged from their bedrooms in groups of two or three. Some had spent the night playing chess and were now yawning and rubbing their eyes like sleepy pandas.
Others were perfectly neat; clearly, they'd slept well.
They straightened their wrinkled robes as they hurried toward the Great Hall.
Meanwhile, the girls were a little slower. Some had already washed and dressed, pretending to read their textbooks while whispering gossip. Others were still in front of mirrors, debating which hairstyle to wear that day.
Admiration for the opposite sex often began to bloom among young witches and wizards as early as their first year.
Bang!
An older witch had tried to use magic to style her hair. However, since Gryffindor students were easily distracted, her spell failed the instant the boy she liked walked by.
Her lovely, straight, black hair instantly exploded into a wild afro.
To make matters worse, her skin tone looked less than flattering in this castle. Some classmates came to check on her kindly, while others offered fake sympathy. Most battles among girls were fought in secret.
"Why doesn't any girl like me or even glance my way?" Ron asked, yawning, as he and Neville left their dorm.
They had also stayed up late the night before, not playing chess or meeting anyone in secret, but rather recovering from the shock of breaking school rules. Whether that scare would actually teach Ron a lesson was another matter entirely.
As for Neville, he'd always been the more mild and indecisive sort. If his friends behaved properly, he would be the most obedient student at Hogwarts.
"Maybe it's because you haven't grown into your looks yet. Boys get kind of awkward during puberty," Neville said. He was too afraid to tell the truth because if Ron found out that he was the running joke among the new students, Ron would probably challenge the person who started the rumor to a duel.
Neville definitely didn't want to see his friend fight a Weasley family civil war with his older brothers.
"Just say that to comfort me," Ron grumbled, but he didn't sound upset. He knew he wasn't much of a looker. "Honestly, though, I've no idea why I look so different from all my older brothers."
He wasn't doubting his mother's fidelity. He was just sighing to himself.
"You just haven't grown into it yet, you haven't grown into it yet!" Neville repeated quickly, overcompensating.
The two boys, who didn't have many friends in their house, left the common room together and jogged toward the Great Hall.
It was breakfast time.
Those who arrived late got only leftovers.
Before anyone discovered the proper way to open Hogwarts' kitchens, or found the secret entrance, most young wizards could only rely on their own efforts to get what they wanted.
"My toast!"
"That one's mine!"
"Ugh, it's gone again!"
Yes!
They rely on their hands to fight and grab.
The Great Hall was a noisy battlefield.
The long tables were piled high with steaming food: sizzling bacon and eggs, golden, crispy toast, and bubbling pumpkin juice. There were even a few new dishes inspired by Ian's "culinary influence " and they all tasted pretty good.
The hall was packed with growing children, all eating heartily. Ron and Neville sat at one end of the Gryffindor table. In front of them was a mountain of food that could rival the size of the Forbidden Forest.
They ate ravenously, laughing and joking as they competed to see who could eat more, or faster.
"I can swallow this entire pancake in one bite!" Ron boasted, his mouth stuffed so full that his words came out muffled.
"You're bluffing! I bet you, one homework assignment, that you'll choke halfway through!" Neville shot back, shoveling food into his mouth at lightning speed.
Well...
Ron was nothing if not consistent.
"Cough... Cough... Cough...!"
He choked. His face turned beet red.
Fortunately, this had become such a common occurrence for Ron that the weary prefect came over to rescue his hopelessly ridiculous younger housemate with the resignation of long practice.
After patting him on the back a few times, the Prefect offered Ron some heartfelt advice: "Chew slower!"
"I've never eaten this well at home! It's not because Mum's cooking is bad; it's because you, along with Ginny, always stole everything off my plate!"
Ron loved throwing shade at his brothers.
"Another round!"
He had long since become immune to embarrassment, as had everyone else. Neither he nor the students around him thought it was shameful anymore when he inevitably got food stuck in his throat.
What was this called?
Desensitization.
In his own unique way, Ron had earned the respect of his peers, he was the boy famous for nearly choking to death at breakfast at least twice a week. His reputation had spread beyond Gryffindor House.
"I win!"
Neville ignored Ron's plea for a rematch.
"No way! That round doesn't count!" Ron protested immediately.
Neville sighed and agreed to start over. They were both bottomless pits anyway.
They were still having fun when Neville suddenly noticed something odd near the end of breakfast: Hermione Granger was nowhere to be seen.
"That's strange. Where's Hermione?"
He scanned the Great Hall, but there was still no sign of her. He frowned.
"Oh, she's probably been up all night reading again," Ron said carelessly, shrugging. "She'll burst into Charms any minute now, carrying a mountain of color-coded notes."
That did sound exactly like Hermione.
And yet...
"She's never been late before. She's more punctual than the rooster that lives next to my house," Neville muttered uneasily.
Neville muttered uneasily.
"Breakfast isn't class. Hermione's only that punctual when lessons are involved," said Ron around a mouthful of sausage, sauce smearing the corners of his mouth.
Still, Neville's words nagged at Ron because he was right.
The two boys kept eating, then went off to class. But when their first-year Charms lesson began, Hermione was still missing.
The Charms classroom was on the third floor of the castle.
Ron and Neville ran in, panting and almost late. As they plopped into their seats, Professor Flitwick stood on his stack of books, beaming as he clapped his tiny hands.
"All right, class! Wands out, let's review last lesson's spell!"
He was indulgent toward students who arrived at the last second.
Sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the feathers floating gently in the air. Today's lesson was a review of the Levitation Charm, or "Wingardium Leviosa."
The goal was to keep the feather hovering steadily.
Naturally, Ron and Neville fell behind.
As Neville glanced around, searching for his external brain, he first realized that Hermione still hadn't shown up.
"What? That's impossible! Hermione has never missed a class before. Remember when she had a fever so high it could have cooked an egg, but she still made it to Transfiguration?"
Ron froze as the realization hit him.
"Nobody can have a ninety-degree fever, Neville."
Neville frowned. "Whatever! The point is, it's not normal. Hermione would crawl here on her hands and knees if she had to. She probably doesn't even know how to spell 'absent!'"
The two boys agreed on one thing: there was no way Hermione would skip a magic lesson.
Unpleasant thoughts began to form.
Neville swallowed nervously.
"Maybe she just overslept?" he said weakly.
Even he didn't seem to believe it.
Ron hesitated, too.
"No, that's impossible. Absolutely impossible. Or maybe..." His tone shifted suddenly, creeping toward horror. "Maybe..."
Neville scratched his head.
"Maybe Snape caught her and gave her detention? Because she pointed out his double standards in Potions last week?"
That was actually a fairly reasonable guess.
"Could be. Everyone knows how petty Snape is," Ron agreed, nodding. Then his expression changed, a wild spark of imagination lighting up his face.
"But I think there's another possibility."
He lowered his voice, making it sound mysterious and dramatic.
Neville blinked.
"You mean...Hermione was eaten by Snape?"
Neville's face turned pale.
Apparently, his imagination wasn't far behind Ron's.
"What are you talking about? Snape might be scary, but not that scary. Dumbledore's always around. He'd never let Snape go around eating people!"
Ron's eyes widened.
His tone was so exaggerated.
If Snape heard it, he would toss Ron into the Black Lake by nightfall.
"Uh..."
Neville blinked.
Ron whispered conspiratorially to him. Then, he took a deep breath and said in a gloomy tone, "Maybe both Hermione and Snape were eaten by a monster from the Forbidden Forest."
The more Ron thought about it, the more reasonable his theory seemed.
"You heard it last night, too, right? That sound, that terrifying roar!" Just recalling it made Ron shudder; the memory was still vivid and chilling.
Neville flinched violently and almost slipped off his chair.
"No way..."
Even Neville knew that roar couldn't have come from anything friendly. It sounded worse than a dragon's roar. For all they knew, Hermione and Snape might already have been digested.
The more Neville thought about it, the more Neville trembled.
Just as Ron was about to say something,
"Mr. Longbottom! Mr. Weasley!", Professor Flitwick's sharp, high-pitched voice suddenly cut through their whispering. The whole classroom fell silent in an instant.
Every little wizard turned to look at them.
"Are you two planning to hold a secret meeting in my classroom?" Professor Flitwick stood on his stack of books with his hands on his hips, looking completely exasperated.
"If you two get any closer, you'll be kissing!" he said, squinting mischievously.
The classroom erupted into laughter instantly.
Someone even whistled.
Ron and Neville sprang apart like startled cats, their faces bright red.
"Of course not!"
Neville quickly scooted his chair in the opposite direction, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and Ron. Ron did the same, after all, this was England. A misunderstanding like that could haunt a man for life.
Ron wasn't taking that risk.
Neither was Neville.
"Professor! We were just talking, about something important!" Ron stammered, desperate to defend himself. He still hoped a girl from his house would find him attractive someday.
"We were talking about where Hermione went!" Neville quickly added.
At that, Professor Flitwick raised an eyebrow. "Miss Granger? Oh, Professor McGonagall mentioned this morning that she's been assigned to assist Professor Snape with a special potions project."
She'll be absent from my class today."
His tone was perfectly normal.
Upon hearing those words, Ron and Neville exchanged shocked glances.
"Looks like two little boys are getting jealous," said Professor Flitwick with a chuckle. "All right, all right, back to practicing." He waved his hand dismissively, turned toward his desk, and left behind two thoroughly embarrassed boys amid another round of laughter.
The classroom buzzed with giggles again, but Ron and Neville couldn't laugh anymore.
Their minds were fixated on one thought:
Why was Hermione helping Snape with potions?
By the time class ended, "Hermione's definitely been stewed into a potion by Snape!"
Ron lowered his voice and declared this shocking conclusion with absolute conviction, his eyes gleaming with what he believed was genius-level deduction.
At least, he thought so.
"...
Neville didn't even want to respond.
He wasn't the smartest wizard, but he knew that even a dark wizard's theory would sound insane, let alone at Hogwarts.
"But Professor Flitwick said Hermione's helping Snape with research!" Neville protested weakly. He knew Ron liked to play the hero, but this was extreme.
Besides, Snape would never use a first-year student to refine potions.
However, logic that simple was completely lost on Ron.
"Right now, Hermione's probably soaking in a cauldron somewhere. Maybe she's not dead yet, maybe she's holding on, waiting for us to figure everything out and rescue her!"
Ron grew more and more excited as he spoke.
"Every minute we waste, she's closer to being boiled into a potion!"
Neville went pale with fright, his knees wobbling. But Ron grabbed him and dragged him toward the Potions classroom like a charging bull.
"I know Snape has a class soon!"
Ron had once peeked at a pretty second-year girl's schedule.
And sure enough...
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. As they skidded to a stop outside the Potions classroom, gasping for breath, they saw Snape approaching with a stack of textbooks under his arm. His sallow face was marked with faint irritation.
Ron took a deep breath and stepped in front of Snape like a hero facing a dragon.
"Hand over Hermione!"
He tried to pull out his wand but it slipped and clattered to the floor.
The moment of panic made him flustered. But Snape suddenly took half a step back, looking even more startled than Ron.
"What, Hermione?"
Snape's expression twisted strangely.
There was a hint of guilt in his voice.
His eyes were clearly avoiding theirs.
(End of chapter.)
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