I'm Going to Resign

The office door was slightly ajar.

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

"Come in."

It was his voice. Low, steady, as if nothing had changed from a month ago.

Hermione pushed the door open.

Caesar stood by the window, his back to the door, gazing out at the view of the Black Lake. He still wore a well-tailored dark robe, his posture straight and tall.

Hearing the door open, he turned around.

Time seemed to have left only faint traces on his face, but his eyes appeared even deeper and more unfathomable than the darkest she remembered.

A tremor ran through Hermione's chest. The One-Winged Bird necklace, which she never took off, was growing warm beneath her collar, pulsing with a joy and an urgent, questioning throb that only she could feel.

A month had passed, and this resonance had never been so strong.

She stood at the door, her fingers instinctively touching her collarbone, feeling the warmth of the jade pendant through the fabric.

Five years had taught her restraint. She no longer threw herself into his arms like she did at eleven, nor did she cry in front of him like after losing the duel in first year.

She just stood there, her brown eyes tracing his features carefully—from his still-black temples to the sharp lines of his jaw, finally settling in his bottomless gaze.

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

Caesar's gaze lingered on her face for a moment. That scrutinizing look almost made her step back—it wasn't the look she remembered.

In her memory, his eyes always carried warmth. Even during the strictest lessons, there was a unique indulgence hidden in them for her.

But now, Caesar's eyes were like ancient silverware dipped in a cold spring—still smooth on the surface, but radiating a bone-chilling coldness.

"Hermione," Caesar said her name, his voice betraying no emotion. "You've grown taller."

The most ordinary of greetings, yet it made Hermione's heart sink slightly.

She would have preferred him to ruffle her hair like before, or ask in that teasing tone how many classmates she had "crushed" lately.

Not this—treating her like any ordinary student, exchanging the most polite pleasantries.

Hermione suppressed the strange feeling in her heart, forcing her tone to be light, even adding a hint of youthful pride:

"A lot has happened this month. I founded the 'Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,' S.P.E.W. for short, though the membership is still small..."

She spoke faster, sharing what she considered her most important "achievement" of the year, her eyes shining as she looked at him, hoping to see that familiar expression of encouragement and understanding.

"A meaningful attempt."

Caesar walked behind the desk and sat down, gesturing for her to sit as well.

His movements were still elegant and composed, but as the hem of his robe brushed the edge of the desk, Hermione keenly noticed a very faint, silver-gray mark on the back of his right hand.

It looked like a scar from some kind of magical burn, its shape eerily reminiscent of an ancient curse symbol she had seen in a restricted-section book.

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

Hermione pressed on, sitting straight-backed in the chair across from him. "You didn't even come back for Christmas. Professor McGonagall said the ruins you visited don't even have a complete record in the Ministry of Magic."

Caesar didn't answer immediately.

He reached into the desk drawer, pulled out a long, narrow leather case, and pushed it toward Hermione. "For you. Longmu's help is becoming less and less useful to you now. This is the last of it."

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

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The air was silent for a few seconds. Outside the window, a giant squid's tentacle brushed across the surface of the Black Lake, casting a swaying shadow.

Just as Hermione thought Caesar wouldn't answer, he suddenly spoke, his voice as light as a whisper to himself: "Hermione, if I were really going to steal Butterbeer, would you catch me?"

"What?"

Hermione didn't react for a moment, thinking she had misheard.

"Nothing."

A smile appeared on Caesar's face, and he said flatly, "I just meant that my research in the East has yielded many results. I'm afraid I can't continue my teaching duties here at Hogwarts, so I plan to resign tomorrow and leave."

"Leave Hogwarts?" Hermione's voice caught in her throat, carrying a tremor she didn't notice herself.

She had imagined countless scenarios, but never this one.

If you leave, what do I do?

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

Professor McGonagall walked in, nodded at Hermione, then looked at Caesar, her tone carrying the familiarity between colleagues and a hint of subtle concern: "Did the journey go smoothly? You look..."

"A bit tired. Long journeys are unavoidable." Caesar smoothly took over the conversation, his smile flawless.

Professor McGonagall exchanged a few more pleasantries. Before leaving, her gaze seemed to casually sweep over Hermione, pausing for a moment on her fingers, which were subconsciously gripping the necklace at her chest.

In the corridor, Professor McGonagall stopped Hermione, who had just excused herself and stepped out a moment later.

"Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's voice was very low, her gaze sharp and complex behind her spectacles. "Do you... feel that Professor Caesar is any different since his return?"

Hermione's heart sank heavily.

Even Professor McGonagall had noticed?

She looked up, meeting Professor McGonagall's probing eyes, which held both concern and deep worry.

Hermione thought of the abnormal throb from the necklace, the lingering chill that wouldn't fade, and the increasingly fathomless darkness at the bottom of Caesar's eyes.

She was an extremely clever person, clever enough to piece together countless clues into an unsettling picture.

Long-term investigation of dangerous ancient magic, a change in his aura upon return, and perhaps some undercurrents she didn't know about.

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

Hermione gave a guarded answer.

But her slightly whitened knuckles, and the flash of fear and speculation in her eyes—things she herself was unwilling to probe—did not escape Professor McGonagall's notice.

Professor McGonagall gave her a long look, then finally patted her shoulder. "Stay alert, child. And... take care of yourself."

Walking alone back to the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione clutched the necklace tightly against her chest.

It still transmitted a warmth resonating with Caesar, yet it seemed to be fighting against another chill rising from the depths of her heart.

She was still overjoyed at his return, that long-buried flutter undiminished.

But at the same time, an icy question, like the deepest current of the Black Lake, began to swirl in her mind:

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

And what had he brought back?