July 1st, 1894 — Flint Institute

Hermia was mentally exhausted and happier than she’d been since beginning her Flint classes last year. Now preparing for her second year of Flint classes, Hermia had performed well enough to earn a position as a summer teaching assistant. It was one of the most rewarding roles of her academic career. Some of her peers were thriving as debutants, with engagements and marriages already secured for the fortunate ones. Hermia, who considered herself fluent or conversational in no less than five languages, did not have words for how little she cared for the debutante's life. For better or worse, Hermia was an academic witch who thrived on thought and learning. Marrying sounded synonymous with “giving up.”

Perhaps nostalgia found Hermia and her (far less academically inclined) chaperone slipping into the back of one of the visiting lectures. Whatever led Hermia into the classroom, she certainly wasn’t the only one enjoying themselves. At the sight and familiar sound of Professor Foxwood’s voice, Hermia could only smile. Whether they knew it or not, the students in this lecture were in the presence of genius. For their sakes, Hermia hoped they were paying attention.

Hermia wasn’t sure where she stood in this post-Hogwarts world with her professors. Did they forget and move on? Were students memorable? Was she, the inquisitive, bookish one, worth remembering? Shaking such thoughts of worthlessness aside, she waited patiently until the last of the summer students filed passed.

With a curtsy, Hermia offered a friendly, if uncertain, smile to her former instructor. “Hello, Professor Foxwood. I take it their next lesson will be a refresher on Gamp’s laws before attempting cross-species switches.” It was less of a question and more of a memory of her own educational journey, but she was keen to remind her professor that she was anything but a slouch.

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Basil Foxwood

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   Basil Foxwood

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Lady is a genius

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Summer term at Flint was going swimmingly. This being his first as an actual professor here - a new title to tack on that Basil blustered about with pride, even in his own thoughts - he was rather pleased with the results thus far. Students at Flint were much more advanced, understandably, than even his N.E.W.T.s at Hogwarts and the actual rapture with which they consumed his lecture was…a bit addictive. Of course there were some here that merely studied Transfiguration for the advancement of other areas, to display proficiency in case of need, but more often than not— Basil found he was surrounded by students who actually cared for the art as more than just a passing grade, a stepping stone into something else. He’d made a few connections with interesting aquientences already and now, going into his second of three short months, he was almost grieved as another session found its close.

“Essay topics are due in the morning,” he reminded them as the masses slowly trickled out. Turning to his things and tidying the board that had been magically taking notes behind him, Basil hummed pleasantly to himself. He had a few things to grade yet, and a mentoring session to see to that afternoon, but otherwise his schedule was quite open. Perhaps he would go and spend some time in the vast library here if Ida wasn’t otherwise— Hello Professor Foxwood.

A soft, familiar voice infiltrated his thoughts, catching the brunette’s attention. Basil turned, surprised but delighted to see one of his former students. (And not just any student, but Ms. Hermia Bonaccord, who’d been one of his brightest.) “Ms. Bonaccord!” he greeted, the surprise and pleasure evident in his tone as his face lit up with a smile. What a delight it was to see her. “I should hope by this point in our summer term all the advanced classes would be quite well acquainted with their fundamental topics, but only time shall tell I suppose,” he chuckled in response to her opening query. But less concerned with that, he tucked away his wand and gave her his full attention. “And how have your studies been progressing? It’s been some time if I recall, since your graduation.” Two…? years if he was remembering correctly. Hopefully she had been up to something interesting! It was certainly promising to see her here, of all places, rather than out in society— but then again, Basil didn’t exactly keep track of any of his former students that he happened to pass out there in the wild marriage market.

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Hermia Bonaccord

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   Hermia Bonaccord

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.

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   Basil Foxwood

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Lady is a genius

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As he studied Ms. Bonaccord’s face waiting for her response, Basil was pleased to note that she seemed very well. She looked just about how he remembered her, if a little more… debutant (though he couldn’t quite put his finger on how or why…) and the enthusiasm she still carried for her studies greatly assuaged him. He was proud of Ms. Bonaccord for holding firm to her interests and pursuing them in a way most young ladies refused. Just this year another one of his brightest bulbs flickered and went out in Ms. Jessamine Parkinson who, having had a masterful appreciation for Transfiguration, had taken the traditional path to join society and set all personal ambition aside. It was always disheartening. But to see here, now, that such was not the case with all his favorites, Basil felt a huge sense of relief and pride.

Two years. He marveled at the fact for a moment. It was incredible how time continued to move forward even as it felt so still. It had been a long time since much had changed in Basil’s own yearly routine. Seasons came and went, most of them filled with the same transitions from Hogwarts to home and back again, with only slight variations on the whole. But for Ms. Bonaccord who was yet still quite young, he could only imagine how each year brought with it whole lifestyle changes. Nodding in profound understanding, Basil agreed. “Time is such a curious thing, slipping through our grasp like sand in an hourglass— sometimes it is so difficult to comprehend.”

At mention of her studies, his face lit up in the way it only did when engaged academically in a topic of great interest. How clever! The questions Ms. Bonaccord raised pulled from him a vigorous nod of agreement, even as Basil ignored the chaperone. (He too thought it unnecessary and unpleasant to have to tote around someone whose sole purpose was to curb the very enthusiasm he so appreciated!) “You bring up excellent points,” he responded, just as eagerly. “Please, don’t apologize for it.” And, moving around to the other side of his desk as he spoke, Basil began to shuffle his many papers and tombs in search of something. “In fact… I debated this very topic a few summers ago with one of my colleagues who did some work in South America and she put me in contact with a gentleman who had insight to share upon the topic… ah, here we are!” Brandishing a stack of letters thoroughly annotated with questions and responses about the very nature of transfiguration across clans, specifically in the Amazonian region of Brazil, Basil flipped a few pages and then smoothed the stack. “If you will forgive the messy nature of my notes, there may be something of interest to your work here— I corresponded with this gentleman, a Mr. Beckham, for some time and made reference to his work in Amazonia many times in my recent publication. He makes note of variants to the animagus potion that may have existed in the Serra do mar mountains and some other native plants that botanists and herbologists in England have yet to classify! It’s all very fascinating!” Basil didn’t mention his own secondary interest in herbology since it didn’t seem relevant, but his notes would certainly hint as much if she read through them. He handed her the stack.

Blushing a bit at the congratulations on his most recent work however, the brunette cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he responded graciously. “Though you do flatter me in calling it a book. It’s really more of a rambling attempt at an academic journal. My publicist has been asking me to undertake an actual book for ages now though. I shall be happy to pass along your feedback and put him off just once more.” He said the latter with a small tease that hinted at a shared joke between them and grinned as he did so.

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Hermia Bonaccord

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Something in Hermia's chest relaxed, the constant knot of emotion, concern, and expectation releasing their chokehold just enough for something brighter, joy, relief, gratitude, to fuel this moment. Professor Foxwood's pointed rejection of the chaperone's interference emboldened her just enough to add her retort when the older witch mumbled her general disdain for those she considered too lost in their thoughts.

"Be kind. He can hear you and probably understands you." Hermia admonished, meeting her chaperone in French. The reply that 'no Englishman could truly understand the art of French' had Hermia boldly rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to where it belonged. It struck Hermia, for a brief second, that regardless of his knowledge of her mother tongue, Basil Foxwood seemed to understand her. The feeling was novel.

Hermia took the pages with reverence, not quite believing she was holding the research notes of Basil Foxwood. Her eyes went to the pages in her hand, her mind racing at the possibilities. "Professor, this is amazing. I wonder if Castelobruxo has any further insights. Granted, I am not a scholar of Portuguese and I have no knowledge of the tribal languages." Hermia's eyes danced along the page, grinning when she encountered plant diagrams she could understand. "Can you imagine what it must be like? To encounter flora that has no name in any languages you know? C’est incroyable!" She missed herbology and was still saddened that it had been deemed too 'unladylike' for her to continue beyond her OWLs. However, if her parents thought that would keep her from reading the NEWT-level textbooks, they severely misunderstood their daughter.

Wanting to contribute somehow, to repay Professor Foxwood for his kindness, Hermia gathered the little sparks of courage his encouragement inspired and spoke. "My research has been limited to the Mediterranean and the northern African cultures. I do not wish to get ahead of my notes, but I believe I might have found some early references to different herbal means used to ease the transformation among the Greeks and Romans. There are mentions in the De Materia Medica about common Lemon Balm calming the double heartbeat. Most translations view this as an error and correct the text to 'heartbeat,' but I think that was an error by Muggle translators." Body no longer able to contain her excitement, Hermia found herself at the chalkboard that had been recently cleared. Setting Prof. Foxwood's notes down with care, Hermia grabbed a stick of chalk, unconcerned that 'ladies didn't dirty their hands with chalk.' Firmly in her element, Hermia's delicate script spilled onto the board in the familiar Greek, breaking down the words and the various translations.
"If used in the electrical storm meditation phase, I believe the lemon balm was used to ease the sensation of a dual heartbeat. Of course, this is only my hypothesis. I have found some promising leads in the Arabic texts, but it is too early to tell if the argument will hold." Hermia placed the chalk back in its tray with a triumphant, if hopeful, smile. Her translations were sound, she knew that, but speaking such things aloud felt consequential. This was her research, her work, the questions that pulled her out of bed early and kept her up late. She hadn't dared to present the findings to her own professors, knowing how much disdain the Masters Flint held for anything from the muggle world. This was hers, and here she was, defending a topic she may never be allowed to present. The reality sobered her briefly, the constant reminder that she was only a witch sending a shadow over her eyes briefly. Thankfully, Professor Foxwood saved her from a complete spiral into her despair.

"Please forgive me, Sir. I think I side with your publicist." Hermia ventured, even though playing into the joke lit up her cheeks. "I mean to say, your writing is different. You offer novel perspectives on a discipline that is remarkably...rigid." The irony of that wasn't lost on her.

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   Basil Foxwood

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Lady is a genius

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At the comment from her chaperone, Basil couldn’t help but frown even if his face was turned down into his things, shuffling them in search of the correspondence. His French had always been quite passable, more certainly than his Italian (but not so good as Latin or Greek, oddly enough) and he caught the exchange with some chagrin. It was fine and dandy for a chaperone to do their part in ensuring propriety and safety, but stunting growth was another thing altogether. Gallant as ever though, and determined not to embarrass Ms. Bonaccord who was herself quite capable of speaking up, Basil ignored it in favor of presenting his findings. The look that spread across her face made it easily worthwhile.

Beaming at Ms. Bonaccord’s reaction, Basil couldn’t help but nod eagerly. “It is a marvel!” he agreed. “Not many are aware of the fact but I have rather a soft spot for herbology myself and, if you’ve anything of an affinity for the subject, there are some fascinating notes in there that Beckham makes drawing parallels to Castelobruxo’s publications!” Basil perched himself on the edge of his desk, settling in for what was turning out to be his most interesting exchange all day. He’d often wondered himself how newly discovered species received their common names, the scientific evidently following some formulaic convention. To actually discover one however, was another matter entirely!

Ms. Bonaccord went on to explain some of her preliminary research then and Basil followed along - utterly enraptured - as she moved to his board. (If he was impressed at her gumption, he kept the observation to himself, smiling keenly all the while.) The suggestion of Lemon Balm assuaging the double heartbeat during an animagus transfiguration was an interesting hypothesis and her research into the matter seemed soundly thought out. The Greek supported her theory and Basil himself was a firm believer that the Greeks had discovered a great deal that had been lost to the Romans, so many centuries ago. Besides, there was some preliminary evidence to support the placating effect of lemon balm in other potions, particularly the calming draught he himself always had on hand. Shaking his head in a proud suspension of belief, Basil clicked his tongue. “If only I’d thought to discuss the matter with you sooner… the double heartbeat was a tremendous inconvenience during my own transfiguration. I’d have happily tested your theory in practice to save myself that anguish.” And it was true. The feeling of another being’s lifeline pulsating through his veins, merging with his own as if sucking the very life from the creature, was not an experience Basil had much enjoyed. That said, he couldn’t help but beam. “Your research seems quite promising, I must say Ms. Bonaccord. In my own limited discovery of other various, relative topics, I have seen Lemon Balm mentioned as a catalyst for different things. I could absolutely imagine a place for it - or other like herbs - in assuaging the most horrendous of the transformative effects of the animagus. You may have already thought to try Professor Skeeter, but should you need a liaison, I am happy to provide my assistance. For that matter, please, keep me appraised of your progress and if there’s anything I can do for you at all, don’t hesitate to ask!” Carte Blanche. It wasn’t an offer made lightly, but Basil had full confidence in Ms. Bonaccord’s work. And he really was looking forward to hearing more some date soon! As for his own efforts—

Rigid. It was as good a word as any for one who was not nearly as enamored by Transfiguration as he to describe Basil’s favorite of disciplines. The notion brought a smile to his face, amused with Ms. Bonaccord’s assessment but still incredibly flattered. If a hint of red tinged his cheeks too, that was nobody’s business but his own. “I do appreciate that, thank you,” he offered, soberingly. “I’ve just never seemed to find the right topic I suppose. What subject out there could I elaborate upon long enough to fill the pages of an entire text? Perhaps if I am ever able to answer that question, I shall take the challenge upon myself.” It would be a new adventure after all.

“While on the subject though,” he heard himself say, unwilling (apparently) to end their conversation there. “Have you given much thought to your own publication in the future? It’s never too early to start considering your options and I do think you have an interesting case here at least for a potential mention in Transfiguation Today,” If not a full spread! Basil gave it a moment of further thought. Perhaps, if Ms. Bonaccord didn’t mind, he’d mention it to his contact there the next time they met. He really did think her findings were promising and, even if they turned out to be foundless, it was worth sharing with the greater academic community. Someone else working on a similar matter may have further insight to communicate that might, one day, fill any gaps. And at worst, it would bring her the credibility he already recognized she deserved. “You might give it a whirl,” he added, nodding to himself in agreement. It would certainly be splendid to see her published one day.

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Hermia Bonaccord

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   Hermia Bonaccord

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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   Basil Foxwood

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Lady is a genius

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The more they spoke, the more Basil began to feel a sense of kinship with Ms. Bonaccord. To hear of her struggle with having had to drop certain courses after OWLS resonated so deeply with him, he couldn’t help but nod in vehement understanding. “Yes, it is a shame there are only so many hours in the day,” he agreed. “I myself would have devoted so much more to my own studies in additional subjects, if only there was the time.” These days he didn’t have the time for much of anything though. Between his transfigurative research, his publications, and teaching, well… it was all Basil could do to stay afloat. Not to mention the handful of social obligations he continually promised his Mama and Atticus as a negotiation for his continued absence from society the rest of the time…

At Ms. Bonaccord’s grateful response to his request, Basil could only beam. “I am happy to facilitate your efforts however I can,” he reassured. And it was true; anything, really, he could do— he would. “Give me a few days and I’ll send a summary via post. I’ll forward along any comments and ask Professor Skeeter to reach out to you directly, if he is so inclined.” Surely he wouldn’t mind. Of all the professors at Hogwarts these days, Mason seemed the least likely to rebuff or ignore a graduate.

As they trailed off into topics of publication, Basil gave a small - if slightly awkward - nod of understanding to Ms. Bonaccord’s comment. It was just one more example of that which they had in common; he supposed most real academics might feel the same. It said something to the detriment of one’s personality to boast about any work as proudly as a peacock and take no criticism. He was glad to hear Ms. Bonaccord was not one of these such specimens, though he hardly imagined as much in the first place. As for her submission, he was a little surprised at the lack of enthusiasm overall. Perhaps it was a lack of confidence.

“Well,” he encouraged, hoping to draw her in with the promise of aid, should she need it. “I’d be happy to facilitate those conversations too, when you’re ready. Until then, feel free to reach out to me should you need anyone to merely bounce ideas off of, or share comments on your work. It might be nice to meet for lunch every now and then, at least for the duration of the summer.” He offered her a lopsided little smile, hopeful as it was shy. Increasing his academic mentorship was one of the brunette’s greatest priorities in life, more even than progressing his own career.

A clock sounded on the wall, indicating it was just after noon. Tugging his pocket-watch free, Basil double-checked the time and was surprised to realize it was time for lunch. He turned to Ms. Bonaccord, loathe to leave such an invigorating conversation, and cleared his throat a bit. “In fact, if you don’t have plans now, would you care to join me for luncheon? I was about to head into Hogsmeade myself.”

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Hermia Bonaccord

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   Hermia Bonaccord

Hermia nodded her enthusiastic agreement. "Could you imagine if there were some sort of magic that gave more time? That would be truly revolutionary." Hermia's mind whirled at the possibility of additional courses during her Hogwarts days. That would have been a dream come true for her studious heart. She flushed slightly, trying to suppress a chuckle and failing. "I think it says something about us that we would use the power of time magic to further our studies, Professeur." It said multiple things to Hermia that she was having this conversation with her former professor, a gentleman who was speaking to her as if her ideas had merit beyond her classes. This was already magical.

Hermia was truly overwhelmed, not only by the kindness and joy of their interaction but also by the offer to reconnect her with some of the scholars who had shown faith in her. It caused a tightness in her throat, so she quickly swallowed (and blinked) past. "I am grateful for your assistance, Professeur Foxwood. I will make sure I have earned it." Her emotion affected her accent, but her voice remained steady. It was too kind of an offer, too close to what she had dreamed of.

And then, of all things, he invited her to join him for lunch. Hermia could have blinded the sun with her smile. "Oui, I would love to continue our dialog and I would be honored to join you for luncheon, Professeur Foxwood." It was the easiest decision she'd made in years.

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   Basil Foxwood

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Lady is a genius

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It wasn’t until Ms. Bonaccord actually spelled it out in quite so obvious a fashion that Basil’s mind skipped to the Time Turner and he felt a bit sheepish in not having realized— or brought it up. Practical magic had always been more his thing than theoretical though; he couldn’t be blamed for it. It did say something however that, firstly their excitement at such a thing had run away with them enough for both intelligent beings to forget that Time Turners did in fact exist, and secondly, as Ms. Bonaccord had said— that they were both inclined to use such a thing for furthering their studies rather than anything frivolous. He flushed a little at the realization, both from pleasure and embarrassment. “Yes,” he agreed shyly. “I suppose it does.” Then, with a hint of self-reflective amusement, Basil laughed. “But think of all we could accomplish!” He teased. “You and I would put the Time Turner to proper use.”

His amusement carried forward in their conversation and morphed into further goodwill, if that was possible. At Ms. Bonaccord’s grateful, but demure acceptance of his offer to introduce her to his connections, Basil gave a small nod. “Anything I can do to help,” he said again, gently. Ms. Bonaccord’s accent grew stronger the more they chatted and he couldn’t help but notice how endearing it was. Nobody else said his name quite like that. Grinning, Basil straightened off his desk. “Excellent,” he continued, moving to gather some things and tuck them away so they might be off. “Let me just... tidy this mess… and off we go!” He came back around beside her and made a small gesture towards the door. “Anywhere in particular you’d like to try?” He asked. “I know of this excellent little tea shop just off Main Street…”

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Hermia Bonaccord

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