Confronting the World, Neither Can Be Lacking

He appeared in the entrance hall at some unknown moment, his expression graver than ever before, one arm cradling the unconscious Hermione while his other hand snatched at the air.

The flying wand obediently fell into his palm.

He didn't even spare the wand a glance, his gaze sweeping like a blade of ice over Rojie Venus, who stood frozen with her own wand raised, and the entire silent crowd of students.

"Professor! She provoked me first..." Rojie stammered, trying to explain.

"Enough." Caesar's voice was low, but carried a chill that froze everything, cutting her off.

He looked down to check Hermione's condition, his fingers quickly probing her forehead and neck, his brow deeply furrowed.

Confirming it was merely a brief magical disturbance causing the fainting, he removed his own robe, carefully wrapped it around Hermione, and lifted her horizontally into his arms.

Then, holding Hermione, he walked to the pale-faced Rojie, his gaze calm yet weighty as a mountain.

"Miss Venus, regarding that letter, I have never read it, and I never will. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more." His words carried clearly across the entire entrance hall. "As for your personal feelings, that is your own affair. But to provoke a public duel over it and cause injury to a younger student—as a prefect, you have severely failed in your duty. Ravenclaw loses fifty points. Now, go to Professor McGonagall's office."

He did not raise his voice, but every word felt like a final verdict.

Rojie Venus trembled all over, tears finally spilling from her eyes. Under the varied gazes of the crowd, she covered her face and ran off.

Caesar paid her no further heed, carrying Hermione as he strode quickly toward the Hospital Wing.

Leaving the entrance hall full of stunned students.

No one knew who let out a low snicker first, and then the murmurs buzzed to life.

Most carried a smug satisfaction: "Hermione Granger finally lost," "Look at her acting so arrogant, she deserved it."

Ravenclaw House had long been seething with resentment over Hermione's recent string of actions. Neville and Ron tried to argue back, but their voices were drowned in the noise.

In the Hospital Wing, under Madam Pomfrey's care, Hermione quickly regained consciousness. Her body was fine, just magically drained.

But the first thing she heard upon waking were the deliberately loud remarks of passing students: "She lost," "Got saved by Professor Caesar, how embarrassing," "Usually so cocky, but she still needed the professor."

She yanked the blanket over her head, and as soon as Madam Pomfrey left, she jumped off the bed and bolted.

She didn't return to the Gryffindor Tower. Instead, she hid in the Second-Floor Abandoned Girls' Bathroom, Moaning Myrtle's territory.

In the dark, damp bathroom, only the drip of leaking pipes and Myrtle's occasional drifting sobs broke the silence.

Hermione curled up in the corner of the farthest stall, her chin resting on her knees, tear streaks crossing her face, her dusty robe stained with grime and water spots.

The humiliation of losing the duel, the confusion of her wand's failure, the sting of everyone's mockery, and the shame of fainting so pathetically in front of Caesar...

All these emotions twisted into a scalding torrent, repeatedly scorching her pride, which had never truly known defeat.

"Mm..." She bit the back of her hand, trying not to make a sound, but sobs still leaked through her teeth.

Proud Hermione Granger, for the first time on her own "battlefield"—whether in knowledge or in this fight to defend some special "sovereignty"—had lost completely, so utterly, so ugly.

Just then, the stall door was tapped lightly, not in Myrtle's drifting way.

"Hermione." Caesar's voice came from outside, calm as ever, but clearer than ever as it pierced through the door.

Hermione froze, burying her face deeper into her knees, her voice hoarse:

"...Go away."

A moment of silence outside, then the soft click of the lock releasing.

Caesar stepped in. His tall figure made the cramped stall feel even more confined.

Ignoring any possible grime on the floor, he crouched in front of her, bringing his eyes level with hers.

"Losing to a fifth-year student with more training isn't shameful," he said, without any superfluous words of comfort.

"I didn't lose to her!" Hermione jerked her head up, her reddened eyes glaring at him as tears spilled again. "I lost to... to myself! My wand! Why did it stop obeying me? And this!"

She roughly yanked out the One-Winged Bird Necklace she'd kept hidden under her clothes. The wooden pendant was now dull and lifeless.

"They both failed at the same time! At the most critical moment! It doesn't make sense!"

Her words tumbled out, a mess of grievance, anger, and deep confusion.

Caesar's gaze fell on the necklace in her hand, then slowly moved to her tear-streaked face.

He didn't immediately explain the problem with the wand and necklace. Instead, he suddenly asked a seemingly unrelated question:

"Hermione, do you know why the One-Winged Bird is classified as a 'Symbiotic Forbidden Grade' in magical creature taxonomy?"

Hermione sniffled, answering from memory on reflex: "Because they can't survive alone—one wing, one eye each. They must operate in pairs, sharing life force and magical circuits. Forcibly separating them causes both to rapidly wither and die..."

Her voice trailed off, as if realizing something.

"Exactly. 'Sharing life force and magical circuits.'" Caesar repeated the phrase, his fingertip lightly tapping the pendant in her hand.

Miraculously, the feather embedded inside the pendant faintly glowed with iridescence, and at the same time, a similar weak light seeped from beneath Caesar's own collar.

"This isn't just a romantic legend, Hermione. It's a deep, nearly irreversible magical contract."

The materials used to create these two items came from a pair of One-Winged Birds that truly lived and died together. Their powers echo each other, and also restrain each other."

He gazed into her eyes, his tone growing incomparably serious, even carrying a hint of near-cruel candor that Hermione had never heard before:

"When one party falls into intense negative emotions directed at the other holder—

For example, the fear and anger you felt toward Rojie Venus today, mixed with the dread that I might be 'taken away'—this contract instinctively resists.

It's not meant to harm you, but to prevent the contract itself from being 'tainted.'

Because the core of the One-Winged Bird's contract is absolute trust and coexistence, not possession, and certainly not destruction."

Caesar extended his hand, palm up, and the wand made from the male bird's feather, the one belonging to him, silently appeared.

"Through these creations, we are indirectly linked within the same contract. In this world full of gazes, schemes, and dangers,"

he paused, his voice dropping low yet every word clear: "In a sense, we are like that pair of One-Winged Birds.

Alone, one might still fly, but it would be destined to be difficult, lonely, and fragile. Only by confirming each other's direction can we truly soar, and even weather storms that are less than kind."

Hermione forgot to cry, staring blankly at him, at the wand resonating with her necklace in his hand, at the deep, candid sea of stars in his eyes.

Caesar's words stripped away the romantic legend's brutal and truthful core, abruptly placing the feelings she had been naively relying on into a grander, more fateful framework.

To stand against the world, neither can be missing.

These words weighed heavily on her heart, yet strangely soothed the panic she had felt after her bitter defeat in fighting alone.