Flins learned about the aftermath of the flying lesson from Hermione Granger over the weekend.
If one were to ask how his connection with Hermione began, it had to start in the library.
Flins had always possessed a keen interest in collecting ancient coins and gemstones—or rather, in anything left behind by the passage of time.
And to put it mildly, the Hogwarts library could help him gain a much deeper understanding of the past and its shifting eras.
Therefore, during his free time outside of coursework, Flins could often be found in a corner of the library, choosing a table by the window and burying himself in the books that caught his eye.
Flins had noticed that Hermione Granger was also a regular at the library.
Almost every time he came, he would see the brown-haired girl buried in piles of books, with three or four volumes spread out before her and her quill flying across parchment at breakneck speed.
Even Flins had to admit that her passion for knowledge was truly impressive.
Yet, the two of them had always maintained a polite distance—each reading their own books, each walking their own path, with never any superfluous interaction.
Until the night after the flying lesson.
Flins was in a corner flipping through a copy of The Rise and Fall of Dark Magic, his fingertips resting on a passage about medieval witch trials, when the shadow of another person suddenly fell across his desk.
He looked up.
Hermione Granger was standing right across from him, holding a book thick enough to double as a weapon.
Her eyes swept rapidly over The Rise and Fall of Dark Magic before dropping to his face.
“Thank you for helping Neville today.”
She spoke bluntly, her words carrying almost the tone of a command.
“However, I heard that you go night-walking.
I believe that is against school rules, and you would do well not to do it again.”
Flins noticed that as she spoke, her gaze wasn’t really fixed on him, but rather drifted toward a certain shelf nearby.
Her fingers squeezed and uncurled unconsciously against the spine of her book.
“Thank you for the reminder, Miss Granger.”
He replied in an even, polite tone, “I shall take care to ensure I am not caught.”
Flins did indeed go night-walking.
In fact, ever since term started, he would slip out of the dormitory in absolute silence nearly every night after his roommates fell fast asleep.
Unlike Gryffindor explorations, Flins’s night-walking experiences were hardly thrilling; they could even be described as dull.
He rarely walked the corridors on foot.
His preferred method was to transform back into his true form, tuck himself inside his lamp, dim the light, and drift through the various levels of the castle in near-total silence.
He would quietly sense the spells woven into the architecture of the castle—or rather, feel the very breathing of the castle itself.
“I wasn’t…
never mind.” Hearing Flins’s response, Hermione denied it instinctively, though a touch of frustration crossed her face.
“I wanted to ask…”
Hermione looked at Flins with some hesitation.
Flins slipped a bookmark between the pages, closed his book, and looked up:
“I am quite glad to answer your questions, Granger.
It is my pleasure to assist you.”
He paused, his gaze drifting past Hermione’s shoulder toward a slender figure slowly moving through the deeper aisles of the library.
Madam Pince was making her way toward them from the far end of the row, her expression pinched and sharp.
“Shall we walk outside together?”
Flins lowered his voice, tilting his head slightly toward Madam Pince’s direction.
“It appears Madam Pince is about to notice us.”
Hermione followed his line of sight, spotted Madam Pince as well, and let out an involuntary, muffled gasp.
She gave Flins a swift, hurried nod, grabbed the stack of books on her table, and hurried toward the door.
Flins followed unhurriedly behind her, stepping aside at the threshold to let Hermione cross first before stepping out himself.
Dinner hour had already ended, and older students occasionally drifted through the corridors.
Seeing the combination of red and green scarves walking side by side, they wore looks of greater or lesser surprise.
A Slytherin and a Gryffindor walking together was indeed an uncommon sight in this castle.
When they reached an empty corner free of students, Hermione stopped.
She stood beneath a wall sconce, the orange-amber glow falling over her bushy brown hair and casting soft shadows across her face.
She turned to face Flins, still hugging her books tightly, her knuckles turning pale from the pressure.
“I noticed that you seem to be isolated by the Slytherins.”
She spoke, her voice much lower than it had been in the library.
“You…
yet I’ve noticed that you don’t seem troubled by it at all.
You still live your life just as before.”
Her tone carried a strange mixture of confusion, curiosity, and a hint of envy she probably didn’t even realize was there.
Flins blinked slightly, the habitual smile at the corners of his mouth pulling back just a fraction, though it didn’t vanish entirely.
“Granger,”
he said, his voice softer than before, “have you ever considered that the sting of being isolated depends entirely on how much you care about those people?”
Hermione paused, as if chewing on the sentence.
“If those people were never within your circle of choice to begin with,”
Flins continued, his voice steady and even, “their leaving you and your leaving them doesn’t really have any fundamental difference.”
His gaze lingered on Hermione’s face for a beat, those bright yellow eyes shining like an unflickering candle.
“The people I care about will not leave me just because I eat lunch at the Slytherin table.
The people I do not care about—what they think of me changes nothing about how I eat breakfast, read books, or do my homework every day.
That is all.”
Hermione fell silent for a few seconds.
She lowered her eyes, her fingertips lightly brushing the edge of her book cover before she looked back up at him.
“What about…
your roommates?
I saw you eating with them when the term first started.
They…
don’t talk to you anymore either.
Do you truly not care?”
Flins turned his head slightly, his expression remaining calm.
“They have their stances, and I have mine.
There is no right or wrong in it; we simply do not fit.”
“I never thought…
one could look at it that way.”
She said, “I always felt that if people ignored me, it must mean I did something wrong.”
“I suspect,” Flins said, a trace of gentle amusement coloring his voice,
“you simply did what you felt was right, and you wouldn’t change your mind just because of someone’s status or position.
Yet for many people, having their errors pointed out so plainly is not a pleasant experience.”
“Does their unhappiness mean your choice was wrong?
Not necessarily.
They may simply require a little time to accept it.”
Hermione froze.
“Thank you, Flins,” she said.
“I…
I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to me quite like that before.”
Flins offered a slight nod, saying nothing more.
He stood beside the wall sconce, a touch of warm light reflected in his bright yellow eyes.
The corridor remained quiet for a few seconds before the sound of distant footsteps and faint laughter drifted over.
Hermione snapped out of her long train of thought, hugged her books tighter, and gave Flins a quick nod:
“I need to get back to the common room.
See you tomorrow, Kyryll…
may I call you that?”
“Of course, Hermione.
See you tomorrow.”
She turned and took a few steps away, then glanced back over her shoulder as if feeling a lingering uncertainty:
“Oh, and the next time you go night-walking…
do be careful.”