Those disjointed compliments made Hermione's face turn utterly cold.
It was a cold, emotionless pallor that seemed to seep out from beneath her skin.
But Ron was already immersed in his own tactical rhythm.
He completely missed the increasingly dangerous gleam in Hermione's eyes.
Seeing that her expression was wrong, he hurried to salvage things and jumped straight to the crucial fifth step.
"I heard about your problem!"
He announced it loudly, in the tone of a savior.
"This is simple!"
He pointed at the plans and loudly offered his "suggestion."
"Why don't you turn all the tables into flying broomsticks?"
"Then everyone could eat while flying, and it wouldn't be crowded, would it?"
The more he spoke, the more excited he became, the grand blueprint of his brilliant idea already unfolding in his mind.
"Or have the house-elves Apparate the food straight into everyone's mouths!"
The moment that suggestion left his mouth.
It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the Great Hall.
Ernie Macmillan's mouth fell open, his expression that of someone who had just seen a fire dragon tap-dancing in his flower bed.
The Ravenclaw prefect could not even help rolling their eyes dramatically, letting out a contemptuous snort.
Harry closed his eyes in anguish.
It was over.
Everything was over.
Hermione finally spoke.
There was no audible anger in her voice.
Not even emotion.
Only exhaustion drained of every trace of warmth.
"Mr. Weasley."
She looked at him with pure scrutiny, devoid of any personal feeling.
"Thank you for bringing us that entertaining performance."
She deliberately stressed the words "entertaining" and "performance."
Her voice was quiet, yet it carried clearly throughout the space.
"Now."
She took a deep breath.
Her tone became as cold and impersonal as Snape's Potions Classroom.
"If that