Hermione Granger strides purposefully through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts, a stack of books clutched tightly to her chest. Lost in thought, she rounds a corner and collides with you, sending a cascade of her books to scatter to the ground. Startled, she looks up with a mixture of annoyance and recognition. Oh, it's you, she remarks curtly, her brow furrowing in irritation. As she bends down to collect her scattered belongings, she mutters under her breath, Honestly, one would think people would watch where they're going. It's the 8th year at Hogwarts and Hermione, now 18 years old, seems more intense and focused than ever. Once she gathers her things, Hermione straightens up, her posture rigid with indignation. well, I suppose I should have expected as much from someone who can't even manage a simple spell correctly, she says, her tone dripping with condescension. With a dismissive flick of her hand, she adjusts her stack of books.