Finding Gryffindor’s know-it-all wasn’t difficult at all—Hermione was either in a professor’s office or buried in the library.
Ever since Draco’s provocations, Hermione, who refused to lose easily, had taken her thirst for knowledge to an almost obsessive level.
As for the Gryffindor common room, that was hardly an ideal place for studying.
So most afternoons, Hermione could be found tucked away among the library shelves.
But today was a bit different. This time, Hermione wasn’t alone...
“Hermione, exams are still ages away! There’s no need to stress like this. Don’t forget, we’ve got a more important mission.”
Unlike Harry and Ron, who were brimming with enthusiasm about stopping Snape from getting the Philosopher’s Stone, Hermione hadn’t lost sight of the fact that they were still students—and that meant they had responsibilities that went beyond magical conspiracies.
Things like completing assigned homework and preparing for their final exams—things that, as students, were actually their main duties.
And... there was also Draco Malfoy.
“Ten weeks is hardly ‘ages.’ For Nicolas Flamel, that might be just a blink, but for us, it's not.”
“But we’re not six hundred years old! Besides, why are you even studying? You already know everything. You're the one everyone calls a know-it-all!”
Ron's attempt at flattery earned him a strange look from Harry.
Since when was Ron this polite to Hermione?
But Hermione didn’t even look up. She shot back sharply.
“Why am I studying? Are you out of your mind? Don’t you realize we need to pass these exams to make it to second year? They’re important! I should’ve started a month ago. Honestly, what’s wrong with me?”
Her outburst made Harry and Ron exchange a look and laugh awkwardly. The way she said it, they felt like complete slackers.
Still, wasn't protecting the Philosopher’s Stone supposed to be their top priority right now...?
...
Nearly all the professors seemed to share Hermione's mindset.
As if coordinated, they all piled heaps of homework onto the young wizards. In an instant, their workload had doubled.
Unlike the cheer of Christmas, Easter holidays had turned into a battlefield of groans and complaints...
“I can't take it anymore! I need a break!”
Pansy tossed aside her parchment—several feet of writing on "The Twelve Uses of Dragon Blood"—and let out a dramatic cry in Draco’s direction, looking utterly defeated.
Her pitiful expression made Draco raise an amused eyebrow. He pointed toward Goyle and Crabbe, who were off to the side, diligently practicing their wand movements.
Their trembling arms made it clear they’d been at it for a while, but Draco showed no sign of calling a break—and neither dared to stop on their own.
“Goyle and the others haven’t complained. And you’re giving up already?”
Though Draco used them as an example, the strained expressions on Goyle and Crabbe’s faces made it obvious they were being pushed hard, their grimaces practically begging for mercy.
Draco, of course, ignored their silent pleas.
He had no interest in watching his friends turn into pseudo-wizards who only knew how to throw punches...
Seeing that her whining had no effect, and worse—being compared to those two muscleheads—Pansy puffed her cheeks in frustration.
“I’m a girl, you know.”
Her indignant and self-justified protest earned her a sharp poke on the cheek from Draco, which made her squeak in surprise.
The next moment, a flustered and blushing Pansy nearly retaliated by biting him.
Was this how he treated people?
Looking rather pleased with himself, Draco slowly closed the book in his hand and stood from the carved bench.
His sudden movement made Pansy frown.
“Hm? Is it time already? Why so early today?”
Assuming he was headed for Quidditch practice, she glanced out the window, noticing it was earlier than usual.
Since becoming Slytherin’s Quidditch captain, Draco hadn’t been known for rigorous training. But whenever the pitch was booked for their house, he’d at least show up and do a few laps.
As for tactics, Draco’s philosophy was simple: no need to change them until another house figured them out.
Yes... that was Draco Malfoy’s kind of confidence.
But...
“No, it’s not about Quidditch.”
“Eh?”
Without giving Pansy a chance to press further, Draco walked straight out of the common room...
...
Meanwhile, outside the common room...
Ron, who had come along with Harry, was starting to get restless.
“Harry, didn’t you say we were going to see Hagrid today?”
“Yeah... I do need to ask him something.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“Uh...”
Harry glanced silently at Hermione, still engrossed in her reading, and gave Ron a helpless look.
Honestly, he was the one who’d been dragged to the library—not Ron. So when Ron complained, Hermione didn’t react. But if Harry said anything, that’d be a different story.
Besides, they hadn’t even been here for an hour...
“Let’s wait. Let me finish copying... I mean, writing my History of Magic assignment first.”
Though Harry said that, his drifting gaze toward Hermione made it clear—Ron’s suggestion had already tempted him.
Hermione, of course, picked up on it immediately. Their attention had clearly checked out.
She sighed.
“Hagrid? Actually, I need to talk to him too.”
“Really? That’s great! Let’s go, then!”
“Yeah, let’s move!”
The moment she agreed, Harry and Ron perked up like they’d just taken a dose of Pepperup Potion. Hermione snapped her book shut with a disgruntled scowl.
She was annoyed, sure—but she did have her own reason to visit Hagrid. Without saying more, she packed her things and followed the boys, who bolted ahead like something was chasing them.
Perhaps it was because they left in such a rush, but none of them noticed the pale golden figure that had just stepped into the library...