Ron was really hurt by Hermione, this distrust made him feel like he was betrayed by a good friend.
He stood up, made an excuse about feeling unwell, took his bag, and walked away.
"I think you went a bit overboard, sis," Harry said to Hermione, shaking his head.
During the next few classes, Ron completely followed the Half-Blood Prince's advice—even if it was vastly different from the textbook, Ron was willing to trust the Half-Blood Prince's judgment.
As it turned out, the textbook wasn't entirely correct either; Ron could always find an advanced solution to problems, while Hermione, who followed the textbook obediently, brewed potions that were far less satisfactory compared to the ones Ron brewed according to the Half-Blood Prince's instructions.
And Hermione's temper was getting worse, no one could really say why.
In the end, it was Annie who secretly clarified things for Harry.
"She feels she's been surpassed in Potions class, where she was always much better than Ron, and now she lacks a sense of security," she said, "Women crave security, and now she's in an extremely insecure situation; do you think her temper can be good?"
Indeed, women understand women better. Harry felt enlightened upon hearing that.
It seemed like that was really the case!
However, he didn't know how to persuade Ron and Hermione, just hoping that Hermione could come to terms with it.
If Hermione couldn't figure it out, no matter what Ron said, it would be pointless.
Can you ask Ron to give up that notebook? Don't be ridiculous; that notebook is now dearer to him than Quidditch.
In the common room, Ron also discussed at length with Harry, speculating on who the Half-Blood Prince might be.
Due to too much homework, he hadn't been able to carefully read through the "Advanced Potion Making," but he'd skimmed through it roughly, discovering that the Prince had added notes on almost every page, and those notes weren't all related to potion-making.
Some of the notes seemed like spells invented by the Prince himself.
"Look at this spell," Ron said to Harry, "Sectums... What are the letters after that? Help me identify them; I can't quite understand."
"Let me see." Harry took the potion notebook—honestly, the Half-Blood Prince's handwriting was incredibly messy. If you went by Professor Hao Ying's 'writing reflects personality' definition, the Half-Blood Prince mustn't be a tidy person.
At least he wouldn't bathe for an entire year, Harry maliciously speculated.
He studied it earnestly for a while and frowned, saying, "Maybe it's sempra? It looks about right, let me see…"
Harry said, picking up his magic wand.
"Here's the wand's trajectory," Ron said to Harry.
Harry nodded, raising his magic wand.
"Sectumsempra (Divine Shadowless Blade)!"
"No reaction?" Ron asked.
"No, no, no," Harry shook his head, "I think something shot out from my wand... Oh, look!"
Right at that moment, the table in front of them split in two.
"Luckily, it didn't aim at anyone," Ron said, looking at the table with some lingering anxiety.
"I'd never use an untested spell on anyone," Harry rolled his eyes, "It's common sense, common sense!"
Ron shrugged, agreeing it made sense, and then enthusiastically said, "By Merlin's beard, Harry! Is the power of this spell really so strong? It can slice a table... I think this might be a very powerful attack magic."
"Yeah, I wonder if there's a counter curse," Harry looked at the spell, "Let's find it carefully; I think the book should have a counter curse for this spell—"
"I wonder how this spell would affect a Giant," Ron began to imagine, "Could it cut through a Giant's skin, or a Fire Dragon? How would it affect a Fire Dragon?"
"We'll only know after using it," Harry shrugged, "But I think it should deal significant damage to a Giant."
"Do you think," Ron asked, "The Half-Blood Prince is male or female? I think from that handwriting, it seems male, not likely female—how could a girl have such messy handwriting?"
"It might be a woman," Hermione's voice unexpectedly chimed in behind them, "It could even be a girl. I think those notes don't seem like a boy's, more like a girl's."
"He's called 'Half-Blood Prince,'" Ron corrected grumpily, "How many girls call themselves Prince?"
"Ha." Hermione cocked her mouth, "When I was little, I used to call myself a Prince."
Ron ignored her, thinking she was being unreasonable.
"Alright, Ron." Harry nudged Ron's arm, "Put the textbook away for now; there's a Quidditch tryout later."
"I heard there're quite a few people participating in the tryout this year?" Ron said, standing up, "I bet, buddy, this year you're the captain, they're all here for you."
"Makes no sense." Harry chuckled indifferently, "I've been on Gryffindor's team since my first year, if they were interested in me, why didn't they sign up in previous years?"
This indeed made sense.
They left the common room, Hermione standing behind felt like an outsider.
She felt that if she didn't do something, Ron might drift further apart from her.
So, she chased after them.
"What to eat for breakfast?" Ron asked, flipping through the menu, "Oatmeal? Or bread?"
"Eat something more filling." Hermione sat next to Ron, with a somewhat stiff tone, "It's raining outside, you need to eat well to keep warm, otherwise you'll feel cold, affecting performance."
"Thanks." Ron timely offered the olive branch.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, in a way that was barely noticeable.
Just then, the letter-delivering owls arrived, swooping through the rain-splattered windows, sprinkling droplets on everyone's heads and bodies in the Great Hall.
"I feel these owls really need more training," Ron said, slightly angry, "Look at what they're doing? Shaking rainwater all over my food—luckily I blocked it!"
Hermione pursed her lips, also full of anger and dissatisfaction.
Because an owl had drenched her with rain.
Just then, the third owl landed in front of her with the day's "Prophet Daily," diverting her attention.
She quickly opened the package, took out the newspaper, and scanned the front page.
"Anything interesting?" Ron asked, chewing bacon and eggs.
"No," Hermione said, "It's nothing but reports on the Ministry of Magic, seems like another uneventful period—Oh, look here, it mentions Mr. Black, the Minister of Magic, establishing ties with the Muggle Prime Minister again."
"Is that necessary?" Ron asked, somewhat bewildered.
"Of course it's necessary!" Hermione said, "The Muggle World has over a hundred million people, and think about it, how many people are in the British Magic World?"
"A hundred million people?" Ron gasped, "Really? I remember the UK only had a few tens of millions."
"Oh, if you count the Commonwealth Countries." Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"Your words didn't add much," Ron rolled his eyes, "Who doesn't know the current state of the UK Muggle World? Thinking it's the once mighty British Empire?"
Hermione did not refute Ron's words, although for some reason, he felt a bit guilty.
"Okay, let's not dwell on that." Harry wiped his mouth, "Let's focus on what's next—we have the Quidditch tryouts soon, we need to be prepared."