After school, Hermione clutched several books she had borrowed from the library and headed briskly toward Ravenclaw Tower, planning to wait for Caesar in his office.
This time, though, she also had two hangers-on in tow: Ron and Neville, who had been thoroughly won over by her.
Hermione had even planned to "casually" bring up the ridiculous Daily Prophet poll Ron had mentioned and see how Caesar reacted.
However, when she solved the door knocker's riddle and entered the slightly quiet Ravenclaw Common Room, she found the door to Caesar's office firmly shut.
That didn't deter Hermione. She had permission to enter Caesar's office whenever she wanted.
As she recited the spell, a question appeared on the door:
"Why should I let you in?"
"Professor Caesar said I could come and get that copy of Etymological Analysis myself."
Talking to herself, Hermione used the backup incantation Caesar had previously given her to unlock the door to the Ancient Runes Office.
She pushed it open just a crack and was about to step inside.
"Wow! Is this a Ravenclaw professor's office?"
Two figures suddenly squeezed past her. They were Ron, his face alight with curiosity, and Neville, whom he was half dragging along, looking terrified.
"Ron! Neville! You can't..." Hermione's protest was drowned out by Ron's exclamation of wonder.
The office smelled of old parchment, special ink, and some kind of crisp, woody fragrance. Unlike the ethereal atmosphere of the Ravenclaw Common Room, this place felt more serious and private.
Ron's eyes swept over the bookshelves, the strange magical objects, and the desk strewn with papers like searchlights.
Neville, meanwhile, hunched nervously, afraid he might knock something over.
"Merlin's beard, look at this!" Ron exclaimed, thrilled as if he'd uncovered the biggest secret in the world. He pointed to the center of the desk.
There, beside an unrolled ancient manuscript, lay a pale blue envelope, utterly out of place amid the scholarly surroundings.
It was almost excessively refined, its edges even embroidered with silver thread, and it gave off a cloying, expensive floral scent.
On it, elegant handwriting that bordered on affectedly ornate read:
To be opened by Professor Caesar Habs
Ron leaned closer, nearly pressing his nose against it. His voice rose with excitement. "Who wrote this?"
Neville saw it too. His chubby face scrunched up, and he stammered, "Th-this smells like Prefect Venus. W-we should go, Hermione. It's not right to just take things..."
A sharp, instinctive alarm seized Hermione.
She recognized that perfume. It belonged to the fifth-year Ravenclaw prefect.
Rojie Venus, a girl famous for her looks and intelligence, who always tried to linger after Caesar's Ancient Runes class.
The same girl who had come to find her earlier that day during the competition.
Hermione stared at the letter, her chest tightening as if something had lodged there.
Her joy at the celebration froze instantly, replaced by an anger at this invasion of her territory and an almost panicked impulse.
Without a moment's hesitation, she bent down and picked up the letter. She didn't even open it; she simply clutched it tightly and strode out of Ravenclaw Tower.
Ron and Neville exchanged a glance.
"We're going to help Hermione!" Ron declared, ever the loyal friend, then dragged Neville after her.
Neville looked utterly alarmed as he stammered, "I d-don't want to go. This is definitely going to turn into a bloodbath!"
Hermione went straight to the Entrance Hall, where the students gathered before dinner and where the crowds were thickest.
Standing in the middle of the staircase, she took a deep breath and raised the pale blue envelope.
In the clearest, calmest voice she could manage—loud enough for everyone nearby to hear—she said, "Prefect Venus, you dropped your letter outside Professor Caesar's office."
The Entrance Hall fell silent.
Hermione's gaze fixed on Rojie Venus, who had just walked in from the courtyard with several other Ravenclaw girls.
"Perhaps you'd rather deal with it yourself?
After all, leaving a private love letter outside a professor's office is both inappropriate and liable to cause unnecessary misunderstandings."
Every eye turned toward the exquisite letter in Hermione's hand and Rojie Venus's face, which had gone deathly pale before flushing bright red.
Whispers buzzed through the crowd.
Rojie Venus had never been humiliated so publicly, especially not in her own "territory," and not by a younger student—one from Gryffindor, no less.
Her mask of elegance shattered completely, fury and shame blazing in her eyes.
"Granger!" she shrieked, whipping out her wand. "Ravenclaw's dignity will not be trampled on! I challenge you to a duel! Now!"
"Just what I wanted." Hermione didn't back down. She drew her own wand almost at the same moment.
A fierce fire burned in her chest, one she hadn't even realized was there.
She wasn't just defending Caesar from being "disturbed." It was more like she was defending a bond she considered hers alone, something she wouldn't share with anyone.
The duel began hastily in the open space at the center of the Entrance Hall. Excited and anxious students quickly formed a circle around them.
One was an experienced fifth-year prefect with mature magical ability; the other, a gifted and spirited second-year star.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Protego!"
"Locomotor Mortis!"
"Finite Incantatem!"
Spells collided fiercely in midair, bursting into showers of sparks. Hermione cast at astonishing speed and predicted her opponent's moves with precision.
She even used an obscure defensive variant of Protego that she'd found in an old book Caesar had recommended, successfully blocking a tricky Stunning Spell from Rojie.
Rojie, meanwhile, had deeper reserves of magic and more powerful spells, and she kept a steady, measured rhythm in the duel.
For a while, they were evenly matched, drawing gasps from the spectators.
Ron and Neville squeezed to the front of the crowd, their fists clenched with tension.
However, just as Hermione was preparing to cast a Binding Charm requiring precise control of her magic, something went terribly wrong!
Her wand!
The wand made with a female One-Winged Bird's feather suddenly began to vibrate violently and erratically. The ball of magical light gathering at its tip didn't shoot out; instead, it abruptly collapsed inward!
At the same time, the necklace on her chest seemed to be yanked by an invisible force. A sharp, searing pain shot through her, instantly draining all the strength from her body.
"Ugh!" Hermione let out a short cry of pain. Her vision went black, the wand flew from her hand, and she fell backward like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Hermione!" Neville and Ron shouted.
Just as the back of her head was about to strike the cold stone floor—
A figure appeared behind her like a ghost, gently but firmly catching her as she fell.
It was Caesar.
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