Wednesday arrived in the blink of an eye.
Baelon woke up on time, tidied himself up briefly, and headed to the Great Hall with Michael and Terry.
He was tall and elegant, with a gentle yet naturally calm aura; as soon as he stepped into the Great Hall, he drew many quiet glances.
Several bold older girls approached him directly, smiling and expressing their interest, which immediately caused a small stir in the surroundings.
Baelon maintained a perfect level of politeness, speaking in a calm tone and with proper boundaries as he gently declined each one, neither causing embarrassment nor leaving any room for ambiguity.
The morning was Defense Against the Dark Arts Class shared with Hufflepuff.
Professor Quirrell stood on the podium, his turban wrapped tightly, his face so pale it was almost bloodless.
His eyes constantly darted around nervously, and his hands trembled slightly, giving him a cowardly and neurotic appearance.
A course that should have been full of practice and duels was delivered by him in a stumbling, incoherent manner, jumping from dark creatures one moment to the weather the next, making the whole class feel drowsy.
Others simply thought he was timid, nervous, and incompetent.
Only Baelon felt his heart sink slightly from the moment he entered the classroom.
Relying on the memories of his past life, he knew better than anyone—
This trembling Professor before him was already possessed by Lord Voldemort.
What made him even more alert was that his own mental perception, which already far exceeded that of ordinary people, could very likely be caught by the other’s top-tier Legilimency if he let it slip out even slightly.
Thus, throughout the entire class, Baelon forcibly suppressed all his mental fluctuations, like a drawn blade being held firmly back in its scabbard.
His breathing was steady, his posture was upright, and his eyes were focused on his textbook, making him look like nothing more than an ordinary, serious freshman.
But only he knew that every single second, he was tense, enduring, and pretending.
Quirrell’s seemingly frantic gaze had swept over him several times as if by chance; each time it lingered, Baelon’s nerves tightened further.
It wasn’t until the low, melodious sound of the bell signaling the end of class echoed through the corridors and classrooms that he breathed a sigh of relief in his heart.
At lunch, the Great Hall was bustling with activity.
The Gryffindor table was a scene of rowdy noise, except for Hermione Granger, who sat alone in a corner with a large empty space around her.
Several nearby classmates were laughing and playing, but they deliberately avoided her, and the occasional glances they cast her way were filled with distance and disapproval.
She just kept her head down, silently cutting the food on her plate.
Her back was still held perfectly straight, yet she couldn’t hide the loneliness of her isolation.
Baelon took in this scene.
He signaled gently to Michael and Terry beside him, then stood up and walked over to the Gryffindor table.
“Hermione.”
Hearing someone call her name, Hermione looked up sharply, her eyes filled with a bit of surprise and awkwardness.
Baelon’s tone was naturally gentle:
“It’s too noisy here to settle one’s mind.
If you’re willing, you can come to the library with us and read for a while in peace.”
Hermione was slightly taken aback, her fingertips tightening slightly.
The clamor of the long table was still behind her, while before her stood this Ravenclaw boy, his gaze open and sincere.
She nodded gently and agreed almost immediately:
“…Okay.”
She picked up her bag and followed behind Baelon, as if she had finally found a place where she could settle down with peace of mind.
The afternoon library was quiet and solemn, with sunlight streaming through the stained glass and casting vibrant patches of light onto the long tables.
Baelon, Michael, Terry, and Hermione sat together at a spot by the window.
Hermione was holding a copy of “History of Magic: Medieval Witchcraft and Secret Rituals,” reading it with great focus.
Baelon sat opposite her, his gaze falling on the open page of her book.
“I didn’t expect you to be reading such an obscure History of Magic text.”
Hermione closed the corner of the book, her tone serious and certain, carrying her usual rigorous attitude:
“I’m Muggle-born, and I knew nothing about magic before.
If I want to truly learn magic well, I have to first understand magic itself and everything about the wizarding world.
I have to figure these things out first.”
Baelon nodded slightly.
“That is the most reliable way, and it requires the most perseverance.
Many students from pure-blood backgrounds can’t do what you’re doing.”
Hermione pursed her lips slightly, not feigning modesty, but simply saying seriously, “I just don’t want to fall behind.”
“Liking books and wanting to become stronger is never a mistake,” Baelon said casually, yet every word struck the hidden grievances in her heart.
“It’s better than clearly not understanding but pretending to, or being wrong but refusing to change, isn’t it?
Truly powerful people never have to force themselves to cater to everyone; you just haven’t met people willing to keep up with your pace yet.”
Hermione gave a soft “Mm,” her tense expression softening a little, and the loneliness in her eyes faded significantly.
Terry immediately joined the conversation.
“Exactly!
There were so many parts this morning we didn’t understand; we were just worrying about not being able to keep up with the afternoon classes!”
Michael also nodded gently.
“If there’s anything you don’t understand in the future, we can discuss it together.”
Baelon took the opportunity to push the pre-study notes he had organized toward her:
“The afternoon is Herbology Class, and these are the key points we’ve organized.
Shall we look through them together?
Since it’s all for studying anyway, it’s more interesting with more people.”
Hermione looked at the neat and clear handwriting on the notes, then at the three Ravenclaws with their sincere gazes.
At that moment, the thin layer of ice in her heart, frozen by her isolation, quietly melted a corner.
Before long, the bell for class drifted from afar.
Baelon closed his book and looked at Hermione, his gaze natural and open:
“Let’s go, we’ll head to the greenhouse together.
For this afternoon’s Herbology Class, the four of us will be in one group.”
Hermione was slightly startled, then nodded gently, a bright and steady light appearing in her eyes for the first time.
The four of them walked out of the library side by side.
The little Witch who had always been solitary now had companions walking with her in the corridors of Hogwarts.
Professor Sprout’s greenhouse was filled with the fragrance of soil, grass, and magical plants.
Baelon, Michael, Terry, and Hermione naturally formed a group, working with perfect rapport.
Hermione had solid knowledge and was rigorous and meticulous, knowing the characteristics and maintenance methods of every herb like the back of her hand; Baelon, on the other hand, was quick with his hands and had extremely strong observation skills, always able to anticipate the subtle reactions of the plants.
The two of them, one steady and one active, complemented each other flawlessly.
Professor Sprout patrolled between the groups.
When she reached them, her gaze lingered on the four of them as they coordinated their movements, and a gentle smile appeared on her face.
“Very good.
Your group not only follows the procedures correctly and observes meticulously but also knows how to help each other and encourage your companions to progress together.”
She paused, deliberately speaking in a voice loud enough for the whole class to hear:
“Five points to Ravenclaw for Baelon, Michael, and Terry each;”
“And five points to Gryffindor for Hermione Granger—as a reward for your seriousness, rapport, and this rare unity.”
A small murmur of envy immediately rose around them.
Hermione’s cheeks turned slightly red.
She was excited yet maintained her composure as she seriously thanked the Professor.
This was the first time she had been publicly praised and awarded points for collaborating with friends.
After Herbology Class, the four of them walked across the lawn under the setting sun.
Terry nudged Michael’s arm, looking full of excitement:
“Since we don’t have any more classes, why don’t we head over to Hagrid’s place?
I’m certain Sunfyre has grown quite a bit again over the last few days.”
Michael nodded in deep agreement.
“Its growth rate is truly astonishing.”
Hermione stopped in her tracks immediately, her brow furrowing slightly, her tone rigorous and serious:
“A dragon?
Hogwarts strictly forbids the private keeping of dragons; that is a violation of Ministry of Magic regulations.”
Baelon gave a soft laugh, his tone open and composed:
“Don’t worry, everything is legal.
Headmaster Dumbledore personally helped me apply for a permit from the Ministry of Magic.
The paperwork is complete and fully compliant.”
Hermione was slightly taken aback.
“An official permit?”
“Mm,” Baelon nodded.
“It’s a dragon I brought from my hometown, named Sunfyre.
I already took Michael and Terry to see it two days ago.
Today is perfect to take you to meet it as well.”
“Is it…
very large now?” Hermione was both nervous and curious.
Baelon paused, his tone carrying a hint of light sentiment:
“Last month, it was only the size of a palm, but in just under a month, it has already grown larger than a hound.”
Hermione’s eyes widened instantly, filled with shock.
Driven by a strong thirst for knowledge and curiosity, she finally nodded gently:
“…Just for a moment, and we must maintain a safe distance.”
“Whatever you say,” Baelon agreed with a smile.
The four of them soon arrived at Hagrid’s hut.
As soon as Hagrid saw them, he immediately laughed and came out to greet them.
“Baelon!
You’re finally here.
Sunfyre was just looking toward the door a moment ago!”
Inside the hut, the fire was warm, and the floor was covered with thick, dry hay.
Sunfyre was lying quietly in the middle of the soft pile of hay.
Its entire body was covered in dense, gilded scales that, under the interwoven glow of the sunset and the firelight, shimmered with dreamlike iridescent light.
Every scale was bright and polished, looking absolutely beautiful.
With its slender neck, folded wings, and strong hind limbs, the hatchling’s youthful innocence had not yet faded, yet it already faintly exuded an air of majesty.
Terry lowered his voice, looking amazed.
“Look, I told you it got a bit bigger!”
Michael was also mesmerized by the sight.
Hermione held her breath instantly and unconsciously crouched down, her eyes shining slightly.
She was both cautious and awestruck, sub-consciously whispering to herself as if comparing it to a book:
“Golden scales, iridescent under the light…
This is completely absent from any known dragon catalog recorded by the Ministry of Magic…”
Baelon stepped closer slowly.
Sunfyre immediately raised its head and let out a clear, gentle chirp, affectionately leaning toward him and softly nuzzling his arm with its snout, showing not a hint of aggression.
“It recognizes me,” Baelon said gently, stroking its smooth scales.
“Although it grows extremely fast, its temperament has always been very stable.”
Hermione just watched quietly, and for the first time, those eyes that were always serious and rigorous showed unreserved shock, surprise, and longing.
She remained proper and restrained, yet the distance and loneliness in her eyes had already completely dissipated at this moment.
Baelon looked at her and said softly:
“Some living creatures and miracles are far more wonderful than what is depicted in books.”
Hermione looked up at him and gave a soft “Mm,” which was a heartfelt acknowledgment and a sign of closeness.
The sunset painted the hut’s windows a warm gold as the four teenagers sat around the young dragon, talking and laughing softly in a relaxed and warm atmosphere.
Meanwhile, in a dark and empty classroom deep within the Castle.
Quirrell slowly locked the door, his face deathly pale, and whispered tremulously to the back of his turban:
“Master…
that Ravenclaw child, Baelon…
he is very special.”
From beneath the turban, a cold, raspy hiss, like a snake’s tongue, slowly sounded:
“I noticed…
his mental strength is exceptionally condensed.
Despite being just a little fellow, he knows how to endure…
he is by no means an ordinary brat.”
Quirrell’s body stiffened slightly as he tentatively asked in a low voice:
“Master, should we…
try to contact him to find out his background?”
In the next moment, a bone-chilling majesty and fury flooded into his soul, the tone so stern it brooked no defiance:
“No!
Do not cause unnecessary trouble!
Our only goal is the Philosopher’s Stone!
Restoring my strength is the only priority!
Before that, do not provoke unnecessary trouble, and certainly do not attract Dumbledore’s attention!”
“Yes…
Master, I understand…”
Shadows lurked in the darkness, waiting patiently for the right opportunity.