After a light rain, Hogwarts bid farewell to the bleak late autumn and officially entered the biting cold of winter.
The pale moonlight, flushed with red, leapt over the mountains and hung from the branches of the Whomping Willow, shining over the frozen ground but unable to thin the darkness shrouding the countless peaks and valleys in the slightest.
Even the castle standing like a torch atop the cliffs could only use its light and heat to warm itself.
Even without a holiday or special occasion, Friday dinners had always been livelier than at other times.
As the young wizards and staff enjoyed the lavish meal, they happily exchanged ideas about how to spend the weekend.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione pulled her gaze away from the thick book spread across her knees, raised a hand, and gently massaged her aching brow.
To be honest, ever since the start of this year, she had once again felt keenly how little time she had.
Not only did every fifth-year student have to face the important O.W.L. examinations, but her duties as a prefect also required her to do her part in maintaining order at Hogwarts.
What was more, Professor Breen, who had grown accustomed to leaving everything to others, had handed almost all matters related to the "Society for the Advancement of Intelligent Magical Creatures' Rights"—in other words, the exchange group—to her.
Taken together, these responsibilities made her several times more exhausted than the other young wizards.
So when Hermione noticed that Harry, sitting beside her, was neither properly eating dinner nor studying diligently like she was taking advantage of mealtime, but instead kept glaring darkly at the Slytherin table across the Great Hall, her comforting tone inevitably carried a trace of impatience.
"Even if you starve yourself to death and