After leaving the Transfiguration classroom, Flins followed his usual route and turned toward the library.
The pumpkin lanterns in the corridor were still glowing in the dusk, casting soft pools of orange light against the stone walls, lengthening and shortening his shadow.
When he pushed open the heavy oak door, Madam Pince was standing behind the checkout desk sorting a stack of newly returned books.
She glanced up at Flins, said nothing, and lowered her head again.
He walked toward his usual corner by the window.
The lighting there was good, it was close to the bookshelves, and because the spot was tucked further in, it was less likely to be disturbed.
Yet as he reached the table, he paused—Hermione wasn’t there.
Normally, at this time, she would already be sitting right there.
Today, however, that desk was empty.
Flins stood by the table for a moment, set his school bag down, and settled into his usual seat.
He remembered Hermione telling him that very morning that she would come to the library right after her Defense Against the Dark Arts class in the afternoon to bring him her Transfiguration notes.
When she said it, her tone had been ordinary, not at all like someone with something holding her up.
Still, Flins didn’t dwell on it.
He simply pulled a book on the evolution of ancient spells from the shelf, opened the cover, and began his daily routine of reading.
After a while, a few regular upper-year Ravenclaw students trickled past his table one after another.
One of the female students gave him a nod of acknowledgement.
Flins offered a slight nod in return, then let his gaze drift back to the text.
When he turned to the page where he had left off yesterday, his fingertips paused at the edge of the paper.
The Transfiguration notebook by his hand remained completely blank.
He looked down at that blankness for a second, recalling Hermione’s expression of mixed exasperation and curiosity the first time she caught him using the Duplication Charm.
She had stared wide-eyed and asked where he had learned the spell, since it was material usually reserved for senior years, before pulling a stern face to lecture him on his sloppy study habits of not taking notes.
Yet later on, after they had collaborated on a few homework assignments, Hermione’s attitude had slowly softened.
Because the analysis and supplementary points in the essays Flins handed in clearly weren’t copied from anyone’s notes.
Those sections involved plenty of knowledge and arguments Flins had picked up from reading in the library.
And so, she never brought up the Duplication Charm again.
Flins turned another page, his eyes resting on a passage discussing changes in spell structures, though a small part of his mind drifted back to that empty desk.
Given Hermione’s personality, unless something genuinely held her up, she wouldn’t break a promise without reason.
He decided to wait a little longer.
If she still hadn’t appeared by dinner time, there would be time enough to ask Harry or Ron.
Dinner time arrived, and the students in the library seemed to have decided to give themselves some relaxation for the evening.
Flins packed away the books he had borrowed, gathered his textbooks and notes, and headed outside.
Just as he stepped out of the library doors, he ran straight into Cho Chang in the corridor.
The Ravenclaw senior was carrying a stack of books from the opposite hallway, with an extra-thick copy of Advanced Rune Translation resting right on top, a library due date slip pasted across the spine.
“How come I didn’t see your Gryffindor friend today?”
Cho took the initiative to speak, a touch of familiar curiosity in her tone.
“Hello, Cho.”
Flins gave her a slight nod, keeping his unhurried pace.
“I was wondering about that myself.
She is usually in the library at this hour.”
Cho curved the corners of her mouth:
“The two of you are quite famous in Ravenclaw now.
Your study habits make you both act like true Ravenclaws.
Yet one is a Gryffindor and the other a Slytherin.
Such a combination certainly draws a lot of attention.”
“Is that so?” Flins curved the corners of his mouth, replying in a flat tone, “Then I suppose we have contributed to cultural exchange between the houses.”
Cho let out a soft laugh and didn’t bite.
She changed the subject: “Today is Halloween, after all.
Don’t you have any decorations?”
Flins glanced at her, a hint of well-timed amusement in his voice:
“Cho, you are Chinese.
By your own logic, this is merely someone else’s holiday.”
Cho shot him a smiling, sidelong glance:
“Strictly speaking, it is indeed just their holiday.
However, I naturally made preparations.”
As she spoke, her wand tapped lightly against her collar.
In the blink of an eye, her school robes transformed into a Rococo-style gown.
The pale blue satin caught a soft luster under the wall sconces, edged with delicate patterns along the hem.
Flins looked up, the curve of his mouth deepening slightly: “Truly elegant.
How admirable.”
“Oh dear, Mr.
Flins—”
Cho used a folding fan that appeared out of nowhere to half-hide her face, revealing only a pair of smiling eyes.
“Do stop with the sweet talk.
I must go find my classmates.
See you later.”
She gave Flins a slight nod, her skirt spinning light and open as she turned before dropping back down, and then she walked down the corridor toward the opposite side.
Stepping into the Great Hall, he found that over half the seats at the four long tables were already filled.
Quite a few older students had stripped off their usual school robes, dressing up in various outfits: vampires, trolls, ghosts, or even a doxies?!
A thousand bats fluttered back and forth across the walls and ceiling, while another thousand swooped in low, drifting like dark clouds above the golden platters and making the candle flames inside the hollowed-out pumpkins flicker wildly.
Delicacies materialized out of nowhere onto the golden plates, just as they had during the opening feast.
The moment Flins crossed the threshold, he noticed Draco scanning the direction of the doorway anxiously.
Catching sight of him entering, Draco’s gray eyes locked onto him immediately, flashing a quick signal that clearly meant: “Over here.”
Flins walked over willingly, taking the empty seat right beside Draco.
As he sat down, he cast a sideways glance at Draco’s profile, a faint, lingering curiosity rising in his mind.
The young Master Malfoy’s tolerance toward him truly exceeded normal bounds.
Even after that period of the cold shoulder, Draco remained the first to wave him over.
Still, Flins had no immediate plans to analyze it.
Picking up his fork, he pulled his gaze away from Draco and glanced toward the Gryffindor table—Harry and Ron sat together chatting about something, while Hermione remained absent.