Chapter 28: A Transaction

In the second half of Charms class, Hermione didn’t say another word to Silven, sitting there sullenly on her own.

Silven didn’t understand why she was angry, but it didn’t matter—class was almost over anyway.

After Charms came Transfiguration; to avoid a repeat of what had happened, Silven deliberately sat to the right-rear of Hermione, so even if they were paired again, he wouldn’t have to worry about being grouped with her.

“Well done,” Ron suddenly turned to Silven and gave him a thumbs-up.

“What?” Silven didn’t understand.

“I mean, what happened in Charms class,” Ron whispered. “That Hermione Granger always acts so high and mighty. She even thinks Harry shouldn’t join the Gryffindor team because he broke school rules!”

Though he lowered his voice, the classroom was large, and no one was far apart—Hermione couldn’t have missed hearing it.

Her face darkened further.

“Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Weasley. I nearly forgot that Mr. Potter broke school rules,” Professor McGonagall said, appearing beside them with her lips tightly pressed.

Ron spun around, nearly jumping out of his skin.

“I personally allowed him onto the team, but that doesn’t erase the punishment for breaking rules,” Professor McGonagall continued, turning to Harry. “Disrupting class, unauthorized flying—detention. Come to my office next Wednesday at eight p.m., you and Mr. Malfoy.”

“I understand, Professor McGonagall,” Harry replied with a grimace.

“When did she get there?” Ron’s face was pale—he still hadn’t recovered from the shock.

“I don’t know,” Silven said. “Cats usually walk without sound, unless you see them. It seems Professor McGonagall is the same.”

“I’ll remember,” Harry stared at Ron with a hollow look. “Why did you have to say that one extra thing?”

Ron was equally embarrassed; his face quickly turned from pale to flushed. “I—I didn’t know…”

“Forget it,” Harry sighed. “Detention isn’t the end of the world, but doing it with Malfoy… it’s a nightmare.”

Ron’s face turned even redder, matching his hair.

“By the way, I need to correct something,” Silven suddenly spoke up, as if remembering. “I didn’t target Hermione in Charms class. It’s good she’s helping Neville—why would I target her?”

Ron stared at Silven as if struck by lightning, feeling betrayed.

“But you two… you clearly argued. She won’t even speak to you now.”

“It’s just a difference in perspective,” Silven shrugged. “Muggle-born newcomers often have this issue—they’ve only just been exposed to magic. Some things she doesn’t understand yet. Give her a few years, and she’ll get it.”

“Enough,” Harry cut in.

He’d originally wanted to tell Ron not to speak so harshly about Hermione—he’d noticed only she was patient enough to teach Neville repeatedly.

But now, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. After all, he’d somehow become the only one punished in all this.

Who would’ve thought? Everything was fine, then suddenly he got detention—with Malfoy.

Harry felt a pang of regret. He should’ve just clamped his hand over Ron’s mouth the moment he opened it.

The atmosphere in Transfiguration class was strange.

Harry and Ron sulked through the entire lesson; Hermione’s expression was odd too—head down, distracted.

She’d accidentally killed two beetles used as teaching aids, something that had never happened before.

Silven watched from the side, suddenly wondering if the trio might fall apart over this.

But after observing a while, he realized it was unlikely—at least not for Ron and Harry.

Though Ron had gotten Harry detention, Harry showed no sign of distancing himself; they remained inseparable in class and out.

They even convinced themselves it wasn’t a loss—Malfoy got detention too.

It was surprising.

As for Hermione, she left the moment class ended, stayed silent through afternoon lessons, and remained that way until all classes finished.

Everyone headed toward the Great Hall for the Halloween Eve feast.

The Great Hall had been transformed with colorful Halloween decorations—dozens of enormous pumpkins, hollowed out and shaped into various forms, floated in midair.

Seeing this, Harry instantly forgot about his detention.

Silven walked with them but stopped just before entering the Hall.

“Oh, go ahead—I think I dropped something.”

“What? Where?” Harry asked.

“Dunno. Maybe on the way here,” Silven said casually.

Harry immediately turned to go back.

“It’s fine—it’s not important,” Silven held him back. “Go in. I’ll look around. If I can’t find it, it doesn’t matter.”

Hearing it wasn’t important, Harry said nothing more and, urged by Silven, entered the Hall with the others.

Silven then found the Weasley twins waiting nearby.

“Well? Did you get what I asked for?” he asked quietly.

“You can trust us,” Fred said, face serious. “We’ve got it.”

“Our payment?” George stepped forward.

“Here,” Silven pulled a handful of silver Sickles from his pocket. “You won’t be shortchanged.”

“Six Sickles total—correct,” Fred counted, then handed Silven a bulging brown paper bag.

“Happy to help. Next time you need something, come back to us.”

“Maybe,” Silven said, pained. “Your delivery fees are outrageous. I only needed three Sickles’ worth of stuff.”

“Don’t say that,” George shook a finger. “If it were Hogsmeade weekend, we’d fetch anything for free. But now? Classes are in session—students aren’t allowed out. Only we have the connections to get to Hogsmeade.”

“We took real risks on this trip. This price is fair.”

“Fine,” Silven said. “Thanks for your trouble.”

“Just keep giving us business—that’s all the thanks we need,” George grinned. “Regular customers get discounts.”

“If I have a need.”

“You will,” Fred raised an eyebrow. “We can tell—you’re not a rule-following little wizard.”

“We’ll have plenty to talk about in the future.”

Silven shrugged, noncommittal.

“To show our goodwill, we’ve decided to give you a little gift,” Fred suddenly leaned in and pulled out a piece of parchment.

“What’s this?”

“A map,” George said.

Silven’s pulse quickened—parchment, map… could it be…

“The secret passage map on the fourth floor.”

Well, obviously not the Marauder’s Map.

Silven’s heart sank back into place.

“We drew it ourselves,” Fred continued. “If you run into a professor there again, it might help you avoid getting caught.”

“But Filch knows about these passages too.”

“Use it wisely.”

…

(End of Chapter)