The Gryffindor common room was always buzzing. Groups of three or five chatted loudly, bragged, or sat in circles playing crackling and exploding cards. Others were absorbed in wizard chess, moving pieces with calculated gestures. The only times the room fell quiet were during Gryffindor Quidditch matches or vacations.
When Hermione and Neville entered the common room through the Fat Lady's guarded portrait, they were not surprised to find the usual chaos. Hermione, however, still occasionally complained that Gryffindor students were too noisy. She led Neville to a corner of the lounge and sat down, eager to speak.
Hermione could not forget the horrible scar on Solim's back. She wanted to know more, though it was clear Solim didn't want to talk about it. She could only hope Neville might know something—after all, Neville had an uncle who had taught Solim.
"Neville, tell me, what else do you know about the scar on your cousin's back?" Hermione asked.
Neville had been with Solim for almost half a semester. There were no major changes in his behavior, except that he spoke more fluently and stuttered less.
"Hermione, I don't actually know much," Neville admitted, scratching his head. "I only know that Solim was bullied terribly when he first arrived at school. It's just like me before—but now that he's here, nobody bullies me. Even Malfoy talks to me now. I really appreciate my cousin."
"Hurry up and get to the point!" Hermione interrupted hastily, seeing Neville beginning to reminisce.
Neville tilted his head, thinking. "It must have been when I was ten years old, if I remember correctly."
"When you were ten?" Hermione thought. She didn't understand where Neville was going with this.
"The injury on my cousin should have been when he was ten," Neville said seriously. "My uncle always called him a 'little monster' or 'little crazy' when he talked about him."
"I'm warning you! Get to the point!" Hermione's patience was wearing thin. "Why do you keep getting things wrong?"
"Um… okay," Neville muttered, shrinking into himself. "I don't know exactly how my cousin got hurt. Maybe my uncle told me, maybe I forgot. But I know what happened later."
Hermione gestured for him to continue.
"My cousin gave someone black gloves, Hermione. Do you know about black gloves?" Neville asked.
"Black gloves? I know about white-glove duels. What are black gloves?" Hermione knew that white-glove duels were once popular among wizards. The Ministry of Magic had later promulgated the "Duel Prohibition Act," discouraging duels, though some traditions persisted.
Conflicts between wizards used to be resolved through duels. A white-glove duel followed a strict process: first, the initiator would throw a white glove at the other, who usually accepted it. The duel was then formally recorded with the Ministry of Magic or the Presbyterian Council. Wizards typically attempted to mediate the dispute before the duel occurred.
The initiator chose the time, the recipient chose the location, and both parties brought duel assistants. During the duel, the losing party could throw a white glove as a signal of surrender, protecting themselves from further harm. If no white gloves were available or no opportunity to use them arose, the loser could die. Afterward, the duel assistants might fight in a secondary match, and the results were formally recorded.
Black gloves were different. A black-glove duel was a deathmatch—no assistants, no additional magical tools. The duel relied solely on the skill and wand of each wizard. Black-glove duels were deadly and only permitted between wizards whose ages differed by no more than twenty years and who had significant reasons to fight, preventing trivial conflicts.
Hermione listened with intense interest, though she was not immediately worried for Solim—after all, he was living well now.
"Wait, Neville," Hermione said, realization dawning on her. "Solim… did he kill someone?"
Neville nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "Yes. I was shocked when I found out. The other party came from a very old family—my uncle couldn't even remember the name. The duel had a huge impact, and many were killed, though my uncle said Solim did nothing wrong."
Suddenly, Hermione saw Solim in a new light. She had always known he was strong, skilled in magic, and knowledgeable, but she had regarded him as a little different from other students—an unusually talented child. Today, however, she realized Solim came from a completely different, cruel world. A ten-year-old who had killed someone—that was beyond her imagination.
Seeing her expression, Neville understood her thoughts. Considering Neville's own sensitive nature and childhood experiences, this was unsurprising.
"Hermione, don't think too much about it," Neville said softly.
"Don't think too much about what?" Hermione looked up, startled.
At that moment, Harry and Ron arrived. "It's good we found you," Harry said.
"I still wanted to find you," Hermione replied, quickly adjusting her mood. She wanted to discuss the afternoon's Quidditch match.
Harry and Ron sat down, glancing at each other before Harry spoke. "Hermione, we haven't finished Professor Spencer's thesis yet. It's due Monday. Can we see yours?"
This was not the first time they had asked Hermione for her homework. She sighed, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "I have something to tell you about what happened during the game, Harry."
"We may have wronged Snape," Hermione began carefully.
"What?! Hermione, do you know what you're talking about?" Ron asked incredulously. "That's Snape! And you saw him cast a spell on Harry?"
"Yes, but there are inconsistencies," Hermione continued, recounting what Solim had told her.
"So you're saying someone tried to warn the professors that someone meant to harm Harry during the match?" Harry asked.
"Yes. If Snape wanted to kill him, there would have been no need to do it on the field," Hermione explained.
"Do you believe what that Slytherin said?" Ron asked, folding his arms. "Why wouldn't the person go directly to the professor?"
"I've thought about that," Hermione said. "It's likely more than one person at Hogwarts wants to harm Harry. The shooter during the game was probably being watched and couldn't approach the professors directly."
"Come on, Hermione. It was just the Slytherins trying a new trick. They foul players, interfere with matches, and sometimes attack in the corridors. This time, they tried to disrupt Harry during the game, but they failed," Ron said.
"Hogwarts is safe with Dumbledore here," Ron added, trying to reassure her.
"Did you forget about Halloween?" Hermione countered sharply. "How did a troll get in? Are the professors just blind? How many students can fight a giant troll with a stick?"
"Okay, stop arguing," Harry said quickly. "You two always end up fighting before saying anything."
Changing the subject, Harry asked, "By the way, did you notice Snape's leg was hurt?"
"I don't care about that! I wish you'd use your brains before you forget how to!" Hermione snapped, standing and walking away without another word.
Harry and Ron exchanged glances and sighed, remembering why they were there: Hermione's homework.
"Neville, have you finished Professor Spencer's thesis?" Ron asked expectantly.
Neville scratched his head. "I wrote it, but I didn't bring it with me."
Hermione and Neville seldom did homework in the common room. They usually worked in a hidden classroom filled with books Solim had gathered, avoiding the school library altogether. Neville's forgetfulness often caused him to leave completed homework behind.
"Can you bring it tomorrow? Sunday's the last day, and it's due Monday," Ron asked.
Neville, unable to refuse when Harry and Ron looked at him with eager eyes, nodded. "Okay, I'll go get it."
"Wait!" Harry grabbed Neville. "Isn't it in the dormitory?"
"No, it's in the small classroom," Neville explained. "It's fine to go after lights-out—Gryffindors like us can sneak around; we've done it before."
Harry and Ron nodded. "We'll go with you, so we can watch out for Filch," Harry said.
As the three stood in the corridor, ready to leave, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open.
"I knew it!" Hermione exclaimed angrily. "I knew what you three were thinking about Neville, sitting there muttering. I'll tell you now: write your own homework!"
Turning to Neville, she added firmly, "And you, don't lend them your homework in the future."
With that, Hermione left, and the Fat Lady's portrait quietly closed behind her.
"What now?" Ron asked proudly. "Just stand here and wait for the Fat Lady to return? Or wait until Filch catches us?"
The four Gryffindor students had no idea what adventures awaited them that evening.