"Come now, Hermione, sit down at the table—"
Hermione watched in silence as the Slytherin students walked out of Professor Watson's office one by one.
Only when she heard the professor call her name did she fully come back to herself.
She quickly smoothed the furrow from her brow before it could be noticed, dragged over the three-legged stool Draco had been occupying only minutes before, and settled herself across the desk from Professor Watson, her posture straightening into something more businesslike.
"So then—"
Bryan scratched the back of his head absently and began rummaging through the high stacks of documents covering most of his desk's surface, eventually pulling free a thick sheaf of parchment from somewhere near the bottom of one pile.
"I wouldn't want to keep you from Gryffindor's traditional welcome feast for the new students much longer, so let's make this brief—"
He pushed the parchment across the desk toward her.
"I trust you haven't forgotten the conversation we had back in Diagon Alley, when we last parted ways at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"Of course not, Professor Watson."
Hermione nodded quickly, her expression composed was into something appropriately stiff.
"You want me to ensure the visiting delegation of intelligent magical beings causes no trouble during their time here at Hogwarts. And to encourage as many students as possible to set aside whatever prejudices they're carrying and genuinely participate in the exchange activities."
Bryan nodded along with her summary, and as he spoke, he pulled open one of his desk drawers and slid a coin purse across the surface toward her.
"On the whole, I think your approach has merit. That is to say—offering some tangible incentive to students willing to take part."
"But I already have funds set—"
Bryan raised one hand stopping her mid-sentence.
"I know you have a considerable sum in Galleons already—your prize money from the Tournament. But what I'm asking you to oversee here is a public, school-sanctioned event, not a private club funded out of your own pocket.
It would hardly be appropriate for me to ask you to make personal financial sacrifices on the school's behalf, so the institution itself ought to cover these particular expenses. That said—"
His tone shifted slightly, "—it cannot be done entirely openly. If Hogwarts' name were directly y attached to every Galleon spent on this, it would only invite greater controversy."
Hermione turned this over carefully in her mind for a moment, weighing the political logic of it, and then nodded in clear understanding. She bowed her head and began leafing through the parchment Professor Watson had given her.
"There is quite a bit to keep track of here—"
Bryan held his teacup between both hands and spoke at slow pace, giving her time to absorb each instruction as it came.
"On the wizarding side of things, you'll need to collect basic information from each participating student, and document, at regular intervals throughout the term, how their attitudes toward the intelligent magical beings actually evolve over time.
You'll also be responsible for keeping the wizarding participants in line. No unprovoked provocation. No verbal insults directed at our guests on anyone's own initiative, regardless of whatever private opinions a student might continue to hold."
Hermione borrowed a spare piece of parchment and a quill from the corner of the desk and recorded everything in her neat handwriting, not missing a single word of the instructions as they came.
"The magical beings themselves will require the same level of oversight, in their own fashion. You'll need to manage any aggression that surfaces when they feel anxious or threatened in unfamiliar surroundings."
Bryan gestured toward the sheaf of parchment still sitting in front of her.
"I've drawn up a specific code of conduct for them. Any violation of that code earns a deduction of twenty points per individual involved. Once a creature's points are fully exhausted, they will be removed from the delegation."
Hermione immediately began searching through the dense pages and did, indeed, locate the code of conduct several sheets in.
What surprised her, reading through it carefully, was that the rules Professor Watson had devised were not applied uniformly across every species represented in the delegation.
For instance, he had expressly and specifically prohibited house-elves from participating in any clean-up duties after the exchange sessions concluded.
Yet he had assigned that exact same category of work to the goblins instead, with an explicit stipulation that any goblin's failure to comply would result in points deduction.
Hermione read through the relevant clauses carefully as Professor Watson continued his explanation.
"The exchange sessions themselves will be held twice weekly—Wednesday evenings and Sunday evenings, to avoid clashing with the bulk of everyone's coursework.
The primary format will be small group discussions focused on specific areas of magical study. For example—Charms. You, Hermione, will select a simple, well-understood charm, and during each session, every represented group will explain how that same effect is achieved within their own species' particular magical framework.
You'll need to record these accounts carefully and submit them to me directly afterward. I intend to compile the material into a proper teaching resource."
The workload, Hermione thought, taking in the full scope of what was being described, was not inconsiderable.
A small pang of anxiety surfaced about her O.W.L.s.
But then she reconsidered, setting the anxiety firmly aside.
An opportunity like this came along perhaps once in a thousand years. And it was precisely because Professor Watson trusted her—trusted her specifically out of every student currently enrolled at Hogwarts, that she had been given it at all.
One spoke. One wrote.
Without her quite noticing the accumulation, her small, precise handwriting had filled an entire sheet of parchment.
"—And if you run into any difficulties along the way, with either side of the arrangement, you're welcome to come find me at any time."
The candles burning in the branched candlestick at the corner of the desk had burned down nearly to their bases by now, thick layers of white wax having solidified into crusted, uneven ridges along the metal tray beneath them.
The wavering, diminishing light fell across Bryan's face as he brought his account to a close with that single, settled sentence.
Hermione gave a small, decisive nod. She set the quill carefully back into its inkwell and gathered her freshly inked notes together with care.
'Talking with smart people really is so much less exhausting.'
Seeing that Hermione had no further questions remaining, Bryan let out a quiet breath.
"Then I think we're done here for tonight. Thank you for your dedication to this—your sacrifice, even, given everything else currently on your plate. Why, you may yet find yourself recorded in—"
"Professor Watson?"
He had been rounding off the conversation with a few light-hearted, closing words, but Hermione's sudden interruption made the smile fade rapidly from his lips. His gentle gaze sharpened in an instant, settling fully onto her face.
"What is it, Hermione?"
The young witch across the desk wore an expression of deep, visible unease.
"Aren't you worried, Professor Watson?"
Hermione bit her lower lip, hard, the words having come out before she'd fully decided to say them.
"About what?"
Bryan leaned back slightly in his chair, his voice had gone soft, giving her room.
Hermione hesitated, her face was caught in uncertainty, as though she couldn't quite decide, even now, whether she ought to say anything at all on this particular subject.
"If you haven't made up your mind whether to tell me—"
"I mean Malfoy. And the others."
The moment Professor Watson began, gently, to offer her an exit from the conversation, Hermione's resolve crystallised all at once.
"Aren't you worried… that they might mean to do something to harm Hogwarts?"
The faint, distant sound of the forest stirring beyond the office window seemed to fall abruptly still in the wake of the question.
Hermione gripped her own fingers tightly together in her lap and waited, braced, for Professor Watson to pass some kind of judgment on what she'd just allowed herself to say.
"No, I'm not worried, Hermione—"
But Professor Watson only said it calmly.
A small wave of frustration rose up in her at the simplicity of the answer.
Hermione couldn't help searching his eyes for something more but those deep violet irises remained exactly as deep and still as they had been throughout the entire evening, without a single visible ripple disturbing them.
She swallowed down the urge to push back further. She didn't want Professor Watson to conclude, even privately, that she was carrying some unexamined prejudice against Malfoy's particular crowd. Against Slytherin as a whole.
"That day in Diagon Alley—the day the march broke out—"
Hermione drew a deep breath, silently apologised to Harry somewhere in the back of her own mind for what she was about to do, and then told Professor Watson everything: Harry's habit, this past year, of quietly shadowing Draco's movements. All of it, in full.
"You—you already know that Harry can sometimes glimpse into You-Know-Who's mind. He's been having that dream again—the one where You-Know-Who wants to open some kind of door. And Malfoy went to Borgin and Burkes that afternoon, looking specifically for an object capable of breaking through powerful magical defences. Harry thinks—"
She stumbled slightly over the next part.
"Of course, I think Harry's reasoning holds together. If—if Malfoy is obtaining that… that thing… on behalf of You-Know-Who specifically—"
Hermione couldn't quite finish the sentence. Professor Watson's entirely unmoved, unaffected expression deflated her resolve completely.
"I'm very grateful for your candour just now, Hermione—"
Professor Watson said it calmly.
"But I trust Draco. Just as I trust you, and Harry, and Ron without reservation."
Hermione's brow creased again, deeper this time.
"But—"
"All right, Hermione—"
A smile returned to Bryan's face.
"I trust you wouldn't want to miss Gryffindor's annual welcome feast on my account—would you?"
Hermione pressed her lips together tightly and gave a reluctant, clearly unsatisfied nod, gathering her notes and rising from the stool.
"Did he really say that?"
Gryffindor's familiar, circular common room was not nearly as lively as Hermione had anticipated on her way up from Bryan's office.
It was certainly a mess but there weren't many students actually about at this hour. Just a handful here and there, scattered in clusters around the room, huddled in corners and speaking in low conspiratorial tones.
When she relayed everything that had happened in Professor Watson's office that evening, Harry, his cheeks already flushed red from the low firelight, frowned deeply.
After a long silence, he slumped back fully against the sofa cushions and muttered, mostly to himself:
"He trusts him the same way he trusts us… I genuinely cannot figure out what's going on in his head sometimes. None of us have a Death Eater for a father. That's not a small difference to set aside."
"He even guessed, straight off, that Greengrass was still secretly keeping in contact with her family—"
Ron's brow furrowed as well.
"Oh, I'd wager that if he actually wanted to, and put the Greengrass family under proper surveillance for a week, he'd catch that fugitive Death Eater father of theirs in no time at all."
Hermione didn't argue with either point.
She lifted her gaze instead and let it drift slowly around the common room, taking in the firelight's drowsy amber glow settling over the few remaining students.
"What happened here, anyway? The welcome party seems to have ended rather early tonight. Is this your doing, Ron?"
"Before you got back, Professor McGonagall came by—"
Harry, still visibly working through his own unresolved feelings about the evening, suddenly lifted his head and twitched his nose at something.
A familiar floral scent, one he'd grown accustomed to over the summer spent at Twelve Grimmauld Place drifted past him again.
Ginny looked as though she'd only just finished washing up for the night. Her damp red hair fell loosely over her shoulders in a way that struck him as casually, effortlessly charming.
She settled herself naturally onto the arm of the sofa beside Hermione, the movement caused her nightdress to ride up slightly as she curled her legs beneath her, revealing a stretch of calf that made Harry's throat go suddenly, inexplicably dry.
"Professor McGonagall?"
Hermione asked looking puzzled.
"She came round to hand out the new timetables—there wasn't quite enough time to do it properly at the banquet itself—"
Ginny shook out her damp hair as she spoke, sending a scatter of water droplets flying in several directions, which drew a loud, indignant protest from Ron as a few landed on his sleeve though Harry, sitting slightly closer, felt the same droplets land against his own skin like cool welcome rain after a long stretch of dry heat.
"We've got an entirely new class this year. We've already been talking about it amongst ourselves—it's called Meditation."
Ginny said.
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