Deep Roots Studio, Flask Walk, Hampstead, London (4th Session)

"This will be our last week together, dear. Do you need me to charm anything else?"

Ever since Hermione got wind of Harry's relations nearly burning her first letter – the sadness and apology evident in his reply – it took her a bit to control her irritation, thoughts churning rapidly with particular colour in retaliation on her best friend's behalf.

Rather harmless, non-threatening imaginings anyway. She doesn't want the Dursleys to suffer, per se, but just be a trifled bit inconvenienced. The twins might find it boring and absolutely 'muggle' but Hermione believes not everything should be done heavy-handedly. Maybe some sneezing powder here, non-food flavoured beans there, or a few rattles and shakes everywhere. Just minor things that'll cheer Harry up…

…but might amp up the Dursleys' paranoia.

On second thought, maybe that's not such a good idea. They'd definitely blame Harry for everything, like they've always done when something even slightly unusual happens in their home.

Then again, Harry might still think it's worth it. He'll encourage her even and be a co-conspirator. She doesn't want to know what'll happen when Ronald gets involved. And where there's mischief, the twins will definitely hear of it and get in on the action.

Decisions…decisions…

Eventually, she brushed the thoughts aside. Thinking it over, her mother would certainly have words with her, seeing as Hermione just had her own encounter with vile magic, albeit, indirectly, so she shouldn't do unto others what she doesn't want done to her, her mother would scold gently, wagging a stern finger.

…what you send out…comes back…

…what you sow…you reap…

…what you give…you get…

It doesn't help her inner conscious started to sound more and more like Mrs. Lebedeva, with each passing lesson on inner peace and the concept of karma.

And expulsion is absolutely not an option. Not at all. And not worth the risk for a little prank. Although that might seem like an extreme – since she's still studying up the laws of the Ministry of Magic – it has happened to muggle schools before. Better be on the safe side. For now.

Still thinking over her new conundrum, Hermione marched to the well-kept shelving that housed their family's modest collection of books, with careful fingers gliding over their spines, mind sharpening for a solution while feeling an undercurrent of fond sentiment.

She's grateful her parents never really thought twice about letting her skim through any of the reading materials in their library; nothing was explicitly restricted, as far as she knew. Even as her younger and tiny form grew coordinated enough to hold onto the rolling ladder while browsing, they never really told her 'no'. They just kept an eye out in case of a fall.

But she's realizing the downside to her parents' sometimes permissive style was the brand of…creativity she's developed over the years, thinking they might be useful someday – in case of an emergency, or upon threat of force. Whichever comes first.

The horror and mystery section was easy enough to reach – quite a quirky part of her mother's collection, if she really thought about it. Must be why the woman is so fond of scheming and exploring hidden places – as unfitting as it may seem on such a bubbly personality – and add to that her extraordinary intuition, you'd get either a very thoughtful gesture of care, or an act of particular deviousness, which almost always is at the expense of her ever patient dad.

That said, Hermione didn't want to add to his long-suffering, even when he's such a good sport about it.

Her hand paused over one familiar volume. It's about eight a half inches tall, with a rich, marbled background, and an enchanting scene of a mermaid lounging in a patch of reef, blonde hair floating ethereally in the water on the cover.

The Complete Illustrated Stories of Hans Christian Andersen…

Holding on to its dust jacket, she slowly pulled it out, reminiscing on the times when she'd turn to the beautiful pictures within to transport herself to places she'd only dream of, to think of other things than the burden of her intellect; how different she was from her peers. How, strange things keep happening around her when emotions run high, making any playmate wary of approaching her – of approaching the wildly bushy-haired girl with abnormally large front teeth on a pudgy face, and too sharp eyes that see everything.

Mousy 'Mione, they'd call her, back when she was particularly shy. Beaver Jeaner, they'd jeer, at their most cruel, behind her back. The memory of cold, stale, pond water running through her hair, mixed in with the putrid green of the algae still makes her shiver involuntarily to this day.

She took a deep, meditative breathe before opening up to a well-marked place, caressing the page fondly: The Snow Queen, a tale on the struggles between good and evil, as experienced by two children.

Children who miraculously survived extraordinary events through the seasons with help from other beings…

…see you grow…if you have what it takes…

Other…beings…

Hermione groaned, smacking herself on the forehead. Get help. She could get help. Of course! How could she forget she has a new teacher now; a teacher who volunteered to help her. Her own mentor, she emphasized, a little giddily, to herself, squeezing her book to her chest.

Armed now with a plan – at the end of their second session, with Mrs. Lebedeva guiding her for cool down stretches – Hermione haltingly recounted, in between positions, some of her side ventures at school, how she came about making friends at the most unlikely place – in an unconventional way – and how essential it is that she sends mail this summer because of that friendship.

Straightening up, Mrs. Lebedeva simply turned and faced her, holding out her hands, and gesturing for her neat stack of blank envelopes nearby. Hermione gave them without question, watching as the older witch drew them near her mouth and enunciated in a soft but clear voice, "Protego Exosculatio".

Hermione raised her brow in surprise. It's odd her Teacher bothered to use Latin at all, being married to a Russian wizard, who probably used Slavic words to convey magic – that book on the 'top most spoken languages in the world' was a fascinating read – and the fact that the Asian-looking woman has a rather neutral accent herself suggests she has a native language of her own. Even as flawless as Mr. Lebedev's English was, he still has a perfunctory way of speaking it. Not in a rude manner but just…concise? Practical?

Hopefully, she'll get to find out soon. Being able to perform wandless and wordless magic is such a massively superior skillset –

Hermione will never feel powerless again.

On that note, she absolutely can't wait until she's qualified to be taught by Mr. Lebedev, Hermione thought, feeling a tinge of warmth on her cheeks and up her neck.

She shook her head, managing to resist slapping her cheeks. She can't get ahead of herself. Mrs. Lebedeva offered first, and kindly so. She needs to focus on the present, and be the best at present. She nodded decisively.

Hermione's thoughts were cut short as pink and white wisps of light twinkled at the corner of her eye. She looked up just in time to see a shimmer of an illusion over her letters before it dissolved quickly into the plain paper. Seeming to have ignored her absentmindedness, Teacher Lebedeva gave them back with a small smile, eyes alight with humor. "There. Your messages will seem like they are just part of the house billings. Let's hope your friend pays enough attention to tell the difference," she noted with a quick wink.

Blinking from the memory, Hermione replied, looking up at her teacher with a shake of her head. "No. It's alright, Mrs. Lebedeva. I'll be seeing him at Diagon Alley. But I'll practice the charm at school. I almost used my wand again at home."

Hermione watched, with her head tilted almost parallel to the ground, as her teacher smoothly contorted her body like a pretzel. The older witch still faced her but her head was upside down. Hermione learned this stance, aptly enough, is called a Pigeon Pose, which stretches muscles in the hips, and bottom, while internally aids in one's digestion.

Personally, Hermione's not sure if she could be comfortable doing something like that in her lifetime.

"It's alright. Using a wand has become a reflex. This summer is just the beginning. By the time we advance your routines in the coming years, you will be as comfortable without wands as you are with them."

"…I thought I'd get the hang of it within weeks, maybe months. Not years." Hermione complained lowly, but dejectedly. The fancy dove cradled in her arms cooed at her softly, snuggling against her chest in comfort, with its tail feathers fanned out over her right arm and brown neck feathers puffed up more to tickle her left.

Her teacher regarded her with a kind expression. "Your education revolves around the use of wands almost exclusively when handling magic. Even if you grew up within a magical household, you will still see parents or relatives using wands whenever and wherever.

You are not slow, dear, as you might be thinking now. In fact, the wand is an entirely European invention. Not everyone in the world needs to use one."

Hermione widened her eyes, never having read about that.

Mrs. Lebedeva chuckled before moving her body back to the Lotus position with an elegant twist. Hermione placed down Yuuya on the floor with a careful bounce – the pitter patter of tiny talons drifting away at the sight of seeds – before scrambling for her notepad and pen, recognizing her Teacher's 'lecture pose'.

Mrs. Lebedeva began, melodious voice drifting towards Hermione's attentive figure in pleasant tones.

"Magic is older than any being, any society, or any civilization. Some cultures believe it is life itself, and that we are part of it. Be that as it may, if we are beings made up of this fantastical phenomenon, why then do some manifest it, but others could not? Why is there such a difference in so-called purebloods and, I think you call them, squibs? This is what we'll study in the coming years.

Now, according to scientific studies, Africa is considered the cradle of human kind. The non-magicals that hypothesized this have unknowingly paralleled what mystical theorists have always thought of the continent: the source of all magic. The earliest known records of casted magic was in Egypt, thousands of years ago, back when magicians were revered. They had the ability to relieve sickness and foretell if crops will flourish; advising their pharaoh during hard times. And no. Unlike the ones on stage, magician is a dated term for wizards and witches. It's actually entertaining to think its current meaning is a hot debate in the magi-scholastic community at large.

Moving forward, these 'records' are not always reliable because of the lack of abundant writing material – Ah yes, question?"

"I think I've watched a documentary about the pyramids," interjected Hermione politely, lowering her arm. "Archaeologists found carvings on stone walls or tablets – the normal mode of written communication. They could be as important as a kingdom decree or as ordinary as a shopping list…?"

"Exactly. Can you imagine carrying around large flat stones, trying to hammer pictures of what I'm saying now?" Mrs. Lebedeva joked with raised brows.

They both looked down at her notepad and pen. Hermione held them up as if they were larger and heavier; miming her pen like it's a chisel, trying to scratch out something on her 'stone'. They both gave a good laugh.

"Isn't there the pap…papie…pa-py-rus? Weren't the Egyptians the first ones to use it? The pyramids and other dig sites have loads of those, at least from what the telly said. Although they did look very delicate."

"Indeed, and there is a reason for that, not just because of age. Papyrus isn't exactly a dependable material if you want your written thoughts to last for more than a lifetime.

Papyrus is made out of natural material, from one part of a specific plant. They were abundant around the largest river delta, so they were very accessible. But anything natural can decompose, like fruit peels or dead leaves. It has been processed and shaped by man of course but it isn't as sturdy as man-made materials like plastic or, say, metal. And I think they call these things bio-degrad-able, correct? So, this particular material, according to an associate in Cairo, will last for years in the arid climate of the desert. But once you store it within a damp environment, it will develop molds, and eventually disintegrate.

It's not until the invention of parchment as we know it and another called vellum, that man could write down plans, journals, journeys, memoirs, lessons, and the like. And no, unfortunately the old magicians have not bothered to discover a way to preserve their written work. They feared their secrets and possessions would be shared amongst the masses.

As revered as they were during that period, they were still public figures. Basically, like celebrities. Any item that could be swiped from them could be sold at lucrative prices."

-{-}-

Miya paused, giving her new pupil time to finish writing, the sound of frantic scribbling making her smile.

She watched as Hermione scrunched her eyebrows delicately, crossed out some words, paused, and then wrote more enthusiastically, no doubt adding in her own thoughts. She appreciated the studiousness of one so young; that she would pay such serious attention to detail.

Miya can only count in one hand the number of people that has this much sincere love for learning in her lifetime.

Her husband did not lie when he said Hermione has potential. If her parents are amenable, she would like to bring her to a reserve in the Balkans to further her studies in the natural world in a year or two. She may need to arrange a few things with an associate there to make it happen. Her student is still rather young.

When she had Hermione's attention again, Miya continued. "Consequently, the most reliable method of passing down instructions is through spoken word. Magicians did not use wands or staffs, as old paintings would imply. They prayed, they chanted, they blessed, and they brewed potions and elixirs. They execute their gift, which they associate with certain deities – by gestures and spells – which then are passed down from one apprentice to the next through storytelling."

It took Miya a few seconds to notice Hermione rubbing her left wrist. Her young face showing unusual distaste.

"Ms. Granger? Am I going too fast?"

The young witch look startled from her contemplation before her face turned a rosy hue. "I'm sorry, Teacher. It won't happen again."

Miya frowned, worried. "It was not my intent to scold you, little one. I wanted to know what's wrong."

Hermione seem to reflexively hide her arm behind her back before her mind caught up to her. Her shoulders slump down, head tilted down in embarrassment.

Miya cleared her expression, looking at her student for a few more moments before moving her torso forward and offering her hands up patiently to the distressed girl. There was silence for a long time before Hermione hesitantly placed her smaller hands over hers.

"Ms. Granger. Hermione. Dear one. I may not be the right person, and we've only interacted for only a fair few times but let me still say this:

I am here for you.

I am your teacher. I am your guide. I am your support.

Remember your parents' love. Remember the new friendship that has saved your life.

No matter how much the world has turned on its head, there are constants in life that are worth fighting for. That are worth remembering," Miya finished with a gentle squeeze. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she spoke again, voice changing into a soothing, low manner. The aim: to calm.

"Follow my instructions. Listen to my voice.

Breathe in through your mouth. Taste the sun's rays, let it warm you…

Take in the details of Yuuya's feathers. How they glisten in the light and darken in the shade. Let it take hold…

Take in the smell of parchment, the tomes, and the incense. Take in the smell of my perfume. Take in the smell of your hair. Let it surround you…

Take in the sound of my voice, how I modulate it – low and high. Take in the gentle strum of the shamisen in the music. Take in the sound of the rustling leaves in the trees and bushes. Let them sweep you away to a better place…

Take in the texture of my hands and how they differ from yours. Take in how rough they are, from years of hard work. Let yourself feel…let yourself fall…

Take it all in…and breathe out…

Slow…and steady.

Slow… and steady."

-{-}-

Hermione instinctually closed her eyes as Mrs. Lebedeva spoke, the mix of English and the lilting tones of a foreign language unwinding the tense muscles of her back and shoulders; the larger but petite hands cradling hers had her reeling gently back from her inner pit, the morose thoughts that she tried to keep at bay.

By the end of the third loop of the mantra, she squeezed back Mrs. Lebedeva's hands and gradually let go, straightening up with one final breathe out and opened her eyes.

She was met with a serene smile and Yuuya's insistent cooing, hopping over to her and tilting his head to eye her better in concern. She smiled widely and couldn't resist petting him under his beak and over his head feathers.

Mrs. Lebedeva tilted her head, observing her calmer demeanor. "I said something that reminded you of a dark place," she stated.

Hermione pursed her lips briefly and shrugged. "Something like that. I couldn't help remembering back when my magic… didn't always feel like a gift."

Mrs. Lebedeva's expression cleared immediately, voice gentled. "Naruhodo. Maltreatment of witches and wizards has been prevalent in many cultures for many a millennia. What is not understood by man is something to be feared – hence the persecutions. I'm sure you've heard of the witch trials in your country, yes? Thus was the great need to keep hidden – separate, yet close, to the 'normal' world."

"I read about it, yes. But…if that was the case," Hermione started, looking up in a shy but ever curious manner. "How come you and Mr. Lebedev adapted so well with the mugg – I mean non-magicals?" Hermione corrected, remembering the Lebedevs' avoidance of using the term for some reason. She took up her notepad and pen again, which fell during her episode.

"Oh! We were brought up with very accepting societies. Most parts of Asia have rather laidback views when it comes to the presence of magic. It's closely associated to spiritual enlightenment. Our philosophers and spiritual leaders focus their energies on either self-discovery or familial unity. But, there are those that are quite traditional about it and are rather rigid in their rituals. It's honestly tiring honestly.

Russia on the other hand, is at ease with magical and non-magical interactions, especially after the end of their monarchy. There were a few centuries of killings though due to a shift of the country's religions. But like I said, persecution of the unknown is a common… 'practice'.

Koldovstvoretz…or was it Koldovsdvoretz? – Pardon me. I keep forgetting. My mouth gets tongue tied with the name – the largest magical institute of Russia, accepts pureblood, half-blood and non-magicals without discrimination. They even have subjects and extra-curricular activities that include the arts, and dances, sciences, and – "

" – Sciences?!" Hermione is starting to wonder when she'll stop getting surprised.

She hopes not.

Mrs. Lebedeva giggled. "Yes. Sciences. Astronomy is basically the same discipline. Potion-making is not unlike cooking or beverage mixing.

Oh but the Inventions class is a popular subject! It is useful, my husband says. That may have led to his interest in innovation – he claims he's the best in school. No one has beaten his record for pulling apart things and putting them back together again, he says. I haven't seen anything to the contrary so I believe him. For now.

Also, I remember he told me that during their civil wars, their school housed their students and their families during the vacation months to help with their needs when they couldn't afford it on their own. I thought this was such a marvelous undertaking that I had our family send donations annually so the school can continue this service."

-{-}-

Miya paused again before suppressing a smile at Hermione's stunned expression. Her eyes were so wide, and with hair an even prettier mess from her student's head scratching, Miya had to cover her mouth with both hands to contain her loud chortles.

She watched as the younger witch started to mutter under her breath, begging a quick pardon, before diving into her pad and doing some hasty notations, all while walking to the lounge area. Hermione's hand was going from left to right across the paper rapidly, seeming to have forgotten the world around her. Her other hand was busy leafing through her textbooks and summoning some more from the bookshelves.

After a while of finishing up her last stances, Miya stood and approached silently behind her student and took a peek over a small shoulder. What she saw made a grin grow on her face.

At the sound of the studio door opening, she patted the top of Hermione's head fondly before preparing some drinks for her other students of the day.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Swan! So sorry we're late. A patient was being difficult with his root canal."

"Who'd have thought that an army veteran was so squeamish," chirped Mrs. Granger, graciously accepting the warm cup of orange lavender tea.

"It's quite alright, Mr. Granger. We were just done with some history lesson, and a small bit of social responsibility."

"…what?"

Diagon Alley, backdoor of the Leaky Cauldron, Charing Cross Road, London

"Do you reckon we need to visit the bank, darling? This is an absurd amount of books from only one author. Are your professors fans of this person's work?" asked Cynthia with a raised brow, skeptically checking their shopping list again.

"I know we have enough, mum. The rate didn't change from two days ago. I checked."

"How much are the books, Dia?"

"They're about…35 Galleons."

"So that'll be…200 Pounds?! That's daylight robbery!"

By this time, Hermione ran up dutifully to Flourish and Blotts, noticing the unusual line of gaggles of gabbling older witches. When she took a look inside through the display window, there's some sort of commotion at a large table at the back, overflowing with what looks to be several shiny new books. She raised her brows as she looked over at the other display window, seeing the very books her parents were complaining about.

All seven required school books have pictures of a wizard with a blinding smile, poofy hair, and in different poses, depending on the title of the book. A mountain range served as backdrop for Year with the Yeti; a pretty nightscape for Voyages with Vampires; and a dilapidated but decadent seating room for Gadding with Ghouls. They're all arranged around the biggest tome she's ever seen, Magical Me.

He must be very accomplished to have written down this many volumes at a young age, Hermione mused. Published biographies like these usually take a lifetime to produce. Still, she wonders why these are all needed at school if they just need to know about the author. One, would be enough.

Thinking back, most of her professors have been teaching for several years and most likely already have their preferred course books for their students in all levels. It's why the Weasleys could just give their younger siblings their hand me downs since they usually don't change unless there's an updated version of the book, which to Hermione seems like a rare thing, if she'll judge the sometimes dated looking clothes wizards prefer to wear or even just the use of quills instead of pens, or if they have someone new to replace their professors, who then may have a different take on what he or she wants to teach the students.

This now brings her to think of the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor – whoever they are. He or she must be a big fan of this…Gilderoy Lockhart. There's no other explanation for it.

She jogged back to her parents, telling them the thirty percent discount they'll get when they buy the seven books in a bundle.

"Well, at least that's something. Oh look, buttercup. Isn't that your new friend? He seems a bit…smoked?"

Hermione turned in time to see a dusty Harry, walking with a very large and burly man, guiding him out of a dodgy looking alley.

"That's a mighty big bloke."

"Dad, that's Rubeus Hagrid, the school groundskeeper I told you about."

"I didn't think you meant it literally when you said he was as tall as a giant!" Mr. Granger hissed in Hermione's ear, sizing up the school staff member with slight trepidation.

"Half-giant, actually. And don't worry. He's quite lovely for someone his size.

Wait, I think Harry's glasses are broken again. I'll meet you inside the bookstore." Hermione said hurriedly before she took off.

"Oh look, it's Mr. Weasley! And my, are all the red heads his? And they're all equally ashy. Mr. Weasley, good morning!" called Cynthia with a merry wave.

The said wizard looked up before murmuring to his group to go on ahead of him before he walked over to the couple with a wide smile.

"Grangers! It's very good to see you. Very good. How are you? Where's Hermione? Ah, found our lost ward, has she. He's been with us this summer you know. My boys got him out from being nicked in his aunt's house. Like a jailhouse. They put bars on his windows. Can you imagine that?"

"Is he a trouble maker?"

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "Oh Merlin, no! Harry's a good lad. Very polite. A little quiet. According to my son, Ron, his relatives don't exactly welcome him being a wizard. They'd throw him out if they could."

The brunette couple scrunched their brows and frowned, having an idea of the type of people those relatives might be.

"That's just awful. They're just like us, aren't they? No magic?" William clarified in a soft voice.

"They're muggles, yes. But unlike you, they think magic is something frightening. Harry's being outed as the black sheep of the family. Not a good place to grow up in, honestly." Mr. Weasley intoned with an emphatic shake of his head.

"Doesn't he have anywhere else to go? Other relatives?" Cynthia inquired with a tilted head.

Mr. Weasley warily looked around before continuing in a lowered voice. "We think so. But he's safest where he is, Dumblebore said. He even added protection spells to the house to better his security."

The couple gave each other a side glance, silently questioning the wisdom of the decision but also the odd favoritism from one of the most celebrated wizards of all time, if their readings are anything to go by.

Having recently been educated on other types of learning environments that are available in other parts of the world, they've been wondering about Hogwarts'. All they knew last year was that Hermione is more gifted than they realized and they wanted her to pursue her goals somewhere they felt she'll fit in better, make friends that are like her, and grow to be a well-rounded woman. These ponderings then extended to the school's current Headmaster. From what they've read, he's one of the reasons why the school encourages non-magical children to learn, fighting for their right to formal education. He's earned various accolades for his contributions to alchemy, and is practically perfect in every way – at least in the papers.

But with this new information, Cynthia thinks there is definitely more than meets the eye than a distant administrator of an institution. From their experience, people of his caliber and position are more likely to show up at public events for a photo-op or too busy managing the school in various capacities behind closed doors. Thus, being less likely to interact with the school populace.

However, showing such attention for any single student is a little uncommon unless the said student is particularly gifted and could possibly earn the school a better reputation. Cynthia knows that this might be her bias talking but she knows Hermione has achieved her own sets of merit with much hard work and focus. Harry, and in extent, Ron, hasn't given her that impression yet.

Then again, she's not decades old enough to acquire the level of insight that the Headmaster must have to have seen something in the boy. Nonetheless, there's still something not right; something that's missing to complete the puzzle of her understanding. This year seems odd to her since the 'textbooks' that are required don't seem particularly for learning. Maybe she could sneak in useful spell books from the store. Or maybe encourage Hermione to explore that huge library she raved about at the castle. Or maybe…

William watched as his wife completely absorbed herself in her musings. He understood where her train of thought might be going but it could take a while to knock her off from it. So he turned back to the red head, cutting him off politely from his enthusiastic ramble about the mechanism of coffee makers.

" – Mr. Weasley, did you get to see that line? I think we'll be here by nightfall before we get to buy any school books."

"Ah! That's for the book signing. Here, I'll help you squeeze in. Molly's already inside with the kids."

Flourish and Blotts, Diagon Alley, Charing Cross Road, London

Hermione stood in awe as the author of the books himself came out of the back doorway, grin gleaming, glittering robes shining with tiny triangle patterns, like a Starling, decorating the edges and enhancing the blue hue. The overall effect directs every eye in the crowd towards his face and his wavy hair, which shined like spun gold in the light.

She tilted her head with a small smile, musing how contrary he looked to Mr. Lebedev, the only other good-looking wizard she's seen so far. If he ever considers smiling more out in the open, he'd definitely be a hit with the ladies as well, if not more so, with his mysterious appeal. But despite his attractive features – striking blue eyes, dove-grey hair, masculine built, and impeccable dress in various muggle suits – he seems more content with his wife's company, and occasionally the Grangers', either listening quietly during the studio sessions, reading a spread or some of the tomes, or out in the gardens, talking on his hand held device or to thin wisps of silver that dissipates away after relaying some sort of message to him in different voices.

One time, she caught him cast something large and has wings but disappears in a rush with the wind before she could properly identify it.

She quickly dropped her smile when she saw Harry being held like a trophy on the wizard's arm, posing for several pictures for the photographer that suddenly squeezed through her and her parents besides the Weasley brood.

Hermione huffed, vexed at her friend's maltreatment. He already struggled in school with the whispers about his scar and his life. Putting his face on the front page won't help at all. They have to keep a low profile after last year's fiasco.

She broke from her thoughts when Lockhart started to speak, giving the bespectacled boy the complete set of his work, narrating it like how an article in the paper would sound like. She clapped along with everyone else while rolling her eyes up at her parents. Her mother was trying, and failing, to contain the humor in her eyes while her father just stood with a deadpan expression.

Hermione was just glad that's not their new professor. She can't imagine learning anything except how to work a crowd.

Author's Note: And that's the rise and fall of Hermione's 'crush', since she has a better point of reference. Maybe she'll develop a preference to more East European features? ;3 (Thought I'd add a bit more details about Hermione in this chapter and fixed up the structure.)

Thank you so much to all that have taken a peek into this story, especially those that are interested enough to follow and review.

EDIT: 10/20/2020 Requested Translations / Explanation:

Protego Exosculatio - roughly means 'protect billings' in Latin. Completely made up! xD

What Mrs. Lebedeva did is called a Grounding Technique. You can do it whichever way but basically, you have to focus your five senses, one by one, on things that would physically help you keep present. To keep the anxiety and stress at bay enough to manage them.

Shamisen (三味線) - a traditional two-stringed instrument in Japan.

Naruhodo (なるほど) - 'I see; I understand completely' in Japanese.

I assumed the exchange rate between Muggle and Wizarding currency changes rapidly, depending on the country's economy. I don't even want to think about how wizarding economy works if it was separate. *mindblown*

daylight robbery - English metaphor meaning 'you are charged a lot of money for something that should cost a lot less or even nothing at all.'

Dodgy - English slang for 'dubious'. And Knockturn Alley is that and more.

Onwards!

Reine