Hermione needed a place where no one was around, a place where she could catch her breath and sort out her tangled thoughts.
The nearest girls' restroom is on the second floor?
No, that won't do!
Other students could come and go at any time, and she absolutely couldn't let anyone see her with her tear- Scabbers face!
Gryffindor Common Room?
Even worse!
There will be countless eyes there.
Including Lavender and Parvati, who are waiting to uncover all her thoughts!
She simply couldn't bear that kind of swarming and spying.
Third floor...
A name flashed through her chaotic mind like lightning.
The girls' restroom on the third floor.
Because the Moaning Myrtle lingers there year-round, making the place damp and cold.
She would also frequently flush the toilet for no apparent reason, occasionally emitting intermittent whimpering sounds, which scared away almost all the girls.
That place had become an abandoned corner of Hogwarts, one of the most remote and deserted places on campus, and one of the least likely to be disturbed.
Yes, that's it!
Hermione made a sharp turn at the top of the stairs on the second floor almost without hesitation, her skirt tracing a messy arc as she turned abruptly.
Then she rushed towards the more secluded and less crowded third-floor corridor.
Her footsteps echoed in the long, empty corridor, sounding particularly hurried, yet carrying an indescribable loneliness.
She could even clearly hear her own heavy breathing and feel the wind she was running through and the slight coolness it brought as it brushed against her burning cheeks.
The coolness briefly dispelled some of the heat, but it couldn't dispel the shame, anger, and turmoil in my heart.
Finally, at the end of the corridor, she saw the slightly dilapidated door to the women's restroom.
The small brass snake emblem on the door had long lost its former luster, becoming dull and even bearing a few barely noticeable mold spots.
Without hesitation, she rushed over and forcefully pushed open the heavy wooden door with both hands.
"Squeak--"
A long, grating scraping sound echoed in the quiet corridor, only to be swallowed up by the damp smell of the washroom.
A damp, chilly breeze swept over me, carrying a faint musty smell and the pungent odor of disinfectant.
There was also a faint, almost imperceptible, salty taste, like the tears of Moaning Myrtle.
The bathroom was dimly lit, with only a few tall, narrow windows letting in a faint moonlight.
The pale moonlight spilled onto the ground, and only a few magic wall lamps embedded in the walls could barely illuminate the interior.
Rows of old stone handwashing basins stood silently in the dim light.
The surface of the sink was covered with tiny water stains and moss, and several of the faucets were still dripping.
Water droplets fell into the pool, making a monotonous "drip, drip" sound.
The sound echoed repeatedly in the empty washroom, adding to the sense of loneliness and gloom.
The innermost cubicle doors were tightly closed, and the door panels were covered with scratches and graffiti.
The door to one of the cubicles was askew, ajar, and a faint, low sobbing sound could be heard coming from inside.
The voice was intermittent, and it carried a deep sense of sorrow.
It's Moaning Myrtle.
She was indeed there.
Normally, Hermione would never have ventured near this gloomy, damp place inhabited by a ghost girl.
But at this moment, this place is nothing short of a perfect haven for her.
A corner where she can shed all pretenses and vent her emotions freely.
She slammed the bathroom door shut with a soft "bang," shutting out all the noise and prying eyes from the outside world.
Hermione's back pressed tightly against the cold, rough wooden door. She slid weakly to the ground, her skirt spreading out on the cold stone floor, damp with moisture.
The schoolbag slipped from her limp hands and fell to her feet with a dull thud before falling silent.
She could no longer hold on, burying her face deep in her bent knees and hugging her shoulders tightly with her arms.
"Waaah..."
The long-suppressed sobs finally escaped from deep within her throat.
Hermione could no longer hold back her tears, which flowed like a burst dam, quickly soaking her wizard robes down to her knees.
All the emotions intertwined, turning into scalding tears that slid down my cheeks.
Her shoulders trembled slightly, uncontrollably.
She hated this! She hated this feeling of being completely out of control!
She hated being led by the nose by Draco, who easily disrupted her peace of mind!
I hate that I act like a stupid first-year student, making a complete fool of myself in front of him.
I hate myself even more for being attracted to him because of his closeness, his touch, and his damned teasing words.
These things would make her heart race, her face flush, and her mind go blank!
Am I some kind of man-eating beast, Miss Granger?
"Ah--!"
Recalling Draco's teasing, Hermione abruptly looked up and let out a low growl at the empty, damp bathroom.
The low growl seemed to be venting the anger and humiliation that had nowhere to go.
Her face was streaked with tears, and her long eyelashes were wet and stuck together.
Her usually bright and sparkling brown eyes were now red and swollen, with tears welling up in them.
Her usually meticulously combed brown curly hair was now disheveled, plastered to her forehead and cheeks, and stained with tears, making her look extremely disheveled.
"Who's crying and wailing over there? It's so noisy!"
At that moment, a shrill, ethereal voice, thick with nasal tones and clearly expressing dissatisfaction, suddenly drifted out from the innermost crooked cubicle, breaking the silence of the washroom.