Hermione looked curiously around the room, which felt unfamiliar and intriguing.
"What is this place?" she asked, tilting her head.
Kai Adler quietly closed the door behind them. "This is my home," he said softly.
"My home from before I came to Britain."
"Oh~"
Kai's sharp, aristocratic features were distinctly foreign. Hermione had known for a long time that he came from a distant and mysterious country in the heart of the Continent—somewhere in the old Germanic lands.
She grew interested, touching a few objects curiously. "It's not that different from my room."
"What difference were you expecting?" Kai asked, raising an eyebrow.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I thought there would be… I don't know, some strange and eccentric things."
Kai shook his head with a faint smile. Misinformation was still rampant across the magical world, and Britain, especially, held onto fanciful ideas about places further east of France. People always had a habit of either idealizing or demonizing what they didn't understand.
"We're all the same. One nose, two eyes. My daily life isn't so different from yours, is it?"
"Hmm… there are still some differences."
Kai gave her a knowing look. "Let me guess—British cuisine?"
Hermione gasped in mock offence. "Are you insulting my parents' cooking?"
"Never!" Kai said quickly, hands raised in surrender. "Mrs. Granger's breakfast is the best I've ever had, truly!"
"Really?" she asked suspiciously.
"Really."
Hermione let it go with a huff, resuming her inspection of the room.
Kai watched her fondly. If he had the chance, he'd love to let her taste something proper—a finely roasted venison dish or a hearty Alpine stew, the kind his grandmother used to make.
He idly wondered whether Basilisk meat was even edible.
His cooking skills were decent—far from a professional chef's, but certainly good enough to impress someone raised on soggy toast and bland roast. But the Basilisk's skin was thick, and its flesh was tough. There was no way he could butcher it alone.
He thought briefly of the sword Harry had pulled from the Sorting Hat.
Perhaps… he could borrow it from Dumbledore.
"Who's that?" Hermione's voice cut into his thoughts.
She was pointing at a slightly faded poster pinned to the far wall.
Kai glanced over. "Ah. That's August Laufer. He was something of a star back home—a musician and actor."
"Like… Britain's Chaplin?"
Kai chuckled. "Not quite that iconic, but sure, you can think of him that way."
Hermione squinted at the poster. "I didn't think you were the type to hang up celebrity posters."
"I wasn't. That was from a long time ago."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why do you always act like such an old man? You do remember you're younger than me, right?"
Kai caught the finger she jabbed at his chest, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Oh? Then should I call you Fräulein Adler, my elder?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed pink at the sound of the German term. She pulled her hand back and quickly changed the subject.
"What was this room used for, originally?"
Kai's smile lingered, but he let the moment pass.
"This used to be the core of the original Chamber of Secrets. It's where Salazar Slytherin stored many of his spell manuscripts and arcane studies. I cleared out most of his things. Only the useful books and magical theories remain."
"Some of them are on the bookshelf outside. The more… sensitive ones are there."
He gestured to the tall, dark bookcase near the desk.
Hermione's eyes lit up the moment she heard the word books. "Can I see them?!"
"You're free to browse the ones outside," Kai said. "But these ones… it's still too early for you."
"Stingy," Hermione muttered, but she didn't argue further. When it came to Kai, she listened—especially when it concerned things beyond her current reach.
"Tour's over~ Let's go practice!"
Her interest in the room was satisfied; now she was eager to return to spellwork. What she didn't realize was that this room—restored and revealed—represented something much deeper. It was a piece of Kai's past, his truest self.
He had shown it to her freely.
And she, still innocent in her feelings, had yet to grasp the meaning of such trust.
Kai followed her with a helpless smile, closing the door gently behind them.
There was no rush. Time would unfold everything in its own way.
As the door shut, his gaze flicked briefly to the bookshelf. One black-bound volume stood out among the rest, its title etched in silver letters.
"Principles and Creation of Horcruxes"
Later, as they returned toward the common room, Hermione walked with a visible pout.
She had failed to summon her Patronus—again.
"You're already far beyond most witches your age," Kai said gently. "You summoned a full shield with Expecto Patronum. That's a remarkable feat."
"But I still couldn't summon a proper Patronus," Hermione muttered. "And I told you—I'm not trying to keep up with my peers. I want to catch up to you."
She looked up at him, her voice growing firmer.
"If I can't stand beside you and fight with you… what's the point?"
Kai looked at her quietly.
He understood her competitive spirit. He knew her frustration didn't stem from pride but from a sincere desire to match his pace.
But the issue wasn't her technique. She was already adept at the spell. The problem was deeper—her magic reserves simply weren't sufficient to conjure a true Patronus.
A witch's magic comes from her soul. And the strength of a soul… cannot be trained. It is earned, slowly, through time, hardship, and growth.
Even someone like Dumbledore had acquired his vast power through decades of experience.
As for Kai—his soul had lived through two lifetimes. That, more than anything, had transformed the nature of his magic.
There were, of course, shortcuts. Certain branches of Dark Magic could forcibly extract and absorb magic from others. But those spells carried horrific costs—twisting the soul, corrupting the heart.
He would never allow Hermione to be sullied by such things.
She was his moonlight—bright, untainted, and steady.
Still, was there any way to help her grow stronger, without consequence?
Kai frowned in thought.
Perhaps he should ask Dumbledore. Or… him.
As those two figures crossed his mind, something clicked. Like a quiet thunderclap.
Yes—there was indeed a way. A method not only safe but sacred. One that would benefit Hermione for a lifetime.
And it just so happened… tomorrow was her birthday.
He looked over at her again, her bushy hair bouncing with every frustrated step, and felt something ache in his chest.
She was only twelve.
Would she understand the meaning of such a gift?
After all… it could only be given once in a lifetime.