I'm Resigning

The office door was ajar.

Hermione raised her hand, hesitated for a moment, then knocked softly.

"Come in."

It was his voice. Low and steady, seemingly no different from a month ago.

Hermione pushed the door open.

Caesar stood by the window, his back to the door as he gazed out at the Black Lake. He was still wearing a well-tailored dark robe, his posture straight.

At the sound of the door opening, he turned around.

Time seemed to have left few traces on his face. Only his eyes seemed even deeper than she remembered them being at their most profound.

A flutter stirred in Hermione's chest. The One-Winged Bird Necklace she never took off was growing hot beneath her robes, pulsing with a joy and urgency only she could sense, as if asking her a question.

A month had passed, and their connection had never felt this strong.

She stood in the doorway, unconsciously brushing her fingers over her collarbone, feeling the warmth of the jade pendant through the fabric.

Five years had taught her restraint. She didn't throw herself into his arms as she had at eleven, or cry in front of him as she had after losing their duel in her first year.

She simply stood there, her brown eyes tracing his features: from his still-black temples to the sharp line of his jaw, then finally settling on his unfathomable eyes.

"Caesar," she heard herself say, her voice steadier than she'd expected. "Welcome back."

Caesar's gaze lingered on her face for a moment. His scrutinizing look nearly made Hermione step back. It wasn't the look she remembered.

In her memories, there was always warmth in his eyes. Even when he was at his strictest, they held a tenderness he reserved just for her.

But now, Caesar's gaze was like ancient silver steeped in an icy pool. Its surface was still smooth, yet it radiated a bone-deep chill.

"Hermione." Caesar said her name, his voice revealing nothing. "You've grown taller."

It was the most ordinary of greetings, yet Hermione's heart sank a little.

She would have preferred him to ruffle her hair as he used to, or teasingly ask how many classmates she had "crushed" lately.

Anything but this, as if she were just another student and he was making polite conversation.

Hermione pushed down the unease she felt and tried to sound cheerful, even letting a little boastfulness befitting her age slip into her voice.

"A lot has happened this past month. I founded the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, or S.P.E.W. for short. We don't have many members yet..."

Her words came faster as she shared what she considered her greatest "achievement" of the year. Her eyes shone as she watched him, hoping to see the look of understanding and encouragement she remembered.

"A worthwhile endeavor."

Caesar walked around to the desk and sat down, gesturing for her to do the same.

His movements were still graceful and unhurried, but as his robes brushed the edge of the desk, Hermione noticed a faint, silvery-gray mark on the back of his right hand.

It looked like a scar left by a magical burn. Its strange shape reminded her of an ancient curse symbol she had seen in a book in the Restricted Section.

"What about you? What have you been doing this past month?"

Hermione pressed him, taking the chair opposite and sitting with her back ramrod straight. "You didn't even come back for Christmas. Professor McGonagall said the Ministry of Magic doesn't even have complete records of the ruins you visited."

Caesar didn't answer at once.

He reached into the desk drawer and took out a long, narrow leather case, then pushed it toward Hermione. "This is for you. Longmu has been less and less helpful to you lately. This is the last of it."

Hermione didn't touch the case. Her eyes remained fixed on Caesar's. "You still haven't answered my question."

For several seconds, the air was silent. Outside, a Giant Squid's tentacle swept across the surface of the Black Lake, casting a wavering shadow.

Just as Hermione began to think Caesar wouldn't answer, he suddenly spoke, his voice so soft it sounded like he was talking to himself. "Hermione, if I really went to steal Butterbeer, would you catch me?"

"What?"

For a moment, Hermione didn't understand. She thought she must have misheard him.

"Nothing."

A smile appeared on Caesar's face. "I just meant that my research in the East has yielded a lot of results.

"I don't think I can continue my teaching duties at Hogwarts, so I plan to resign tomorrow and leave."

"Leave Hogwarts?" Hermione's voice caught in her throat, trembling in a way she didn't even notice.

She had imagined countless possibilities, but never this one.

If you leave, what will happen to me?

Just then, Professor McGonagall's voice sounded outside the door. "Professor Caesar, I hope I'm not interrupting... Oh, Miss Granger is here too."

Professor McGonagall came in, nodded to Hermione, then turned to Caesar. Her tone was familiar, as one professor speaking to another, with a hint of concern she tried to hide.

"Was your journey all right? You look..."

"A little tired. Long journeys are bound to take their toll." Caesar smoothly picked up where she left off, his smile flawless.

Professor McGonagall exchanged a few more pleasantries before leaving. Her gaze seemed to sweep casually over Hermione, lingering for a moment on the hand she had unconsciously placed over her necklace.

In the corridor, Professor McGonagall stopped Hermione as she came out a little later.

"Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall lowered her voice. Her gaze behind her glasses was sharp and complicated. "Do you... feel that Professor Caesar is different now that he's back?"

Hermione's heart sank heavily.

Had even Professor McGonagall noticed?

She raised her head and met Professor McGonagall's searching gaze. There was concern in it, along with deep worry.

Hermione thought of the necklace's unusual pulse, the persistent chill, and the ever-deepening darkness in Caesar's eyes.

She was an exceptionally clever person, clever enough to piece together countless clues into a troubling picture.

He had spent a long time investigating dangerous Ancient Magic. His presence had changed since his return. And perhaps there were undercurrents of which she knew nothing.

"Caesar..." Hermione chose her words carefully, her throat suddenly dry. "He seems more focused on his research. Maybe he's just tired."

Hermione gave a cautious answer.

But Professor McGonagall didn't miss her knuckles, gone faintly white, or the fear and suspicion that flashed in her eyes—things Hermione herself didn't want to examine too closely.

Professor McGonagall looked at her for a long moment, then simply patted her shoulder. "Stay alert, child. And... take care of yourself."

Hermione walked alone toward Gryffindor Tower, her fingers clenched tightly around the necklace at her chest.

It still carried the warmth of its connection with Caesar, yet seemed to be fighting another chill rising from within her.

She was still overjoyed that he had returned. The longing she had buried for so many years had not lessened at all.

But at the same time, a cold question began to circle in her mind like an undercurrent in the deepest part of the Black Lake:

Where had he gone every time he left the school all these years?

And what had he brought back?