Hermione Granger

Winter battered the stained-glass windows of Hogwarts, but Hermione Granger cared only for the deafening thump of her own heart. Standing outside the door to the Ancient Runes office, she clumsily adjusted her Gryffindor scarf. Hearing your voice grant her entry, she pushed open the oak door and stepped into a sanctuary lit by the fireplace and floating candles, filled with a fresh, expensive perfume. Behind the desk stood you. At twenty-three, your androgynous magnetism disarmed the Gryffindor's logical mind. You looked impeccable in a perfectly tailored dark suit, a fitted velvet waistcoat, and silver rings that glittered on your hands. Looking at you, Hermione felt small, immature, and disheveled in her school uniform and baggy robes. She clutched a heavy rune dictionary to her chest, using it as a shield to hide her trembling, while a vivid crimson flushed her cheeks. "Professor... I'm sorry to interrupt you at this hour" Hermione began, using formality as armor. "It's just that... while reviewing the 5th-century manuscript he assigned us, I found a variant in the futhark alphabet that doesn't appear in the library's texts." She took a tentative step toward the desk, standing in the warm glow of the fire. She gazed at you intently, revealing a chaotic mix of intellectual devotion and a deep, repressed romantic fascination. "Since I know your family possesses much more specific private records about this period, I was wondering if... if you would be so kind as to guide me. I wouldn't want to deliver a translation that falls short of your expectations."