There were fewer mysterious forces and artifacts housed within the Department of Mysteries than Arthur had expected. The next several rooms contained nothing of note—aside from one cluttered office, the rest were completely empty.
Arthur led Hermione to the next door.
This one was different from all the others.
At its center was a circular lock.
Even without opening it, Arthur already knew what lay beyond. This room sealed away the power of love.
In the original Harry Potter canon, Dumbledore once described love as something more wondrous than death, more terrible than human intellect, and more powerful than the forces of nature. Among all the subjects studied by the Department of Mysteries, love was perhaps the most unfathomable of all.
Arthur reached out and touched the circular lock.
A sharp, burning pain surged through his hand, forcing him to recoil instinctively.
This startled him.
He was a demigod—his physical strength was enough to kill a dragon barehanded. And yet, this lock could still injure him. Truly worthy of being the central theme that ran through the entire Harry Potter series.
Hermione looked at the burn on Arthur's hand, worry written all over her face.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. It'll heal in a bit."
Arthur shook his hand lightly. The burn marks were already slowly fading.
"What kind of magic is this?" Hermione asked in amazement. "How could it hurt you?"
She had never seen Arthur get injured—not even when he'd tanked her Incendio head-on without a scratch.
"Do you remember how Harry killed Quirrell?" Arthur asked instead.
"I do. Harry grabbed his face, and Quirrell turned to dust," Hermione replied without hesitation. It was the first time she had ever witnessed someone die—of course she remembered it clearly.
"In truth, Quirrell was burned to ash," Arthur explained calmly. "Back on the train in first year, I mentioned that Harry's mother used an ancient and powerful magic to protect him.
"That magic is tied to love and blood. It burns anyone who tries to kill Harry. And this room—this room seals that very power."
Hermione was stunned.
She had never imagined that something as abstract as love could be a tangible force. But the way it manifested—scorching, blazing—felt strangely appropriate. Love was, after all, passionate and fierce.
With that thought, her curiosity grew.
"Is there a way to open this door?" she asked.
"Yes," Arthur replied. "A simple unlocking charm is enough."
"Really?"
Hermione looked doubtful. If it were truly that easy, why hadn't Arthur used it just now?
"Really~."
A hint of mischief flashed through Arthur's eyes. He wasn't lying—he had simply left out a crucial condition.
Only those who deeply understood love, or those who possessed it, could open this door with Alohomora.
Arthur knew what love was, but his understanding wasn't deep enough. As for possessing love—that referred to people like Harry, who carried love's power within them.
Arthur was neither.
That was why he hadn't even considered opening the door. Keeping that to himself, he'd simply wanted to tease Hermione a little.
What happened next left him completely dumbfounded.
Hermione raised her small cat paw, pointed it at the lock, and said clearly,
"Alohomora."
Click.
The lock opened.
Arthur froze.
He was certain Hermione did not possess any external "love protection" like Harry did. Which meant there was only one explanation—she had a profound understanding of love.
A fourteen-year-old girl… with a deep understanding of love?
Even counting her time spent in the Zen Garden, she was barely sixteen. Where could she have gained such insight?
From her parents?
…Or from him?
Arthur didn't realize it, but his instinct had landed squarely on the truth.
The reason Hermione had come to understand love so deeply was, in fact, him.
During the month she prepared to become an Animagus, she and Arthur had lived together in the Zen Garden. For all intents and purposes, it had been a month of shared daily life.
With a mandrake leaf held under her tongue, speaking was inconvenient. So Hermione spent far more time thinking.
At first, she thought about her studies. Then, without realizing it, her thoughts drifted—to the night Ranni first appeared, to the conversation she'd had with her mother in her bedroom, to her own feelings toward Arthur.
That was when she finally understood her heart.
Every memory she shared with Arthur was warm, gentle, and precious.
She realized—her heart was already full of him.
Hermione had never been indecisive. Once she understood her feelings, she accepted them without hesitation.
As for giving up, or distancing herself from Arthur—she had never even considered it. She had long grown used to relying on him. The thought of leaving him behind felt unbearable.
Arthur had noticed her becoming more tsundere lately, more prone to acting cute—but it wasn't because of her Animagus form.
It was simply how she behaved in front of the person she loved.
Of course, Arthur was completely unaware of all this. Not because he was dense—but because the idea never crossed his mind.
Who would expect a teenage girl to have already grasped the essence of love?
Besides, the door didn't specify what kind of love was required. Familial love, romantic love, even love between friends—all were valid.
"Arthur, let's go inside and take a look," Hermione urged.
Pulled out of his thoughts, Arthur opened the door.
The sight inside disappointed him.
There was nothing but a single stone stele.
The inscriptions on it looked like incomprehensible scribbles. He couldn't read a single word.
"Arthur," Hermione said suddenly, "this seems to describe that ancient magic you mentioned earlier."
"…You can read it?" Arthur asked, surprised.
"Not exactly. But I think I understand what it means."
Arthur's heart stirred. He was beginning to see the reason.
Perhaps he couldn't read it because his understanding of love was still lacking.
Another question bothered him as well—why had the lock burned him earlier, yet now he felt nothing standing inside the room?
Had the power of love dispersed once the door opened?
What Arthur didn't know was that the power hadn't dissipated at all.
Part of it had transferred to Hermione.
The moment she stepped through the doorway, she felt something slip into her body. The sensation was fleeting, so she dismissed it as imagination.
That was why she could understand the stele's meaning.
And because Arthur was holding her, he was no longer burned.
"So… what does it say?" Arthur asked.
Hermione recited softly,
"'The power of love is formless, intangible, yet omnipresent. Different kinds of love take different forms, but no matter what, love is the greatest power of all…'"
After that, it described a spell—the very one Lily had cast for Harry. But Hermione couldn't properly put it into words.
Arthur fell silent.
He suspected Dumbledore had once stood here.
In the original story, Dumbledore told Harry that he possessed all the power within this room, while Voldemort had none.
Arthur had always wondered how Lily, a witch from a Muggle family, could master such an ancient spell—and why only Dumbledore seemed to understand its secret.
If Dumbledore had been here… and had taken that knowledge with him, everything made sense.
Just as Arthur was lost in thought, he suddenly felt a foreign power pierce even his demigod body and settle directly in his heart.
Before he could react, a surge of emotion welled up inside him.
Love.
But not his own.
His instincts told him immediately—it came from Hermione.
Arthur looked down at her.
"Hermione… did you just do something?"
The cat-shaped Hermione buried her face deep into his chest, her voice muffled.
"I… I tried using that spell on you."
As she spoke, a wave of bashful warmth rose in Arthur's heart—the kind of shy, flustered feeling one gets when their secret crush is discovered.
That confirmed it.
The emotions flooding his heart were Hermione's.
He finally understood the stele's words:
Different kinds of love take different forms.
Lily's love for Harry was maternal—so it manifested as unconditional protection.
And Hermione's love for him…
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