A Love Letter

After school, Hermione hugged several books borrowed from the library and walked briskly toward the Ravenclaw Tower, planning to head to Caesar's office first and wait for him there.

But this time, she had two followers in tow—Ron and Neville, who were now completely won over by her.

Hermione had even thought up a plan to "casually" bring up that ridiculous Daily Prophet vote Ron had mentioned, just to see how he would react.

However, when she passed the knocker's riddle and stepped into the slightly quieter Ravenclaw common room, she found the door to Caesar's office tightly shut.

But that didn't stump Hermione—she had permission to enter Caesar's office freely.

As she chanted the spell, a question appeared on the door:

"Why should I let you in?"

"Professor Caesar told me to come pick up that Etymological Analysis book myself first."

Muttering to herself, Hermione used the backup incantation Caesar had taught her to unlock the Ancient Runes Office door.

She pushed it open just a crack, ready to step inside.

"Wow! So this is the Ravenclaw professor's office?"

Two shadows suddenly squeezed past her from behind—it was Ron, brimming with curiosity, and Neville, half-dragged along with a terrified expression.

"Ron! Neville! You can't just—" Hermione's protest was drowned out by Ron's exclamations.

The office was filled with the scent of old parchment, special ink, and a certain cold, woody fragrance. Unlike the airy feel of the Ravenclaw common room, this place was more rigorous, more private.

Ron's eyes swept like searchlights over the bookshelves, the odd magical artifacts, and the desk cluttered with papers.

Neville, on the other hand, nervously shrank his neck, afraid of knocking something over.

"Merlin's Beard, look at this!" Ron's gasp carried the excitement of someone who'd uncovered a huge secret. He pointed to the center of the desk.

There, beside a rolled-out ancient manuscript, lay a light blue envelope that clashed sharply with the scholarly atmosphere around it.

It was excessively delicate, with silver thread embroidery along its edges, exuding a cloying, expensive floral scent.

On it, in elegant, almost affected cursive, was clearly written:

To Professor Caesar Habs

Ron leaned in closer, nearly pressing his nose to it, his voice cracking with excitement: "Who wrote this?"

Neville saw it too. His chubby face scrunched up as he stammered, "Th-this smells like the perfume Prefect Venus wears. We, we should go, Hermione. It's not good to just grab things..."

A sharp, instinctive alarm seized Hermione instantly.

She recognized that perfume—it belonged to the fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect.

Rojie Venus, a girl famous for her beauty and cleverness, who always tried to linger a little longer after Caesar's Ancient Runes class.

The same one who had come looking for her during the match earlier today.

Hermione stared at the letter, her chest feeling blocked by something.

The joy of celebration froze on the spot, replaced by a fury at having her territory invaded and an almost panicked impulse.

Without a moment's hesitation, she bent down, picked up the letter, and without even opening it, clutched it tightly in her hand. She turned and strode out of the Ravenclaw Tower.

Ron and Neville exchanged a glance.

"Let's go help Hermione!" Ron said, full of loyalty, then dragged Neville to catch up with her.

Neville, his face plastered with panic, stammered, "I don't... want to go. There's definitely going to be bloodshed next!"

Hermione didn't go anywhere else. She went straight to the bustling entrance hall, the place where students gathered most just before dinner.

Standing in the middle of the staircase, she took a deep breath, then raised the light blue envelope.

In the clearest, calmest voice she could muster—loud enough for everyone nearby to hear—she said, "Prefect Venus, your letter fell outside Professor Caesar's office door."

The entrance hall fell silent instantly.

Hermione's gaze locked precisely onto Rojie Venus, who had just walked in from the courtyard with a few Ravenclaw girls.

"Perhaps you'd prefer to handle it yourself?

After all, leaving a private letter of admiration outside a professor's office is neither proper nor likely to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings."

All eyes focused on the delicate letter in Hermione's hand and on Rojie Venus's face, which first turned deathly pale, then flushed bright red.

Whispers buzzed up.

Rojie Venus had never suffered such public humiliation, especially not within her own "territory," provoked by a lower-year student—and a Gryffindor at that.

Her elegant mask shattered completely, her eyes blazing with a mix of shame and fury.

"Granger!" she shrieked, yanking out her wand. "Ravenclaw's dignity will not be trampled! I demand a duel with you! Right now!"

"Fine by me." Hermione didn't flinch, drawing her own wand almost simultaneously.

A fierce flame burned in her chest—one she hadn't even realized was there.

It wasn't just about defending Caesar from being "disturbed." It felt more like defending something she considered her exclusive, absolutely possessive connection.

The duel began hastily in the open space at the center of the entrance hall, and a circle of excited, nervous students quickly formed around them.

On one side was an experienced, magically mature fifth-year prefect; on the other, a gifted, high-spirited second-year star.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Shield Charm!"

"Locomotor Mortis!"

"Finite Incantatem!"

Beams of spell light clashed fiercely in the air, erupting in bursts of sparks. Hermione's casting speed was extremely fast, her predictions precise.

She even used an obscure variant of the Shield Charm, which she'd found in an ancient text recommended by Caesar, successfully blocking a tricky Stunning Spell from Luo Jie.

Luo Jie, on the other hand, had the advantage of deeper magical reserves, stronger spell power, and a steady, composed combat rhythm.

For a moment, the two were evenly matched, drawing constant gasps from the onlookers.

Ron and Neville squeezed to the front of the crowd, their fists clenched with tension.

But just as Hermione prepared to cast a binding spell requiring fine magical control, hoping to turn the tide, something unexpected happened!

Her wand!

The wand, made from the female feather of a One-Winged Bird, suddenly trembled violently and unstably. The magical orb gathering at its tip didn't shoot out—instead, it collapsed inward sharply!

At the same time, the necklace on her chest felt as if it were being yanked hard by an invisible force, sending a sharp, burning pain through her. In an instant, all her strength drained away.

"Ah!" Hermione let out a short cry of pain. Her vision went black, the wand flew from her hand, and she fell backward like a broken puppet, stiff and straight.

"Hermione!" Neville and Ron shouted.

Just as the back of her head was about to slam hard against the cold stone floor.

A figure appeared behind her like a ghost, catching her falling body gently yet steadily.

It was Caesar.