Ron and Harry were discussing their afternoon Charms class. Today's lesson covered the Levitation Charm, a spell that required precise pronunciation. A small misstep—like turning the “f” sound into an “s”—could leave you flat on your back with a buffalo stomping on your chest.
Naturally, Hermione, being the star student she was, took it upon herself to correct her classmates’ mistakes, particularly her partner, Ron.
This, of course, had the opposite effect.
Ron was infuriated.
No one likes a classmate who constantly points out their mistakes. It’s like trying to learn a foreign language and getting interrupted and corrected after every word—not about right or wrong, but as if you’re being told you’re not smart enough to get it right on the first try.
But Ron felt slightly better when Hermione stumbled while correcting Harry.
“That’s true,” Harry recalled. “She wanted to say my wand movement was off, but before she could finish, I cast the Levitation Charm, and Professor Flitwick gave Gryffindor three points.”
“Exactly!” Ron said with a touch of satisfaction. “She’s not always right, so why does she have to act like she is all the time?”
The two of them muttered to each other at the Gryffindor table, not bothering to keep their voices down. Hermione, sitting a few seats away and chatting with her roommate Parvati Patil, overheard them.
She turned around, nose wrinkled, looking like an angry Pomeranian.
“…I was just saying her correction was about the wand movement…”
Hermione marched over, glaring at Ron.
“My correction was not wrong! It’s you who got it wrong!” she snapped.
Ron and Harry froze, staring at her.
Hermione rattled off quickly:
“According to Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and Magical Theory, the wand movement for the Levitation Charm requires a slight wrist flick followed by a downward arc of at least two inches. In class, your spellwork only completed half of the movement.”
“And as for pronunciation, you shouldn’t emphasize the ‘d.’ Instead, you need to elongate the middle syllable and pronounce it clearly…”
She continued listing everything they’d done wrong, hands on her hips, before concluding:
“You only succeeded this afternoon by sheer luck. If you don’t adjust your spellcasting, you’ll never score an O on your exams.”
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Harry retorted, “It wasn’t luck that I succeeded.”
“Were you even listening to me? Your casting method doesn’t align with the textbook…”
“Just because it’s not in the textbook doesn’t make it wrong!” Harry interrupted again.
He spoke earnestly:
“Plenty of experienced wizards simplify wand movements to cast faster. I read in another book that as long as the core motion is correct, most spells will still work.”
With that, Harry pulled out his wand from his cloak pocket and aimed at a plate on the table.
“Wingardium Leviosa!”
He gave a subtle wrist flick and made a brief motion in the air. The plate wobbled slightly before rising a few inches off the table, floating steadily.
Hermione was momentarily speechless.
“See?” Harry said, turning to her.
She paused for several seconds, then muttered, “...Which book did you read that in? I’ve gone through A History of Magic and Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, and I’ve never seen such a description.”
“From Bloodlines to Hexes,” Harry replied. “It’s a book Professor gave me. It’s filled with notes on spellcasting. I practiced its techniques all summer, and they worked for most of the spells I tried.”
“Well...okay,” Hermione conceded reluctantly. “But the textbook method is still the most reliable. I think we should stick to that in class.”
Although she was no longer as confrontational, her tone remained stiff. She left after dropping this remark.
Ron scowled as he watched her retreating figure, rolling his eyes. He muttered to Harry, “Why does she always have to be such a know-it-all? Even when you’re right, she still clings to the book like it’s the Bible. No wonder everyone avoids her.”
However, as Ron finished his complaint, Hermione’s footsteps faltered. A moment later, she hurried out of the Great Hall, the heavy door closing behind her with a dull thud.
“...She heard you,” Harry said, glancing after her.
“So what?” Ron replied, though he looked uneasy. “She’s probably realized it by now. She doesn’t have a single friend in this school.”
But Ron fell silent shortly after, looking uncomfortable. He eventually turned his attention to the pile of chicken on his plate, eating in silence.
Harry glanced toward the doors where Hermione had disappeared but said nothing.
To be honest, he sometimes found Hermione hard to bear too. She had a habit of scolding everyone about potential point deductions, making people avoid her.
The two spent the rest of the feast in a subdued mood.
What they didn’t expect was that ten minutes later, the Great Hall’s doors were thrown open with a bang.
It was Quirrell.
His large turban sat askew, and his face was pale with terror. Stumbling into the center of the hall, he gasped:
“Troll—in the dungeons—I thought you ought to know—”
Then he collapsed onto the floor in a dead faint.
The hall erupted in chaos.
Students screamed and scrambled. Dumbledore had to fire purple sparks from his wand to restore order.
“Prefects,” he commanded in a low voice, “lead your houses back to the dormitories at once. Professors, follow me.”
As Dumbledore spoke, Harry instinctively glanced at the staff table, noticing several empty seats.
Ten minutes earlier…
Hermione had rushed out of the Great Hall, her eyes brimming with tears. She had, of course, heard Ron’s words.
Sprinting through the empty corridors, she tried to find a quiet place to hide. But in her distraction, she didn’t notice where she was going and bumped into someone on the stairs.
“Ah!”
The impact sent Hermione stumbling to the ground.
“…Miss Granger?”
The voice belonged to Viktor .
When Hermione looked up, still dazed, she saw the black-robed figure standing above her.
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