Melvin pushed aside the drooping branches and stepped into the students' secret hideout.
Behind him, an owl postman flapped its wings, dodging swaying twigs. It had just taken on a side gig guiding a professor, earning a string of dried rat jerky as payment. Once the young professor found the little witch tucked away in the corner, the owl hooted to signal its job was done.
Melvin draped the jerky around its neck, gave its head a quick pat, and sent it off.
Ducking through low shrubs, he looked up to see the young witch sitting by the lake, clutching a letter and tilting her head toward him.
She wore her school robes, a white shirt, and a gold-and-red Gryffindor tie. Her bushy hair was a wild mess, and her expression was a bit dazed. It took her a few seconds to register him, then she scrambled to her feet, flustered. "P-Professor Levent?"
"Isn't this the clever and brave Gryffindor heroine? What're you hiding out here for?"
"There's been a lot of fan mail. It's… not convenient to open it in the dorm."
Hermione's grip tightened on the envelope. She'd been woken that morning by a pile of letters. Lavender and Parvati had teased her, dramatically reading out the flattering ones like they were performing poetry. Then she opened a Howler, and staying in the dorm became unbearable.
She'd stuffed all the letters into her satchel and fled to the quiet lakeside to sort through them. Even so, more kept arriving.
Hermione looked a little exasperated.
"What's so inconvenient about it?" Melvin asked.
"N-nothing," Hermione mumbled, avoiding his gaze and staring at her shoes, her voice tinged with unease.
Melvin glanced at her hair, then at the lake. The water bubbled faintly, occasionally letting out a weak, drowning murmur. Paired with her evasive expression, someone might think she'd tossed someone into the lake.
"…"
It was the Howler.
Melvin's lips twitched into a smile.
Howlers weren't really for delivering messages—they were for venting anger. Once received, there was a short window to open it. If you did, you'd get an earful of shouting. If you didn't, the Howler would explode, sparking flames that were nearly impossible to put out.
Adult wizards could destroy Howlers with magic, but a first-year couldn't. For a young witch to come up with this solution—sinking them in the lake—was pretty ingenious.
Hermione caught the odd smile on his face, like he'd seen through her predicament but wasn't reacting. It left her puzzled.
"Professor, is blood purity really a thing in the wizarding world?"
"Here in Britain, there are a lot of old wizarding families with deep roots, so pure-blood ideals are pretty strong," Melvin said, stepping toward the shore. "But a lot of wizards are just opportunists. They act based on what benefits them. Before the Statute of Secrecy, they mingled with Muggles for profit. After it was passed, they waved the pure-blood flag to rally more wizards and protect their interests."
Hermione frowned. "That's what Malfoy's like, isn't it?"
Melvin chuckled, sidestepping a direct answer. "There are two types who genuinely believe in pure-blood nonsense. The first are the stubborn old fools, dragging their outdated families to the grave. The second are the clueless followers, duped by the opportunists and shouting their nonsense at the front lines."
"The ones sending me Howlers are those people," Hermione said, her face serious. "They don't hate me specifically—they hate any Muggle-born wizard in the spotlight."
"You're not wrong."
Melvin didn't offer empty platitudes like "don't mind what others think." Those words were hollow, good for fooling kids but annoying if overused.
The twelve-year-old witch was tougher than he'd expected. In her first term at Hogwarts, she'd faced snubbing from other students. Now, she was dealing with malice from strangers, yet she wasn't sulking or spiraling. She was calmly handling the Howlers.
Still, it was a tricky problem.
Of the three main characters, Harry came with a savior's aura, and the film had elevated his Muggle-born mother's story. No wizard dared mock his background now—in fact, criticizing Harry was starting to feel like supporting Voldemort.
Ron was pure-blood.
Hermione, though, was Muggle-born. As the film reached more eyes, she'd gain fame but also attract more hostile Howlers for a while. For a bookworm like her, who practically lived in the library, a Howler exploding there would likely get her banned by Madam Pince.
She couldn't keep hiding by the lake forever.
Hiss…
A fizzing sound came from her satchel.
Hermione quickly grabbed a stone and, before the Howler could go off, sank it into the lake with a practiced toss.
The Black Lake was vast and calm on the surface, but its depths were endless, with channels connecting to the Atlantic. The red envelope splashed into the water and vanished, leaving only bubbles gurgling up.
"…"
Watching her deft movements, Melvin thought for a moment before speaking. "Remember how I taught you to handle the troll on Halloween?"
Hermione's eyes lit up. She rummaged through her satchel, pulling out a red Howler.
"Aguamenti!"
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Her voice was crisp as she cast the spells, her vinewood wand tracing perfect arcs. Her wrist flicked with flawless precision. In thirty seconds, a floating orb of water appeared, rippling at the edges.
She carefully opened the Howler. It immediately began to shake, floating free and folding into a paper mouth, letting out a shrill screech: "Hermione Gran—"
Before it could finish her name, Hermione waved her wand, guiding the levitated water orb to engulf the Howler.
"Mmph… glub glub…"
A stream of tiny bubbles rose, mimicking a drowning sound.
The trapped Howler thrashed harder, bubbles multiplying as it began to heat up, threatening to explode. A few Howlers wouldn't faze the Black Lake, but a small water orb couldn't handle it.
Hermione watched the orb heat up, bubbles growing larger, her expression turning slightly panicked.
"It's going out of control!" she yelped, abandoning the orb and tugging Melvin to duck aside.
"Don't panic."
Melvin reached toward the falling orb, his magic enveloping it, calming the frantic Howler. "Howlers are magical objects. Water alone won't stop them. The Black Lake swallows them silently because it's deep, with powerful undercurrents."
Hermione's eyes widened, blinking once.
Melvin cast a Levitation Charm, splitting his magic into two parts: one to keep the orb aloft, the other to stir currents within it.
Hermione watched the Howler spin inside the orb—one rotation, two, ten… The speed ramped up until it was a blur of red. The orb grew murky, like a vortex, as invisible currents tore at the paper.
No sound. Just silence.
In an instant, the letter burst apart.
The paper shredded, softened by water, then ground into finer bits. The vortex slowed, and the tiny fragments, mixed with ink, swirled in the orb's center like muddy sludge.
Hermione replayed the image in her mind: the calm orb hiding a silent, devastating force. Gentle water, accelerated, became more destructive than an explosion.
With a soft splash, the orb dropped into the lake, sending ripples across the surface.
"Applying sustained force from a distance with precise control of the Levitation Charm can create surprising effects," Melvin explained. "The trick is to divide the orb into sections and stir just one or two streams to spin the whole thing."
He gestured for her to try.
Hermione, still a bit dazed, hesitated before gripping her wand and starting.
"Aguamenti!"
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Seeing the floating orb, she couldn't help but picture the troll drowning or the Howler shredding. She took a deep breath, focusing, and waved her wand, mimicking Melvin's vortex technique. The orb spun, but as a whole—no inner currents formed.
She tried a dozen times, unable to fine-tune the control. Frowning at the orb, she stayed silent.
It looked like a simple combination of basic spells, but it was fiendishly difficult.
Melvin plucked a few leaves from a nearby tree and dropped them into the orb. "Make these leaves spin," he prompted softly.
Hermione focused on the leaves, slowing her wand movements to match her breathing—slower, even, than her breath. She felt the leaves through the charm's feedback.
Late April leaves, soaked in water, glowed tender green.
Her wand tip trembled, her senses merging with the water. The leaves quivered, their vibrations aligning with her wand's. As the frequencies matched, she suddenly flicked her wrist faster.
The leaves spun with the wand.
An invisible connection formed, though the motion was slow and sluggish, the water's resistance feeding back through the wand.
Hermione bit her lip, frustrated, twisting her wrist awkwardly to force the spin.
Melvin tapped the orb's surface. The leaves' green faded, their veins showing briefly before turning transparent. A Transfiguration spell melted them into the water, erasing the resistance.
Hermione's movements became lighter, smoother, more confident. Gradually, she stopped moving her wand, yet the orb's inner currents kept spinning.
It wasn't wrist strength driving the leaves anymore—it was pure magical control.
"!!"
Hermione looked up at the professor, her face alight with joy and disbelief.
8:00 a.m., Great Hall
The enchanted ceiling was a dull gray, mirroring a cloudy day. Breakfast was oatmeal, pickled herring, fried eggs, and bacon—tasty enough, but nothing exciting.
Harry and Ron watched Hermione wolf down her meal, wipe her mouth, and head out. They exchanged a glance, swallowed their eggs, and bolted after her.
"Hermione, wait!"
They caught up with her in the corridor outside the Great Hall. Harry was slightly out of breath.
"Lavender said you've been getting loads of Howlers. You okay?"
Hermione slowed down, letting them catch their breath. "It was rough at first, but I'm used to it now. Some pure-bloods can't stand a Muggle-born in the spotlight. Others send praise and blessings."
Ron, still hiccupping from running, could only glance at Harry.
"Didn't Dumbledore help?" Harry asked, breathing steadier. "He talked to us after lunch yesterday for, like, two hours. Mostly about ignoring the letters."
Ron stifled a hiccup to grumble, "Yeah, ninety minutes of fables, twenty minutes of bad jokes, and ten minutes of actual advice."
"He didn't talk to me," Hermione said, shaking her head. She started toward the library when an owl swooped down, a red envelope in its beak.
"Oh, no…" Ron eyed the envelope fearfully.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.
Ron pointed, trembling. "Howler."
Hermione glanced at it, took the envelope, and reached for her wand.
Ron clapped his hands over his ears, motioning for Harry to do the same. Harry, skeptical but curious, followed suit.
Then Harry watched as Hermione conjured a water orb, placed the dreaded Howler inside, and began rhythmically waving her wand.
The envelope spun—slowly at first, then faster as her wand flicked. With a muffled thud and bubbling glub glub, the red envelope dissolved into soggy paper scraps.
"You… that… a Howler!" Ron stammered, his hiccups gone, eyes wide, speechless.
Hermione dispersed the orb, set the wet scraps ablaze, and let the ashes scatter into the courtyard. The whole process was crisp, like she'd done it dozens of times.
Harry didn't grasp the spellwork, but he knew it was seriously cool.
"Dumbledore didn't talk to me, but Professor Levent did," Hermione said, pocketing her wand. "He taught me how to handle Howlers. I'm not great at it yet…" She turned to them. "Exams are next month. Want to study with me?"
Harry and Ron had Quidditch plans that morning and stopped at the staircase, watching their friend head up.
They exchanged another look, their expressions complicated.
One of them got a two-hour lecture of dull stories and bad jokes. The other got a lesson in advanced, awesome magic.
Thanks a lot, Dumbledore.