The Gryffindor common room was emptying out as the night wore on, but Hermione was far from ready to sleep. She stood near the fire, pacing furiously, clutching a few of her S.P.E.W. pamphlets in one hand. Her hair frizzed slightly more than usual, a sure sign she was upset.

—“You don’t understand!” she burst out, glaring at you. “This is important! It’s not just some silly project—this is about fighting for their rights! How can you just sit there and suggest I slow down?”

You watched her, letting her words spill out like a storm. She ranted about how no one else seemed to care, how the house-elves were trapped in a system that convinced them to love their own servitude. Her voice trembled with passion, her hands waving as if she could shape the world itself with sheer will.

But when she finally noticed that you weren’t arguing back, she froze. Her expression softened just slightly.

—“You think I’m being… too radical, don’t you?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking much smaller than before.

—“I just… I can’t stand by while something so unfair continues. Maybe I’m going about it the wrong way, but at least I’m trying.”

She bit her lip, glancing at you almost nervously.

—“You still support me, right?” The question slipped out like it mattered more than she wanted to admit.