Hogwarts, as a boarding school, relied on house-elves to procure supplies for its staff and students. During major holidays, they'd stock up on festive goods. The steady, long-term orders attracted eager collaboration from Hogsmeade merchants.
Payments weren't on a fixed schedule, typically settled within about two weeks—a reasonable timeframe. Hogwarts never delayed payments.
Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall personally oversaw the transactions, occasionally bringing along gifts crafted by the professors. Snape's potions were the crowd favorite.
This time, a new face accompanied the deputy headmistress.
A young wizard in a neat, long trench coat, with a friendly smile and practical business advice during casual chats. Hogsmeade merchants quickly warmed to Professor Levent, the new hire.
Around four-thirty in the afternoon, McGonagall and the new professor finished their work and returned to Hogwarts, stepping through the school gates.
"Melvin, thank you for joining me in Hogsmeade. I must say, you were absolutely splendid today," McGonagall said, a smile on her face. She was thoroughly impressed with her new colleague, who'd secured more discounts than a certain superior known for shirking duties.
"Happy to help, Professor McGonagall. I learned a lot myself," Melvin replied with a grin.
"You've been at Hogwarts nearly a month. How are you finding it? Settling in?"
"Couldn't be better."
"How's it going with the students? Teaching going smoothly?"
"Very smoothly…"
As Melvin described his unconventional teaching methods, McGonagall sighed inwardly. With decades of teaching experience, she found his approach—covering a semester's material in a week—borderline dark magic.
Still, she had to admit, the test scores proved his bizarre methods worked.
In a few years, Professor Levent might mellow into something more… grounded.
The path stretched toward the castle, the setting sun casting an orange glow over the stonework and grounds, giving the school a lively warmth.
In the courtyard, students not in class chased and played. Younger ones spotted McGonagall approaching and scurried off, their bounding steps more mischievous than fearful. They stopped at a safe distance, resuming their games.
Older students, knowing the deputy headmistress was stern but kind, didn't flee. Some, taking Muggle Studies, even approached to greet Professor Levent.
As they neared the Quidditch pitch, the sounds of laughter and chatter grew louder.
This afternoon was the first-years' flying lesson, still in session, with students practicing on the pitch.
In a corner of the field, a small figure stood at the edge, her bushy brown hair slightly unkempt, gazing up at her classmates soaring above.
Her expression was hard to read, but her posture radiated a quiet loneliness.
Melvin's eyes lingered on her.
McGonagall followed his gaze. "That child…"
A sudden burst of cheers erupted from the pitch. Harry Potter executed a daring flip, prompting Gryffindor students to high-five midair on their brooms. Spectators on the ground joined the celebration, but the lone witch went unnoticed.
Neville Longbottom hesitated, wanting to approach her but holding back when no one else did, lingering uncertainly.
While everyone cheered, the small witch stood out, isolated. A passing broom stirred the air, ruffling her robes and hair, yet she stood straight, alone.
McGonagall's lips tightened, her heart aching for her Gryffindor student. She walked toward the girl.
Melvin followed.
Hermione Granger stared up at the flying figures, her face set with determination, eyes wide and unblinking. She mentally compared their movements to the flying techniques in her books, ready to visualize them, when she noticed two figures approaching.
In the glow of the sunset, the professors drew near, standing beside her.
One was her Head of House, Professor McGonagall, in a neat black robe, lips pursed, her gaze soft.
The other was Professor Levent from Muggle Studies, looking remarkably young—barely older than a seventh-year. His long trench coat fluttered in the evening breeze, collar obscuring part of his face, a few dark strands of hair falling across his forehead. His dark eyes were gentle as he looked down at her.
Why were two professors suddenly here?
Had they found out about her nighttime wanderings?
Was she about to be expelled?
Hermione froze, her face paling, meeting their gazes with a flicker of panic.
McGonagall couldn't fathom why young witches today reacted this way. She was strict in class, sure, but not that intimidating—nothing like Severus. Did her presence alone render students speechless?
Noticing the date, her expression softened. She crouched to meet Hermione's eyes. "Granger, why aren't you practicing?"
"…"
It wasn't about sneaking around the castle.
Hermione relaxed but stayed silent.
Today's flying lesson was group practice. Since many students were new to flying and unsteady with landings, they needed partners to watch them.
Unfortunately, the class had an odd number of students. Paired off, Hermione was the odd one out.
She knew why.
Her four roommates spent their free time gossiping about odd topics—Snape, the Malfoys, Professor Levent's fashion, Flitwick's mustache. Hermione found it a waste of time, preferring to read in the library. After half a month, her roommates stopped including her.
As for the boys, her correcting their sloppy spellwork in Charms that morning probably didn't help.
Madam Hooch had anticipated this, planning to supervise Hermione herself, but the boys were flying too fast and recklessly. To prevent another incident like last time, she had to focus on them.
So, Hermione was left here.
Melvin scanned the pitch, piecing it together. Seeing she didn't want to answer, he didn't press.
Crouching down, he said, "Not a fan of flying lessons, huh? Compared to subjects that challenge your mind, flying's pretty dull. No exams for it, so no big deal if you don't master it."
Hermione didn't know how to respond, staying quiet, though a spark of relief flickered inside.
Flying lessons don't have exams?
McGonagall blinked. "…"
"Melvin, how can you say that? Flying lessons aren't trivial. Quidditch is a cornerstone of wizarding culture…" She looked at Hermione. "Quidditch is fun, and flying gets fun once you get the hang of it. It takes practice. Everyone struggles at first—it's normal. I wasn't great at flying when I was a student either."
"Professor, you're lying."
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