When Herman heard the word "official business," his mind immediately went to the Forbidden Forest.
The official duties Professor Malin mentioned probably involved taking turns with Professor Quirrell to guard the Vampire elder in the Forbidden Forest.
Her schedule was packed, with her duties at the Forbidden Forest, her own alchemical research, and the added task of answering a first-year student's questions.
Moreover, she would occasionally turn pale, but her menstrual period didn't interfere with these things. Herman silently added a "dedicated" label to Professor Malin in his mind.
Although her mind worked quickly, Herman didn't hesitate and replied immediately, "No classes, Wednesday afternoon is free, I'll have to trouble you then, Professor."
Marlene shook her head slightly, a very small gesture, just a slight tilt of her chin. "Some minor issues. I'm still happy to impart knowledge to young people. After all, I promised Dumbledore I would teach the alchemy class well, although no one has chosen to Alchemy Class yet."
Well, so he's just getting paid for nothing. No wonder he's so happy to teach me alchemy and give advice to George and Frederick. He's also afraid that Dumbledore will find out he's just collecting a salary without working.
After saying that, she didn't say anything more, and the two continued walking along the path towards the castle.
The castle's outline became clearer in the field of vision, its spires and high walls casting long shadows in the afternoon light, spreading across the stone pavement in front of the gate.
When they reached the front door, Filch was standing in the shadows by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his thin face bearing an expression that said, "I have to make things difficult for the little wizard."
His gaze first fell on Professor Malin, glancing at her dark blue robe and upright posture, then moved to Herman's face, lingering on the first-year student for two seconds.
Filch's lips moved as if he wanted to say something about permits or registration, but Professor Malin's aura made his question catch in his throat.
He took about a second to assess the situation, and in the end simply stepped aside to make way for the doorway.
Herman followed Marlene into the Entrance Hall, glancing back in Filch's direction. The old man had returned to the shadows, like an old statue put back in its place.
The next morning began as usual with the noise from the Great Hall.
When Herman entered the Great Hall, the long table was already full of people. The clinking of dishes and the murmur of voices blended together like a heavy background noise.
The owl flitted between the candlesticks, dropping letters and newspapers in front of their respective owners.
On the surface, it was no different from any other morning during his first week of school.
But if you look closely, you'll notice some differences.
There were more people sitting in the professors' seats in the Great Hall than usual. The professors sat there occasionally talking in hushed tones, their gazes occasionally sweeping towards the direction of the Great Hall's entrance, as if looking through walls towards Hogsmeade.
The students spoke a little lower than usual, and when someone mentioned Hogsmeade, they would subconsciously lower their voice and then quickly change the subject.
The portraits patrolling the corridor seemed much quieter than usual, with even those that usually liked to visit other portraits staying obediently in their respective frames.
However, for most students, life went on as usual.
Herman continued his studies methodically. In the morning, Flitwick taught new spells in the Charms, and in the afternoon, Professor Sprout led everyone in changing the soil for their potted plants in the Herbology.
After class, he did the same thing as always: practiced spellcasting with his left hand, went to the Room of Requirement to work on his innate magic, and flipped through those thick books on Alchemy until the corners were curled up. Although his progress was slow, he was at least making progress.
He was very familiar with the practice room at the Room of Requirement. Every time he went there, he would think about which room he wanted to go to in front of the tapestry. When he pushed open the door, he would find the familiar control panel, mannequins, and crucibles.
However, for Harry, today brought an extra activity.
Quidditch training.
As the instigator, or rather the culprit, who made Harry Seeker, Draco had been in a state of visibly heightened excitement since morning.
During breakfast, she talked at least twice as much as usual, from " Harry definitely flies better than that Terence " to "My dad's sponsorship should be arriving soon," and then to "What do you think Harry will wear on her first day of training?" Not a single sentence was worthy of a response.
To Herman's surprise, Draco made no mention of his decision not to take sides yesterday.
Yesterday, when he chased after Ron to clean up her mess, Draco's shout of "Was it really necessary?" carried obvious dissatisfaction. Now, that dissatisfaction seemed to have been wiped away by a good night's sleep, or perhaps squeezed out by Harry joining the Quidditch team.
Herman breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that Draco's anger came and went quickly. As long as you didn't provoke her, the young lady was quite easy to get along with.
After afternoon classes ended, Draco practically dragged Herman by the sleeve as they ran towards the Quidditch Pitch.
"Hurry up, or all the good spots will be taken." She said this with a pace much faster than usual, her golden ponytail swinging back and forth behind her head.
Herman was dragged along for a while by her, and couldn't help but complain, "We're here to watch training, not the finals. There aren't any good seats here."
Draco didn't even turn her head. "You don't understand, the top row of the stands has the clearest view, especially the right half of the stadium."
It's obvious that although Draco isn't particularly interested in Quidditch, as someone from a long-established aristocratic family, she's still heard a bit about it, such as where the most expensive seats are!
Herman was pulled by her across the grass, around a few old trees, and up to the top row of seats in the stands.
From that angle, you could indeed see the entire pitch clearly. The grass was gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun, and the goalposts shimmered silver in the distance. The Slytherin Quidditch Team players were already warming up on the pitch, riding broomsticks.
The green jerseys flitted back and forth between the blue sky and green grass, and the sound of brooms cutting through the air occasionally drifted on the wind to the stands.
Draco leaned on the railing, her gaze sweeping across the court again and again, as if searching for someone.
Her expression shifted from expectation to confusion, and then from confusion to a hint of dissatisfaction.
Where's Harry?
Herman scanned the field; Flint was leading the players in dribbling around the post, Terence was practicing diving runs closest to the goal, and the other players were passing the ball to each other.
There was no sign of red hair.
Time passed slowly, and the sun moved from its zenith to the western canopy of the trees, gradually fading its heat.
Draco leaned against the railing and yawned, a little moisture welling up in her eyes. She rested her chin on her crossed arms, her voice more muffled than before. " Harry's not going to stand us up again, is she?"