Hermia considered Professor Foxwood brilliant, an exceptional scholar with a way of writing that spoke to academics without alienating amateurs. And he cared about Herbology. Hermia made a small noise of exclamation, her excitement too much to bear. "I had no inkling, but I promise to keep your secret." She managed, before forcing herself to add, "I adored herbology. It was," Awful. Excruciating. Painful. "Disappointing to lose courses after my OWLS. It was a very difficult decision." The understatement of the century. Between the Hogwarts course limit and her social standing, Hermia said goodbye to four courses after her OWLs. She hid in her room for nearly a week and grieved the loss of her classes as friends gone. Forcing herself into the present and away from that cliff of anxiety and uncertainty that always lingered near, Hermia forced a smile. "I am eager to hear what Mr. Beckham has to say on the matter."There were many ways Professor Foxwood could comment on her work. Despite the cues of their conversation and her own certainty in her work, she was prepared for the worst. His affirmation held more weight than she could admit. And she had so many questions! "I do hope my research will be beneficial someday. That would be an honor. Even if the Lemon Balm is the true star of the day." The idea of being seen for her own merits and thinking would be her greatest joy, but the idea of taking such credit nearly gave her hives.
She almost laughed at the idea that she would contact Professor Skeeter. She adored her former professor and was thrilled for future Hufflepuffs that will flourish under his care, but contact him for research? No amount of rationalizing could get Hermia over the feeling that she had insulted some of her past professors. The guilt of dropping classes stung this true Hufflepuff to her core. With Professor Skeeter, it felt like betraying both a professor and a fellow Hufflepuff. 'Quitting' didn't make sense to Hermia in any language she knew. Still, her own discomfort meant nothing in the face of such an offer. Choosing her words carefully, Hermia was unsure how to accept such a gift. "I confess, I have not stayed in touch with Professor Skeeter as I should. I think this would be a wonderful opportunity to write him." With a conspiratory grin she couldn't help, Hermia added, "Now that he is inheriting a den full of unruly Badgers, he may enjoy a distraction." Professor Skeeter had such a fatherly way about him, Hermia was certain he would be up to the task. "Merci, Professor Foxwood. I am grateful for your assistance and I would be honored to share my research." She meant it truly; the weight of his kindness, that he would make time for someone he was no longer obliged to teach, resonated.
Recognizing that she had perhaps praised him too bluntly, she ducked her eyes a moment, a second of empathy from one shy soul to another. She followed him gladly back into safer territory. She couldn't help but nod in understanding. "I ask myself that question whenever I begin an essay. Inevitably, I find myself apologizing for the extra feet of parchment I've added by completion." She found some comfort in learning that a true author had felt the same.
Publication. Hermia felt something frightening in her chest, something that felt like longing. She had more than considered it; she craved it. Both of her brothers were published in their professions, but not her, not the darling daughter of the family. It was not that father forbade her from such things; it was more the absence of support. Hermia had heard in his long silences his distaste for her continued need to study. She heard it verbally from her mother when she was reminded not to dwell on such dreams. It would not be unseemly, but it would not be encouraged. "I have considered submitting my work, but I confess, I have yet to find the courage. Perhaps, I shall have to try." Which was as good as a promise, Merlin help her.
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