Chapter 41: Psychological Counseling
It was seven o'clock in the evening.
The waning moon had just risen.
By late autumn, the temperature in the Scottish Highlands had begun to drop sharply. The moonlight spilled across the ground like a thin layer of frost. A cool breeze blew from the Forbidden Forest, and the Whomping Willow swayed in the wind, its yellowing leaves fluttering down.
It was said that when the Willow lost all its leaves, snow would follow.
Only a few remained.
Melvin lowered her gaze, adjusted her collar, and quickened her pace toward the castle.
She crossed the grounds and stepped into the Entrance Hall.
The corridors of Hogwarts were dimly lit perfectly fitting for the Halloween atmosphere. Mrs. Norris was curled up in the shadows, grooming her fur, her eyes glinting faintly. Melvin nodded to the patrolling caretaker, then walked down the hallway toward the Great Hall.
The feast was in full swing.
Nearly every staff member sat at the High Table, save for two empty seats. Dumbledore, seated at the center, spotted her silhouette at the doorway. He smiled and winked.
Snape held her gaze for a moment, then looked away impassively, wondering where the other professor had gone.
Melvin's eyes swept over the Gryffindor table and then the High Table. Professor Quirrell was absent likely occupied with his "troll appointment." The little witch was gone as well; it seemed the candies she'd given them hadn't been enough to preserve the fragile friendship among the first-years.
"…"
Melvin paused, then smiled faintly back at Dumbledore and continued through the pumpkin-lit corridor toward the bathrooms.
Bats, part of the festive decorations, fluttered along the walls and ceiling, their wings stirring the night breeze. The bathroom was empty but beyond the window, a shadow moved behind the courtyard shrubs.
The open courtyard was dim, lit only by the silvery moonlight.
A gorse bush bloomed with scattered yellow flowers that gave off a faint coconut scent. A little witch sat at the edge, knees drawn to her chest, chin resting atop them.
She looked as though she were always alone.
Melvin approached quietly from behind. "Miss Granger, what are you doing out here?"
"Professor Lewynter?" Hermione jumped to her feet in alarm.
Melvin lowered her gaze slightly. Her eyes and nose were red not from tears, but from the cold wind.
"The Three Broomsticks is holding a Halloween special tonight," Melvin said mildly. "I just came back from Hogsmeade and was heading to wash my hands before dinner when I saw you sitting here. Considering that the average temperature in Scotland is seven degrees Celsius lower than in London, if you stay out here in the wind much longer, you'll likely catch a cold by morning.
"Though colds aren't serious illnesses for wizards, I prefer to look at things from a Muggle perspective headaches and runny noses are terribly inconvenient."
Hermione blinked, dazed by the professor's overly rational tone. The cold stung her eyes, and her throat felt tight.
"Professor, don't worry about me," she said softly. "I'll go back soon."
Melvin sighed, sitting down on a nearby stone bench. "Since Hogwarts doesn't employ a school counselor, and I happen to have relevant training, I can reluctantly offer some after-hours psychological support."
Hermione said nothing.
"Tell me what's been bothering you."
"…"
Hermione hesitated, then sat beside her. Perhaps the candy she'd received last time had softened her wariness, because this time she seemed willing to trust the makeshift therapist.
After a long pause, she began:
"When I got my acceptance letter, my parents weren't very eager to let me attend Hogwarts. It was far from home, and I could only visit during Christmas and summer. Even at the train station, my mother was still trying to dissuade me. She said I only knew how to study and didn't get along with others. I told her I could learn…
"My mother told me to try to put myself in others' shoes to be more understanding. I've tried, but it doesn't seem to work.
"When you cast a spell, you have to rotate your wrist fifteen degrees and recite the incantation with an upward tone instead of downward. Those are the standard motions the professor emphasized. I saw them forgetting, so I reminded them."
"Ron always fails his spells because he's using his brother's old wand. I think he feels embarrassed about it, so I try not to mention it but I don't understand why he keeps calling me a nightmare."
Miss Granger's emotional intelligence was, without doubt, rather questionable.
In comparison, young Potter despite growing up unloved with his aunt and uncle handled social dynamics far better. Though he'd inherited the Potter family vault, he had never flaunted it or offended anyone with his background or wealth.
Thinking about it, Potter might seem every inch a Gryffindor, but he actually got along with everyone except Malfoy, of course.
Melvin kept her tone mild. "Have you considered that your deliberate restraint might actually be a form of emphasis? Every time you correct another student's spellwork, you're unintentionally highlighting Weasley's faulty wand. It's not surprising that it provokes resistance."
Hermione frowned. "Then what should I do? Should I just point it out plainly and treat him equally?"
"Perhaps you haven't realized," Melvin said patiently, "that this tendency of yours stems from anxiety panic, even. Tell me, Miss Granger, it's been three months since term began. Have you fully adapted to Hogwarts yet?"
"I…" Hermione started to say yes but hesitated.
"As a Muggle-born witch, you grew up in a world without magic. Your parents are dentists well-educated professionals. You were raised on reason and science, expecting to become a doctor or lawyer like them. It wasn't until you received your Hogwarts letter at eleven that you discovered an entire world of people who didn't believe in science."
Melvin paused. "You spent two months devouring books about the magical world, amassing a vast amount of knowledge. Your hunger for learning and curiosity are admirable but you were also unconsciously trying to redefine yourself, to reconcile your rational upbringing with your magical identity."
Hermione looked dazed half understanding, half lost.
"You'd barely met real wizards before you arrived," Melvin continued. "You knew you were a witch, but not what that meant. Here, failure could mean humiliation or even expulsion. Your drive for perfection, your fear of making mistakes all of it pushed you to prove yourself through knowledge and correction."
"…"
Hermione's eyes were blank. This time she was sure she understood nothing.
So she asked the only thing she could grasp: "Why don't other students have this problem?"
"In essence," Melvin replied, "your behavior stems from anxiety and unfamiliarity. Do you think other students suffer from perfectionism, fear of failure, or anxiety about being expelled?"
Hermione thought of her classmates those who arrived late, did homework sloppily, or even sneaked out for midnight duels and shook her head.
"Do they have the same advanced knowledge you do, allowing them to correct others?"
"…"
"The key difference," Melvin went on, "is that their sense of belonging isn't tied to magic itself it's tied to their friendships. Their identities come from connection, not performance."
Hermione fell silent, then finally whispered, "So what should I do?"
"Don't try to correct or teach your friends. That's the professor's job. Just be a normal first-year. Work hard in class and have fun after it."
Hermione stared at the moonlit ground, thinking deeply. Slowly, she became aware of a faint shimmer around her a thin layer of air, warm and still, shielding her from the cold wind. She didn't recognize the spell.
"Thank you, Professor Lewynter."
"Do you still feel sad?"
"A little," she admitted honestly.
"If you feel like crying, then cry," Melvin said kindly. "It's better to cry until your nose runs. Tears relieve emotional pressure faster than any potion."
"…"
Hermione stared blankly. She hadn't been crying before and certainly wasn't about to start now.
Seeing this, Melvin couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.
It wasn't often one got to witness the tears of the famously composed Miss Granger especially one growing so quickly. If only she could capture that moment and project it in Wright's newly built Memory Mirror, the image would be crystal clear.
Preserved for decades, it would make perfect headlines once the girl became Minister for Magic someday.
The courtyard was silent in the chill of late autumn; every teacher and student wrestled with their own emotions.
Melvin was about to offer another comforting remark when a sudden uproar erupted from the Great Hall screams of terror, followed by Dumbledore's magically amplified voice:
"Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
Hermione looked toward the sound, bewildered.
The Great Hall doors burst open. Prefects gathered their first-years, the rest of the students quickly forming lines. Their footsteps echoed briskly as they marched toward their common rooms, faces tight with concern.
"What happened?"
"I'm not sure someone said a troll got in!"
"How could that be possible?"
Hermione frowned. Professor Lewynter's casual talk about trolls seemed like nonsense compared to McGonagall's composed authority.
Then she caught sight of Harry and Ron whispering at the far end of the hall before sneaking away in the opposite direction.
"What are Harry and Ron doing?"
"Why aren't they following the others back to the dormitory?"
"And why is Professor Snape heading that way too?"
Melvin followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was Snape, his greasy hair gleaming in the torchlight as he strode toward the fourth-floor corridor.
"I suppose," Melvin said, "just suppose, there's been an emergency like a troll in the castle. Perhaps they're worried about you being out here alone and want to warn you."
"Then why didn't they find a professor?" Hermione demanded.
"A very good question," Melvin said evenly. "But right now, they're alone and could get into trouble at any moment. To prevent your friends from getting hurt, you should take your wand and go after them."
"Why don't you find a professor, then?" she countered.
"Also a good question," Melvin said dryly. "And I suggest you do exactly that quickly. I saw Dumbledore and the other staff heading upstairs."
Hermione glanced once more at Melvin, tugged nervously at the professor's sleeve and then ran ahead.
(End of Chapter)