She suddenly remembered who Wayne really was.
The scoundrel had only told her, the first time they met, that his parents were dead—never once mentioning that he was a count!
If this were the Muggle world, Hermione would have had to call him "Lord" upon meeting him.
"Go ahead, show off all you want." The little witch huffed and ignored Wayne.
Hearing Ron still repeatedly flubbing the incantation behind her, she irritably reminded him:
"Mind the pauses—it's Wingard—ium Levi—O—sa. You have to draw out the syllables and pronounce them clearly."
Being called out on so many mistakes at once, Ron grew defensive.
"Well, if you're so clever, why don't you try it yourself!"
Hermione didn't hesitate. She rolled up her sleeves, revealing her pale wrist, and following Professor Flitwick's instructions, she gave a flick and a swish.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Her feather rose smoothly from the desk, floating steadily until it hovered four inches above her head.
"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick beamed. "Everyone, look—Miss Granger's done it! Five points to Gryffindor!"
Ron didn't utter another word for the rest of the lesson.
When Seamus accidentally set his own feather on fire, marking the end of class, Ron's mood had hit rock bottom.
"No wonder everyone can't stand her," Ron grumbled to Harry. "She's like a walking nightmare."
Harry, catching sight of Hermione nearby out of the corner of his eye, quickly tried to shield Ron.
"Hermione and Wayne get along fine, don't they? They're both geniuses."
"There's still a difference between geniuses," Ron muttered, still digging his own grave. "Wayne's far more of a genius than Hermione, but he's never half as overbearing as she is.
"Just look at Wayne's popularity—even Malfoy will go out of his way to greet him!
"But Hermione? She's always looking down her nose at me!"
Maybe because you're too short? Harry thought privately, giving up on trying to save Ron.
Hopeless. Let him face the consequences.
But to Harry's surprise, Ron wasn't done with his suicidal streak—he kept going, running his mouth.
"No wonder I haven't seen Wayne and Hermione together much lately—he's always with that second-year Ravenclaw. What's her name again? Cho Chang, right?
"She's really gentle."
Harry nodded reflexively—he'd noticed Cho too, and found himself sneaking glances at her whenever he could.
Every time, his heart thumped madly.
And every time he saw Wayne next to her, it all cooled right down.
How could he compare to Wayne?
"Levicorpus!"
The furious voice hit their ears.
Ron's world spun, and suddenly he was yanked upside down into the air, dangling from one of the courtyard pillars.
Hermione's hair seemed to lift with her anger. "Ron Weasley! Do you find it fun to gossip about people behind their backs?
"You ought to learn some basic manners from your three older brothers!"
With that, Hermione stormed off. Harry was frozen—he'd never seen her this furious. It was like watching Professor McGonagall in a rage.
They were in one of the connecting courtyards between the castle wings. Students bustled through, and the sudden outburst startled everyone.
But when they caught sight of Ron's sorry state, quite a few burst out laughing.
"That was a silent spell! Wasn't that first-year, Granger?"
"Yeah, that's her. What spell was that? I've never seen it before."
"Kids these days… First there was that Lawrence fellow, now another one—Granger."
"Let's head to the library. I want to learn that spell—it's pretty cool."
Being pointed at and whispered about like that, Ron's face turned as red as a baboon's backside.
Harry wanted to get him down, but he couldn't reach and didn't know the counter-curse.
It was a full three minutes before the spell wore off, and Ron crashed to the ground, with Harry hastily catching him.
"Ron, you okay?"
Face burning with shame, Ron shoved Harry aside and bolted from the courtyard.
Before long, it was evening.
Night fell, and the castle's decorations had been completely transformed. The Great Hall was now filled with a dazzling array of Halloween-themed displays. The enchanted starry sky on the ceiling had been replaced by rows of grinning ghostly faces, while thousands of bats swooped and fluttered across the walls and rafters.
Dark clouds drifted and swirled above the long dining tables.
The brass candlesticks had been swapped for floating pumpkins, each carved with eyes and jagged mouths, their dim candlelight flickering warmly through the hollowed gaps. Instead of eerie, they gave the place a strange sort of charm.
Dumbledore, beaming, gave his wand a flourish. Without a single word, a magnificent feast appeared, filling the golden plates with food as rich and abundant as the Start-of-Term Feast—roast chicken, lamb chops, beef steaks, pork knuckles, and more.
The Hufflepuffs cheered loudly, piling their plates high in a frenzy. While the school normally never let anyone go hungry, tonight's spread was unmatched in its variety.
Wayne helped himself to an entire roast chicken, two massive ribs, and a generous helping of beans. Before eating, he glanced toward the Gryffindor table and spotted Hermione with a plate of steak. Satisfied she was fine, he turned his attention back to his meal.
Quirrell's planned trouble-making for the evening didn't concern him. He'd simply treat it like a bit of live theatre—as long as Hermione wasn't in danger.
As though sensing his gaze, Hermione looked up, and their eyes met. Wayne flashed her a broad grin, but the young witch only rolled her eyes, leaving him puzzled.
What did he do this time?
From the Ravenclaw table, Cho also caught Wayne's eye and raised her goblet of pumpkin juice with a smile. He lifted his in return, exchanging a distant toast.
Hermione's expression darkened. Her knife and fork attacked the steak with such force that it was shredded into pieces.
Not far away, Harry swallowed nervously. "Uh… H-Hermione."
"What?"
"Er… have you seen Ron? I couldn't find him all afternoon—he even skipped Herbology."
"How should I know where he is?" Hermione said with a scoff. "Perhaps he's in the library learning some basic manners."
"Ron?" Neville, his mouth shiny with grease, looked up from his plate. "I just saw him in the second-floor bathroom a little while ago. He looked like he'd been crying—kept hiccupping between words. Did something happen?"
"No, nothing," Harry said quickly, forcing a smile and deciding he'd check on his best mate after the feast.
The Great Hall's atmosphere was cheerful and lively. Dumbledore's hearty laugh rang out repeatedly. On his hat, Professor Flitwick had sketched a twinkling bat that fluttered its wings from time to time.
Professor Sprout had painted her face with red streaks in festive spirit, and even Professor McGonagall, in a rare moment, had raised her goblet to clink drinks with Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher.
The only sour note was Professor Snape, his expression as frosty as ever—he seemed equally unimpressed by Halloween as by any other celebration.
Then—
BANG!
The great doors slammed open.
Quirrell stumbled inside, his face pale and filled with terror.
~~----------------------
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