The first day of school at Hogwarts had been very fulfilling—and exhausting.
Although there were only four classes a day, plus eating and basic necessities, Hermione had to navigate more System options than ordinary students. It was a mental marathon.
It's a bit tiring, she thought, stretching her arms as she walked toward the Quidditch pitch. But fortunately, I also gained a lot.
There is a saying: it doesn't matter if you are busy, the main thing is to gain something. Otherwise, it is just being poor and busy. Hermione felt rich in potential, if not yet in power.
The Quidditch Pitch.
There were no cattle or sheep grazing on the manicured lawn of Hogwarts, but there were some small insects that were easily overlooked.
A small, iridescent beetle scuttled through the forest of grass blades, carrying a crumb of bread like a heavy piece of luggage. It was minding its own business, perhaps looking forward to a quiet dinner.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over it.
WHAM!
A head-sized iron ball smashed into the turf, obliterating the insect instantly.
If the little beetle had any last words, it would definitely have been: Mom, there is no need to prepare my dinner...
May there be no Bludgers in beetle heaven.
Standing over the flattened patch of grass, Oliver Wood was explaining the rules of Quidditch to Harry. He had just wrestled the iron ball back into the crate, breathing hard.
"That," Wood said, pointing to the struggling crate, "was a Bludger."
He turned his attention to the largest ball in the box. "This one is called the Quaffle. Twelve inches in diameter, roughly the size of a football. It's bright red so you can see it clearly even in rainy weather."
Wood picked it up, tossing it lightly. "The Quaffle is the main scoring tool for the Chasers. Pass it, throw it through one of the three hoops, and you score 10 points."
He gestured to the three tall gold hoops at either end of the pitch.
"The gameplay is a bit like a combination of basketball and soccer on brooms," Wood explained. "A team has seven players: one Keeper, two Beaters, three Chasers, and one Seeker."
"The Keeper defends the hoops," Wood continued. "The Chasers score. And the Beaters..."
He tapped the struggling box where the iron balls were strapped down.
"Two Beaters protect the team from the Bludgers. Bludgers fly around trying to knock players off their brooms. It's violent, yes. The Beaters use bats to hit them away—preferably at the other team."
The beetle, who had just been thrown into the afterlife by the Bludger, had suffered from this exact violent aesthetic.
"And finally," Wood said, his voice dropping to a whisper of reverence. "The key to victory."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, golden ball the size of a walnut.
"Look, Harry. This is the Golden Snitch."
As he opened his hand, the ball suddenly sprouted delicate silver wings. It hovered for a second, then zipped into the air with a high-pitched humming sound.
"As Seeker," Wood explained to Harry, "your only job is to catch this naughty little guy. You don't worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers—unless they crack your head open."
"Only if you catch this little guy does the game officially end. And catching it earns our team 150 points."
Harry was stunned. "150 points?"
"Yes," Wood said excitedly, his eyes shining with fanatical light. "In other words, Harry, as long as you catch the Snitch, we almost always win."
At this moment, the Snitch zipped past Harry's ear. Instinctively, without thinking, Harry's hand shot out.
Snap.
He caught it.
Wood's jaw dropped. "Harry... that was fast."
The Golden Snitch fluttered its wings against Harry's palm, tickling his skin. It felt warm and alive.
"Good job, Harry!" Wood praised, clapping him on the back. "You are very talented. I believe that as long as you train hard, you will definitely become an excellent Seeker."
"Okay!" Harry said, looking at the golden ball. His blood surged with excitement. Sure enough, a deep love for Quidditch flowed in his bones.
"Hey! Who is it?" Wood suddenly barked, looking toward the shadows of the stands.
Just when Wood had finished explaining, a beautiful figure stepped out slightly to complete her optional task and was finally spotted.
Fortunately, at the exact moment she was discovered, Hermione's optional mission registered as complete.
[Congratulations for completing Option 3 task. Reward: A Comfortable Bicycle Cushion.]
Hermione was satisfied. With this flying plug-in, she could sit on a broomstick and fly comfortably. It was the practical thing she had dreamed of.
Seeing that she had been exposed, Hermione did not hide, nor did she explain immediately.
Just because the System option appeared again.
Hey, Hermione thought wearily. The System is really working overtime. This is going to make me bald from stress.
The blue text hovered over the scene:
[Option 1: Turn around and leave, pretending to possess a guilty conscience. Reward: 1 Electric Toothbrush.]
[Option 2: Squat on the ground, look for the persecuted beetle, and exclaim "Little Barnaby! Little Barnaby! You died so badly..." The performance is required to be vivid, emotion must be invested. Reward: Basic Attribute +1]
[Option 3: In front of Wood and Harry, also perform a 100% empty-handed catch of the Golden Snitch. Reward: 1 Golden Snitch.]
Option 3 was tricky and exposed her skills too much. Option 1 offered a toothbrush—useless.
Option 2 was absurd, dramatic, and humiliating... but it offered Basic Attribute +1.
Hermione took a deep breath. She started to get into the mood. For girls, acting is simply something that is engraved in their bones. As a famous celebrity once said: The more beautiful a woman is, the more she will deceive people.
Now!
In the eyes of Wood and Harry, the moment Hermione turned around, her expression shifted. Those exquisite facial features crumpled into a look of profound pity and heartache.
It was so intense that instead of looking like a spy caught eavesdropping, she made Harry and Wood feel like they had done something unforgivably bad.
Hermione dropped to her knees in the grass.
"Little Barnaby! Little Barnaby! What's wrong with you, Barnaby?"
She scooped up the flattened remains of the beetle.
"Barnaby, you died so miserably!"
Hermione's big watery eyes turned red in an instant. Tears welled up and spilled over. She held the beetle—whose head was deflated and wings crushed by the iron Bludger—in her palm like a fallen soldier.
Hermione's tender body trembled, and her voice sobbed and hitched. It was a beauty crying, a tragic scene that shocked the two boys into silence.
Wood was instantly filled with guilt and confusion, although he hadn't figured out what was going on. He scratched his head, looking at Harry for help.
He bit the bullet and stepped forward. "Primary school girl... what's wrong with you?"
Hermione looked up with a resentful and accusing expression, tears streaming down her face.
"You killed my Little Barnaby," she choked out. "I came to Hogwarts to go to school alone, with only Barnaby as my companion. I didn't expect that... just this morning we were happy... and now I have no bones left... and I died in a foreign land..."
Harry felt his scalp tingle. Although Miss Hermione's performance was slightly exaggerated (naming a beetle "Little Barnaby" and treating it like a brother was odd), the emotion was raw.
And Harry realized with horror: I hit that Bludger earlier during the demo.
He had unintentionally committed beetle-slaughter.