The next day in the Gryffindor common room, the fire in the fireplace burned brightly.
Its glow lit up a circle of excited faces. The gloom caused by the loss of points had somehow reversed itself, thanks to the foam of butterbeer that Fred and George had smuggled in.
"Too bad none of you had a camera to capture that moment," Ron said.
He sprawled across a sofa with a roasted chicken leg in his hand.
He tore off a bite, grease dripping down his chin as he spoke through a mouthful of food, gesturing wildly.
"Malfoy's face... Merlin's beard, it looked like a toad that had swallowed an entire bottle of Shrinking Solution. His whole face just crumpled up."
A chorus of impressed gasps came from the younger students nearby.
Harry sat in an armchair holding a warm cup of pumpkin juice. A smile tugged at his lips no matter how hard he tried to hide it.
His arm was still wrapped in bandages, and Professor McGonagall's furious voice still echoed in his memory.
But surrounded by cheering classmates, it all felt worth it.
"It wasn't that impressive," Harry said modestly, running a hand through his messy hair. In truth, he was enjoying the attention.
"If Snape hadn't interfered, I would've made Malfoy swallow that insult."
"Exactly!" Seamus shouted. "One hundred and sixty points? To hell with the House Cup!"
"If it means letting those Slytherin snakes taste blood, they can empty the hourglass until it's balder than Filch's head for all I care!"
"That's right! That's Gryffindor!"
"Weasley is our king!" Fred and George shouted with identical mischievous grins.
"Even when he misses!" George added.
"That's intimidation, George. Pure intimidation."
The twins raised their cups, and even the first-year students who barely knew a handful of spells were flushed with excitement.
Inside this warm bubble of red and gold, Harry felt like a hero.
He had protected his friends. He had fought back against a bully. He had done the right thing.
As for the hourglass and its lost points? Even if every last ruby vanished, it could never measure the weight of justice.
Yet Hermione sat alone in the corner, completely out of place in the noise.
She sat behind a stack of open textbooks. The quill in her hand had not moved for a long time.
Her eyes, usually bright and full of energy, stared blankly at the page.
"Hey, Hermione!" Ron finally noticed her and called over excitedly. "Stop looking so miserable! Malfoy got what he deserved! Even if we lost points, even if we get detention, it was worth it! Right?"
Harry turned toward her as well, hopeful.
Just once, he wanted Hermione to step out of her strict rule-following habits and admit they had done something right.
Hermione slowly raised her head. There was no approval in her eyes. No anger either.
Only silence.
And a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
"...Yeah. Worth it."
She repeated softly. Her lips curved into a strained smile.
"Points are just numbers, right? All that effort we put into earning them... clearly not as satisfying as punching someone."
Ron blinked, apparently missing the sarcasm.
"See? I knew you'd agree!" he said with a grin. "Malfoy had it coming!"
Hermione looked at the two boys in front of her.
They showed no regret.
Only pride.
Suddenly Lucian's words echoed in her mind. Lions are herd animals. They solve problems with roaring.
A wave of helplessness washed over her.
"I... I'm not feeling well."
Hermione suddenly slammed her book shut. She shoved the scattered parchment into her bag with clumsy movements.
"I'm going to bed."
"Bed? It's still early," Harry said in surprise.
Hermione did not answer.
With her heavy bag slung over her shoulder, she walked quickly through the cheering crowd and disappeared into the staircase leading to the girls' dormitory.
The door closed behind her with a heavy thud.
"What's wrong with her?" Harry asked, puzzled. The heroic excitement inside him cooled slightly.
"Don't worry about it," Ron said, taking another bite of chicken. "She'll calm down in a few days. Once she realizes we stood up for her, she'll be grateful."
He shrugged.
"If we didn't teach Malfoy a lesson, sooner or later someone would walk all over Gryffindor. Some people just don't understand. Sometimes you have to win respect with your fists."
Harry nodded slowly, pushing down the uneasy feeling in his chest.
He was right.
It was just points.
Hermione simply cared too much about rules. Eventually she would understand that some things mattered more.
...
The next day's classes passed in a strange atmosphere for Harry.
Hermione still sat between him and Ron.
She still corrected their pronunciation during spell practice. She still took perfectly organized notes.
But something felt wrong.
During Charms class, Professor Flitwick seemed distant after the previous night's events. Hermione's flawless levitation charm earned no points.
Usually Hermione would raise her hand eagerly to demonstrate again. Today she simply lowered her wand and stared at the grain of the desk.
At lunch, Harry tried telling a joke about Filch to lighten the mood.
Ron laughed so hard he sprayed pumpkin juice.
Hermione laughed too.
But there was no real smile in her eyes.
"Are you sure you're okay, Hermione?" Harry asked. "You seem... distracted."
"I'm fine, Harry," Hermione replied with the same polite smile.
"I was just thinking about the structure of the second section of my Transfiguration essay. It's difficult."
"Oh. Right," Harry said, relieved. "That makes sense."
Of course it was schoolwork. That was the Hermione he knew.
He did not notice the hand hidden under the table. Her fingers were gripping a cold coin so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
He did not notice the look in her eyes when he turned back to Ron to discuss Quidditch strategy.
A look full of quiet sadness and distance.
Harry was blinded by the warm glow of his own sense of justice.
He did not realize that on this ordinary day, the girl who always walked beside him was slowly drifting away.
.....
By evening the castle shadows had grown long.
While the other students headed toward dinner, Harry had to leave the warmth of the Great Hall and make his way down into the dungeons.
The moment he entered the cold, damp corridor, the last traces of heroic excitement drained from him.
A chill seeped into his bones.
Snape's office door stood slightly open.
Harry pushed it and stepped inside.
A horrible rotting smell filled the room.
Shelves lined with jars of preserved animals cast twisted shadows under dim candlelight.
"Come in, Potter," Snape said smoothly.
"If you have finished basking in your cheap hero worship in the Gryffindor common room."
Harry clenched his teeth and closed the door.
"I only did what I thought was right."
Snape looked up from a stack of parchments covered in red corrections.
"The right thing," he repeated slowly. "How touching. Just like your arrogant father, always convinced he was the embodiment of justice."
"Don't talk about my father!" Harry snapped.
"Because of your stupidity, Gryffindor has lost its chance at the House Cup," Snape said coldly. "Because of your recklessness, my students suffered unnecessary fear and injury."
Snape stood and walked toward a large wooden barrel.
The stench grew stronger.
"Your task tonight is simple, Potter," Snape said, pointing at the barrel.
"There are five thousand horned toad intestines inside. I need you to separate the rotten ones."
He paused.
"No magic. No gloves."
Harry stared at the barrel of slimy green organs and felt his stomach churn.
"Begin," Snape said as he returned to his desk.
"Perhaps this will clear the heroic fog from your mind and remind you that every time you wave your wand, there is a price to pay."
__________
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