Hermione Granger stood by the far wall, in front of the sinks. She turned at the sound of the door opening and, upon noticing the visitor, pursed her lips and puffed out her cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen, as though she had been crying for quite some time.
"Go away!"
"Hermione, I don't know what you've imagined, but we ought to speak like reasonable people."
"This is the girls' toilets. Boys don't belong here! Go away! I don't want to see you."
"Hermione, don't say that. I'll be frank — I'm no great expert on the female mind, but if I've offended you in any way, you have my sincere apologies."
"Go to your Patil…"
Granger's lips trembled again, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
"What has Patil got to do with anything? We're just friends—the same as you and I. Hermione, I might understand your being upset if we were seventeen and a couple, but to be jealous of a friend hugging another friend—that's hardly reasonable. You don't seriously think a person ought to have only one friend, do you?"
"I had only one friend…" Hermione muttered quietly.
"Had? If you mean me, I still consider you a friend. Is it really enough to end a friendship just because some girl throws herself at me? What if it had been a plant—say, someone paid a prostitute to ruin my reputation? Would you have reacted the same way?"
"N-no, but Patil isn't—"
"—a prostitute? Of course she isn't. That's beside the point. Padma was simply overjoyed when I promised to arrange a visit to the palace. She got carried away and hugged me. There was nothing erotic, nothing disloyal, nothing of that sort."
"You offer palace visits to all girls?!" Hermione asked, her tone wounded.
"No. Only to those who are either charming and distressed—as you were when we first met—or when it serves to establish useful connections, as in the case of the Patils."
"The Patils? What use are a pair of pretty witches?!" Hermione asked with bitter irony.
"Well, the usefulness of twin girls can be interpreted in various ways," Richard said evenly, "but when their father is a millionaire—soon to be a billionaire—such acquaintances are beneficial for business. In any case, it's rather early for us to concern ourselves with… whatever it is occupying your thoughts."
"I'm not thinking anything like that…"
Hermione's cheeks flushed brightly, betraying her at once.
"Wait!" she said quickly, seizing the chance to change the subject—clearly adopting the strategy that the best defence was an attack. "The Patil sisters are daughters of a multimillionaire?"
"You didn't know?" Richard raised an eyebrow. "I realised it the moment I heard their surname."
"So you're friends with Padma for selfish reasons?" Hermione asked. "Is that true for me as well?"
"Hermione, you must understand that a person of my standing cannot befriend just anyone. Tutors drill it into one—quite literally—that one must not tarnish one's name through association with the wrong sort. At the same time, forming advantageous connections is positively encouraged. No one, however, forbids friendship with those one genuinely likes, provided such associations do not harm one's reputation or honour.
"Justin and Padma, for instance, are useful acquaintances—people anyone of my circle would be expected to befriend. But you..." He paused. "Hermione, tell me honestly—what useful connections could you possibly offer?"
Hermione puffed up indignantly.
"Don't take offence," Richard said in a conciliatory tone. "The truth is, I'm not friends with you for the sake of your dentist parents. I have more than enough brains of my own. So what possible ulterior motive could I have in befriending you?"
"So… you like me?" Hermione murmured quietly.
"Of course, Hermione. I like your straightforwardness, your determination, and your keen intellect. Come along—let's go to dinner."
"I'm not going. Everyone will see that I've been crying."
"Then we'll go to the kitchens. Only the house-elves will see you there."
"House-elves?!" A spark of curiosity lit Hermione's eyes.
"I'll tell you about them on the way—and show you."
Hermione hesitated. She was ready to leave the toilets, yet her stubborn nature would not allow her to agree so easily.
Suddenly, the ringing of the wizardphone made her flinch. Richie pulled the phone—more precisely, its magical equivalent—from the pocket of his robes.
"Hello?"
Harry Potter's voice burst from the receiver—loud and agitated. In the background, there was the unmistakable noise of a panicking crowd.
"Richie, get to your dormitory at once! There's a troll in the school! Do you hear me? A troll's got into Hogwarts!"
"A troll?"
"Yes—a mountain troll!"
"How on earth did a troll get into the school?"
"No idea," Potter replied. "Quirrell said it's in the dungeons, and the Headmaster has ordered everyone back to their common rooms."
"Splendid," Richard said with heavy sarcasm. "Harry, thank you for the warning. We're heading straight to the Hufflepuff common room."
As Richard slipped the wizardphone back into his pocket, he met Hermione's irritated gaze. She crossed her arms and said in a voice full of disbelief:
"I don't believe it! What nonsense have you come up with now? You couldn't think of a more ridiculous way to lure me out of the toilets?"
"Hermione, stop being absurd!" Richard snapped, irritation creeping into his tone. "This isn't a prank. No one's set anything up. Judging by the noise in the Great Hall, there really is panic. So—move! Let's get to the Hufflepuff common room. It's closer."
(End of Chapter)
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