Chapter 41: Psychological Counseling
Seven o’clock in the evening.
The crescent moon rises.
In the deep autumn season, the Scottish Highlands have already begun to cool down. The bright moonlight sprinkles on the ground like a layer of thin frost. The evening wind from the Forbidden Forest carries a bit of chill, and the Whomping Willow sways its branches in the wind, shedding yellowed leaves.
It’s said that snow falls when the Whomping Willow’s leaves have all fallen off.
Not many left.
Melvin withdrew his gaze, tightened his collar, and quickened his pace toward the castle.
He passed through the grounds into the foyer.
The castle corridors are dimly lit, very fitting for the Halloween theme. Mrs. Norris is curled up in the corner shadows licking her fur, her two eyes glowing eerily. Melvin greeted this security guard, walked along the passage inward, and soon arrived at the Great Hall door.
The banquet is in full swing.
The staff at the high table are basically all present, with only two seats empty. Dumbledore sits in the center position, notices the figure at the door, looks up at him with a smile, and winks.
Snape also meets his gaze, expressionlessly shifts his sight away. He is pondering the whereabouts of another professor.
Melvin’s gaze sweeps over the Gryffindor long table and the faces at the high table. Professor Quirrell is not there, probably busy on a date with the troll. That little witch is also absent; it seems the candy he gave failed to sustain the fragile friendship among the first-year students until today.
“……”
Melvin thinks for a moment, returns a smile to Dumbledore, and walks along the corridor lined with pumpkin lanterns toward the bathroom.
Bats enhancing the festival atmosphere fly chaotically on the walls and ceiling. The evening wind blowing at night carries the sound of flapping wings. No one is in the bathroom, but far away, shadows are moving behind the courtyard shrubbery.
The open courtyard is gloomy, with only dim moonlight providing faint light.
Knotgrass bushes are dotted with sporadic butterfly-shaped flowers, bright yellow, faintly smelling of coconut. A little witch sits behind them, hugging her legs with her chin resting on her knees.
It seems every time he sees her, she’s alone.
Melvin approaches behind her: “Miss Granger, what are you doing sitting here?”
“Professor Levent?” Hermione stands up somewhat flustered.
Melvin’s gaze shifts slightly downward, seeing her eyes and nose tip red, but not like she’s been crying—more like from the cold wind:
“The Three Broomsticks Inn has a Halloween special event tonight. I just returned from Hogsmeade, was planning to wash my hands in the bathroom and join the banquet, but saw you sitting here on the way. Considering Scotland’s average temperature is seven degrees Celsius lower than London’s, if you keep sitting here in the wind, you’ll likely catch a cold by morning. Though a cold isn’t a big deal for wizards, I’ve always preferred viewing things from a Muggle perspective—dizziness, stuffy head, runny nose, it’s quite uncomfortable.”
Hermione listens in a daze, blinks her wind-stung, aching eyes hard, her throat clogged: “Professor, don’t worry about me. I’ll go back after sitting a bit.”
Melvin finds a stone bench nearby to sit on, sighs, it’s a bit cold: “Considering Hogwarts has no counseling teacher, and I’ve studied related knowledge, out of professional ethics as a professor, I can reluctantly moonlight as your counselor once.”
Hermione doesn’t say a word.
“Tell me about your experiences first.”
“……”
Hermione sits down beside him. Perhaps the candy from last time worked; the little witch is willing to confide in this temporary counseling professor.
She brews for a long time before speaking:
“At first, when I received the admission letter, my parents weren’t too keen on me coming to Hogwarts. It’s too far from home; I can only return at Christmas and summer vacation. When they sent me to the platform, my mother was still persuading me. She said I only know how to study and can’t get along with people. I said I could learn…”
“Mother told me to try standing in others’ shoes more, I tried, but it doesn’t seem to work.
“When casting spells, use a 15-degree wrist flick, incantation rising not falling—these are standard actions emphasized by the teachers. I remind them when I see they’ve forgotten.
“Ron’s spells always fail because he uses his brother’s old wand. I thought he might feel inferior because of it, and outsiders mentioning it might make him uncomfortable, so I try not to bring it up. I can’t understand why he still calls me a nightmare?”
Miss Granger does have issues with emotional intelligence. In comparison, Potter, who has long lived with his aunt and uncle, performs much better, even after inheriting the Potter family’s underground vault, without ever offending others regarding family background or money.
Thinking carefully, Potter seems Gryffindor on the surface but gets along well with everyone.
Except Slytherin’s Malfoy.
Melvin says noncommittally: “Have you considered that this deliberate avoidance is a form of differential treatment? Your attempt to avoid actually becomes an emphasis. Every time you correct other classmates’ spellcasting, you’re highlighting Weasley’s wand issue, triggering resistance and anger.”
“Then what should I do?”
Hermione is immediately puzzled: “Treat him equally and point out his wand problem?”
“You may not realize that these behaviors of yours are actually manifestations of anxiety and insecurity.” Melvin explains, “Miss Granger, it’s been three months since the start of term. I’d like to ask, have you adapted to the Hogwarts environment?”
“I…” Hermione wants to give an affirmative answer but lacks confidence.
“As a witch from a Muggle family, raised in the magic-less Muggle world with highly educated dentist parents, you value rational science, thinking you’d follow in their footsteps—study, go to school, become a doctor or lawyer—until at 11 you received Hogwarts’ admission letter and discovered a group of unscientific wizards in this world…”
Melvin pauses briefly: “You spent two months reading a large number of related books, accumulating advanced knowledge reserves. Besides thirst and curiosity for knowledge, there’s the internal influence of overturning past cognitions to build new self-awareness.”
Hermione is somewhat confused, as if she understands but not quite.
“Throughout this process, you’ve lived in Muggle society, only experiencing Diagon Alley for back-to-school procurement, never truly knowing wizards. Your self-cognition is incomplete—you know you’re a witch but haven’t fully mastered magic. Hogwarts can help you learn magic, but there’s the risk of expulsion. Your perfectionism and fear of mistakes amplify this anxiety, so you seek validation elsewhere, like constantly correcting others to showcase your magical knowledge and ability.”
“……”
Hermione’s eyes are completely blank now; she definitely doesn’t understand this time, nothing at all.
She can only ask about what she does understand: “Why don’t the other classmates have this issue?”
“Essentially, all your behaviors stem from anxiety and unease in an unfamiliar environment, unable to connect with those around you.” Melvin asks, “Do you think the other classmates have perfectionist tendencies, fear mistakes, worry about expulsion, and feel anxious?”
Hermione recalls those friends: late for the first class, homework done sloppily, willing to break school rules for a midnight duel… She shakes her head.
“Do the other classmates have advanced knowledge reserves to correct others?”
“……”
“Most importantly, their self-cognition and group belonging aren’t based on wizard identity, but on connections with little partners and small groups.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Don’t try to correct or educate your friends; that’s the professors’ job. Be a normal first-year student: study hard in class, play wholeheartedly in free time.”
Hermione stares at the moonlight on the ground, ponders for a long time, slowly comes back to herself. Only then does she notice a thin bubble enclosing them, blocking the cold evening wind outside without affecting breathing—she doesn’t know what magic it is.
“Thank you, Professor Levent.”
“Still feeling bad?”
“A little.” Hermione tells the truth.
“If you want to cry, let it out. Best to cry with snot and tears flowing, bawling can quickly relieve depressive emotions.”
Hermione: “……”
She wasn’t crying earlier, and now she’s even less likely to.
Melvin observes her expression and figures she probably won’t cry, feeling a bit regretful.
The chance to closely observe this Gryffindor witch sobbing isn’t common, especially since she’ll grow up soon. If recorded with a memory and put into the memory projection mirror Wright just made, the image would be crystal clear.
Keep it for a few decades, and when she becomes Minister of Magic, play it publicly—definitely front-page news in the wizard newspaper.
The courtyard is serene on this deep autumn night, one professor and one student harboring very different thoughts.
Melvin wants to persuade more, but suddenly turns toward the Great Hall as students’ screams erupt from inside, followed by Dumbledore’s magically amplified booming voice.
“Prefects, immediately lead students from each house to the dormitories!”
Hermione doesn’t know what’s happening and looks toward the direction of the voice.
The Great Hall doors are pushed open. Prefects from several houses lead first-year students out, with other years following closely, forming neat lines toward each house lounge, steps hurried, expressions grave.
“What happened?”
“Don’t know, maybe a troll broke into the school.”
“Impossible.”
Hermione thinks Professor Levent always speaks casually, not as steady as Professor McGonagall. She continues observing the crowd and spots Harry and Ron huddled together, whispering a few words, then slyly breaking from the group toward the other end of the corridor.
“What are Harry and Ron doing?
“Why aren’t they going back to the dormitory with everyone?
“Why is Professor Snape heading that way too?”
Hermione frowns with three questions in a row.
“……”
Melvin’s gaze sweeps over and soon notices the oily-haired Snape, watching him head straight toward the fourth-floor corridor: “I guess— just a guess—maybe something urgent happened at school, like a troll intrusion. They worry about you alone outside and want to notify you.”
“Why don’t they find a professor?” Hermione continues asking.
“Good question, but now they’ve separated and could face danger anytime. To prevent your friends from falling into peril, you should grab your wand and join them.”
“Why don’t I find a professor?”
“Good question. I suggest you hurry; I see Dumbledore and the professors going upstairs.”
“……”
Hermione glances up at Melvin, grabs this Muggle Studies professor’s sleeve, and walks forward.
