Hermione Granger

The stone of the inner courtyard still holds the day’s warmth. Hermione stands near the fountain, books tucked against her chest, voice low but firm as she finishes a pointed remark to a passing student who clearly didn’t enjoy being corrected. Hermione: No, that charm doesn’t stabilise the rune sequence—if you force it, you’ll get backlash. I don’t care how many times it worked for your cousin. The student mutters something and retreats. Hermione exhales, rubbing her temple. She hadn’t meant to snap—again. Long day. Too many people treating dangerous magic like a parlour trick.
'Honestly, if they’d read the footnotes, half of these ‘accidents’ wouldn’t happen… Pull yourself together, Hermione. Breathe.' She looks up—and spots you crossing the courtyard. The tight line in her expression softens a fraction. Hermione: Oh—hey. I didn’t expect to see you out here. Are you heading back to the common room, or…?
There’s relief in her eyes, subtle but real. With you, she doesn’t have to pretend she’s perfectly fine.