Hermione had, quite unmistakably, developed a genuine interest in Arithmancy.
At its core, Arithmancy was built upon the principles of Numerology. In the standard third-year curriculum, students were taught how to extract meaningful numbers from a person's life—dates, names, patterns—and then use those numbers to interpret character traits and even predict aspects of future development.
If one were to draw a comparison to Muggle education, it resembled the foundational ideas behind algebra and trigonometry—structured, logical, and dependent on symbolic representation.
At first, Hermione had approached the subject with a faint frown.
The divinatory aspects of Numerology did not immediately appeal to her. Compared to the vague and often unverifiable predictions of Divination class, Arithmancy seemed only marginally better at first glance. However, as she continued reading, she began to notice something crucial: Arithmancy clearly defined its variables, methods, and processes.
There were rules. There were formulas. There were steps that could be followed.
That alone made all the difference.
Once she progressed deeper into the material, her perspective shifted entirely.
After laying down the foundation of Numerology, Arithmancy advanced into something far more intricate. Wizards began to use these numerical representations and symbolic constructs to form abstract yet elegant magical formulas—systems that described magic with a precision Hermione had rarely seen before.
It reminded her of how students in higher years of Muggle schooling were introduced to calculus—concepts that were no longer just about plugging numbers into equations, but about understanding relationships, structures, and transformations.
From the fifth year onward, Arithmancy became increasingly abstract. Simply inserting values into formulas was no longer sufficient to achieve high marks. Students needed to understand the underlying logic, to interpret patterns, and to think beyond straightforward computation.
Hermione, unsurprisingly, demonstrated a natural aptitude for it.
Where others might have found the symbols confusing or the formulas overly complex, she saw clarity. To her, the structures were not abstract obstacles but precise expressions of magical truth. There was a kind of beauty in them—an elegance that resonated deeply with her way of thinking.
Ryze observed her quietly.
From morning until noon, she sat immersed in her studies, barely moving except to turn pages or scribble notes. When lunchtime came, she rushed off to eat as quickly as possible, only to return moments later and dive straight back into her calculations.
She spent the entire day like that—absorbed, focused, relentless.
It was clear that Hermione was not merely studying Arithmancy. She was devouring it.
Concerned that she might push herself too far—or worse, neglect her other subjects in an effort to surpass him—Ryze decided to intervene.
"You're focusing entirely on Arithmancy right now," he said casually. "If your performance in Transfiguration or Charms drops, and Professors McGonagall or Flitwick find out that I encouraged this, I doubt they'll be very pleased with me."
Hermione's expression tightened slightly.
His words struck a chord. While she had indeed been motivated—perhaps even driven—by a desire to prove herself in this new domain, she could not deny the validity of his concern.
After all, Arithmancy was a third-year subject. Studying it ahead of schedule was already ambitious. Falling behind in her current coursework would defeat the purpose entirely.
"I know that," she replied after a brief pause. "Of course I do."
Then, after a moment of hesitation, she continued more thoughtfully.
"It's just that… I feel like Arithmancy is actually helping me understand magical theory better."
She set her quill down and looked at him, her expression more earnest now.
"I've always felt that some of the explanations in our textbooks are… imprecise. When you try to study them in depth, there are parts that don't quite make sense."
She gestured toward the open Arithmancy book in front of her.
"But when I look at these formulas—these structured representations—they align with those theories in a much clearer way. It's like they give shape to ideas that were previously vague."
She paused, considering her next words carefully.
"It's similar to how Herbology is taught before Potions. Understanding the properties of ingredients makes it easier to grasp how potions work. If students learned Arithmancy before subjects like Transfiguration or Charms, I think it would make everything else easier to understand."
In her mind, the conclusion was becoming increasingly obvious: Arithmancy should not be an elective introduced in the third year. It should be a foundational subject—something taught from the very beginning.
Ryze, however, offered a different perspective.
"Or perhaps," he said, "you find Arithmancy straightforward because you have a natural talent for mathematics."
Hermione frowned slightly but didn't interrupt.
"For many students," he continued, "even basic arithmetic is a challenge. Not everyone processes numbers the way you do. Even in the third year, a lot of students are still struggling with the fundamentals of Numerology."
He leaned back slightly, his tone calm but firm.
"Arithmancy isn't designed for everyone. It's meant for those who want to explore magic at a deeper, more theoretical level. And realistically speaking, at least half the students at Hogwarts don't have that goal."
Hermione fell silent.
She didn't entirely agree, but she couldn't dismiss his argument either. Not everyone approached learning the same way she did.
At the very least, his words had an immediate and practical effect: she no longer tried to involve Harry and Ron in her Arithmancy exercises.
Still, her enthusiasm for the subject did not diminish.
From that point onward, whenever Ryze saw Hermione in the library, she was almost always surrounded by Arithmancy books. Stacks of them. Open pages filled with notes, diagrams, and calculations.
According to her, she was using Arithmancy as a tool—a method for verifying and refining the theories she encountered in other subjects.
And, to a certain extent, it worked.
In Charms class, her spellcasting became noticeably more precise. Her understanding of magical processes deepened, allowing her to approach problems with a level of rigor that set her apart from her peers.
Even Ryze found himself impressed.
She had, quite literally, found a detour—a longer, more demanding path that ultimately allowed her to move ahead more efficiently.
The professors noticed as well.
Through occasional conversations after class, they came to understand Hermione's approach. She was effectively adding layers of complexity to her studies, introducing calculations and analyses that were not required at her level.
It was, by any reasonable standard, unnecessary.
And yet, because of her exceptional learning ability and her sensitivity to numerical patterns, she managed to navigate this self-imposed challenge with remarkable speed and stability.
In the end, the professors could only offer mild guidance.
They advised her to maintain a balance, to ensure that her intense focus did not come at the expense of her health.
Meanwhile, Hermione's behavior did not go unnoticed among the students.
Upper-year Gryffindors who had chosen Arithmancy as an elective began to take an interest in her. At first, they watched from a distance, curious about the younger student who seemed so deeply engrossed in advanced material.
What they saw gradually turned curiosity into admiration.
Here was a first-year student using upper-year knowledge to dissect and reinterpret basic theories. Her approach was unconventional, her methods demanding—but the results were undeniable.
Before long, word spread.
Among the lower-year Gryffindors, Hermione's reputation grew significantly. She became something of a legend—an "Arithmancy Demon King," as some jokingly referred to her.
Ryze, in contrast, remained relatively low-profile.
Given his personality, it was difficult for anyone to associate him with such a title. He was approachable, friendly, and always willing to help others. He blended in easily, maintaining good relationships with classmates across different groups.
No one would look at him and think of something as extreme as a "Demon King."
Of course, there were always comparisons.
Some students joked that even Tom Riddle—later known as Lord Voldemort—had once appeared similarly charming and approachable.
But such comparisons didn't hold much weight.
Riddle had been known for his ambition and calculated demeanor, carefully concealing his true nature. Ryze, on the other hand, showed no signs of such detachment. He had no intention of abandoning his humanity in pursuit of power.
At least, that was what he believed.
That said, he did have to admit something.
The exam provided by the Raven Task was exceptionally difficult.
Difficult enough, in fact, that at one point, while struggling through the problems, he briefly entertained the absurd thought of "abandoning his humanity" just to solve them.
After half a month of intensive study, he felt reasonably confident. He might not have memorized every detail, but he had a solid grasp of the fundamental formulas.
So he decided to take the exam.
The content itself stayed within the syllabus, but the way the questions were framed made them far more challenging than expected. The problems required careful reasoning, attention to detail, and a level of logical precision that reminded him of Mathematical Olympiad questions.
In the end, Ryze spent two full hours in the library working through the paper.
His final score: 87.
Respectable, certainly—but not without flaws. He had made mistakes in logic and overlooked small but critical details in several questions.
Fortunately, the Raven Task only required a score of 80.
He had passed.
Afterward, he carefully reviewed the questions he had gotten wrong, analyzing each mistake and recording his findings. It was a habit he had developed over time—one that ensured he didn't repeat the same errors.
Only then did he proceed to claim his reward.
With a quiet breath, he opened the Forger.
A brief notification appeared before him:
[You have obtained: Boots]
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