The classroom was empty save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the quiet, rhythmic sound of footsteps pacing back and forth.

Yuri stood near the front of the room, posture straight—too straight—chin lifted just a fraction as he practiced his bow for what felt like the hundredth time. Etiquette had seemed harmless enough at the start. A bit dull, maybe. He hadn’t anticipated how maddening it would be to remember the exact angle of inclination required when greeting a Ministry official versus a member of an old pure-blood family. It all felt a special kind of pointless.

He exhaled through his nose, smoothed down the front of his robes, and tried again.

“One does not dip,” he muttered under his breath, recalling the professor’s sharp correction. “One acknowledges.”

He bowed once more, controlled and precise then straightened and reached for the parchment laid out on the nearest desk. Notes covered it in still slightly sloppy handwriting: greeting customs, seating hierarchies, proper teacup handling (never extend the pinky), and a checklist of social faux pas that could apparently ruin a reputation in under five seconds. He didn't think most of it would ever apply to him, but he didnt want to let Mr Mondragon down nad it was possible that one day he might end up with a ministry job...maybe.

Yuri picked up his wand and flicked it, conjuring an illusionary figure to stand opposite him. A dignified witch appeared, arms folded expectantly.

“Good evening,” Yuri said aloud, voice measured, polite but not stiff. He hesitated, then corrected himself, trying again with more warmth. “Good evening. It’s a pleasure to see you.” His gruff tone was softer now than when he had met Mr Mondragon, but still far from the clipped recieved pronounciation of the children who had been born into the 'better' families.

The illusion offered no feedback, which somehow made the exercise worse. he puffed out a frustrated breath and flopped down on a chair with his head in hands, pressing into his eyes making him see stars. "Almosr final year,” he grumbled into his chest. “And I still can’t bow without overthinking it.”