After leaving the office, Dawn made his way back to the Room of Requirement.

His poor toad was still in there. Several hours had already passed—he had no idea how far along the creature’s physical splitting had progressed.

He felt it was his responsibility to stay with it.

“Hey! Dawn!” Hermione called from behind, catching up to him. She had only been distracted for a moment, and he had already pulled far ahead.

Dawn didn’t stop. He simply asked casually, “Yes, Miss Granger? Something the matter?”

“Of course there is!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, quickly walking beside him and turning her head to press him for answers.

“Well, I’m curious… what exactly did you mean in the office when you said ‘your own interpretation of magic’? What does that even mean?”

“Oh, that…” Dawn shrugged. “To put it simply, it’s the perspective from which you view magic.”

“The perspective… from which I view magic?” Hermione repeated, puzzled.

Dawn nodded. Seeing that she didn’t understand, he thought for a moment and pointed at her.

“Let’s use you as an example, Miss Granger.”

“You said earlier that you couldn’t turn living things into non-living ones, right? So, when you use Transfiguration, what exactly goes through your mind?”

“Uh…” Hermione hesitated, then decided to be honest.

“Well, I just think it’s absurd! Turning a living creature into wood or something… I don’t understand how magic can do that at all!”

She let out a frustrated sigh and ruffled her already messy brown hair.

Dawn smiled. “Exactly. Because you haven’t found your own way of interpreting magic, you start to doubt it. And that’s the main reason for your failure.”

As he spoke, he came to a stop.

The staircase leading to the eighth floor had moved elsewhere, so he could only wait.

Hermione frowned. “But… when I turned a matchstick into a needle, I didn’t fully believe in it either!”

“That’s just because you’re talented and have enough magical power,” Dawn replied, thinking of Celestine’s manuscript.

“Apart from spells like the Patronus that rely heavily on intent, whether or not a wizard can perform a spell usually depends on a combination of magical power and mental clarity.”

“You either have enough magic, or your will is strong enough.”

He rubbed his chin and gave a suggestion.

“I don’t know exactly how Professor McGonagall teaches you, but if you truly can’t understand magic yet, just wait. As time passes, your magical power will increase.”

“Since the school places spells like transforming non-living objects into living ones in the first-year curriculum, it means that most young wizards’ magical power will grow enough within a year to manage it.”

Hermione finally understood, and her lips curled downward. “So I just need to believe in magic…”

She looked troubled by the answer.

After being raised in a purely scientific and materialistic environment for seven or eight years, building a worldview that includes magic would take her a long time.

But then—

Hermione suddenly remembered how smoothly Dawn had used Transfiguration back in the office.

“Wait a minute! You also grew up in the Muggle world, didn’t you? How come you weren’t influenced by Muggle education at all?”

“So what if I was?” Dawn gave a dismissive snort. “Miss Granger, magic is not so fragile.”

“If you really can’t forget what you learned in the Muggle world, then you might as well try bringing scientific thinking into magic.”

Hermione blinked. “Scientific thinking?”

“For example, we know that most matter in the world is made up of atoms. So even if one material is transformed into another, at the core, it’s still made of the same basic components.”

Leaning against the wall, Dawn said, “If you think of it that way, wouldn’t it make Transfiguration seem more reasonable to you?”

“I see now!” Hermione’s eyes lit up. “So interpreting magic means finding an explanation that lets you believe in it.”

It felt as if her understanding of magic had suddenly become clear. The frustration she’d felt over how unscientific it all was began to fade.

Whoosh—

Just then, a gust of wind blew down from above.

A long staircase swung into place and connected itself to the second-floor corridor.

As the boy stepped onto the stairs, Hermione quickly followed.

“Dawn, are you going to the library to study?”

“No. I’ve got something else to do in the Room of Requirement.”

Hermione thought of how often he went there and offered help. “What are you working on? Do you need any help?”

“No.” Dawn’s reply was flat and brief.

Hermione puffed her cheeks slightly.

“Then… Dawn, would you say we’re… friends?”

She had stopped at the library level and looked at Dawn as he kept walking ahead. Tugging at the hem of her robe, she gathered her courage and called out loudly.

Hermione believed they counted as friends. Even though Dawn was sharp-tongued and a bit annoying, he treated everyone the same. He wasn’t picking on her in particular.

Besides, they shared many interests and had quite a few moments together. They could really do a lot of things side by side.

She looked at him with hope as he paused mid-step.

But the reply she received was cold—like ice from the Antarctic.

“Friends? Why would you think that? Of course we’re not friends.”

Crack—

It felt like something shattered.

Hermione felt a strange, stifling emotion stir inside her chest, and she sensed an inexplicable gaze upon her.

She instinctively chased up a few more steps. “But… but if we’re not friends, then why did you say all that to me earlier?!”

Dawn tilted his head, looking mildly puzzled.

“You really misunderstood, Miss Granger. It was just some meaningless small talk… Or, if you prefer, you could consider it my way of thanking you for constantly seeking me out.”

Just small talk… or gratitude?

Hermione felt a heavy pressure in her chest.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong, Miss Granger.”

Dawn sighed, placing his hand on the cool wooden railing of the staircase as it began shifting again.

The stairwell turned quickly, everything around them blurring like a dream. Only the space between the two of them remained real.

They stared at each other, like a scene from a film—one without even a trace of romance.

Looking down at Hermione’s hurt expression, Dawn sighed again.

“If you really need a reason,” he said, “then I suppose it’s because… you’re too close to Mr. Potter.”

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