Hermione's eyes widened. "So you knew you hadn't written a single word of your homework, yet you still wasted your time on Quidditch until the very last day—until you got back to school—before thinking about making it up?"
Ron was deeply dissatisfied with her attitude and said sternly, "How can you call Quidditch a waste of time?"
"Hmm?"
"I demand that you apologize to Quidditch. You're being far too disrespectful toward this great sport, Hermione!"
Hermione wondered if this guy had gone mad.
"You want me to apologize? Fine, then go ask Quidditch to copy your homework for you!"
She stalked off in a huff, leaving Ron staring blankly behind her while Harry clutched his head and groaned in complaint.
Hermione was a little angry. She had woken up in a good mood that morning, but just like every time before, Ronald Weasley had ruined it.
What made her feel even worse was that the moment she stepped out of the Great Hall, she saw Vaughn and Professor Isabella Rosier!
They were walking over together from the direction of the towers.
After another summer, Vaughn had grown even taller. He no longer looked like a child; he had become tall, and the childishness had faded from his face, leaving behind deep, defined features.
His slender frame was draped in velvet robes, and alongside Professor Isabella Rosier—petite, with her hair swept into an elegant bun—they walked through the lingering morning mist and slanting warm sunlight, past the vibrant, blooming flowerbeds of the castle courtyard.
That scene was just like—just like the romance dramas her mother watched—
Hermione had no idea why, but she instinctively ducked behind a colonnade, hunching her head as though she wanted to tuck her bushy hair into her collar.
She stared blankly as the two chatted and