Chapter 15

The Gryffindor common room was a perpetual hub of activity. Small groups of three or five students chatted boisterously, engaging in games of exploding cards, wizard chess, and lively discussions. Silence in Gryffindor's common room was a rare phenomenon, usually reserved for sleep during Quidditch matches and vacations.

As Hermione and Neville entered through the guarded doorway protected by the Fat Lady's portrait, the scene that greeted them was familiar—a typical Gryffindor lounge teeming with bustling energy. Although Hermione occasionally lamented the boisterousness of Gryffindor students, she couldn't deny that this lively atmosphere was characteristic of the house.

Guiding Neville to a quiet corner of the common room, Hermione took a seat and couldn't help but let her thoughts linger on the disturbing image of the scar on Solim's back. She yearned to know more, yet it was evident that Solim was reluctant to share further details. Her only remaining hope lay in Neville's possible insights, given his familial connection to Solim.

"Neville, tell me, what else do you know about the scar on your cousin's back?"

Having spent nearly half a semester with Solim, Neville's transformation was noticeable. His speech had become more fluid, with fewer stutters, signifying progress.

"Hermione, I don't know much, really. I recall that when my cousin first entered that school, he endured quite a bit of bullying." Neville scratched his head, reminiscing, "It was somewhat like how things used to be for me, but now that he's here, nobody bullies me anymore. Even Malfoy speaks to me. I'm truly grateful for my cousin."

"Please, get to the point!" Hermione urged impatiently, her curiosity piqued.

Neville adjusted his posture and pondered for a moment. "I think it was when I was ten years old if I remember correctly."

"When you were ten years old?" Hermione mentally sighed, wondering if Neville was tangentially addressing her query.

"The injury my cousin sustained appears to have occurred when he was around ten years old," Neville clarified, his tone serious. "My uncle often referred to him as a 'little monster' or 'Little Crazy' whenever he mentioned my cousin."

"Enough with the detours! Just tell me!" Hermione's frustration was evident, her patience wearing thin.

"Uh, alright," Neville conceded, slightly shrinking. "I don't know the exact details of how my cousin was injured—my memory is a bit fuzzy. But I do know what happened afterwards."

Hermione gestured for Neville to continue, her expression a mix of anticipation and impatience.

"Cousin engaged in a 'black glove' duel, Hermione. Have you heard of black gloves?" Neville inquired.

"Black gloves? I'm familiar with white-glove duels. What's the difference?" Hermione recalled that white-glove duels were once prevalent among wizards until the "Duel Prohibition Act" curbed their popularity.

Conflict resolution among wizards used to involve duelling. When one wizard challenged another, a white glove would be thrown to initiate the duel. If accepted, the process would proceed, involving written filings with the appropriate wizarding authority, and attempts to mediate and avoid the actual duel.

If the need for a duel persisted, the time and place would be specified. Both participants would be accompanied by an assistant, and the actual duel would ensue. When one party was close to defeat, they could throw a white glove to signal surrender, ensuring no harm came to them.

The option for a second round with assistants was available for the loser. Duel outcomes were recorded by wizarding institutions, with consequences for the losing party.

Neville's eyes gleamed with interest as he explained, "Black gloves are different. They're unlike white-glove duels—there's a greater chance of survival even if you lose. Black gloves entail a deathmatch, no assistants, and no additional magical items.

It's a duel of wands and skills alone. These duels are aimed at mutual elimination. Similar rules and procedures apply: both participants must be within a 20-year age gap and have a legitimate reason for the duel, preventing frivolous challenges akin to white-glove duels."

Hermione absorbed the information, intrigued by this new concept. "But wait, Neville, does this mean... Solim engaged in a duel to the death?"

Neville nodded solemnly. "Yes, it was quite a shock when I found out. The other party seemed to belong to an old and prestigious family—I can't recall the name.

My uncle mentioned that the duel between cousins had a significant impact, and it offended and antagonized many. Yet, my uncle maintains that my cousin was in the right."

Hermione suddenly grasped the significant contrast between Solim and his fellow Hogwarts students. While Hermione recognized Solim's strength and advanced magical knowledge, she now understood that his experiences and background set him apart.

A sense of disconnection emerged; it was as though Solim hailed from a different world. This realization was jarring—Hermione had never fathomed that a ten-year-old could be embroiled in such a grave matter.

The Solim she saw daily took on a new and somewhat unsettling dimension in her eyes.

Sensing Hermione's introspection, Neville sought to reassure her. "Hermione, don't dwell on it too much."

"Don't dwell on what?" Harry and Ron approached, having been searching for Hermione.

"It's nothing, you're right on time. I was just about to look for you," Hermione swiftly shifted her mood, eager to discuss the afternoon's Quidditch match with Harry.

Harry and Ron settled into their seats, exchanging glances before Harry finally spoke up, "Well... Hermione, we still haven't finished Professor Spencer's essay. It's due on Monday. Could we take a look at yours?"

It wasn't the first time Harry and Ron had sought Hermione's assistance with their homework. Hermione closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and then addressed them, "I have something important to discuss with you both. It's about what happened during the game, Harry."

Hermione's serious tone caught their attention, and they leaned in to listen.

"We might have misjudged Snape," Hermione admitted, her gaze fixed on Harry and Ron.

"What! Hermione, are you serious?" Ron's disbelief was evident in his voice, "That's Snape! And you were the one who saw him cast a spell on Harry!"

Hermione continued, recounting the doubts that Solim had raised during their conversation.

"Are you suggesting that someone was trying to send a message to the professors by attacking me on the pitch?" Harry questioned, his brow furrowed.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. If Snape truly intended to harm you, he wouldn't have chosen the Quidditch field as the setting, where the chances of success were so slim," Hermione explained, her eyes conveying her sincerity.

"But Hermione, do you really believe what that Slytherin told you?" Ron's arms were crossed, scepticism written on his face. "And why attack Harry during the match instead of just telling a professor?"

Hermione had anticipated this line of questioning. "I've considered that possibility. More than one person in the school likely wants to harm Harry. The person who attempted the attack during the match might have been cautious about being caught, which is why they didn't go directly to a professor."

Ron was unconvinced. "Come on, Hermione, it's probably just the Slytherins playing tricks again. They're always up to something in Quidditch—attacking players in the corridors, foul play during matches. This time, they just interfered with Harry on the pitch. But they failed, like always. And with Dumbledore here, Hogwarts is safe."

"Did you forget what happened on Halloween?" Hermione retorted, her point underscoring the vulnerabilities in the school's security.

As the tension in the conversation escalated, Harry stepped in to defuse the situation. "Alright, let's not argue about this. Hermione, did you notice that Snape seemed to be injured?"

Hermione's frustration reached its peak. "I don't care about that right now! I wish you both would think more carefully before you open your mouths."

With that, Hermione abruptly stood up and walked away, leaving Harry and Ron exchanging bewildered glances. Letting out simultaneous sighs, they shifted their focus back to their original purpose—borrowing Hermione's homework.

"Alright, Neville, have you finished Professor Spencer's essay?" Ron inquired hopefully. If Neville had completed it, they could save time by reviewing his work instead of reading the textbook.

"I did write it, but I left it in the classroom," Neville admitted, rubbing his head. His forgetfulness often resulted in him leaving finished assignments behind in the small classroom they frequented.

"Could you go get it, Neville? Tomorrow's the last day, and we need to turn it in on Monday," Harry suggested, hoping to wrap up the essay-writing process that evening.

Neville, eager to be helpful and not wanting to disappoint his friends, agreed. "Sure, I'll go get it. Just wait here."

"Wait outside?" Harry stopped Neville. "Isn't the classroom inside the castle? It might not be safe to go out now, especially if Filch catches you."

Neville explained that his homework was indeed in the small classroom and not in his dormitory. While first-year students adhered to lights-out time, it wasn't as strict for older Gryffindors like Harry and Ron. They had ventured out after lights-out on several occasions.

"Neville, you haven't experienced sneaking out after lights out, have you? Harry and I will go with you. That way, we can watch out for each other in case we run into Filch," Ron suggested, receiving a nod of agreement from Harry.

Just as the trio stood ready to embark on their mission, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open once more, and Hermione reentered the scene, her expression a mix of frustration and anger.

"I knew it!" Hermione glared at the three of them, her tone stern. "I knew exactly what you were planning, Neville, just from the way you were all huddled there muttering. And let me tell you both, write your own homework!"

Before the conversation could escalate further, Hermione's attention was drawn to the empty portrait frame. The Fat Lady had vanished.

"What's your next move?" Ron taunted Hermione, a smug grin on his face. "Waiting around here until the Fat Lady decides to come back? Or maybe you'll wait until Filch catches you first?"

Frustrated and resolute, Hermione turned and walked away without looking back. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, sighing in unison. While they hadn't succeeded in borrowing Hermione's homework, it seemed their evening was about to take an unexpected turn.

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