Second Place for Most Wanted Boyfriend

She took a small step forward, her gaze burning, and continued, "If you and your teammates spent the time you use analyzing which professor 'favors' whom on examining the tactical flaws I just mentioned—flaws clearly recorded in your own playbook but ignored by you—then maybe I wouldn't have caught the Snitch today. What Professor Caesar appreciates is my ability to turn that book knowledge into victory. If you think that's 'favoritism,' then I suggest you first make your performance worthy of being 'favored.'"

Hermione's words were like a precise combination punch, not a single one directly answering "why." Yet with cold, fact-based, even academically cited counter-questions, she hurled the question back at her opponent, intact and twice as heavy. She wasn't defending herself; she was, from a higher dimension, completely denying the other's "qualification" to raise the question in the first place.

Roj Venus's face flushed red and pale. Her proud logic, under Hermione's "violent dismantling" grounded in facts and achievements, left her momentarily speechless. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She only nodded stiffly, turned, and walked away quickly, her back looking somewhat hurried.

Ron, who had been pretending to organize his gear nearby but was actually eavesdropping with ears perked, now had wide eyes. Watching Hermione like a little falcon that had just won a fight, feathers fluffed yet head held high, he couldn't help muttering under his breath: "Merlin's Beard! She's got guts—that's the Ravenclaw captain!"

Neville, watching Hermione calmly start wiping her broom again as if she'd just casually solved a textbook problem, couldn't help grinning either. Hermione's logic might sometimes be hard to handle, but you couldn't deny that in moments like this, it was... damn satisfying.

"So what if she's the Ravenclaw captain?" Hermione snorted, watching Roger Davis's hurried retreat, and continued scrubbing her broom handle vigorously. "She has no right to meddle in my affairs."

"Whoa." Ron edged closer, his face a mix of lingering excitement and blazing curiosity. He lowered his voice as if discussing a secret bigger than winning the Quidditch Cup. "Seriously, Hermione, what's your relationship with Professor Caesar? The way he looks at you, and the way you dove for that today—Merlin, I swear Professor McGonagall's eyes went wide!"

Hermione's broom-wiping paused. She looked up at Ron, then glanced at Neville, who also wore a curious expression but tried to stay calm. The battle-ready look on her face faded into something more private, a softer certainty, but her words came out surprisingly simple. "Family." She uttered the word clearly, then bent back to fussing with her broom, as if it were the most natural explanation in the world.

"Family?" Ron yelped, clearly not expecting that answer. "What kind of family? Distant uncle? Godfather? No way—you're Muggle-born..."

"It's just a feeling of family," Hermione cut off his wild guesses, her tone impatient but with a warm glint deep in her eyes. "He's important. Important like family. Is that so hard to understand?"

Ron and Neville exchanged a look. Ron scratched his fiery red hair, processing the information, and then a look of dawning realization mixed with mischievous understanding spread across his face. In response to the readers' requests, a VIP membership ad-free feature is now available. Click to view. "Oh—family." He drew out the word, nudging Neville with his elbow. "I think I get it. No wonder the Ravenclaws, especially that prefect who's always asking Professor Caesar questions, and that Venus just now, look at you so weirdly."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ron said, winking and lowering his voice but full of teasing, "they probably don't see you as just a 'particularly outstanding student competitor.' They probably see you as, uh, a more 'intimate' kind of threat. Serves Venus right for getting shut down—she might've really thought you were... cough, a romantic rival."

"Romantic rival?!" Hermione's voice shot up, then she caught herself and lowered it, her face a mask of absurdity and disgust. "Ron Weasley! Can't you stuff anything useful in that head of yours besides trolls and this kind of nonsense?! This is ridiculous! Caesar is a teacher!"

"What's the big deal?" Ron looked like he'd discovered a new continent, eyes wide as he stared at Hermione with an exaggerated "you don't know?" expression. His voice dropped even lower, charged with the thrill of sharing a major secret, yet more piercing: "Professor Caesar isn't just the youngest teacher at Hogwarts—he was also second place in last year's Daily Prophet poll for 'Most Wanted Boyfriend.'"

"Who was first?" Hermione asked, instinctively feeling no one could be more gentle, strong, handsome, reliable, and understanding than Caesar.

Neville jumped in, a bit regretfully: "First place was some rich bloke in the wizarding world. Heard he spent a lot of money buying votes. Too bad I missed it—I would've gone to claim a gift too."

Hermione pursed her lips. Money could buy anything? Her disdain for wealth was plain.

Seeing Neville cut in, Ron hurried to continue:

"So it's no exaggeration to say Professor Caesar is the number one most-wanted boyfriend in the wizarding world.

Students with secret crushes on him could line up from fifth year all the way to seventh. If Hogwarts didn't have any unmarried female professors, otherwise..."

"Why only from fifth year to seventh year? Why not first year? Is there some problem with that?"

This question wasn't raised by Hermione, but by Neville—it was his first time hearing this claim.

Ron glanced around, saw no Ravenclaws nearby, and lowered his voice: "Because I heard from upperclassmen that last year a fourth-year Ravenclaw senior confessed to Caesar, and as punishment, Caesar made her finish forty-nine homework assignments in one semester."

"Merlin's Beard, that's forty-nine homework assignments!"

As he spoke, Ron traced a big circle in the air with both hands, as if sharing in the fear: "No amount of love can survive the torment of forty-nine homework assignments."

Hearing this, Neville couldn't help but shiver involuntarily.

That really was a number that would make anyone think twice. If one day the girl he liked demanded he finish forty-nine homework assignments before she'd date him...

Forget it.

Whoever wants to like him can go ahead—we slackers better stay far away.