A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 643 Stubbornness
As autumn rains bring chills, the cold intensifies, and the journey back to the castle from Hogsmeade is enough to make one feel cold in both hands and feet.

The common room in the Gryffindor Tower was warm and inviting, with flames leaping and dancing in the fireplace, casting an orange glow on the surrounding air.

Students were scattered in small groups throughout the common room. Some were engrossed in writing, buried in heavy books and parchment scrolls; others huddled around the fire, holding steaming butterbeers and memorizing key points from their books.

Hermione sat alone by the tall arched window, the courtyard outside already swallowed by darkness, while Crookshanks dozed on the windowsill.

Several thick, heavy books lay open in front of her, their dark hard covers gleaming faintly in the lamplight.

The quill pen moved nimbly under her fingers, leaving neat and meticulous lines of writing on the parchment of the notebook.

She was completely absorbed, occasionally pausing to furrow her brow as she pondered a problem that was difficult to understand at the moment.

A series of hurried footsteps approached from afar, breaking the surrounding tranquility.

Hermione looked up, squinting slightly to adjust to the light, and saw Ron standing in front of the table.

The light from the side made his cheeks flushed, and his breathing was a little rapid, but his eyes were unusually bright, flashing with an almost stubbornly intense light.

“Hermione.” Ron pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, the chair groaning softly.

He leaned forward eagerly, his voice low but unable to hide his excitement, and said, "I need your help. We need to hold the octagon tournament in the Requirement Room again, next Wednesday night!"

Hermione's quill splattered onto the paper with a "thud," leaving a few specks of ink.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she exclaimed, "What? Ron, are you crazy?!"

Several curious glances came from all around. When they saw it was the two of them, they assumed Ron was talking to her about the monthly exam and didn't pay any attention for a moment.

Hermione's face darkened. She took a deep breath, forced herself to lower her voice, and said seriously, "We've talked about this, more than once!"

"This is too dangerous, a serious violation of school rules, and should not continue at all!"

Ron's lips twitched involuntarily. He shifted his gaze, avoiding her sharp stare, and said, "This time it's different. They sent them."

"The two Slytherins were fighting fiercely over the Quidditch selection, and almost came to blows in the hallway."

“They heard about what happened last time and came to me on their own initiative.”

"They need a place to settle this dispute in a fair and just manner."

He thought this was a normal thing.

"So you agreed?" Hermione frowned, her voice filled with disapproval. "Ron, this is no longer about maintaining discipline or resolving minor conflicts!"

"You're organizing an underground duel; that's completely different!"

“This is not a duel!” Ron argued, his voice rising with frustration at being misunderstood. “This is a formal contest with rules and a magical contract!”

"Contracts guarantee safety and fairness; this is something everyone agrees on!"

He added with a touch of pride and excitement, “It’s very popular, Hermione! Many people feel that this can really solve problems—quickly, decisively, and thoroughly!”

Hermione stared intently at him, trying to find a trace of the hesitation, gentleness, or even cowardice in those familiar eyes; but now there was only rock-like stubbornness and a scorching light that she didn't want to call "fervor."

“Listen, Ron,” she tried to keep her tone calm and rational, as if dissecting a complex spell puzzle, “I understand that you feel a sense of accomplishment, that you are doing something… different.”

"But think of Percy, how obsessed he was with rules and power, and what was the result?" "And think of yourself lately, how you've been obsessed with it, constantly reminiscing about your so-called achievements."

“This isn’t right, Ron. This kind of thinking is unhealthy. You shouldn’t continue like this.”

Ron's expression froze instantly, as if he had been doused with ice water.

He leaned back abruptly, his arms tightly folded across his chest, as if forming a defensive barrier.

“I thought…at least you would understand.” His voice was low, filled with obvious disappointment and a sense of betrayal. “Turns out you don’t understand at all.”

"Percy is obsessed with rules and power, but that's his life, and there's no fundamental difference between that and being obsessed with Quidditch."

"I also have things I want to do."

“But that’s not how it works!” Hermione leaned forward, pressing her hands firmly on the table until her knuckles turned white, her face filled with tension. “True achievements should come from legitimate and aboveboard means!”

"Not that kind of... underground, dangerous activity!"

"Think about the consequences, what if Umbridge or Professor McGonagall find out..."

“She won’t find out!” Ron interrupted abruptly, his tone icy and resolute. “Everything is under control.”

"The House of Requirement is very safe and absolutely hidden."

"The magic contract ensures absolute safety, and the participants will keep their mouths shut."

A brief, suffocating silence hung between them, broken only by the flickering light of the lamplight. Crookshan looked up at them.

Hermione could clearly sense that Ron's determination was like an invisible yet heavy wall, repelling all her worries and advice.

Suddenly, Ron abruptly stood up, the chair leg scraping against the stone slab with a sharp, piercing sound.

He looked down at her, his face a mixture of deep disappointment and a stubborn streak, his brows furrowed.

“Fine.” His voice was dry and devoid of warmth. “Since you’re unwilling to participate and think it’s too dangerous and wrong, then forget it.”

"I can do it myself. There's always a way."

Hermione's heart sank, as if sinking into the cold waters of a great lake.

She wanted to dissuade him again, but quickly realized that any words or actions at this moment would only be like sparks splashing into an oil drum, making Ron more determined and resolute to walk on the wrong path.

"Ron, wait..." Her voice was weak, almost drowned out by Crookshan's shouts.

Ron took a deep breath, turned his back to Hermione, and said calmly, "Charles is right. You have no purpose in life and cannot understand why others strive to achieve their goals."

After he finished speaking, he strode through the warm and cheerful common room, walked out the door, leaving behind only empty chairs and a cold silence.

Hermione leaned back weakly in her high-backed chair, letting out a barely audible sigh. Her gaze fell unfocused on the parchment in front of her—the few drops of ink seemed particularly glaring and ugly, and the words that described the complex effects of dark magic on the mind seemed pale and powerless at that moment.

Her deepest fears are gradually becoming a reality.

(End of this chapter)