Days at Hogwarts

During Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the stench of Professor Quirrell filled the classroom. Loren, Hermione, Harry, and Ron sat in the last row.

"Why do we have to sit here? I can't even hear what the professor is saying," Hermione tried to prick up her ears, eager to understand the scope of the monster spell.

"To protect your nose," Loren said, holding his head with one hand while trying to spin his quill with the other. The quill's uneven weight made it fall onto the textbook after a turn or two.

Harry and Ron's eyes followed the spinning quill and grew dizzy.

Harry perked up: "Only those who came early get to sit in the back. Seamus came late today, so he's stuck in the front row."

Several heads turned to Seamus, who sat next to the podium. Every time Quirrell waved his sleeves, a waft of fermented garlic rushed toward him. His face paled, and he kept lowering his head to cover his nose. Loren noticed his shoulders shaking and worried he might faint so he struggled not to vomit.

Hermione was frightened by the sight and finally chose her sense of smell over knowledge. "Please save me a seat in the back next time," she whispered urgently.

Since she couldn't hear well at the back, Hermione stopped paying attention to the lecture, instead watching over poor Seamus.

Seamus endured the class with silent support from the others. When it ended, his legs were trembling. Dean helped him to the cafeteria.

Watching them leave, Ron said sympathetically, "I bet Seamus will show up at Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour early from now on."

Several agreed with a nod.

In the afternoon flying class, Seamus's mood brightened considerably.

After Madam Hooch explained some flying basics, her face grew serious: "Something bad happened in last week's class. I expect better this time. Anyone who messes up will be reported to Headmaster Dumbledore—and expelled!"

Then it was free flying time. Without the pressure of a final exam, cheers broke out as everyone took to the air.

Neville flew low over the grass, happy and proud. No one was quite at his height; his feet almost brushed the tops of the blades.

Loren had mastered takeoffs and landings, but others struggled, moving slowly in a straight line at a trot-like speed.

Though Ron wasn't as agile as Harry, he was decent. The two zipped around in the air, laughing and playing.

"Loren! Are you flying like a snail?" Ron called as he passed, spinning a full 360° through the air.

Loren wasn't annoyed. He had accepted his novice status as a broom driver. "Flying isn't about speed. If you fly recklessly, your loved ones will cry."

He muttered to himself, something about not driving after drinking.

Ron didn't understand and flew off with Harry.

Hermione was better off than Loren. Though lacking natural talent, she loved the feeling of flying — of being a real witch.

She flew slowly behind Loren, matching his pace. "Flying isn't the important part of flying class. It's fine if you aren't good at it."

Her cheeks were flushed from exercise, and sunlight caught her eyes, making them bright.

"Do you like flying?"

"Well, I think it's what being a witch should feel like."

"Then do you like Quidditch?"

"Not really. I don't understand it, and it seems kind of barbaric."

Their brooms stayed neither too close nor too far as they flew together, chatting comfortably. Loren thought the sun, the wind, and the fresh scent of grass made the moment perfect.

"When I first realized I wasn't good at flying, I was sad. I couldn't get full marks, even like Professor McGonagall," Hermione admitted.

"But watching you and Neville, I feel like I can enjoy flying a bit."

Squinting against the wind, the little witch smiled.

Loren looked at her hair fluttering, and said, "You don't sound like you're praising me."

Hermione met his gaze and both burst out laughing.

That night, in the Gryffindor common room…

Seamus approached Ron and Harry with a forlorn look. "Smell me. Do I still smell like garlic?"

Seamus had been attacked by dark magic during Defense Against the Dark Arts class and was listless at lunch. After flying class, he rushed back for a shower — or rather, several showers. Neville had brought him dinner.

Harry took a cautious sniff and quickly stepped back. "I think there's more."

Seamus, exhausted from the day, almost cried. "I've showered three times!"

Hermione glanced up from a Ravenclaw classmate's Defense notes. "Why don't you try [Scourgify]?"

Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, my mum uses that spell all the time."

[Scourgify] was a popular cleaning charm but hadn't been taught yet in their first year.

Seamus thought it was a good idea but hesitated about whom to ask for help. Suggestions flew from those around him.

At that moment, Loren returned to the common room, touched Hermione's side, and whispered, "Hermione, come with me."

Curious, Hermione nodded and followed Loren out.

No one noticed Ron still loudly advising Seamus: "Don't ask George and Fred — they might add the smell of feces instead…"

Loren led Hermione to the 8th floor, in front of the painting of the troll beating up the stupid Barnabas.

The corridor was dark. Hermione whispered, "Loren, why are we here?"

Loren said nothing, pacing in front of the wall.

Hermione tugged his sleeve. "What are you doing? Curfew is soon. Let's go back."

"Okay," Loren whispered and looked up at the wall.

Only then did Hermione notice a black door had appeared.

"Is this a new secret passage? Leading to—"

Before she finished, Loren opened the door and pulled her inside.

"Here!" Hermione gasped.

The room was warm and cozy, with a sofa, TV, and paintings like home.

On the coffee table sat a strawberry avalanche cake with candles.

Hermione's eyes welled up. No one at school knew her birthday. Her parents weren't here. She hadn't even thought about her birthday this year, and she'd felt a little disappointed that morning.

Her friends had helped reserve her a seat, and she'd flown slowly in class — but she hadn't expected someone to remember and prepare this.

For the first time in a long while, the 12-year-old, far from home, felt deeply touched.

She thought of her parents and tears spilled like beads.

Hugging Loren tightly, she whispered, "Thank you…"

Loren, caught off guard by her emotion, comforted her: "Blow out the candles first!"

Hermione opened her eyes wide, taking in the scene.

After a while, she ate the cake, marveling, "So it can manifest scenes from our minds? Whatever we need?"

No one could resist the magic of the Room of Requirement — a place where the heart's deepest desires could take form.

"It's limited," Loren explained. "You can't conjure food. Some things are just illusions — like this TV. It can't be turned on."

"There's also a hidden room here with many precious manuscripts. I'll show you later…"

They explored the hidden room, and Loren showed her a manuscript by Miranda Goshawk.

"Her family background didn't seem good. She must have been a very strong witch," Hermione observed.

Curious, they chatted until late.

When they finally left, moonlight spilled through the windows, covering the corridor like a carpet of white flowers…