Seven o'clock in the evening.
The crescent moon was just rising.
It was late autumn in the Scottish Highlands, and the air was already turning chilly. The moonlight spilled across the ground, casting a silvery Sean that looked like a thin layer of frost. A cool breeze blew in from the Forbidden Forest, rustling the branches of the Whomping Willow, which shook off its yellowing leaves.
They say when the Whomping Willow's leaves are nearly gone, it's about to snow.
There weren't many leaves left.
Melvin pulled his gaze away, tugging his collar tighter, and quickened his pace toward the castle.
He crossed the grounds and stepped into the entrance hall.
The castle corridors were dimly lit, perfectly matching the Halloween vibe. Mrs. Norris was curled up in a shadowy corner, licking her fur, her eyes glowing faintly. Melvin gave the caretaker's cat a quick nod and continued down the corridor, soon arriving at the Great Hall's entrance.
The Halloween feast was in full swing.
The staff table was almost fully occupied, with only two empty seats. Dumbledore sat at the center, noticing Melvin in the doorway. He looked up, flashed a warm smile, and gave a playful wink.
Snape's eyes met Melvin's too, but his expression remained blank as he looked away, clearly lost in thought about the whereabouts of the missing professor.
Melvin scanned the Gryffindor table and the staff table. Professor Quirrell was absent—probably off "chatting" with a troll, Melvin mused. And that young witch wasn't there either. Looks like the sweets he'd given her hadn't been enough to patch up the fragile friendships among the first-years.
"…"
Melvin paused to think, returned Dumbledore's smile, and headed down the corridor lined with glowing jack-o'-lanterns toward the girls' bathroom.
Bats, conjured to enhance the festive mood, flapped chaotically along the walls and ceiling. The night breeze carried the sound of their wings. The bathroom was empty, but in the distance, Melvin spotted a shadow moving behind the courtyard bushes.
The open courtyard was cloaked in gloom, lit only by the faint glow of the moon.
The gorse bushes were dotted with small, butterfly-shaped yellow flowers that gave off a faint coconut scent. A young witch sat behind them, hugging her knees, her chin resting on them.
She always seemed to be alone whenever he saw her.
Melvin approached quietly. "Miss Granger, what're you doing sitting out here?"
"Professor Levent?" Hermione stood up, a little flustered.
Melvin's gaze dropped slightly, noticing her red-rimmed eyes and nose. It didn't look like she'd been crying—more like the cold wind had gotten to her.
"I was just at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade for their Halloween special," he said. "Thought I'd swing by the bathroom to wash up before joining the feast, but then I saw you sitting here. The average temperature in Scotland is about seven degrees Celsius cooler than London. Keep sitting out here in this wind, and you'll probably wake up with a cold tomorrow. For wizards, a cold's no big deal, but from a Muggle perspective, the stuffy head and runny nose are miserable."
Hermione's mind spun, trying to process his words. She blinked hard against the sting of the wind in her eyes, her throat tight. "Professor, you don't need to worry about me. I'll head back soon."
Melvin sat on a nearby stone bench, letting out a sigh. The seat was a bit cold. "Hogwarts doesn't have a counselor, but I happen to know a thing or two about it. As a professor, I feel obliged to step in and offer you a quick session."
Hermione didn't respond.
"Go on, tell me what's been going on with you."
"…"
Hermione sat down beside him. Maybe it was the sweets from last time, but she seemed willing to open up to this makeshift counselor.
It took her a while to start talking. "When I got my Hogwarts letter, my parents weren't thrilled about me coming here. It's so far from home, and I'd only be back for Christmas and summer. When they dropped me off at the platform, my mum was still trying to talk me out of it. She said I only know how to study, not how to get along with people. I told her I could learn…"
"My mum said I should try to see things from other people's perspectives. I've tried, but it doesn't seem to work.
"When casting spells, you're supposed to flick your wrist at a fifteen-degree angle and use a rising tone for the incantation, not a falling one. Those are the standard techniques the professors emphasize. I saw them forgetting, so I reminded them.
"Ron's spells always fail because he's using his brother's old wand. I thought he might feel bad about it, and bringing it up could make him uncomfortable, so I tried not to mention it. I just don't get why he still called me a nightmare."
Miss Granger definitely had some social struggles. By comparison, Harry Potter, who'd grown up with his awful aunt and uncle, handled things much better. Even with the Potter family vault full of gold, he never made anyone feel lesser about their background or wealth.
Come to think of it, Harry seemed like a true Gryffindor on the surface but got along with just about everyone.
Well, except for Slytherin's Malfoy.
Melvin kept his tone neutral. "Have you considered that avoiding the topic might come off as treating him differently? By trying not to mention his wand, you're actually drawing attention to it. And when you correct others' spellwork, you're indirectly highlighting Ron's wand issue, which sparks his frustration or anger."
"So what should I do?" Hermione asked, confused. "Point out his wand problem like it's no big deal?"
"You might not realize it, but your actions stem from your own anxieties," Melvin said. "Miss Granger, it's been three months since term started. Tell me, have you settled into Hogwarts?"
"I…" Hermione wanted to say yes but lacked conviction.
"As a witch from a Muggle family, you grew up in a world without magic. Your parents are educated dentists, and you've always valued logic and science. You thought you'd follow in their footsteps—study hard, maybe become a doctor or lawyer. Then, at eleven, you got your Hogwarts letter and discovered a world of wizards who don't care much for science."
Melvin paused. "You spent two months reading every magical book you could find, building up an impressive knowledge base. Beyond your curiosity, that drive came from overturning your old sense of self and building a new one."
Hermione looked puzzled, half-understanding but not quite grasping it.
"You've been living in the Muggle world your whole life. Aside from a quick trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies, you've had little exposure to real wizards. Your sense of identity as a witch is still forming—you know you're a witch, but you haven't fully mastered magic. Hogwarts can teach you, but the fear of being expelled looms large. Your perfectionism and fear of mistakes amplify that anxiety, so you seek validation elsewhere, like correcting others to show off your magical knowledge."
"…"
Hermione's eyes glazed over. She was completely lost now, understanding nothing.
She latched onto the one thing she could follow. "Why don't the other students act like this?"
"At its core, your behavior comes from feeling anxious and disconnected in an unfamiliar world," Melvin said. "Do you think your classmates are perfectionists, terrified of making mistakes or getting expelled?"
Hermione thought of her friends—late to their first class, scribbling haphazard homework, sneaking out for a midnight duel despite school rules. She shook her head.
"Do they have the advanced knowledge to correct others like you do?"
"…"
"Most importantly, their sense of identity and belonging isn't tied to being a witch or wizard. It's rooted in their friendships and little groups."
"So what should I do?"
"Stop trying to fix or teach your friends—that's the professors' job. Be a normal first-year. Focus on learning in class and having fun outside of it."
Hermione stared at the moonlight on the ground, lost in thought. Slowly, she noticed a faint shimmer around them, like a thin bubble shielding them from the chilly breeze without stifling the air. She had no idea what spell it was.
"Thank you, Professor Levent."
"Still feeling down?"
"A little," she admitted.
"If you need to cry, go for it. Let it all out—tears, snot, the works. A good sob can lift a bad mood fast."
Hermione blinked. "…"
She hadn't been crying before, and she definitely wasn't going to start now.
Melvin studied her face and realized a tearful breakdown wasn't likely. A pity, really.
Seeing this Gryffindor witch bawling her eyes out up close would've been a rare sight. She'd grow into her own soon enough, but if he could've captured the moment in a Pensieve or one of Wright's new memory mirrors, the image would've been crystal clear.
Keep it for a few decades, and when she's Minister for Magic, play it publicly—it'd make the front page of the Daily Prophet for sure.
The late autumn courtyard was quiet, the professor and student each lost in their own thoughts.
Melvin was about to say more when he glanced toward the Great Hall. Screams erupted from inside, followed by Dumbledore's magically amplified voice.
"Prefects, take your house students back to the dormitories immediately!"
Hermione looked toward the sound, confused.
The Great Hall doors swung open. Prefects led the first-years out, followed by older students in neat lines, heading to their common rooms with hurried steps and grim faces.
"What's going on?"
"No idea. Maybe a troll got into the school."
"No way."
Hermione frowned, thinking Professor Levent was being flippant, nowhere near as serious as Professor McGonagall. She scanned the crowd and spotted Harry and Ron whispering to each other, then sneaking away from the group, heading down a different corridor.
"What are Harry and Ron doing? Why aren't they going back with everyone else? And why's Professor Snape heading that way too?"
Hermione fired off three questions in a row, her brow furrowed.
"…"
Melvin followed her gaze, spotting Snape's greasy hair as he strode toward the fourth-floor corridor. "Just a guess, but maybe there's an emergency—like a troll loose in the school. They might be worried about you being out here alone and went to find you."
"Why didn't they tell a professor?" Hermione pressed.
"Good question. But they're on their own now, and who knows what they'll run into. To keep your friends out of trouble, you'd better grab your wand and catch up with them."
"Why don't I get a professor?"
"Another good question. I'd hurry if I were you—Dumbledore and the other professors just headed upstairs."
"…"
Hermione shot Melvin a look, then grabbed the sleeve of her Muggle Studies professor and started pulling him along.