March arrived, and with it came a gentle warmth that coaxed Hogwarts out of winter's grip.
The Black Lake—scene of that infamous plunge—had long since shed its icy shell. Now, when the breeze swept across its obsidian surface, it scattered a thousand sparkling ripples, as if diamonds had been strewn over black satin.
Students and teachers alike had traded their heavy winter cloaks for lighter, more comfortable clothes.
After an afternoon of flying lessons, Hermione had a rosy flush on her cheeks and a fine sheen of sweat on her brow. She slipped off her robe, carrying it in the crook of her arm, revealing a cozy gray jumper beneath.
She was tempted to do as the others did—peel off her jumper too and stroll about in just her crisp white shirt. But a certain someone's words echoed in her mind: "Keep warm in spring, endure the chill in autumn." It sounded odd, but he'd insisted it was ancient Eastern wisdom for staying healthy, so she'd chosen to trust him.
Besides, she already had her robe in hand—juggling another layer would just be awkward.
As she walked, she spotted that familiar Eastern boy up ahead. Instantly, her lips curled into a smile. She quickened her pace, breaking into a gentle run.
She nearly barreled straight into him—her "brakes" failing at the last second—but a hand shot out and pressed gently against her forehead, stopping her in time and averting a "two-broom collision."
"You know, you're making me feel like my head's a Bludger," Hermione huffed, pouting in mock annoyance.
"Clearly my Quidditch training's paid off—I can block anything now!" Qin Yu replied, grinning as he used the same hand to wipe the sweat from her brow.
But Hermione was ready this time. She quickly produced a handkerchief and handed it to him, determined to keep her clothes from being used as his personal towel—she'd learned that lesson before.
—It was a memory that stuck with her.
"So, should I be grateful you weren't holding a bat? Otherwise my head would've gone flying like a Bludger?" she teased, rolling her eyes.
"Perish the thought! Even if your head isn't made of dough, it'd never survive a bat. Where could I find another Miss Granger as clever, sweet, and adorable as you?" Qin Yu replied, deadpan.
"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I should thank you for your restraint," Hermione shrugged with a wry smile.
She sometimes wondered if his odd sense of humor was rubbing off on her—she found herself saying more and more silly things these days. Not that she minded.
Hand in hand, they strolled toward the Great Hall, chatting about their classes and what they'd learned that day.
After a while, Hermione realized she wasn't hot anymore. In fact, when a cool breeze swept through the corridor, she shivered a little. She slipped her robe back on.
"See? You remembered what I told you," Qin Yu said, giving her a pleased nod.
"I had no choice! You've said it so many times, the moment I even think about taking off my jumper, your voice starts echoing in my head. To keep you from wearing yourself out in there, I might as well just obey," Hermione replied, feigning exasperation.
"Hallucinations? Is it really that bad?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
"It is! Absolutely!" Hermione nodded solemnly. "Don't believe me? I'll prove it!"
She reached for her robe as if to take it off, then widened her eyes in mock horror. "There it is again! You're in my head, saying, 'If you dare take off that robe, I'll squash your head!' So fierce!"
"…So fierce, am I? Squash your head, am I?"
He reached out and gave her cheeks a playful pinch.
"Ow, that hurts!"
"Good. Maybe you'll stop slandering me!"
"I was just imagining it!"
"Imagining's a crime too!"
"Qin, you're so domineering!"
"Well, my surname is Qin. I'm allowed to be a little domineering, aren't I?"
"Hmph! There you go again, using that emperor excuse. You're just making things up!"
"Actually, the First Emperor of Qin wasn't even surnamed Qin. But I'm glad you remember him."
"He wasn't? Then what was his surname?"
"Ying."
"Oh, yin."
"It's ying!"
"That's what I said—yin!"
By dinnertime, Hermione was still puzzling over whether she'd pronounced it wrong.
The next day, Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing was crowded with first-years, all sniffling and sneezing from spring chills.
Watching her classmates sip Cold Relief Potion and sneeze their heads off, Hermione just shrugged, serene. "Ancient Eastern wisdom really is wise," she thought.
Wait—did I just repeat one of Qin's pointless catchphrases?
Sigh. It's getting worse…
The little witch tried to look annoyed, but the corners of her mouth kept twitching up.
…
It wasn't just Hermione who followed Qin Yu's advice—bundling up in spring and being cautious about changing clothes. There was someone else at Hogwarts who'd taken "layering up" to the extreme.
That would be Professor Quirrell.
Not only was he swaddled in thick robes, but his turban seemed even larger and heavier than before.
"Just looking at Professor Quirrell makes me sweat. When he walks past, the stench is so strong I swear he hasn't bathed in weeks," George confided to Qin Yu.
"Maybe since he fell in the Black Lake, he's developed hydrophobia—afraid to touch water. It's possible, right?" Fred added, dead serious.
At the moment, they were in Hagrid's hut, prepping food for the Acromantulas.
Qin Yu had brought Hermione along for a meal, and was eyeing a plump, free-range chicken from the pile—planning to stew it later.
Swinging the chicken by its wings, he asked casually, "Other than dressing like a snowman and smelling like a troll, have you noticed anything else odd about Professor Quirrell?"
"Oh, loads!"
"We could go on all day," the twins chorused, gearing up for a rant.
Qin Yu quickly waved them off. "Keep it short—just the weirdest thing."
"The weirdest? His stuttering's gotten even worse, hasn't it?"
"Not just that—he moves like Dad's old Muggle gramophone. Jerky, glitchy, like he's lagging or something."
Their dad's obsession with Muggle gadgets had left the twins with plenty of odd references. Qin Yu pictured a battered old record player, skipping and stuttering as it played.
"So, you're saying he's just like he was after he fell in the lake?" Qin Yu pressed.
The twins paused, then nodded in agreement.
"Exactly—just like after the dunking. Maybe even worse."
"Maybe he's still suffering aftereffects?"
"If so, he's got the constitution of a Flobberworm."
George and Fred launched into wild speculation, but Qin Yu didn't join in. Instead, he changed the subject.
"How's the venom business going?"
"Don't even ask! The apothecary's owner sent us twelve Howlers in a row, screaming about lost profits and low productivity."
"He used to be polite in his letters. Must be really desperate this time. That customer buying all the venom must be loaded."
Qin Yu nodded thoughtfully.
"So, should we start selling again? Are we really turning down that much gold?"
"The Acromantulas just produced another pint, and our stock's doubled!"
George and Fred looked at him with pleading eyes.
But Qin Yu shook his head firmly. "You have to trust me—this time, we can't sell even a single ounce to the apothecary! I can't tell you why yet, but it's important."
"Fine, fine, we'll do as you say."
"We don't know what you're planning, but you're the sharpest one here. There's got to be a reason."
In the end, the twins managed to keep their heads, not letting visions of glittering Galleons cloud their judgment.
And for that, Qin Yu had to admit—they were more reliable than he'd given them credit for.
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