Why did she feel nervous? Hermia felt the proverbial butterflies all day, but watching the newest class of graduates, her friends, decend the grand stair made time real in ways it so rarely was to her. Hermia was of age with these young witches, she was them but for her September birthdate, and they were off to the world. That was it, the quills were down. In a year, it would be her turn. Maybe the nerves weren't all for her friends.

Fighting the urge to souch, her height always more noticable (at least to her) in such situations, Hermia was suprised to be pulled into conversation. A bit suprised to be spoken to during the procession, Hermia looked to this stranger quizzically. She was wearing her formal Prefect sash, something she'd had to fight her mother and a modiste on, of course she was a student. Her mother and ettiquette class harping in her mind that she remember how close she was to the spotlight, Hermia gave a quick curtsey before she engaged.

"I am, yes. Hufflepuff prefect Hermia Bonaccord, I am the Hufflepuff Prefect for Sixth year." And, remembering the odd phrasing, "I am happy to attempt, but isn't this much the same as your Coming Out Ball?" Hermia met more people than she could remember, of course, but this man (a bit of a stretch, perhaps) couldn't be more than a few years ahead of her and she couldn't place him at all.

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