September 19, Thursday (Please Comment)

During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Quirrell's foul stench filled the classroom. Loren, Hermione, Harry, and Ron sat in the last row.

"Why are we sitting here? I can barely hear what the professor is saying." Hermione strained her ears, trying to figure out the range of applications for the Boggart Curse.

"To protect your nose." Loren rested his head on one hand and tried to spin a quill with the other, but the quill's weight was too uneven. After one or two turns, it would fall onto his textbook.

Harry and Ron's eyes were unconsciously drawn to the spinning quill, and they began to feel dizzy.

Harry pulled himself together. "Only people who arrive early can sit in the back. Seamus came late today, so only the front row was left."

They all looked toward Seamus at the very front.

Seamus's seat was right beside the podium. Every time Quirrell waved his sleeve, a gust of fermented garlic stink blew toward him. Seamus's face was pale, and he kept his head down with his nose covered. Loren noticed his shoulders trembling constantly and felt that he was about to faint.

Sure enough, Quirrell waved his sleeve again. Hermione clearly saw Seamus's Adam's apple bobbing up and down, as though he were about to throw up.

Hermione shuddered at the sight of Seamus. In the end, between knowledge and her sense of smell, she chose the latter. "Please save me a seat in the back next time too."

Unable to hear anything from the back, Hermione no longer cared about the lesson. The group spent the rest of class watching poor Seamus suffer.

With everyone's silent support, poor Seamus finally held out until class ended. His legs trembled as he stood up, and Dean had to help him to the dining hall.

Watching the two of them leave the classroom, Ron said sympathetically, "I bet Seamus will come an hour early for Defense Against the Dark Arts from now on."

Everyone beside him nodded together.

It was not until Flying Class that afternoon that Seamus finally cheered up a little.

After going over some flying knowledge, Madam Hooch's expression turned stern. "Something very bad happened in Flying Class last week. I hope you all take it as a warning. If anyone causes trouble again, I'll have Headmaster Dumbledore expel you!"

After that came free-flying time. There was no final exam for Flying Class, and after cheering, everyone began playing without any pressure.

Neville rode his broom over the grass, flying happily. No one else was at the same height as him—his feet could nearly brush the slightly taller blades of grass.

Loren could now take off and land proficiently, but he could do nothing else. He could only stay at one height and move slowly in one direction at about the speed of a light jog.

Though Ron was not as nimble as Harry, he was still pretty good. The two flew back and forth through the air, fooling around and laughing happily.

"Loren! Are you pretending to be an airborne snail?" Ron passed Loren again, spiraling around him in every direction—above, below, left, right, front, and back—as he mocked him.

Loren did not get angry. He had already accepted his role as a novice broom driver. "Flying isn't about speed. Improper flying brings tears to your loved ones."

After that, he muttered strange nonsense about not driving after drinking and not drinking while driving.

Ron could not understand him, so he flew off with Harry.

Hermione was doing a little better than Loren. The young Witch had little talent for flying, but she liked the feeling of it—like being a real witch.

Hermione flew up from behind Loren and slowed down to match his pace. "Flying isn't an important subject. It's fine if you're not good at it."

Her cheeks were flushed from the exercise, and sunlight reflected in her eyes, making them shine.

"Do you like flying?"

"Mhm. It feels like the kind of wizard I imagined."

"Then do you like Quidditch?"

"Not really. I can't understand it, and it feels a little barbaric."

Their brooms remained neither too close nor too far apart as they drifted forward at the same speed, chatting idly. Loren felt that this sunlight, this breeze, and the scent of grass were perfect for such a moment.

"Actually, when I first realized I didn't have Flying Talent, I was pretty sad. I couldn't get full marks in this class, and I couldn't be like Professor McGonagall."

"But when I see you and Neville, I feel like I can enjoy flying a little too." The young Witch closed her eyes, feeling the wind blowing against her.

Loren glanced sideways at her. Hermione's hair drifted continuously in the wind. "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

Hermione opened her eyes. They looked at each other and smiled without meaning to.

That evening, in the Gryffindor common room.

Seamus approached Ron and Harry with a miserable expression. "Smell me. Do I still smell like garlic?"

Seamus had suffered a vicious dark magic attack in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had been listless even during lunch, and after Flying Class that afternoon, he had rushed back to take a bath. He had washed for hours, and Neville had even brought him dinner.

Harry took a small sniff. He could still smell garlic, so he quickly moved farther away. "I think you do."

After being tormented all day, Seamus was nearly in tears. "I've already washed three times."

Hermione looked up from a set of Defense Against the Dark Arts notes borrowed from a Ravenclaw student. "Why don't you try Scourgify?"

Ron nodded in agreement and said loudly, "Yeah, my mum uses that spell all the time."

As the finest cleaning spell, Scourgify was popular with many housewives, but first-years like them had not learned it yet.

Seamus thought it was a good idea and planned to ask a Senior Student to cast it on him. As he hesitated over whom to ask, the others began suggesting people.

Just then, Loren returned to the common room from outside. He slipped over beside Hermione and leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Hermione, come with me for a moment."

Hermione did not know what it was about, but she nodded and followed Loren out of the common room.

No one noticed. Over there, Ron was still loudly advising Seamus, "Don't go to George and Fred. They'll add the smell of dung to you too..."

Loren led Hermione to the eighth floor, stopping in front of the painting of the Troll beating up Silly Barnaby.

The corridor was pitch-black, and Hermione unconsciously lowered her voice. "Loren, why did you bring me here?"

Loren did not answer. Hermione watched him pace back and forth in front of the painting. She tugged at his sleeve and leaned closer. "What are you doing? Curfew's about to start. Let's go back."

"Done!" Loren lowered his voice as well and looked up at the wall before them.

Only then did Hermione notice that, at some point, a black door had appeared in the wall.

"Is this some new Secret Passage? Does it lead to—" Before Hermione could finish, Loren opened the door and pulled her inside.

"This..." Hermione's mouth fell open in surprise. The sofa, the television, and even the paintings on the walls looked just like her home.

And on the coffee table sat an Avalanche Strawberry Cake with candles stuck in it.

Hermione's eyes immediately turned red. No one at school knew it was her birthday, and her parents, who had always been with her before, were not here. She had not even planned to celebrate this year.

She had felt a little disappointed when she woke up that morning, but a friend had saved her a seat, and she had spent Flying Class slowly flying through the air. By the end of the day, she had still been quite happy.

She had never expected anyone to remember her birthday, much less prepare something like this.

It was the first time the twelve-year-old had been away from home for so long. Hermione suddenly thought of her parents, and tears fell like beads from her eyes.

She stepped forward and threw her arms around Loren, murmuring over and over, "Thank you, thank you..."

The girl's fresh scent filled his nose. Loren was a little at a loss. Feeling her tremble in his arms, he finally comforted her, "Blow out the candles first!"

Only then did Hermione lift her head. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, as though she wanted to take in every bit of the scene before her.

A while later, Hermione ate strawberry cake while looking around the room in amazement. "So it can manifest whatever scene we want based on our needs?!"

No one could help being moved by the magic of the Room of Requirement. It represented the most fundamental longing people had for magic—whatever you needed, it would provide.

"There are limits. It can't create food, and some things are only appearances. Like this television—it won't turn on."

"There's also a room for hiding things. It has a lot of valuable manuscripts inside. I'll take you to see it in a bit..."

The two of them visited the room where things were hidden, and Loren showed her Miranda Goshawk's manuscripts.

"Her family situation didn't seem very good. She must have been a strong Witch," Hermione said.

Hermione was curious about everything here. She had some ideas about the Room of Requirement, and the two chatted until very late.

On the way back, moonlight spilled through the windows onto the corridor, like white flowers scattered across the floor...

Everyone! If you're reading, say something!

Writing into the void is too painful, boohoo... If there's anything I wrote badly, please insult me loudly.