October 31st arrived, and Hogwarts was transformed into a spectacle of spooky splendor. Jack-o’-lanterns floated lazily in the corridors, their carved faces flickering with enchanted flames. Enchanted bats swooped and fluttered through the Great Hall, their tiny wings casting shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the warm, comforting scents of pumpkin pie, cinnamon, and roasted nuts, making the castle feel both eerie and inviting.

  Despite the festive atmosphere, there was no break from classes. The students grumbled as they shuffled from one lesson to another, their robes swishing against the stone floors.

  “Why can’t we have just one day off?” Ron muttered as he entered Charms classroom with two other boys, the tallest first-year Dean Thomas and the sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan. “It’s not like Flitwick’s going to teach us how to levitate ghosts or anything.”

  …

  The classroom buzzed with the shuffle of students finding their seats. Professor Flitwick, perched on a stack of books, beamed at the class with a sparkle in his eyes. “Today, we’ll be learning the Levitation Charm—Wingardium Leviosa! A fundamental spell, but one that requires precision and focus,” he chirped, his voice light with excitement.

  Hermione’s hand shot into the air so quickly it almost seemed to snap. “Professor, what is more important, the incantation or the wand movements?”

  Flitwick’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling as he nodded in approval. “Excellent question, Miss Granger!” He clasped his hands together, his tone still upbeat. “For a beginner, both are equally important!”

  With a swift flick of his wrist, he called out, “Wingardium Leviosa,” and a feather from his desk fluttered into the air, rising with smooth grace.

  “However,” Flitwick continued, his voice lowering to a teasing whisper, “with enough practice, the incantation becomes unnecessary. Watch closely.” His wand moved again, barely a twitch of his fingers, and the feather floated up once more, no words spoken.

  “And if you master it,” he said with a sly smile, his wand pointing lazily at a book, which levitated at once, following the gentle direction of the tip.

  Seamus, a sandy-haired Irish boy with a mischievous glint in his eyes, leaned forward eagerly. “Sir, can we levitate a ghost using the spell? It would be brilliant to get back at Peeves for his pranks!”

  The room grew quiet at the mention of the troublemaking poltergeist, several students exchanging knowing looks and muffled giggles.

  Flitwick’s smile widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, Mr. Finnigan, if only we had a spell for that!” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, ghosts are a bit out of our reach, magical or otherwise.” He gave a mock sigh, adding with a wink.

  After that, the class paired up to practice. Hermione, as usual, was the first to succeed. Her feather soared effortlessly above her desk, and Flitwick clapped his tiny hands in delight. “Wonderful, Miss Granger! Ten points to Gryffindor!”

  Ron, meanwhile, was struggling. His wand movements were clumsy, and his feather stubbornly refused to budge. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the feather as if it were personally offending him.

  Hermione, ever eager to help, leaned over. “You’re saying it wrong. It’s Wingardium Levi-o-sa, not Levios-ah. And you need to swish and flick, like this.” She demonstrated the motion with exaggerated precision.

  Ron’s face darkened, the color rising quickly to his cheeks. “You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” he spat, his words sharp and bitter.

  Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly, but with a calmness that contrasted Ron’s outburst, she rolled up the sleeves of her gown. Her wand flicked with precision, and she pronounced, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

  The feather from her desk drifted upward, hanging in the air above them, floating serenely.

  Ron’s jaw clenched, his pride stinging from the correction that rang through the room. His gaze shot at Hermione, burning with resentment, but he didn’t say another word.

  When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Ron was the first to storm out. He shoved his way into the corridor, his frustration seeping from every step. “She’s such a know-it-all,” he muttered harshly to Dean and the others, the bitterness of his words slicing through the chatter around them. “No wonder she hasn’t got any friends. She’s a nightmare, honestly.”

  The group fell still, the atmosphere around them shifting from light to heavy. Unseen by Ron, Hermione had been walking just behind, her arms full of books. Her steps faltered when the words hit her like a cold, unexpected wave. Her face twisted with hurt, the sting of Ron’s words too much to bear. She blinked back the tears, but they welled up despite her efforts. Without a sound, she turned sharply, her footsteps echoing louder than before as she hurried away, her back rigid, trying to keep her composure.

  The others stood motionless, the weight of Ron’s words hanging heavily in the air. Harry looked at Ron, who was suddenly looking anywhere but at him. His posture was defensive, but there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

  “What?” Ron muttered, his voice faltering as he caught Harry’s gaze. “It’s not like I said anything that wasn’t true.”

  Harry’s stare could’ve burned holes through him. “Well, I’m her friend,” Harry said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode off in the direction Hermione had gone, determination in every step.

  It didn’t take long for Harry to catch up. Hermione was walking quickly toward the girls’ lavatory, her body hunched, her arms wrapped tightly around her books. The echo of her footsteps against the cold stone of the corridor was the only sound, broken occasionally by the soft sniffle she tried to stifle.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Hermione!” Harry called, speeding up to match her pace. “Wait!”

  But she didn’t stop. Her steps only quickened, her voice shaky as she muttered, “Go away, Harry.”

  Harry reached the door just as it clicked shut behind her, leaving a hollow silence in the corridor. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorframe. The faint sound of running water trickled through the gap, punctuated by a muffled sniffle. He drew in a breath, then turned off his *Clairvoyance* and *Now I See You* abilities, respecting her privacy but unwilling to simply walk away.

  “Hermione,” he called, his voice gentle, but carrying enough to reach her.

  There was a long, aching pause before her voice came through the door—thin, almost breaking. “Go away, Harry.”

  Harry leaned his back against the stone wall, his fingers curling into the fabric of his robes. “He’s wrong, Hermione,” he said softly, but with a quiet conviction that felt like the truth settled deep in his chest. “You do have friends. You have me.”

  The silence stretched out again, the only sound the distant trickle of water and the soft, heart-wrenching sniffs coming from behind the door. Then, her voice returned, low and unsteady. “Do I? Because sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes it feels like I’m just… there. Like no one cares unless they need something from me.”

  Her words hit Harry like a physical blow, leaving him breathless for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut, guilt flooding in, and he leaned forward, placing his palm against the cool stone door. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I should have. I should’ve stopped him. You don’t deserve that, Hermione. Not from him, not from anyone.”

  From inside, there was a sound—a mix between a sob and a bitter, almost humorless laugh. “It’s fine,” she whispered, but the words cracked, revealing the hurt she was trying so hard to hide. “I’m used to it.”

  “No, it’s not fine,” Harry responded, his voice sharper than intended, but the words came from a place of fierce protectiveness. He took a deep breath and softened his tone. “You’re brilliant, Hermione. You’re the smartest person I know, and you’re kind, and you’re always helping other students, even when they don’t deserve it. Ron… he’s just jealous, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

  The corridor was still, the silence hanging thick between them. Harry waited, the weight of his words settling like stones in his chest. Finally, her voice came again, quieter now, but steadier. “You really mean that?”

  “Of course I do,” Harry said without a second thought. “You’re my best friend, Hermione. I won’t have it any other way.”

  There was a longer silence, and Harry’s heart skipped in his chest, unsure if he’d said too much or not enough. Then, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, followed by the faint creak of the door. It cracked open just enough to reveal Hermione, her tear-streaked face framed by the wood. Her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy, but she managed a small, shaky smile.

  “Thank you, Harry,” she said, her voice thick but sincere.

  Harry returned her smile, a weight lifting from his chest. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just telling the truth.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Will you come out? You don’t have to go back to the feast if you don’t want to. We can go somewhere else. Just… don’t hide in here, okay?”

  Hermione wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, nodding slightly. “Just… give me a moment. I need to wash up.”

  Harry stepped back, giving her space to breathe. “Alright. I’ll wait.”

  When Hermione stepped out of the lavatory, her eyes still slightly red, Harry gave her a small, understanding smile. He tilted his head, his voice soft but encouraging. “Come on,” he said, his tone coaxing. “Let’s take a walk. I’ll show you something amazing.”

  She paused for a moment, her gaze flickering down the corridor as though trying to decide whether to stay or go. Finally, with a small sigh, she nodded, falling into step beside him. They walked side by side in silence, the soft rhythm of their footsteps blending with the distant murmur of the castle’s magic. The tension that had weighed on Hermione seemed to fade bit by bit, replaced by the comfortable quiet that only came when words weren’t needed.

  After a while, Harry led her to a stretch of seemingly ordinary wall on the seventh floor. He stopped, a spark of excitement flashing in his eyes. “Watch this,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper of anticipation. He paced back and forth three times, his thoughts focused, ‘I need a place that looks like the library.’

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft shimmer, a door materialized out of the air. Hermione’s eyes widened, her mouth parting in surprise. “What—?”

  Harry grinned, gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

  She stepped inside first, her breath catching as she took in the transformed space. It wasn’t just a room; it was a cozy, sun-drenched library. Shelves full of books lined the walls, each glowing faintly with magic, while plush armchairs sat invitingly in front of a crackling fireplace. Hermione gasped, stepping forward as if the room might disappear if she didn’t approach it carefully. “Harry, this is incredible! How does it work?”

  Harry, his chest swelling with pride, leaned casually against the doorframe. “It’s called the Room of Requirement,” he explained. “It becomes whatever you need it to be. I found it a while ago, but I didn’t really know what to do with it until now.”

  Hermione turned to him, hands on her hips and a disbelieving look on her face. “And you’ve been keeping this to yourself? Harry, this could’ve been so useful for studying! Imagine the research we could’ve done here!”

  Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t think much about it. Sorry.”

  Hermione huffed, but the glint of mischief in her eyes softened the reproach. “You’re lucky I forgive you.”

  They settled into the armchairs, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound between them. Hermione sighed, her eyes drifting across the shelves, her fingers tracing the edge of a book. “I used to get teased a lot growing up,” she murmured, her voice distant. “For my teeth, for being a ‘know-it-all,’ for always having my nose in a book.” She paused, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Books were my escape. They never judged me.”

  Harry watched her, listening intently, a quiet sympathy settling in. He hadn’t heard her speak about her childhood like this before, and it struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

  After a long moment of silence, Harry tilted his head, as if weighing his words. “You know, you could probably fix your teeth with magic if you wanted. A simple spell, and they’d be perfect.”

  Hermione’s eyes snapped to him, wide with shock. “Harry!” she exclaimed, horrified. “My parents are dentists. They’d never forgive me if I messed with my teeth like that.”

  Harry held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling. “Right, sorry. Forget I said anything.”

  Hermione gave him a lingering, thoughtful look before the corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “What about you? What was your childhood like?”

  Harry’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, his tone casual, but his eyes had already grown distant. “Oh, you know. I loved playing hide and seek with my cousin. I was good at it.”

  Hermione’s gaze sharpened, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. “Hide-and-seek, huh?” she said carefully. “Sounds… fun.”

  Harry’s lips twitched, the shadow of a smile crossing his face, but it never quite reached his eyes. “Oh, it was. Dudley and his friends were really into it. I was always the one hiding, though. They never found me. Not once.”

  Hermione’s frown deepened, her brow furrowing as she processed what he said. “Harry…” she started, her voice soft and hesitant, “That doesn’t sound like a game.”

  Harry leaned back, his hand running through his hair, eyes fixed on the fire. “It’s fine. It’s in the past,” he said, his words distant, the weight of them heavier than he intended.