After living in the wizarding world for a while, it's easy to become dependent on convenient spells.
This is especially true for those born into wizarding families—they find it even harder to give up the comfort of using magic. Why bother doing things manually when a simple charm can handle it all?
Whether it's tidying a room, lifting something heavy, or traveling long distances, a basic charm or magical item can get it done. In some ways, wizards are chronic slackers—especially when it comes to anything as physically demanding and inefficient as fighting.
So it wasn't at all surprising that Ron and Neville, who didn't exercise at all, ended up getting pummeled by Goyle and his gym-loving crew. Honestly, it seemed downright stupid for Ron to rush in like that just to get beaten up...
...
Watching the scene unfold, Hermione became painfully aware that if she didn't stop the chaos soon, this wouldn't be something they could smooth over quietly afterward.
"Stop it! Do you want to get punished by a professor?!"
She instinctively reached into her robes for her wand—only to remember that wands weren't allowed inside the Quidditch Pitch. The restriction was meant to keep hot-headed young witches and wizards from hexing players during a match.
With no wand and no other way to intervene, Hermione had no choice but to try and stop them with her voice.
It wasn't working.
"Ugh, damn it!"
"Let me go!"
"Haha, now you know how strong we are!"
"Let's see if you still dare talk trash about Draco!"
Predictably, words alone weren't going to break up a brawl. The four of them were too caught up in the scuffle to hear a thing she said.
Just as Hermione considered calling out to the other students watching from the sidelines, something Goyle said made her freeze.
"Now tell us—who is Flamel?"
"..."
"..."
Aside from Neville, who was still struggling, both Ron and Hermione stared wide-eyed at Goyle, completely stunned.
How did they know about Flamel?
No—more importantly, why did Goyle and Crabbe believe Ron and Hermione knew who Flamel was?
The two weren't exactly known for their brains. After being puzzled by the question for so long, they'd decided to resort to violence to get their answers.
What they didn't know was that Pansy had already figured out who Flamel was, and Draco knew too—but he'd told Pansy to stop digging. That's why Goyle and Crabbe had been left in the dark, creating this whole misunderstanding.
"You know about him—why? And who told you about Flamel?"
Hermione didn't even glance at the battered Ron and Neville. Her words came out fast, sharp, and filled with suspicion as she confronted Goyle and Crabbe directly.
Unbeknownst to her, Ron and Harry had accidentally let the name slip themselves...
Hermione wanted answers, but now wasn't the time. Around them, more and more Gryffindor students were being replaced by upperclassmen.
And based on what Hermione knew about her housemates, they wouldn't stand by and do nothing. They'd want to retaliate—teach the Slytherins a lesson for barging in and throwing punches.
If that happened, it would go from a scuffle to an all-out brawl.
Then again, it already looked like a brawl—even if, so far, it was just Ron and Neville getting completely stomped.
Still, Hermione was powerless to stop what was coming.
What had started as a small, personal dispute was about to spiral into a full-blown fight...
...
Madam Poppy Pomfrey is the full-time matron at Hogwarts, a witch well-versed in healing magic, potions, herbology, and various other medical treatments.
To hold such a position at Hogwarts, naturally, she has an impressive and distinguished background. Not only is she exceptionally skilled, but she was once invited to serve as deputy director at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. She turned down the offer because Dumbledore had already asked her to join Hogwarts.
Interestingly, this stern yet gentle nurse—harsh with troublemakers but soft with the injured—is a graduate of Slytherin House. A fact few people know, and even fewer would believe...
At the moment, Madam Pomfrey stood at the entrance of the infirmary with a grim expression, unceremoniously shooing out the students she had just treated.
But don't blame her for being cold—every one of them had taken part in the recent brawl. In her eyes, anyone who didn't respect their own well-being wasn't worth her sympathy. That went for Slytherins like Goyle and Crabbe, too.
Draco, worried about his friends, was already waiting for them outside the infirmary.
Pansy had just arrived when she spotted Goyle and Crabbe emerging with their arms slung over each other's shoulders.
Seeing that they could still walk on their own, it was clear they were no longer in serious condition. When they'd been brought in, they'd looked like a pair of dead fish.
So—should that be credited to Madam Pomfrey's excellent healing skills, or to Goyle and Crabbe's thick hides?
That said, the bruises and swelling on their faces hadn't been healed—clearly left there on purpose by Madam Pomfrey. Probably to make sure they didn't forget the lesson they'd just learned.
"Draco, Boss Lady—what are you two doing here?"
"I was afraid that if we didn't show up, you'd end up getting hauled right back into the infirmary the moment you stepped out. You two are really something—heard you took on all of Gryffindor by yourselves?"
Pansy rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. If she hadn't been worried about them, she wouldn't be here.
But Goyle and Crabbe, missing Draco's increasingly stormy expression, thought Pansy was praising them.
"Of course! They were no match for us."
"As long as they don't have wands, we don't fear anyone."
With their chests puffed out, the two proudly strutted, completely oblivious to the mischievous glint in Pansy's eyes—and the dark look Draco was giving them from behind her...