The pleasure of his recognition bypassed her practiced restraint and earned Professor Foxwood a genuine, beaming smile. She recognized the familiar pang that accompanied her expression. She missed him, or rather, Hermia missed what he represented. She missed Hogwarts; she missed the freedom of being 'just another' student. Now, she studied at Flint, an honor, but she did it as Miss Hermia Bonaccord, the debutant meant to bring further renown to an ancient name with a powerful marriage. How demoralizing.
As her brain began its familiar dance of what-ifs and nagging worries, Hermia was surprised to find the spinning thoughts were interrupted. Professor Foxwood's words cut through the noise, returning her to this moment in time. Her posture relaxed in a mirror of his, her shoulders relaxing at the thought of her studies. "I graduated two years ago. I have completed two years here at Flint. I cannot decide if that is a lifetime or a blink of an eye." Time fascinated Hermia, both the rapidity and seeming sluggishness. How had so much happened in two years' time?
"My studies are fascinating, Sir. My focus is the history of magical theory and translation. It's wonderful work. For example, isn't it fascinating that animagi have been recorded throughout history in multiple cultures, but we only know of one standard potion that leads to the transformation? What about regions where finding a Death's-head Hawk moth is impractical? What if there are other ways?"
A rather rude (in Hermia's opinion) cough from her chaperone was Hermia's cue that she was being overeager in her academic enthusiasm.
"My apologies, Professor Foxwood. I forget myself when speaking of my studies. I," She bit her lip, unsure if she was welcome to voice her next thought. She wasn't arrogant enough to think herself Foxwood's peer, but that didn't mean she was without reflections of her own. "I want to congratulate you on the publication of your book this spring. I confess I have found your synthesis and notes inspiring." That was an understatement. Her latest essay draft she completed must have credited Professor Foxwood twenty times.
As her brain began its familiar dance of what-ifs and nagging worries, Hermia was surprised to find the spinning thoughts were interrupted. Professor Foxwood's words cut through the noise, returning her to this moment in time. Her posture relaxed in a mirror of his, her shoulders relaxing at the thought of her studies. "I graduated two years ago. I have completed two years here at Flint. I cannot decide if that is a lifetime or a blink of an eye." Time fascinated Hermia, both the rapidity and seeming sluggishness. How had so much happened in two years' time?
"My studies are fascinating, Sir. My focus is the history of magical theory and translation. It's wonderful work. For example, isn't it fascinating that animagi have been recorded throughout history in multiple cultures, but we only know of one standard potion that leads to the transformation? What about regions where finding a Death's-head Hawk moth is impractical? What if there are other ways?"
A rather rude (in Hermia's opinion) cough from her chaperone was Hermia's cue that she was being overeager in her academic enthusiasm.
"My apologies, Professor Foxwood. I forget myself when speaking of my studies. I," She bit her lip, unsure if she was welcome to voice her next thought. She wasn't arrogant enough to think herself Foxwood's peer, but that didn't mean she was without reflections of her own. "I want to congratulate you on the publication of your book this spring. I confess I have found your synthesis and notes inspiring." That was an understatement. Her latest essay draft she completed must have credited Professor Foxwood twenty times.
![[Image: 8hJrlbS.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/8hJrlbS.jpg)