The air in the cold stone chamber seemed to have congealed like tar, thick with the sickly-sweet stench of lingering Dark Magic and the scorched odor left by the violent collision of magical forces.
Although Caesar had initially suppressed Quirrell with seemingly effortless ease, as time passed, the power Voldemort unleashed through Quirrell's body gradually gained the absolute upper hand.
Caesar was in grave danger.
The eerie silver-blue vines born of Grindelwald still stubbornly emerged from thin air, tangling around and slicing through the black Fiendfyre and curses that came at him.
But they were growing noticeably more slowly, and their light had dimmed considerably, as if some invisible force were constantly draining their vitality.
Caesar's face was as pale as paper. Every flick of his wand seemed extraordinarily heavy; his breathing was shallow, and cold sweat plastered his fringe to his skin.
The bluish cracks beneath his skin no longer merely surfaced faintly. They writhed and pulsed like living things across his cheek, the side of his neck, and even the back of his wand hand, giving off an ominous glow.
The Philosopher's Stone clenched in his right hand no longer glowed with a steady red light.
Instead, it flickered erratically with the tremors of his body and the fluctuations of his magic, like an unsteady, beating heart.
"Your power is betraying you, Caesar Habs!" Quirrell's rasping voice was brimming with excitement.
"Has that ancient thieving spell finally begun to devour its master? Or is it... the 'catalyst' you so carefully chose, setting you alight from within?"
A particularly venomous black arrow, accompanied by a shriek that seemed to come from the soul, darted toward Caesar's ribs while he was distracted by another wave of Fiendfyre.
Caesar barely managed to twist aside. The arrow skimmed his robes, turning the hem to ash in an instant and leaving a charred burn across his skin.
He grunted and stumbled backward, slamming against the cold stone wall. A streak of dark red blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
Just as Quirrell laughed wildly and gathered even greater, more terrifying reserves of dark magic, preparing to deliver the final blow to Caesar, who seemed to be at the end of his strength—
"Reducto! Incarcerous!"
The spells came neither from Caesar nor were aimed at Quirrell. They struck precisely at the arch above the chamber entrance and a weak spot in one of the side walls.
The explosion and the crash of falling stone sounded at once. A thick cloud of dust billowed through the chamber. It caused little damage, but succeeded in creating confusion and briefly obscuring the scene.
A slender figure darted through the swirling dust like a nimble swift, rushing inside and stopping without hesitation between Caesar and Quirrell.
Hermione Granger was slightly out of breath, dust clinging to her school robes, but her eyes were as sharp as tempered steel as she took in the situation at a glance.
Caesar's grievously wounded, near-death state; Quirrell and Voldemort's triumphant, ferocious expression; and the nauseating malice in the air, so palpable it seemed almost solid.
Her gaze finally settled on the Philosopher's Stone flickering in Caesar's hand. Her pupils contracted, confirming her worst suspicion.
Yet there was no surprise on her face, as if all of this had been anticipated on some deeper level.
"Another bothersome little insect?" Quirrell snarled in furious indignation at the interruption. "Get out of the way, Mudblood, or you'll become fertilizer along with him!"
Hermione paid him no heed. She didn't even look at Caesar. Keeping her wand trained on Quirrell, she rapidly chanted, and several magical chains crackling with faint arcs of electricity sprang from its tip.
They weren't meant to attack. Instead, they moved like agile tripwires, trying to wrap around Quirrell's ankles, wrists, and wand, disrupting his movements and balance as he cast.
At the same time, she quickly took a handful of glittering powder from a small pouch at her waist and scattered it.
As soon as the powder touched the air, it became a shimmering pale golden mist with a faint disorienting effect, spreading between her and Quirrell.
Her tactics were clear: she wasn't trying to hurt him, only to distract and delay him.
Even a few seconds of breathing room for Caesar would help—and buy her time to observe and assess the situation.
Her movements were crisp and decisive, her coordination seemingly honed through countless rehearsals. Her combat skills and composure were far beyond anything taught in class.
Leaning against the stone wall, Caesar breathed hard as he watched Hermione stand before him without hesitation.
He watched her use tactics that clearly bore the mark of his teachings, yet were blended with her own style.
A profoundly complicated glimmer passed through his unfathomable eyes: bitterness, approval, and perhaps even a hint of a sigh.
Just as Hermione's interference began to take effect, and Quirrell grew somewhat irritated, his assault briefly slowing—
"Petrificus Totalus!"
A cold, commanding voice, charged with overwhelming fury and disappointment, erupted at the chamber entrance like a clap of thunder.
The milky-white beam of the Full Body-Bind Curse wasn't aimed at Quirrell. With a sharp whoosh, it shot straight toward Caesar, who was leaning against the wall!
Professor McGonagall appeared almost at the exact moment the spell was cast.
She had clearly hurried there. Her usually immaculate bun was coming undone, and a travel cloak had been hastily thrown over her emerald dressing gown.
But she stood straight as a pine, and behind her glasses, her eyes blazed with a fire Hermione had never seen before—one mingling shock, the pain of betrayal, and cold resolve.
Between her fingers, she still held a crumpled corner of an envelope. It was the note Caesar had left in her office before coming here, documenting the events that had led to this.
Clearly, Professor McGonagall was now treating it as some kind of "evidence."
Caesar seemed barely able to lift a hand. He merely tilted his head slightly.
The Full Body-Bind Curse skimmed past his ear and struck the stone wall behind him, leaving a pale, stony mark.
"Minerva,"
Caesar's voice was hoarse and broken, yet still held that infuriating indifference, as if none of this concerned him. "Good evening. But stealing the letter I left for little Hermione doesn't seem like something a teacher should do, does it?"
"Caesar Habs!"
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled with tightly restrained anger. She first shot a stern glance at Hermione, who stood between them, her eyes full of confusion and warning.
Then she fixed her gaze on Caesar. "Or should I call you something else? That doesn't matter! What matters is this letter..."
She raised the letter in her hand. Though it wasn't truly a farewell letter, the few words on it were enough to make her piece together a horrifying possibility.
"...and what you're doing now! You've betrayed Hogwarts, and everyone who ever trusted you! How dare you side with Voldemort and plot to steal the Philosopher's Stone?!"
"Betrayed Hogwarts?"
Caesar tugged at the corner of his mouth. His smile was weak, yet distant. "I never belonged here, Minerva.
"This place was only a temporary stop for me. As for bowing to Voldemort..."
He coughed twice, dark red blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "That claim actually hurts a little.
"You can question my motives, but don't insult my taste by comparing me to that incomplete fragment of a soul."
Before you continue