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Most of the staff and Hagrid were already waiting.
The first person to speak was, unexpectedly, Snape.
“You’re awake, Professor Styx.
How did you sleep?” Styx needed no time at all to understand the sudden shift in attitude.
He kept the smile off his face.
“Thank you for asking, Professor Snape.
The beds here are very comfortable.” Dumbledore appeared from a side door a moment later, dark circles under his eyes, looking as though the night had been long.
Snape was clearly not the only one who had slept poorly.
“My apologies, everyone.
An old man’s occasional lateness.” He rubbed his temples.
“It seems we are all present.
We can begin guiding the young witches and wizards.” He turned to Hagrid.
“Harry is in your care.
Keep him safe.” Styx glanced sideways.
Snape’s expression had gone flat and cold, the exact look he wore whenever James Potter’s name surfaced in conversation.
“Did you say something, Professor Styx?” “Nothing at all, Professor Snape.
I was only thinking you look well today.” “…Thank you.” Snape left.
Styx checked the list in his hand.
One name stood out immediately.
Hermione Granger.
— 8 Heathgate, Hampstead Garden Suburb.
“Mum, look at this one.
Does it look all right?
Should I change the shoes?
Is my hair too frizzy?
I should have slept on my face last night.” Hermione stood in front of her bedroom mirror in her third outfit of the morning.
The first—plaid shirt and jeans—had felt too casual.
The second—a dark blue dress worn only once at Christmas—had felt too formal.
The white shirt and khaki trousers were the compromise after she had emptied half her wardrobe.
She turned sideways, then front-on, then adjusted the collar again.
Hair remained the problem.
She had braided it carefully the night before.
This morning the curls had rebelled the moment the braids came out.
She dipped a comb in water and tried to flatten the worst of them.
They sprang back.
She tried again.
They sprang back again.
Hermione glared at her reflection, considered the scissors, and reluctantly set them down.
Mrs.
Granger watched from the doorway with the patient smile of a mother who had seen this ritual before.
“You look fine, darling.
Stop tormenting your hair.
The professor will like you.
It’s nearly nine.” The doorbell rang on cue.
Mr.
Granger opened the front door.
Hermione and her mother arrived a second later.
A tall young man stood on the step—around one hundred eighty-five centimeters, white hair falling neatly behind him, pale skin, clean jawline, sharp cheekbones.
The black collar of his coat made the lines of his face stand out even more.
Mr.
Granger blinked.
This was the Hogwarts professor?
“Hello… who are you looking for?” “Mr.
Granger.
A pleasure.
I’m Lethean Styx, Dark Arts Practical professor at Hogwarts.” The family froze for a beat.
Handsome was not the word any of them had expected to attach to a Hogwarts professor.
“Ah—please, come in.
We’re sorry.
We simply didn’t expect someone so… young.” Styx smiled.
“It’s all right.
I am the youngest on staff at the moment.
I’ve only been in the post about a month.” His gaze moved to the girl sitting a little too straight on the edge of the sofa, and to Mrs.
Granger watching with open curiosity.
“Miss Granger.” “H-Hello, Professor Styx.
I’m Hermione Granger.
It’s very nice to meet you.” She managed the greeting, then caught the faint scent of gardenia and went quiet again.
“Miss Granger?” “Sorry!
Everything’s ready—the letter, the supply list, the money for Galleons—” “No need to be nervous.
Today we buy the required items and choose a wand.
You’re looking forward to it, aren’t you?” “Yes, Professor.
I can’t wait to have a wand of my own.
When do we leave?” “Whenever you’re ready.” Minutes later they stood on the doorstep.
Styx nodded to the parents.
“I’ll have her back this afternoon.
She’ll be fine.” He led Hermione toward the Leaky Cauldron.
Once the initial shyness cracked, questions poured out in a steady stream.
Styx answered each one without impatience.
Inside the pub he guided her straight to the back wall, past the noise and the sticky floors.
Cleanliness was not the Leaky Cauldron’s strong suit.
“See the rubbish bin?
From the corner above it, count three bricks up, then two across.
Tap three times.” The bricks shifted and folded outward.
A narrow, crowded street opened beyond.
“Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Granger.” Stars practically lit up in her eyes.
“First stop is Gringotts.
We need Galleons.” He took her hand and started forward.
Hermione glanced at their joined hands; a faint flush reached her ears, the last remnant of eleven-year-old awkwardness.
Inside the bank she studied the Latin carved into the pillars.
“Professor, what does that say?” Styx followed her pointing finger.
“A warning from the goblins.
Roughly: Enter, stranger, but take heed Of what awaits the sin of greed, For those who take, but do not earn, Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors A treasure that was never yours, Thief, you have been warned, beware Of finding more than treasure there.” They reached the exchange counter.
Styx produced the acceptance letter.
“Two hundred Galleons for a new Hogwarts student, please.” Outside again, Hermione looked at the coins.
“Why only two hundred?
I brought more pounds than that.” “Maximum annual exchange for a student is two hundred Galleons.
Muggle currency doesn’t interest goblins much unless it’s pure gold or rare stones.” He ruffled her curly hair once, lightly.
“All right, Miss Granger.
Time for your first real Diagon Alley shopping trip.
Let’s go.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Honda_Qualuty Comment and vote if you enjoyed it—it really makes me happy!