I Am Willing

An ordinary wizard's residence, complete with a small garden.

In the study, the books they had collected filled every corner, Muggle and magical volumes mingling harmoniously to form a universe of knowledge that belonged only to them.

Caesar sat in an old armchair by the window, reading an obscure tome on Eastern alchemy in the afternoon sunlight.

Hermione curled up on the sofa, frowning slightly as she reviewed Ministry of Magic documents, occasionally lifting her head to ask him about the historical origins of a certain legal clause.

Time flowed quietly, broken only by the scratch of a quill on parchment and the soft rustle of turning pages.

Sometimes Caesar would set down his book, walk behind her, and gently knead her tense shoulders, earning a contented sigh and her leaning back into his embrace with quiet dependence.

"Sometimes I feel like none of this is real," she said softly, eyes closed. "Like a dream too beautiful to be true."

"Why?"

Hermione fell silent.

She didn't answer, only buried her face deeper into his chest, breathing in his scent.

Caesar fell silent too.

His hands paused on her shoulders, his movements becoming gentle and restrained.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, cutting geometric patterns of light and shadow across the study floor.

Dust motes spun slowly in the beams of light, drifting as if time itself had taken shape.

The secret they both knew hung between them like a transparent film—visible, yet neither reached out to touch it.

"Caesar," Hermione finally spoke, her voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the wind outside the window.

"Hm?"

"If this really is a dream," she said, still not lifting her head, still nestled in his arms, "then I hope I never wake up."

Caesar's arms tightened around her. He could feel her trembling—slight, but unmistakable.

It was a cloudy dusk, the silhouette of Hogwarts Castle's ruins faintly visible in the distance.

Caesar knelt on one knee, a little awkwardly.

In his hand was no lavish jewelry, only a simple silver ring, enchanted with a permanent charm of starlight and a whisper of wind.

Hermione stood before him, still wearing ordinary wizard robes, even clutching a half-read proposal in her hand.

Her brown eyes first showed surprise, then quickly glazed over with a shimmer of tears, while the corners of her mouth involuntarily curved upward into a smile so pure and bright.

There was no grand ceremony, no crowd of onlookers. Only the wind from the Black Lake, gently stirring her curls.

Just like the rainy fog of London years ago, softly brushing against the windows of a double-decker bus.

He looked up at her and spoke the request he had never truly envisioned in all those long years and countless schemes: "Marry me."

Her tears finally fell, but she nodded emphatically, throwing herself into his arms, laughing through her tears as she scolded him for being "so unplanned, so unlike you."

In that moment she fell into his embrace, a different dusk flashed through Hermione's mind—

A gray sky, his figure turning and walking into the twilight without looking back.

And she, clutching that silly plush rabbit, holding the warm necklace in her hand, standing at her doorstep.

Back then, she didn't know that back—seeming like an eternal farewell—was actually the beginning of a promise.

At this moment, that promise was finally fulfilled.

They kissed in the lakeside breeze and sunlight.

That kiss was long and tender, as if to make up for all the lost time, to soothe every hidden wound.

As the ring slid onto her finger, the starlight charm quietly activated, tiny specks of light swirling around their fingers like living things.

By a tranquil lake in Scotland.

Caesar wore a wide-brimmed hat, sitting on a small folding stool. His fishing rod had been still for a while, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

Hermione worked on a picnic blanket spread beside him, but more often than not, she rested her chin on her hand watching him, or stared absently at the lake.

Sunlight shattered into countless golden coins on the water's surface. In the distance, a Muggle boat drifted leisurely by. No scheming, no life-or-death danger—only a peace so ordinary it felt almost extravagant.

Sometimes she would walk over, wrap her arms around him from behind, and press her face against his back without saying a word.

He would set down his fishing rod, hold her hands that encircled him, and gently trace the simple silver ring on her finger with his fingertips.

"Sometimes I think about the London Eye," she suddenly said softly, her voice muffled against his back. "That rainy afternoon, standing so high up, the whole city beneath us. You stood behind me, quiet as a shadow, but I could feel you there—just like now."

Caesar's hand paused slightly, then held hers tighter. "I'll always be by your side."

A simple wedding, yet full of blessings.

The venue was neither the grand hall of the Ministry of Magic nor the ancient manor of some pure-blood family—it was the flower-filled back garden of their own home.

Those present were few:

The Grangers, who genuinely blessed them—as Hermione walked toward Caesar on her father's arm, she saw her mother quietly wiping away tears.

A handful of friends Hermione had truly bonded with during her school years stood among the crowd, winking at her.

Several important collaborators from the Ministry of Magic, along with a few professors from the four new schools who had stayed in touch after Hogwarts disbanded.

Hermione wore no elaborate wedding gown, only a simple white robe, with dew-kissed lilies woven through her curly hair.

Plain and unadorned, just like that girl from years ago, clutching a plush rabbit, standing at her doorstep after the rain stopped.

When they exchanged vows, the sky was clear and washed clean; a few curious owls, drawn by the fragrance of flowers, landed on the garden fence, tilting their heads to watch quietly.

As he said "I do," her eyes shimmered with a radiance brighter than the stars.

Before speaking her own vows, Hermione paused for a moment, her gaze passing over Caesar as if seeing something far away.

"A long time ago," her voice was clear and steady, "someone gave me a gift and told me it represented an 'absolute.'

An absolute that, no matter how far apart we were or what hardships we faced, could never truly be severed.

Today, standing here, I want to give that person an answer."

She raised her hand, her fingertips unconsciously brushing the front of her robe—the necklace was no longer there, but the gesture had become a habit deeply rooted in her heart.

"My answer to you is: I do."

She looked straight into Caesar's eyes, speaking each word deliberately: "Not because of the 'absolute' you once promised me.

But because, starting from that rainy afternoon, without even realizing it, you had already become my absolute."

Caesar's Adam's apple bobbed.

In those eyes of his, always so unfathomable, there was now a clearly visible surge of emotion, deep and sincere.