Chapter 47: "I Can Tell You're Nervous Right Now"

The final Charms class before the Halloween feast.

Following Sherlock and Harry, Hermione had also earned a point for Gryffindor.

The Ravenclaws, who shared the class with them, clapped politely in response.

It had become something of a tradition.

The relationship between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor was generally cordial, and giving applause for earned points wasn't something they minded.

But this time, they were surprised to see that despite Hermione winning a point for Gryffindor, she received none of the applause or excitement that Sherlock and Harry had garnered earlier.

Everyone remained indifferent.

Clearly, no one appreciated Hermione's showy, overbearing way of proving her excellence.

If even her own housemates didn't cheer, the Ravenclaws certainly weren't going to pick up the slack.

The atmosphere turned awkward.

Professor Flitwick didn't seem to notice anything amiss and continued moving around the classroom correcting students.

Unfortunately, the bell rang before Ron managed to succeed.

That wouldn't have been so bad, except—

Ron could accept that he just wasn't good at Charms.

It wasn't the end of the world.

What really got under his skin was Hermione standing next to him, still going on and on:

"Why won't you listen to me?

If you had just followed my instructions, the feather would've floated by now!

Gryffindor would've gained another point, and we'd be that much closer to the other Houses…"

"SHUT UP!"

Already at his limit, Ron snapped and yelled.

"You go on and on about rules and House Points! Did I come to Hogwarts just to listen to you talk?"

Hermione was clearly startled by the sudden outburst.

This time, she didn't retort like she usually did.

She simply stood there, cradling her book, staring at Ron in stunned silence.

Ron, feeling something burst inside him, unleashed everything he'd been holding back. His rant was almost Hermione-level in intensity:

"No wonder everyone can't stand you!

Honestly, you're like a nightmare!

I never asked for your help! Not once! And I don't care about the points!

Granger, it's been weeks—haven't you figured it out by now?

You don't have a single friend!"

With a loud thud, Hermione's book fell to the floor.

A second later, her eyes filled with tears. Without a word, she turned and ran, brushing past Harry on her way out.

Ron froze.

He hadn't expected such a strong reaction from her.

For a moment, he regretted what he'd said.

Harry, who had been nudged aside by Hermione, didn't blame her. He watched her retreating figure vanish through the crowd before turning to Ron.

"That was a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"So what? I was just telling the truth."

Ron tried to stay defiant.

But even without Sherlock's insight, Harry could tell Ron's face didn't quite match his words.

Clearly, he didn't feel as justified as he was pretending to.

Then, to Harry's surprise, Sherlock bent down, picked up Hermione's dropped book, and without a word, stuffed it into his own bag.

"Ron's right," he said flatly.

"Wait—what?" Harry blinked. "Sherlock, you too?"

"It's just the truth," Sherlock replied in his usual calm voice.

"Right…"

Harry sighed.

Knowing Sherlock, this was both surprising and completely expected.

That was just who he was.

Ron, meanwhile, looked visibly relieved at getting Sherlock's support.

And then—

"But I think you should apologize to her," Sherlock added.

Harry: Σ(｀д′*ノ)ノ

Ron: Σ(°△°|||)︴

What is happening? Make up your mind!

"Why should I?!"

Ron protested. "You just said I was right!"

"I can tell you're nervous right now."

Sherlock's gaze locked sharply onto Ron. Under that intense stare, Ron looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

Harry: |(*′口`)

Harry had a strong hunch—Ron was going to cave any second now.

"If your conscience were clear, then of course you wouldn't have to apologize.

But it's not."

"Not everyone can just treat people like air, you know…"

Ron mumbled under his breath.

He was starting to feel like Sherlock wasn't a normal eleven-year-old.

Honestly, even his prefect brother Percy probably wasn't as emotionally composed or mature.

Sherlock didn't say much more—but it was enough.

As expected, Ron was persuaded.

But Hermione didn't come back.

She didn't return to the Charms classroom. She was missing for the entire afternoon.

Ron considered asking around, but his pride held him back—after all, plenty of people had seen him yell at her.

It wasn't until the Halloween feast that he overheard something by chance.

Parvati Patil was whispering to a friend that Hermione had locked herself in the girls' bathroom, crying her eyes out and refusing to talk to anyone.

Ron flushed with embarrassment.

With that hanging over him, even the dazzling Halloween decorations couldn't lift his spirits.

Still, Ron didn't think it was that big of a deal.

The feast was far more lavish than usual.

The food was delicious, and it wasn't long before he reverted to his usual self, piling food onto his plate.

He told himself: I'll bring her something to eat later.

In his mind, food made everything better.

Even if Hermione was angry now, surely she'd feel better after a good meal.

So he ate.

And ate.

And gradually forgot all about Hermione.

Until—

Midway through the feast, Professor Quirrell stumbled dramatically into the Great Hall.

All eyes turned to him.

His face was twisted with fear, and the oversized turban he wore was askew, half sliding down over his face.

Naturally, such an entrance drew the attention of every student and professor in the room.

He staggered toward Dumbledore, and—trembling, clearly overwhelmed—stammered:

"T-Troll!

A troll's in the dungeons!

Thought you should know—"

Before anyone could react, he collapsed face-first onto the floor.

He'd fainted.

The professors who had been ready to scold him for the outburst were now left speechless.

And just like that, his words dropped into the Hall like a stone into a still pond—sending ripples of panic through the room.

Chaos erupted.

"Silence!"

Even Dumbledore had to fire several purple fireworks from his wand to restore order.

Gone was the eccentricity of the man from the start-of-term feast. Now, he stood tall and authoritative.

"Prefects—take your House members back to their dormitories immediately!"

His calm demeanor quickly steadied the students.

Percy, for one, leapt into action like a pro.

"I'm a prefect!

Make way, older students! Let the first-years through!

Everyone, remember—I'm a prefect!"

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