Hermione completed her initial draft of the paper on the Sunday before term break for Christmas.
Cael, for the first time that Sunday, had truly appreciated the quickness with which Hermione Granger accomplished a task.
He had witnessed her perform tasks with speed, like homework, research in the library, and the devouring of toast.
The paper, however, was a completely different beast altogether.
The document clocked in at thirty-one pages, with everything handwritten in her meticulous style on parchment purchased for the purpose, with three appendices, a methodology section, a literature review citing four documents obtained independently from the Ministry archive, and a fourteen-point bibliography, *of which eleven were obtained from the Hogwarts library and three were obtained from Snape, although Cael, do not tell Professor Snape that we cited him as a personal communication, I do not believe he would care much less*.
It was, simply put, preposterous.
The work resembled a document produced by a postgraduate student following an entire year of effort.
Hermione, in contrast, had produced it in five weeks, having done all her coursework, preparing for end-of-term exams, and winning at chess three times from Ron.
She handed the paper to him on Sunday afternoon in the prefects’ study room on the fifth floor, which she had accessed through an elaborate scheme involving Percy Weasley and a bribe.
The bribe had consisted of a small bag of Mrs.
Weasley’s homemade cookies.
Percy had received it with the decorum of someone who had not just been bribed but had rather received a thoughtful gift from his brother’s colleague.
Cael took two hours to read the document.
Opposite him, Hermione did not even pretend to occupy herself with anything else.
She had brought a book.
The book was open.
She had not even bothered to turn a single page.
Hermione observed his face intently while pretending not to observe his face.
For his part, Cael had tried not to rush and not to drag out his process at the same time.
By page seven, he knew that the paper was *good* — better than he could have produced — and by page fifteen, he knew it was *better* than good.
By page twenty-five, he understood that Hermione had taken his thirty-one notes and the basic approach he had formulated out of them and made something remarkable — an academic paper that did not merely describe but *argued* a point of view.
Not only did the document report on his magic but it also made the case, rigorously, that his magic provided an empirical example for a theory tradition in the fourteenth century that had been waiting for six hundred years.
He finished his reading.
He looked up.
Hermione’s book was opened to the exact same page as before.
“Hermione.” “Yes?” “This is —” “Cael.
Do not waste your time on the niceties.
Criticize the paper.
If there is something wrong with it, I am sure I will be able to amend it before tomorrow.” “Alright.” He went back.
He had, during the reading process, made a few small penciled marks throughout the document — three of them.
He went to the first one.
It was on page nine.
He placed the paper between them on the desk and turned it over before pointing.
“Here.
The model predicts that the inversion will select out the *most operationally relevant component* of a spell’s mechanism.
It appears to suggest that the hypothesis has been proved.
What proof is this?
What spell?” “Reparo.
The proper weak points.
This spell proves the principle.” “It is one spell.
We require — minimally, three.
Otherwise, we will be making our claims based on one observation, and that would destroy our methodology section.” “You are right.
I have two more spells.
They will be added tonight.” “Good.
Second.” He went to the second mark.
It was on page seventeen.
“Here.
Energy-cost model.
You write that the double-intensity inversion *redirects* the flow of the energy that was intended to generate the usual effect of the magic.
You suggested hand-waving at this point when you mentioned the model to me last time.
We cannot include hand-waving in the paper.” “It is plausible, however.” “It is plausible.
It is not proven.
Either we downgrade the claim — perhaps write something like *the energy-cost model is consistent with the redirection of the energy flow but it is not the only possible hypothesis* or we find the proof.” “There is no proof.” “Then we downgrade the claim.” She made a small irritated noise.
Clearly, she disliked downgrading.
She scribbled on a spare piece of parchment and placed it next to the main paper.
She nodded curtly.
He moved on to his third marking.
“Here.
Page twenty-three.
You have extended the principle to apply to spells that I have yet to test.” “Cael.
The principle applies to thirty-one spells.
It will apply to the rest as well.
You know it will apply to the rest.” “I believe it will apply to the remaining spells.
I do not know it to apply to the remainder of them.
In the paper, we have to state *for the tested spells, the principle is universal*.
We cannot state *the principle is universal*.” “Exactly the same.” “It is not.” “Cael.” “It is not, Hermione.
Not in the context of a publication.
Someone can read this paper with the aim of finding the fault in our argumentation.
Our paper must withstand such criticism.
*For the spells tested*, will withstand the criticism.
*Universal* will not.” Hermione looked at him with a certain disappointment in her expression.
She grabbed the newly-written note, crumpled it up and threw it into a nearby fireplace.
Then she began writing another one on fresh parchment, *for tested throughout*.
She underlined the last phrase.
She laid the paper out again on the table and put her hand down on it, sealing a vow.
“Three good points,” “Apart from these,” “Sheila.” She gave him an angry look.
“We have lots of minor corrections.
There is nothing major.
Write them all down in pencil and choose which ones to make.” “I shall take all the points.” “You will not.” “Only the good ones.” “Better.” She reached to the middle of the table, took the paper back and turned it to the first page.
She wrote *DRAFT 2* at the top of it in very neat handwriting and underlined the *2* twice.
She shut the cover of the document.
“Tomorrow.” “Tomorrow.” “Cael.” “Yes?” There was silence for a moment.
She still held on to the cover, had the look on her face that she made when she wanted to say something but did not allow herself to.
“Thank you.” “For what.” “For not criticizing the paper, as I requested you to do.
Most people do not criticize in the way in which one is supposed to.
You did it quite correctly.
Now this is a better paper because of it.
For that — thank you.” He looked at her for a bit of time.
“Hermione.” “Yes?” “Yes,” calmly.
“Thank you.” She laughed, a small laugh.
She grabbed the paper protectively and stood up, putting together all her writing instruments, crumpled drafts and bookmark, which she had brought purely to impress.
As she opened the door of the prefects’ study room, she hesitated with her hand on the handle.
“I intend to present the paper to Flitwick on Tuesday.” “And ask him to send it to the Ministry.” “Right.” “Most likely, it will not get to him.” “Probably not.” “But it should be read.” “Yes, it should.” “I believe — well, I do not believe — yes.
I believe they will read it eventually.” “Soon.” “No.
Eventually.” And she left.
He stayed in the room alone for a bit of time longer with its small fireplace blazing and the charm-clock ticking on the mantelpiece.
Then, he returned to Gryffindor Tower, where Ron was teaching Neville how to cheat at Exploding Snap and Harry was attempting, poorly, to write an essay.
He sat down.
Ron explained the trick.
Neville, predictably, learned it.
Cael joined their game, lost gracefully, and observed his three companions laugh at the explosion caused by Ron’s chin.
That night, he did not write anything into his notebook.
There were some nights when the project did not require his efforts.
Cael had learned to recognize them.
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