You Should Reflect, Miss Granger!

Of course, no matter how much the Little Lions disliked Miss Otter, they never attempted to bully her.

Although many wanted to do so—spilling ink on Miss Otter's homework, shredding her school robes, or adding strange potions to her breakfast.

But Harry's attitude toward her had not changed in the slightest.

They still did homework together and discussed charms and potions.

They couldn't find an opening—no, they were merely giving Harry face, barely managing to treat Miss Otter as if she were invisible.

Hermione felt very aggrieved.

She wanted to make up for it, at least to recover those forty lost points, so she participated intensely in every class. This was indeed effective; aside from Snape, every professor awarded her quite a few points.

In the span of a month, although she hadn't earned back the full forty points, she had gained over twenty, making the gap between Gryffindor and the other three houses less daunting.

Yet, this still failed to change her situation within Gryffindor; if anything, it became worse.

The Little Lions were all wearing tinted glasses.

Deep down, they believed she was just doing this to show off.

A nuisance who only knew how to please the professors without caring about the house.

Harry was also very busy.

Professor Flitwick kept pulling him aside to discuss the Signs, though he had tried many times without success; Professor Quirrell was unreliable, so he had to figure out Defense Against the Dark Arts on his own; and then there was the detention with Professor McGonagall—though called detention, it mostly involved helping grade first-year, and later second-year, assignments, along with some extracurricular tutoring.

Gryffindor simply could not be bad at Transfiguration.

It was tradition.

He also often went to the greenhouse to help Professor Sprout with cleaning and organizing, while incidentally harvesting some herbs.

On weekends, he would occasionally visit Hagrid, hoping he would take him into the Forbidden Forest to pick up some "worthless little trinkets," but Hagrid never agreed.

Busy and bustling, they finally caught a breath on Thursday, October 31st, as the first-year students welcomed their first holiday at Hogwarts—wizards did not celebrate Columbus Day.

The last class on Halloween was Charms.

They began learning the third charm after Lumos and Alohomora—the Levitation Charm.

The Little Lions were very enthusiastic about this—they had long been envious of Harry waving his wand to make his schoolbag float behind him with such effortless grace.

But this charm was not simple.

There were many syllables, eight in total, and the wand movement was quite complex.

Ron swung his arm like a windmill, shouting loudly while reciting the incantation, as if trying to coerce the feather into floating by sheer force.

But it was useless.

The feather was not afraid.

"Ron, you're doing it wrong!" Hermione's pressure was a bit low. "The 'g' needs to be pronounced! It must be clear and long."

Ron was somewhat annoyed, carrying the volume of his incantation over—perhaps intentionally, as he had long wanted to yell at Hermione like this: "If you're so good at it, you do it!"

Hermione raised her wand: "Wingardium Leviosa."

With a flick of her wand, the feather rose into the air.

Professor Flitwick's eyes lit up, and he began to applaud: "Oh, brilliant! An excellent Levitation Charm, everyone look, Miss Granger has succeeded."

"One point to Gryffindor."

But no Little Lion applauded for her; they all treated her with cold faces.

The Little Badgers clapped foolishly, but realizing the atmosphere was off, the applause only started before gradually dying out.

It lasted until the end of class.

Under Harry's guidance, after blowing up his sixth feather, Seamus finally made it rise, causing him to shriek with excitement—and then the feather exploded in mid-air.

And Ron...

His composure crumbled bit by bit under Hermione's nagging. At first, he could make the feather twitch, but later... he fell to the same level as Seamus.

"You clearly could have done it," Hermione said while packing her bag, still complaining, "it was just a little bit off. The fourth time, you actually made the feather move."

"But you just wouldn't listen to me. If you had said it out loud, we could have earned another point. Even Seamus got points!"

"Harry is too talented; now the professors almost only agree to return the points Professor Snape deducted from him, and once they're returned, they won't give him any more. We have to work harder..."

"Enough!" Ron gritted his teeth and slammed the table.

Hermione was startled.

With a clatter, the book in her hand fell onto the desk.

"Nobody cares about those points, Miss Granger!" Ron said through gritted teeth, the words spilling out hysterically, "That little bit doesn't matter at all."

"Even if you get more points, you still won't be liked. You should really reflect on your own problems!"

"Why is it that no one wants to be friends with you?"

"This has nothing to do with points!"

"It's just that you always harp on about these unimportant, nagging things!"

Hermione's nose twitched, tears welled up, and she grabbed her schoolbag, shoved through the crowd, and ran off.

Ron opened his mouth, watching her retreating figure, and was suddenly struck by a pang of regret.

"You were a bit too harsh." Harry voiced the thought for him.

"No, she needed someone to point out the problem so she could reflect on it." One can think such things, but one shouldn't say them aloud; Ron immediately became defensive.

Harry chuckled. "Maybe, but I think you'd better apologize to her later."

"She just doesn't understand yet; she's trying to make up for it in her own way."

Ron curled his lip and lowered his head, looking somewhat reluctant. "Oh, maybe you're right."

But once Hermione left, she vanished without a trace.

She was nowhere to be seen during the next Flying class, and when the lesson ended and they arrived at the Great Hall, Hogwarts was filled with festive cheer as preparations for the Halloween feast were underway, yet she was still nowhere to be found.

"Where is Hermione?" Ron craned his neck, searching for her. He had spent the entire Flying class rehearsing what to say; he couldn't let all that effort go to waste. If he couldn't find her, how was he supposed to get the words out?

"Don't know."

"Didn't notice."

The other Little Lions shook their heads.

Lavender responded eagerly, "During class earlier, I went to the lavatory, and I think she was there."

The location was a bit awkward.

Ron didn't feel right going there, so he chewed on two pumpkin pasties, and as he reached for a third, he turned to Harry. "Should we bring her some food?"

"I mean Hermione."

Harry peeled a potato, nodded, and was just about to speak.

Crash!

The Great Hall doors were violently thrown open. Professor Quirrell came stumbling in, scrambling toward Dumbledore, and shrieked in terror: "Troll! A troll has escaped from the dungeons—I thought you should know."

Having said that, he slumped forward, collapsed onto the table, and tilted his head just enough to avoid face-planting into the cream of mushroom soup.

The Great Hall descended into chaos.

Dumbledore raised his wand and shot two purple fireworks into the air with a bang. "Quiet, everyone!"

"Prefects, lead your house students back to their dormitories."

Percy stood up immediately, standing on his tiptoes and raising his hand high. "Older students, make way! Let the first-years and younger students go first, stay close to me..."

"Harry, we..." Ron grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him, intending to follow Percy.

Harry shook him off. "Go tell the professors—Hermione might run into the troll. She's in the first-floor lavatory."

"Her? How could she?" Ron blinked, confused.

"No time to explain." Harry shoved Ron, popped the half-peeled potato into his own mouth, and ran toward the lavatory with the Sorting Hat tucked under his arm.

Years of weathering the Witcher's life allowed him to piece every detail together in an instant and make a relatively sound judgment.

Lavender said she saw Hermione in the lavatory.

The last class was Flying, held at the Quidditch Pitch, which had no lavatories; if she needed one, she would have to return to the castle.

The first-floor lavatory was the closest; there was no need to go further, so that was the most likely place for her to be.

If it were just a simple case of a troll running wild and smashing up the dungeons, it would be nothing more than a headache for Slytherin and Hufflepuff—their common rooms were both located in the basement.

But this was different.

That Quirrell was acting; the troll was likely released by him. For an attack? Or just some twisted sense of humor? Regardless of the reason, he likely wanted to cause as much of a stir as possible.

The basement was too small; it wouldn't cause enough of a scene.

Harry reached into the Sorting Hat, drew the Sword of Gryffindor, and pulled out a vial of blade oil—Ogre Oil.

Thank goodness.

The good habits of a Witcher meant he didn't have to scramble in a moment like this.

He carefully applied the oil to the blade as he ran.

The Sorting Hat suddenly spoke up: "Oh, are you planning to duel a troll?"

"If I run into Hermione and the troll at the same time, I won't have a choice," Harry replied.

"But you are only a first-year wizard," the Sorting Hat added.

Harry nodded. "Of course, I know that, which is why I sent Ron to notify the professors."

"One swing of a troll's club and you'll be dead." Folds appeared on the Sorting Hat; it was frowning. "That is a very dangerous creature."

"Gryffindor once encountered one—a forest troll—and it took a great deal of effort to kill it."

"Uh-huh, so?" Harry remained unmoved. "Are you going to tell me its weaknesses beyond what's in the books? Anything besides the neck?"

The Sorting Hat paused, then raised its voice: "I am talking about danger!"

Harry ignored it. He had already reached the classroom corridor. The situation was dire; the scents of the troll and Hermione were mingling, which forced him to slow his pace.

"What, looking to back down?" the Sorting Hat continued to clamor. "For a young wizard to retreat in the face of a troll is no failure; it could even be called a very wise choice."

"That Miss Granger might not necessarily be in trouble..."

Harry shook his head and quickened his pace: "No, I'm afraid Hermione is already about to run into the troll."

"Also, there's no need to probe me."

"Even if you are a hat, I can still tell what you're thinking."

"Once I have made my choice, I will not change it."

The Sorting Hat fell silent.

Harry stopped speaking as well. He raised his sword and saw it—the troll. It had grayish-brown skin, draped in dead leaves and sludge, and held a wooden club nearly two meters long that dragged along the floor.

Its head was tiny, its neck hidden within the folds of fat, making it almost invisible.

It was the most powerful of the trolls, a Mountain Troll.

"Axii!"

Harry raised his hand and cast the Sign.

The troll's movements stuttered.

A perfect opportunity!

Harry raised his longsword high and slashed toward the troll's legs—he was too short now; even if he jumped, it would be difficult to strike its neck.

The troll woke up faster than Harry had anticipated.

He truly grasped what the books had said—trolls generally possessed a high resistance to magic.

Its recovery time was almost on par with Professor McGonagall.

The troll was also more agile than Harry had expected—it was stupid, but that only applied to its brain, not its body.

It nimbly stepped and turned, causing the sword to only strike its right calf.

PY recommending a book, also a Harry fanfic:

Phoenix of Hogwarts

Also, asking once more for investments and follow-up reads. It seems the Tuesday follow-up read determines recommendations, so please, everyone, click through to the final "To Be Continued" page. Thank you very much!