A/N: Thank you so much for the encouragement! I apologize, this is a rather short chapter... but events are well on their way to progressing. Hang tight!
Despite the whirling of thoughts that had plagued her before bed, Hermione awoke earlier than she expected the next morning. The gauzy white curtains fluttering near her window were just beginning to gain a tinge of rose. Casting a quick tempus charm, she flopped back against her pillow at realizing it was only a little before six.
In the distance she could hear the quiet sounds of her Master working in the kitchen. Even though Stelios and Eleni were more than happy and capable of preparing meals, Master Kallas insisted upon preparing her own breakfast three days out of the week, arguing that even House Elves deserved to sleep in and that she quite enjoyed the opportunity to prepare things from scratch.
It was one of many small quirks that Hermione appreciated about the witch, and she snuggled back down into her cozy cocoon of blankets, fiddling with a stray thread, and letting the background noise soothe her into a meditative haze.
Part of her wanted to rise and putter around the kitchen with her Master before she left for the Mainland, but another part was happy to remain where she was. It wasn't entirely unheard of for Master Kallas to give her a day off, but usually breaks were given following an intensive period within her studies and training.
Sleepily, Hermione recalled the past several days which had been a blend of different tasks - largely revisions. Aside from upping the intensity of her morning circuits, it seemed, for now, that the bulk of her new knowledge had been attained and Master Kallas had been leaving her more and more openings to consider her final theses.
Flipping to lie on her side, Hermione looked across her room where a thin strip of sunlight was beginning to grow in size. The sounds from the kitchen had ceased which either meant that her Master had departed or was sitting quietly at the informal table, reading through her correspondence with a cup of (in Hermione's opinion), disgustingly strong espresso.
It seemed surreal that so little and so much time had passed since her departure from Great Britain and how familiar and comfortable she felt about her new life on Naxos.
Aside from the House Elves and her Master, Hermione rarely engaged with anyone outside of the villa. There was the occasional venture into the Muggle villages nearby, and Master Kallas' carefully arranged visits to Athens, Thessaloniki, and the neighboring islands, but for the most part her time was spent in solitude. Her studies were all encompassing and the quiet nature of the villa and the island allowed her to immerse herself in both disciplines with absolute focus.
Briefly, Hermione mulled over the events of the previous day and found herself thinking back to her memory of the conversation with Professor McGonagall in the Head's office. She tried to imagine having chosen a different Master and could not fathom it.
Hermione felt as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff - just a few more feet and she would be free to fall headfirst into the innumerable possibilities and experiences that life had to offer.
She was so close.
Master Kallas was demanding in a way that stretched well beyond the expectations of either Potions or Transfiguration as singular disciplines, and Hermione adored her for it. While she was certain other Masters would have given her the knowledge she had initially sought, there was an all-encompassing approach to Kallas' style that Hermione hadn't even known she craved.
It was no longer enough to know a lot.
Master Kallas expected a well-rounded appreciation and understanding of what felt like everything to Hermione. Potions and Transfiguration came with their respective histories, traditions, and cultures, and her master made sure to contextualize both through careful examination of Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike.
As a result Hermione had been delving into Muggle books on astrophysics and quantum theory alongside her Transfiguration texts, and into the exclusive avenues of mixology, gastronomy, and culinary arts alongside Potions. There was a sense of creativity to her work that felt wholesome - like she was fitting intricate pieces of a puzzle together and the final image was the interconnected potential of her future.
Master Kallas ensured that Hermione attained the foundational principles that would serve as the basis for developing her own perspectives in each discipline, but she also routinely challenged Hermione to think beyond the texts - forcing her to question elemental laws and concepts as soon as she had memorized them - insisting it was imperative that she learn to question everything and that the only means of creating change was to constantly challenge existing preconceptions.
It was exhausting, exhilarating, and slightly terrifying.
Hermione couldn't get enough. She felt herself on the edge of exponential growth and it was intoxicating.
At Hogwarts she had been at the top of her class, lauded by her professors and peers alike for her skill and intellect. The Prophet had heralded her as the "brightest witch of her age," but somehow she had never seen herself through the same eyes.
She worked hard, yes. But it was still work.
Her mind easily absorbed new information but her greatest assets were her patience and discipline. On some level, Hermione had trouble believing that she was really so different; if others had just applied themselves with single-minded zeal, she was convinced that they could easily accomplish the same feats.
Regardless, while Hogwarts had been challenging at times, it was nothing compared to what she was experiencing now. Her new life felt like a constant whirlwind of information, endlessly replenished, and she yearned to keep it moving.
By some unknown stroke of providence, she had been graced with an incredible opportunity and she was ready to grab it with both hands.
Suddenly invigorated, Hermione sat up, throwing off her light cotton blankets and quietly padding to the bathroom. Peering into the mirror, she quickly washed her face with cool water as she considered her options.
She had a full free day to do whatever she wanted. The world was her oyster.
*CRASH!*
Jumping in response to the sound of breaking glass, Hermione skidded back into her room, summoning her wand wordlessly. In the distance she heard a string of curses, a smattering of angry Greek, and the sound of running footsteps and a slamming door. Listening intently for signs of trouble, she was about to open the door and call down the hallway when a large shadow suddenly leapt into view behind the curtains in her window.
Crossing the room in a few short strides, she parted the light fabric with a hand and found herself face to face with a set of large yellow eyes and a furry black face covered in a milky white substance. She felt her Master's bond ripple with displeasure.
Despite her surprise, Hermione suppressed a giggle.
"Schlif! You bad boy! Did you get into Master Kallas' yogurt again?"
The large cat gave her what appeared to be a very smug expression before stepping down from the sill and settling into the window box just outside. There had been a rather large dent in the red gardenias already, and Schlif reclined onto the flowers quite comfortably before beginning to wash his face with a heavy paw.
Hermione chuckled and gave him an affectionate scratch behind an ear. Eleni would be furious about her flowers later, but she couldn't bring herself to chase him away. The cat was a menace around the villa, listening to no one save for Hermione - and even then without any rhyme or reason.
"One of these days they're going to catch you, agori mou."
There was a soft sigh in response as Schlif clearly could not be bothered to care. With a small sniff of amusement, Hermione left him to his bath.
Her dear Crookshanks had been a casualty of the Final Battle and while Schlif looked nothing like her squashed-face feline, Hermione harbored a soft spot for the mischievous monster as she suspected that one of his parents might've also been a Kneazle. Those yellow eyes possessed too much intelligence to be innocent and he had an uncanny knack for finding obscure escape routes in the face of certain entrapment.
Pulling open her wardrobe, Hermione decided to begin her morning with a swim.
As a child she had been a proficient swimmer, even joining the girl's swim team for a season before Hogwarts had taken her away. Her parents kept a vacation home in the French Riviera, but as her vacations became shorter and shorter with each successive year at Hogwarts, she hadn't had time to spend on such frivolities.
Naxos had been the perfect opportunity to rediscover her love of the water. Combined with her physical training regimen, it was quickly becoming a vital part of her routine that left her both physically and mentally relaxed.
The sound of light, musical laughter reached her ears and Hermione's eyes narrowed.
Her body rippled with her Master's amusement and the immediate spark of curiosity it ignited served to remind her of the previous evening's discussion.
The tingling feeling began to dissipate and Hermione resumed the perusal of her wardrobe, suddenly inspired to look for a flash of color - Ah! Yes!
The Naxos villa was Secret Kept, and though it had taken her a bit of time, Jean Granger was never one to back down from a good riddle. Hermione's mother had eventually deduced that her daughter was studying somewhere in the Greek islands and had consequently sent a package containing a few clothing items that had made Hermione blush. She had buried the items at the bottom of her wardrobe, certain there would never be an opportunity to wear such... revealing things.
Pulling out the red swimsuit, she pulled off the small note.
This should turn a few heads, don't you think? Wear it well!
Love you!
Xoxo,
Mum
Yes, Mum.
Yes, it would.
Quickly pulling it on, Hermione took a moment in the full-length mirror to appreciate the suit's suggestive nature. A brilliant shade of garnet, the suit was a full-piece, but had tasteful cut-outs on the sides and a deep-V in the middle that made it more daring an item than Hermione would have ever purchased for herself. It was made from a beautiful satin-y material that clung to her like a second skin, showing off her new athletic body and bronze tan while still allowing her to move comfortably.
She had intended to save it for a private swim at some point, but the brash lioness within longed to see her Master's reaction. Especially after last night.
It was a simple thing.
Childish, really.
But Hermione had a difficult time believing her Master's words were true. "You are a beautiful woman, Hermione. But more than that, you are a compelling witch. Brilliant, selfless, motivated, curious. I can see why Minerva thinks highly of you…"
Turning side to side, Hermione gave herself another once over before casting another tempus.
Six-thirty.
She heaved a sigh and paced a quick circuit around her room, hands on hips, fingers drumming while she thought. It was a swimsuit. She was going to train. Who cared what Master Kallas thought anyway?
Hermione arrived back to the mirror and looked at her reflection again. For a moment, she considered tearing the suit off, donning her usual conservative speedo and marching straight down to the sea. There was work to do. Things to learn. A day to seize.
But she couldn't.
Who cared what Master Kallas thought? Well, apparently Hermione Granger did.
"Get a grip! Are you a Gryffindor or not?" she hissed.
While she wasn't completely objective, the irate woman in the mirror was indeed striking. The deep red set off her tan nicely and the V revealed a hint of her toned abdominals and the subtle outline of both breasts without appearing tasteless. The sides were high cut, making her toned legs appear long and willowy while highlighting the gentle curves of her bum.
Hermione took a moment to shake out her curls, flipping her head and tossing both hands through to remove the tangles from sleep. When she surveyed herself once more, her cheeks were flushed and her hair settled around her face like a lion's mane. Gryffindor indeed.
Well?
Turning, Hermione grabbed a fluffy white towel off the door to her bathroom, snapping it in her haste to leave.
It was time to bid her Master a good morning.
Greek translation:
agori mou - my boy