Ch: 1-10
Chapter 1: Villain Life Simulator
Hogwarts, Gryffindor Common Room.
"Why is it that whenever other transmigrators arrive in the wizarding world, they're once-in-a-century geniuses, the focus of every Professor's attention, and winning the House Cup with ease... while I, despite getting into Hogwarts, am a genuine 'bottom-of-the-barrel student'? What exactly am I here for? To just sit in and observe?!"
Caesar stared at the latest Charms Class transcript posted on the bulletin board, his chest tightening with frustration.
It wasn't just an ordinary grade; it was proof of his dismal failure despite exhausting all his efforts.
In his previous life, Caesar was an ordinary person named Lin Yuan, living a plain but complete twenty-five years.
Until 2025, when a fire suddenly consumed everything... Since transmigrating, he had been at Hogwarts for nearly half a year, and his current identity was Harry Potter's cousin.
He was a special case who only managed to enroll thanks to a magical fluctuation so faint it was almost undetectable and Dumbledore's meaningful special permission.
The moment he received his acceptance letter, he had been ecstatic; his dreams were golden, filled with many magnificent fantasies.
For instance, he wondered if Professor McGonagall would eventually announce with relief that he was exceptionally gifted in some area and just needed special guidance.
Or perhaps an ancient tome in the Restricted Section would resonate with him, allowing him to master magic unique to himself.
Or maybe an extraordinary system would suddenly awaken in his mind, telling him that from this day forward, the task of maintaining the academy's honor and writing legends was his.
But as the days passed, expectation was ground into fine sand by reality, slipping through his fingers.
Now, he didn't ask for any other miracles; he only hoped to successfully complete a basic spell just once, to stop making a fool of himself in class, and to be able to truly sit in on lessons peacefully.
But today, the Charms Class grades were released.
This was Professor Flitwick's most rigorous subject, and also the one Hermione Granger excelled at most.
The transcript was posted—a long sheet, densely packed with names.
Yet his grade still hung pitifully at the very bottom.
Beside every row of high-scoring evaluations, the name Hermione Granger was eyesearingly written.
Why did Caesar know this so clearly?
Because every time he was publicly corrected, and every time he was mocked by comparison, it stemmed from her!
At this moment, all his efforts were completely extinguished by this yet another public, silent comparison.
"Protagonist? I guess... I'm really not one."
Caesar twitched the corner of his mouth, unsure if it was a smile or a sigh.
"Merlin's beard, Caesar, you messed up again!"
A lowered but sufficiently clear exclamation came from beside him, carrying an undisguised sense of reproach.
Hermione Granger's brow was knit into a tight knot, her gaze behind her lenses as sharp as a scalpel as she said:
"I clearly hand-copied the seven precise wrist movements and pronunciation points for the Cheering Charm for you last week! Did you even look at it?"
Caesar's lips moved; he wanted to explain that magic simply wouldn't stabilize at the tip of his wand, that he had memorized the movements but the spell's light was always faint and dissipated when he performed it.
But all the words were stuck in his throat; under Hermione's gaze, which seemed to ask 'why can't you learn such a simple thing,' any explanation was pale and powerless.
"I looked at it," he finally said dryly.
"You looked at it?" Hermione's voice couldn't help but rise, causing several Slytherin students in the front row to turn back with mocking looks.
"If you looked at it, how did it turn out like this? You've already cost Gryffindor twenty house points this week!"
Ron and Harry looked over nervously from the side, not daring to speak.
Being humiliated in front of so many people, Caesar's face slowly turned ugly; those things were not his intention.
His pitifully thin magic was unreliable, and his control was a disaster; this was fundamentally a question of talent.
But in the eyes of the chattering Hermione, this was all ironclad evidence of him 'not previewing, not practicing, and not being serious.'
"I didn't want it to be like this either!" Caesar finally couldn't help but retort. "Do you think I don't want to say the spells correctly? Do you think I hope for every wand wave to have no effect?"
"Then put in the corresponding effort!" Hermione refused to back down.
Then, she simply walked over and pointed at her own neat notes: "Look at this! This is where the gap is! magic does not favor the lazy or those who rely on luck, Caesar!
Hogwarts is not a place for you to 'experience life'! While you are here, you must follow the rules. By being like this, you are dragging down all of Gryffindor!"
The words "dragging down" pierced Caesar's heart like an icicle.
He snapped his head up, meeting Hermione's eyes, which were filled with frustration at his perceived failure.
Behind her, Harry awkwardly lowered his head, pretending to read, while Ron gave Caesar a helpless grimace.
"So, in your eyes, someone like me staying at Hogwarts is just a burden, is that it?"
Caesar's voice turned cold; this wasn't a matter of effort at all, but a matter of talent.
Hermione's face flushed, seemingly stung by his counterattack and choice of words, but her pride and her firm belief that "rules and effort are paramount" made it impossible for her to back down.
"I didn't mean it that way! But you should at least, at least show some sign of progress! Instead of repeating the same mistakes over and over, and then putting on this... this 'I can't help it' look! Do you have any idea how much harder the rest of us have to work to earn back the house points lost because of you? Is that fair to us?"
"It's not fair! Of course it's not fair!" Caesar stood up abruptly.
He stopped looking at Hermione's face, which had momentarily frozen before becoming even more indignant, and ignored the surprised look Professor Flitwick cast from across the classroom.
He grabbed his bag, which had almost nothing to pack, knocked over his chair, and rushed out of the cold, oppressive third-floor classroom amidst whispers and stunned gazes... The academy streets gradually changed color in the afternoon.
Lead-gray clouds had swallowed the last ray of sunlight at some point, and the air was so heavy it felt like it could be wrung out. Just as Caesar aimlessly walked past the third intersection, raindrops began to fall without warning.
Pitter-patter—
At first sparse, they quickly merged into lines, and in an instant, a torrential rain poured down like a waterfall.
Students on the road cried out and scattered, hurrying to find shelter, but Caesar alone did not quicken his pace even slightly.
There is no grief greater than the death of one's heart.
The icy rain washed harshly over his body, soaking his thick brown hair and causing it to stick to his forehead in clumps.
His thin black school uniform was instantly drenched, clinging tightly to his body and outlining the teenager's slender but already tall frame.
Rainwater flowed continuously down his clear jawline, tracing his neck and disappearing into his collar.
"What's going on?"
Suddenly, Caesar could no longer feel the cold or the wretchedness.
Instead, a strange, almost enjoyable calm enveloped him.
All the noise, haste, dampness, and cold of the outside world seemed to be separated by an invisible barrier.
Right there on that rain-swept street where no one was watching, under the leaden sky of Hogwarts.
A clear and cold voice, reflecting directly into the existence of his consciousness, finally tore through the long-standing hazy barrier and emerged completely before his eyes:
[Protagonist conditions met... Resonance confirmed...]
[Cognitive threshold breached... Carrier mental stability confirmed...]
['Villain Life Simulator' binding complete.]
[World Loading: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone]
[Identity Loading: Caesar Dursley]
[Core Rules: Experience, Choice, Shaping. Every simulation you perform will accumulate traits and influence the real world.]
[Newbie Tutorial Simulation is about to begin...]
[We wish you a pleasant game, future 'Villain'.]
In the curtain of rain, Caesar stopped abruptly as the system's information instantly entered his mind. In the depths of his eyes, a light that had been dormant for many years finally lit up sharply.
Chapter 2: Dumbledore's Doubts
[Please select the final mission objective for this Villain Life Simulator run:]
[1. Become an outstanding Hogwarts graduate and survive the Voldemort crisis without Harry Potter. Mission Reward: Ordinary Magic Talent; Difficulty: B; Identity: A first-year student with extremely poor magical talent.]
[2. Defeat Voldemort and become a top-tier Wizard. Mission Reward: Advanced Magic Talent; Difficulty: A; Identity: An ordinary Wizard under Voldemort's command.]
[3. Destroy Hogwarts. Mission Reward: Legendary Magic Talent, Special Animagus; Difficulty: S; Identity: The youngest Professor of Magical History at Hogwarts.]
"Villain Life Simulator, is this my cheat?"
Caesar paused briefly, then continued reading carefully.
After transmigrating to this supernatural world, his goal consisted of only two words.
The Strongest!
As for the path to becoming the strongest, he didn't care.
"I estimate that both my body and soul transmigrated to this world. Although my age has reverted to 12, this body from my original world has no magical talent whatsoever. I must solve this problem."
All three simulation objectives above could grant Caesar magical talent.
However, the Ordinary Magic Talent granted by the first mission was completely insufficient for him. A precious golden finger shouldn't be wasted here. The first mission was directly eliminated.
While the second mission could grant an Advanced Magic Talent, the given identity was simply too poor.
What kind of scum were Voldemort's followers?
Tom would never give him a chance to develop normally.
"I choose the third mission. Although it's the most difficult, it gives me the most time to develop, and the starting environment is better than the first two."
[You have selected the final mission objective for this simulation: Destroy Hogwarts.]
[Initial character selected: The youngest Professor of Magical History at Hogwarts.]
[Please choose three talents from the following random list of ten as your initial talents:]
[Redemption, Top-tier Magic Talent, Animagus, Gifted, Parseltongue, Ancient Magic of Love, Genius Scholar, Flying Master, Potions Master, Dark Magic Genius]
"Parseltongue, Flying Master, Ancient Magic of Love... isn't this Harry Potter's setup?
But besides these, there should be another talent called Protagonist Halo. Without that talent, relying on just these three is like a mantis trying to stop a chariot—utterly futile.
What about stacking combat power?"
Caesar turned his gaze to the talents most suitable for stacking combat power, but soon felt disappointed.
Even if he chose the combination of Top-tier Magic Talent, Gifted, and Dark Magic Genius, his strength by the time Voldemort attacked would likely only reach the level of top-tier mages like McGonagall and Snape at best.
He would have no resistance whatsoever before Legendary Mages like Voldemort and Dumbledore.
Now he finally understood why destroying Hogwarts was an S-rank mission. The situation was a bit tricky.
Just as Caesar was hesitating, the talent ranked first caught his eye: "What is this 'Redemption' talent? It looks unusual."
Looking closely at the description, it read:
You can retain the memories and experiences with a specific character from this simulation and influence the same character in the real world. However, only one character can retain memories per simulation.
"I thought nothing from the simulations could be brought into the real world. I didn't expect this pleasant surprise. In that case, things are about to get interesting."
A sharp glint flashed in Caesar's eyes as a wicked plan surfaced in his mind. He had already decided what to choose.
[Initial talents selected: Redemption, Genius Scholar, Ancient Magic of Love.]
[Note: There is no Harry in the simulation world, as the system cannot simulate the actions of a child of destiny.]
[Simulation begins. Time: Fifteen years.]
Immediately, Caesar felt his consciousness instantly detach from his physical body, entering another world that felt both real and illusory.
[You grew up in a pure-blood wizarding family, a blood relative of the famous House of Black. Because your parents supported Grindelwald and were killed in the aftermath of the subsequent war with Dumbledore, you became an orphan at the age of six.
After the war, you were found and raised by the Habus family, and your name was changed to Caesar Habus. However, the hatred for your parents' death is irreconcilable. To seek revenge, you studied magic diligently from dawn to dusk, but ultimately, your talent was limited, and your strength stagnated upon reaching adulthood.
Seeing that revenge through strength was impossible, clever you decided to infiltrate Hogwarts from within to find an opportunity for revenge. At this time, the position of Magical History Professor at Hogwarts caught your interest.
Perhaps due to your Genius Scholar aptitude, even though your magical combat power had stagnated, you possessed an analytical ability in history that was difficult for ordinary people to match.
At the age of 18, with your vast knowledge, you defeated all competitors and became the youngest Professor at Hogwarts, embarking on Caesar Habus's journey of revenge.]
[Main Mission begins: As the son of vengeance, you have started your life at Hogwarts. Please find a way to defeat Dumbledore and destroy Hogwarts.]
With a surge of energy, Caesar felt his soul return to his body, then began surveying the scene before him.
At this moment, he was in the Ravenclaw Tower at Hogwarts, inside the office for Ancient History of Magic.
This office was filled with a sense of the weight of years.
Tall bookshelves reached up to the arched ceiling, crammed with heavy tomes bound in dragonhide or the leather of unknown magical creatures. The air was filled with the scent of parchment, old ink, and a faint, preservative Potion smell.
A large Black-wood desk occupied the center of the room. Besides scrolls piled like mountains, it also held an automatically rotating Orrery,
and an Ancient Curse Fragment sealed within a glass case, occasionally flashing with a dangerous red light.
Caesar's gaze quickly swept across the desk, finally landing on a freshly opened letter bearing the Hogwarts wax seal.
The title read: "Appointment..."
Putting away his appointment letter, Caesar began formulating his next plan.
"According to the simulation's conclusion, the magical potential of this body has been developed to its limit. Rather than trying to increase magical power, I should focus on acquiring knowledge first.
Especially since I'm teaching Magical History. Dumbledore, you may be invincible in this era, but you can't possibly be without predecessors, right? Perhaps I can find a way to defeat you in the records of those who came before.
No time like the present. Caesar had always been a man of action.
Once the decision was made, he immediately began categorizing the books in the room and scheduling his reading and study time."
Chapter 3: Why Are You Studying Grindelwald
Originally, Caesar felt time was extremely tight, as an ordinary person might take several years to complete the entire syllabus for the History of Magic course.
Unexpectedly, he finished it in less than forty days.
Regarding this result, Caesar's heart held both joy and sorrow.
The joy was that the Genius Scholar talent was truly extraordinary; it essentially allowed him to retain anything he read after a single glance, and he had indeed found some viable methods for dealing with a Legendary Mage.
The sorrow was that these viable methods were not in the history books in his office. Those concerning the most vicious curses in the world were only briefly mentioned in the historical records. He needed to check the library, or even places outside the school, to see if there were any traces of these Forbidden Curses.
[Soon, you discovered the second convenience of your teacher status: you could directly borrow any book from the library without needing student-like approval. However, as time passed, you noticed the gazes from your colleagues gradually becoming peculiar.]
[After a few days of observation, you realized the problem—while teachers had the freedom to borrow books, it was not without constraints. Hogwarts had a system of mutual oversight among colleagues, and your extensive borrowing of books unrelated to the History of Magic had already raised the vigilance of certain Professors.]
[You immediately adjusted your strategy, deliberately mentioning in daily conversations that you were researching the history of Dark Arts during Grindelwald's era, and specifically pairing related historical documents when borrowing books, making the entire research plan appear academically sound.]
[This method quickly proved effective. At Hogwarts, as long as a Professor could provide a reasonable explanation for their actions, colleagues were mostly willing to trust their professional integrity.]
[Your anxious heart slowly settled, and you continued to immerse yourself in the study of forbidden magic. Time slipped by quietly, and your understanding of various magics grew increasingly profound. If anyone still regarded you as an ordinary teacher at this point, they would surely pay a heavy price.]
[Late one night, as you were lost in your books and forgot the time, Dumbledore arrived unexpectedly. Clearly, your in-depth study of Grindelwald had caught his attention.]
"Headmaster Dumbledore!"
Caesar's gaze instantly shifted from the book to Dumbledore.
This legendary figure of the Wizarding World was standing at the door of his office, his blue eyes behind half-moon glasses gleaming with an all-seeing light.
Faint traces of magical fluctuations still lingered in the air.
"I hope I'm not disturbing your valuable reading time, Professor Caesar."
Dumbledore's voice was gentle as he slowly approached, his long silver beard nearly brushing against the hefty tomes on the shelves about ancient Dark Arts and modern European magical history.
His gaze swept over the several notes spread open on Caesar's desk, clearly inscribed with "Gellert Grindelwald," "Research on the Evolution of the Deathly Hallows Symbol," and "Architectural Blueprints and Magical Defenses of Early Nurmengard."
"Of course not, Headmaster. Visiting so late at night, has some urgent matter arisen at Hogwarts?"
Caesar closed the book, subtly shifting his body sideways to block several more private research manuscripts concerning the Blood Pact and Obscurials.
A perfectly measured expression of surprise and respect was on his face, but his mind was racing, assessing the true purpose of Dumbledore's visit.
Dumbledore did not answer immediately. He extended a slender finger and lightly brushed it over the cover of an open ancient tome.
It happened to bear a magical photograph silhouette of Grindelwald giving a speech in his youth.
"I merely recalled that I've recently noticed you've devoted considerable research enthusiasm to a... rather sensitive historical period."
"You mean Gellert Grindelwald, Headmaster."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Caesar noticed that when Dumbledore's usually composed and calm gaze fell upon that photographic silhouette, a flicker of flame appeared deep within his azure pupils.
That flicker didn't feel like anger, but rather an extremely complex, unconsciously revealed emotion.
Yet, in the blink of an eye, that flicker vanished completely.
This was a formidable man.
Regardless of how the outside world evaluated this Legendary Mage, this was Caesar's first impression.
In his view, formidable people in this world were of two kinds.
One kind was ruthless towards others, like Grindelwald.
The other kind was ruthless towards themselves, and Dumbledore was the latter.
To destroy Hogwarts, one could not bypass this Legendary Mage.
Dumbledore's gaze returned to Caesar's face, his tone gentle yet carrying an undeniable penetrating force.
"Gellert Grindelwald, a name full of talent and tragedy."
"I am curious, what has attracted a young and promising Professor of Ancient History of Magic to develop such a strong interest in such a dangerous historical figure?"
Invisible threads seemed to tighten in the air. Dumbledore's question appeared casual, yet it precisely targeted the core of all Caesar's recent research.
Caesar could sense that this was not a casual inquiry, but a gentle, yet extremely serious, probing.
Meeting those soul-piercing blue eyes, he smiled slightly, his tone steady. Instead of answering, he asked, "Headmaster, what do you believe is the meaning of history?"
A faint flicker passed behind Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles. He brought the tips of his fingers together, as if carefully weighing his words.
"History."
He spoke slowly, his voice husky and full of wisdom, like ancient parchment. "For most people, history has no relation to their lives. But for me, history allows us to see clearly where we came from and avoid repeating past mistakes."
"I completely agree with that view."
Caesar paused, deliberately infusing his words with an air of academic discussion, and said with a smile:
"Just as you often say, those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it. Learning from history is also the guiding principle of my lifelong research."
"Headmaster, isn't the very meaning of history that it illuminates the present and the future?"
"Grindelwald's rise was no accident—his ideology, his power, his mastery over people's hearts."
"Understanding him might help us confront a similar shadow that our present era may face."
"A shadow..." Dumbledore listened quietly, his fingers gently tapping on the desk, producing soft, rhythmic clicks.
The room was so quiet one could hear the crackling of the flames in the fireplace.
After a long while, he also revealed a smile, but deep within that smile lay a trace of barely perceptible gravity and reminiscence.
This was an emotion completely different from when Grindelwald was mentioned.
It represented another Dark Arts practitioner, Tom Riddle.
"A very profound insight, Professor Caesar."
Dumbledore nodded slightly and said softly, "However, some flames, while attempting to illuminate the path ahead, can also easily burn the one holding the lamp. Studying history is fine, but please be sure to maintain a distance."
With that, just as he had arrived, he gave Caesar a nod, turned, and slowly departed. The hem of his long robe glided soundlessly across the floor.
Chapter 4: Hello, Hermione
The office door closed softly.
The smile on Caesar's face slowly faded.
He looked down at Grindelwald's eyes burning with fanatical conviction in the photograph on the desk, then recalled Dumbledore's meaningful warning from moments before.
"Keep my distance?" he murmured to himself, lightly tapping Grindelwald's portrait with his fingertip. "A pity that studying history has never been about keeping my distance."
[Your wit temporarily dispelled Dumbledore's suspicion and concern, finally giving you time to master the secret knowledge and spells you needed. But for these 'treasures' buried deep in history to shine once more, they must be paired with some extremely sensitive magical materials.]
[Some of these materials could be easily gathered at Hogwarts, while others were not at Hogwarts, or even in Britain. Even a Wizard would need to spend a great deal of time on this.]
[And so, at the end of a certain term, you approached Dumbledore. Citing the need to travel and exchange academic knowledge with other scholars, you applied for a six-month leave from the school.]
[Dumbledore expressed great support for your scholarly pursuits, but felt your requested leave was a bit too long. He hoped you would reconsider, as finding a substitute teacher was rather troublesome.]
[This time, you stood firm and refused to yield, stating you had received word that an ancient magical ruin was about to be discovered. Yet, when Dumbledore pressed for specific details about the ruin, you were evasive.]
[Three days later, news broke of the discovery of a Roman-era ruin in Exeter, England, by Muggles. The story appeared simultaneously in the Muggle world's The Times and the magical world's The Daily Prophet.]
[The ruin contained research materials coveted by almost every ancient magic historian. You deliberately let the whole school know you could have been the first on the scene, but were now being detained at the school.]
[Hearing your intentional complaints, a suddenly enlightened Dumbledore found no further reason to refuse your application. He also apologized, realizing his suspicion had been misplaced.]
1990, Britain.
On a train from Exeter to London.
Exeter is an ancient city with a thousand years of history, its Roman-era walls still quietly guarding its medieval streets.
At that moment, the city's silhouette was being left behind by the gradually accelerating train.
Inside the carriage, Caesar sat by the window.
Outside, the damp fields and pastures of southern England flew past in the twilight, like a roll of green velvet being hastily wound up.
His gaze fell upon the neatly folded copy of The Daily Prophet in his hand, the corner of his mouth lifting in a barely perceptible curve.
[Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Bulletin]
Anomalous magical disturbance detected yesterday in the suburbs of Exeter, suspected to be related to an unregistered magical creature.
Relevant departments have intervened. Preliminary assessment suggests it was an isolated incident, with no impact on Muggle society.
Citizens are advised not to be unduly concerned.
An isolated incident?
Only Caesar knew that the so-called 'unregistered magical creature' was merely an echo caused when he accidentally stirred ancient slumbering magic within the ley lines while retrieving an ancient magical material from the ruin.
However, the Ministry of Magic's bureaucrats were, as ever, happy to gloss things over.
This conveniently saved Caesar a great deal of trouble.
He folded the newspaper and turned his gaze to the train window.
The glass reflected his youthful yet overly calm face, and a family approaching from the connection between carriages.
Three people in total: a father with a briefcase, a gentle mother, and that side profile, head buried in a thick tome, fluffy brown hair swaying gently with each step.
Caesar's gaze paused slightly, focusing on the reflection.
It was a slender little girl, perhaps eleven or twelve years old, dressed in neat, almost fastidiously tidy casual clothes, as if ready at any moment for an important interview.
Hermione Granger?
At this moment, Hermione was still entirely a child, so absorbed in the world of her book pages that she was oblivious to the fate about to change, even while walking.
The gilded letters on the cover of that thick book were clearly discernible even in the shaky reflection: 'Selected Important Historical Events of the Twentieth Century'.
Screech—!
The train jolted violently, accompanied by a piercing screech of brakes, coming to an abrupt halt.
The carriage lights flickered. Passengers lurched forward from the inertia, and murmurs of complaint and confusion instantly filled the air.
"Due to sudden strike action, service to the final destination, Victoria Station, is suspended. Restoration time to be confirmed..." The announcement was drowned out by the commotion of the crowd.
Caesar stood up. His gaze passed over the chaotic carriage, precisely locking onto the location of Hermione's family.
In the momentary confusion caused by the stop, a slender figure deftly moved close to Mr. Granger, who was comforting Hermione.
A long, thin pair of tweezers silently reached towards his open waistcoat pocket, clamping onto the delicate chain of a pocket watch.
"Sir, it seems you've taken the wrong thing."
A calm voice sounded behind the thief.
Caesar's hand had already clamped down like an iron vice on the grimy wrist.
His movement was too fast, so fast that the surrounding passengers didn't even see how he had crossed the crowded aisle to appear there.
The thief turned his head sharply, meeting a pair of unfathomably deep eyes.
There was no anger, no panic in that gaze, only a nearly cold scrutiny that instantly sent a chill down his spine.
"Busybody!" the thief tried to break free, but found the young man's grip unmoving.
"Dad! Your pocket watch!" Hermione exclaimed, immediately grasping the situation.
Only then did Mr. Granger react, hurriedly feeling his pocket, both shocked and angry. Passengers around turned their gazes, and the thief, under public scrutiny, panicked.
Caesar ignored the thief's struggles, simply applying a bit more force, forcing the other to loosen his fingers. The old silver pocket watch landed back in his palm with a soft *clack*.
Without even looking at it, he handed it directly back to the shaken Mr. Granger.
"I believe this is yours."
"Th-thank you, young man!" Mr. Granger took the watch, clutching it tightly. "Goodness, this was my grandfather's..."
In the confusion, the restrained thief seized an opening, broke free with a sudden jerk, and disappeared into the agitated crowd.
Caesar did not give chase. Instead, he turned around, his eyes meeting Hermione's direct gaze.
The young girl's gaze was filled with inquiry, curiosity, and a trace of lingering shock.
"You... how did you do that?" Hermione finally couldn't contain her curiosity and asked. "Your movement just now was so fast, like a gust of wind."
Caesar merely curved the corner of his mouth slightly, his tone carrying a steadiness far beyond his years. "I was simply close by, that's all."
Chapter 5: Encountering Trouble
Then, Caesar's gaze swept lightly over the thick volume of 'Selected Important Historical Events of the Twentieth Century' in Hermione's arms, his tone so calm it betrayed no ripple:
"It's a good habit to like history. However, next time you're immersed in it, you should also spare a bit of attention for your surroundings."
Following his line of sight, Hermione lowered her eyes and only then realized how engrossed she had been in her book moments ago.
Her cheeks couldn't help but grow slightly warm, and she instinctively hugged the book tighter, as if it could hide her current hint of embarrassment.
"We really must thank you properly,"
Mrs. Granger also stepped forward, her words filled with lingering fear and gratitude, "If it weren't for you, we probably wouldn't have even noticed the item was missing, and even if we had... it would most likely have been impossible to get back."
"You're too kind." Caesar gave a slight nod, his gaze once again sweeping over Hermione seemingly inadvertently before shifting away.
This small interlude was soon drowned out by the greater anxiety permeating the train carriage. The stagnation brought by the strike was like an invisible, damp, heavy blanket covering everyone.
Complaints, sighs, and the impatient cries of children mingled together, the air so oppressive it almost congealed.
People's attention shifted away from the brief 'chase-the-thief' drama and was once again trapped in the boundless waiting.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged a glance, both seeing clear regret on the other's face.
"We shouldn't have come on this trip..." Mr. Granger muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead.
The original plan had been so wonderful: taking advantage of Hermione's birthday, they would take their history-obsessed daughter to Exeter to visit the newly excavated Ancient Roman ruins as a surprise.
Who would have thought that after rushing there eagerly, they would only be met with cold police tape and 'No Entry' signs.
Returning disappointed was frustrating enough, nearly losing the heirloom pocket watch with its sentimental value on the way back was another blow, and now they were pinned halfway by this sudden strike.
This chaotic, oppressive, stifling carriage made him long intensely for the leisurely afternoon last weekend, the sunshine at home just right, a cup of rich coffee by his hand in peaceful tranquility.
Unlike her parents' agitation, Hermione found it difficult to completely detach her attention from the figure by the window. She occasionally stole glances, her gaze skimming over the noisy crowd and returning to the slender young man.
Caesar had, at some point, already returned to his seat by the window, as if the swift, leopard-like interception had never happened.
Now, he was simply sitting quietly, turned slightly to watch the equally stationary scenery outside. The dim daylight outlined the calm lines of his profile, standing apart from the surrounding restlessness.
A peculiar feeling, a mix of curiosity, gratitude, and a hint of ineffable inquisitiveness, lingered in Hermione's heart.
This young man's composure, which seemed beyond his years, was utterly different from anyone she knew.
That calmness in the face of danger, those crisp and efficient movements, and his eyes.
Hermione recalled that when those eyes looked at her, at the thief, and even now at the scene outside the window,
they held a similar, almost detached clarity, as if he could see through the surface chaos to the underlying threads at a glance.
Caesar could clearly feel that warm, inquisitive gaze landing on his back from time to time.
But he didn't turn around. Instead, he used the not-so-clear reflection in the train window to watch the blurry figure of the little girl clutching her book.
His fingertips tapped lightly on his knee, rhythmic and silent, as if calculating something or simply passing the time.
Time crawled slowly in the anxious atmosphere, and the situation outside the window not only failed to ease but took a sharp turn for the worse.
The Railway Workers' Strike Rally intensified.
They coalesced from scattered complaints into a dense, dark mass of people, firmly entrenched on both sides of the tracks and the open space of the station area ahead.
Signs stood like a forest, scrawled with rough fonts demanding wage increases and welfare protections.
Caesar's gaze calmly looked over the heads of the restless crowd, focusing further ahead. There, a negotiation that had clearly reached a deadlock was unfolding.
He could see a well-dressed man who looked like an official engaged in a heated discussion with several worker representatives, his gestures frequent and forceful.
A moment later, the official shook his head sharply, his face ashen as he turned, no longer trying to persuade but retreating quickly.
What happened next made the pupils of everyone who observed this direction, whether intentionally or unintentionally, including many passengers leaning against the windows inside the carriage, contract sharply.
The Negotiator retreated not behind the expected line of police cars, but into the ranks of a Cavalry Unitthat had quietly formed up at some point, as if stepping out of a historical painting.
"So that's it..." Understanding dawned on Caesar, and the corner of his mouth moved almost imperceptibly—a subtle curve somewhere between mockery and interest.
He recalled a historical moment from this era, one described with a cool, detached pen in textbooks.
After World War II, Britain, under the leadership of the Labour Party, vigorously promoted nationalization and social welfare policies, attempting to build a 'cradle-to-grave' security system to appease the public and win votes.
But entering the seventies, the specter of'stagflation' loomed over Europe and America. Economic stagnation and inflation raged simultaneously, unemployment rose, and government finances became strained.
When Margaret Thatcher took charge of Downing Street, she, a believer in neoliberalism, began sweeping austerity reforms. The first to bear the brunt were the massive welfare expenditures seen as dragging down economic efficiency.
Thus, conflicts erupted sharply. The traditionally powerful British Trade Unions would not sit idly by while their rights were eroded. Strike waves surged one after another, spreading nationwide from coal mines to railways.
And the response of the 'Iron Lady,' besides tough negotiations and legal measures, included, at critical moments, a more direct display of power. For example, reviving and employing a method of deterrence with a strong historical imprint.
Simply put, it was suppression.
In the name of order, performing the act of crushing.
"Pssst—"
A faint, crisp, almost pleasurable sound rang in Caesar's ear, contrasting with the faint clamor from outside the window.
At some point, he had taken out a can of butterbeer from his accompanying case. Hooking the pull-tab with his finger, he opened it easily. Golden foam immediately surged from the bottle mouth, emitting a slightly sweet malt aroma.
And at that very moment, he saw the Officer wearing the Royal Insignia at the front of the distant cavalry line calmly and decisively swing his riding crop towards the dense, dark crowd ahead.
The motion wasn't large, but it was like pressing an invisible switch.
Instantly, the previously roaring protest below seemed severed by a knife, dropping sharply into a chaotic cacophony.
The first row of cavalry, like the tip of a wedge, 'embedded' itself into the edge of the crowd without the slightest hesitation.
The impact occurred.
The crowd, which had tried to hold its ground, instantly lost all order. Shoving and trampling became inevitable.
"They're going to kill people!"
"Run! Scatter!"
"Back! Get back!"
Panic erupted among the crowd like the most virulent plague. The instinct for survival overwhelmed the original purpose of the protest.
Some workers, to escape the advancing wall of steel and flesh, began frantically rushing towards the nearest objects that seemed to offer shelter.
Such as these train carriages, silent and massive, lying across the railway lines.
Chaos swept along the tracks like an out-of-control tsunami.
"Bang! Bang! Crash—!"
Doors of various carriages were violently forced open as more panic-stricken people desperately squeezed inside, trying to use these steel shells as temporary shelters.
Chapter 6: butterbeer
"Hermione! Grab my hand!" Mr. Granger shouted hoarsely over the deafening clamor, straining to spread his arms wide in an attempt to shield his wife and daughter behind him.
However, the out-of-control human tide, like a breached flood, easily broke through his desperate defense; his tightly clenched fingers were forced apart amidst the shoving.
"Dad! Mom!" Hermione's terrified cry was instantly drowned out. A burly man staggering backwards slammed heavily into her shoulder, nearly knocking her off her feet.
When she looked up again, her parents' figures were completely separated from her by a surging wall of people, leaving only the faint echo of their voices amidst the din.
The copy of *Selected Important Historical Events of the Twentieth Century* she had been holding also slipped from her grasp, its cover immediately stamped with chaotic shoe prints, its pages emitting a brittle, protesting crackle under the trampling feet.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger frantically tried to push forward against the flow, but were pushed further and further away by the panicked crowd continuously flooding into the train car.
"Hermione! Stay where you are! Don't move!" Her mother's tearful cry reached her, but it was like a stone sinking into the sea.
In the chaos, Hermione was squeezed against the cold connecting joint of the carriage, her thin back pressed tightly against the metal wall.
All around were strange, agitated faces; the smell of sweat, the shouting, and pure panic swallowed her whole, her mind going blank from the overload of fear.
At that very moment, a strong hand steadied her shoulder, which had almost gone limp.
It was Caesar. He had, unnoticed, positioned himself like a reef at the center of the chaotic vortex, his presence seemingly creating a strangely calm space around him.
He pulled Hermione into the relatively stable corner space of the carriage, turning sideways to shield her, his lean yet upright back forming a protective barrier.
Then, without hesitation, he threw a punch.
"Crash!"
The window glass shattered in response, crystalline fragments raining down like rain.
"Watch your step, little Hermione."
Before the words fully landed, Hermione felt the collar of her dress tighten; she was lifted by Caesar and, with a light yet decisive motion, sent through the broken window out of the carriage.
The next second, Caesar propped himself on the window ledge with one hand, nimbly flipping himself out and landing beside her.
Ignoring the pain from her fall, Hermione immediately scrambled to her feet, shaken and gripping Caesar's coat hem tightly, her fingertips white from the force.
Caesar's gaze swept calmly over the scene. The chaos on the platform was no less than inside the carriage. In the distance, those cavalrymen with plumed helmets were reforming their ranks, their horses' hooves stamping the ground restlessly.
He looked down at the little girl with a pale face who was stubbornly looking up at him: "This is not a place to linger."
"But my parents are still in there!" Hermione shook her head vigorously, her brown curls swaying, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion.
Reason told her that turning back now wouldn't help her find her parents and might plunge her back into danger, but her emotions kept her rooted to the spot.
Seeing her trying so hard to appear calm while clearly terrified, a flicker of softness passed through Caesar's eyes.
He suddenly reached out and gently ruffled her fluffy hair. This unexpected, intimate gesture made Hermione freeze, her fear pausing for a moment.
"The cavalry will charge here any moment."
He bent down, bringing his gaze level with hers, looking directly into those brown eyes filled with alarm.
"I promise, once we leave the station, I will get you safely home. Please trust me, little Hermione."
His voice was soft, yet carried a bedrock-like certainty. In those unfathomably deep eyes, Hermione saw not a trace of panic, only a calmness that made one instinctively want to rely on him.
"Clop, clop, clop—"
The sound of hoofbeats grew closer, like a drumbeat urging them on.
There was no time to hesitate. Caesar decisively took her hand, leaving only the words: "Trust me."
He led her, weaving through the chaotic crowd as nimbly as a fish. His movements were clean and efficient, sometimes sidestepping a forceful collision, sometimes ducking to avoid flying debris.
A few times Hermione was almost knocked over by the tide of people, but Caesar steadily protected her each time.
Hermione followed closely, looking up she could only see his sharply defined jawline and an unusually calm profile.
In this world where everyone else was panicking, this incongruous composure seemed to radiate a strange power, allowing her frantically beating heart to gradually find its rhythm.
Simultaneously, she vaguely noticed a strange phenomenon: whenever someone was about to crash into them, they would unconsciously veer away, as if an invisible barrier quietly separated them from the turmoil.
"Hold on tight," Caesar's voice pulled her back to reality. "We must leave quickly."
Hermione instinctively gripped his hand tighter. In this moment filled with the unknown and danger, this unfamiliar young man had become her only lifeline.
And she had no way of knowing how this "chance encounter" that began in chaos would completely twist her predetermined fate trajectory... Taking a step beyond the boundaries of Victoria Station felt like stepping into another world.
The clamor and commotion behind them abruptly faded, replaced by the usual grey, hazy sky of Londonstreets and pedestrians hurrying along, completely unaware of the recent disturbance.
A sudden silence descended, even carrying a touch of unreality.
Caesar still held Hermione's hand, only letting go naturally once he was sure they were completely clear of the danger zone.
Hermione's cheeks felt slightly warm. She whispered a "thank you," but her gaze kept involuntarily darting back towards the station, her worry shadowing her.
"They'll be fine," Caesar's voice broke the silence, calm and certain.
"The station is under control; the chaos will subside quickly. The Royal Cavalry's primary goal is to disperse the crowd, not to harm ordinary passengers. Your parents are likely already in a safe place, trying to contact you, or heading straight home to call the police."
Hermione pursed her lips.
Caesar's analysis was clear, logical, and allowed her tightly wound heart to loosen slightly.
She looked up at this boy who didn't seem much older but radiated a maturity beyond his years: "Thank you for helping me... If it weren't for you just now, I might have already..."
"It was nothing," Caesar interrupted flatly, seemingly unwilling to dwell on the matter.
He stopped beside a rather old red telephone booth and, from his seemingly limited-capacity suitcase, once again produced that half-finished bottle of butterbeer.
"Thirsty after that walk?"
He offered her the bottle. The golden liquid sloshed gently inside the glass, a layer of fine foam still clinging to the top.
"A drink with a rather unique flavor. No alcohol. You can try it."
"Um... thank you."
Curious, Hermione took it. Out of politeness and the trust built moments ago, she took a careful sip.
The next moment, her little face immediately scrunched up, and it took immense restraint not to spit it out in an undignified manner.
It was an extremely complex and intense flavor.
Cloyingly sweet, mixed with a burning sensation similar to but not exactly alcohol, and a rich, peculiar aroma reminiscent of toffee and roasted grains intertwined.
For an eleven-year-old girl whose taste buds were accustomed to juice and water, the impact was truly too overwhelming.
Chapter 7: Mr. and Mrs. Granger's Invitation
She struggled to swallow the mouthful of strange liquid, quickly handing the bottle back to Caesar. Her small face was filled with strained politeness and unconcealed embarrassment:
"The taste is very unique, but I might not be used to it."
Caesar couldn't help but chuckle as he watched her conflicted expression, wanting to speak frankly but forcing herself to hold back.
He calmly took the bottle, tilted his head back, and took a drink himself, looking as relaxed as if he were savoring nectar.
"It seems it's not to your taste. No matter, everyone has their preferences. Also, my name is Caesar Habus, just call me Caesar."
"Let's go, Miss Granger," he returned to his usual composure. "Let me fulfill my promise and take you home. What is your address?"
"Wendell and Monica Granger's house, in Hampstead." Hermione answered subconsciously, then widened her eyes in surprise.
"Wait! How do you know my surname is Granger? I don't think I've told you yet."
Earlier, the situation was too urgent to think deeply, but now that she was out of danger, the clever girl immediately noticed this inconsistency.
Caesar's steps paused almost imperceptibly. He then turned his head and gave her a knowing, shallow smile.
A ray of sunlight happened to pierce through the usual overcast clouds of London, falling into his deep eyes and sparking tiny glints of light.
"At the station, your mother called out to your father, and I heard the surname 'Granger'.
As for your name, little Hermione... your father shouted it out in a moment of panic. My hearing has always been quite good."
The explanation was reasonable.
Hermione said "Oh," and outwardly accepted it, but the faint thread of doubt in her heart had not completely vanished.
She quickened her pace to follow, gazing at the tall and somewhat mysterious figure of the young man ahead.
A thought circled in her quick, little mind:
This Caesar Habus seemed shrouded in a layer of impenetrable mist.
His composure was extraordinary, his drink was highly peculiar, and his appearance and assistance were almost deliberately coincidental.
However, regardless of everything else, he was the one who helped her.
Hermione Granger always knew how to distinguish gratitude from grievance.
"In that case, Caesar,"
She jogged a couple of steps to walk beside him, her tone serious.
"As repayment for helping me, and to apologize for not properly appreciating that drink, perhaps I could treat you to a glass of real juice another day?"
Caesar looked down at her. Sincerity and intelligence sparkled in the girl's brown eyes, and the curve of his lips deepened slightly.
"That sounds good," he replied softly. "I look forward to it."
London is known as the "Foggy City," and the weather changes instantly. Soon, the sky became overcast with dark clouds, and thunder rumbled faintly.
Fortunately, Caesar, guided by the address, delivered Hermione to the front door of a neat Victorian terraced house in Hampstead just in time.
Before they could ring the doorbell, anxious voices and the heavy sound of a telephone receiver being put down came from inside.
Hermione immediately ran up and knocked on the door: "Mum! Dad! I'm home!"
The door was practically yanked open, and Mrs. Granger, with red-rimmed eyes, immediately pulled her daughter into a tight embrace:
"Hermione! Oh, God, where did you go! We were worried sick!"
Mr. Granger followed closely behind, his face etched with relief. While patting his wife's back to comfort her, he looked at the young man standing quietly outside the door.
"This is Mr. Caesar Habus, who helped me."
Hermione lifted her head from her mother's embrace and quickly explained: "He was the one who safely took me away from the chaos at the station."
Mr. and Mrs. Granger's gaze immediately focused on Caesar, filled with heartfelt gratitude.
A uniformed policeman also walked out of the house, holding a notebook; clearly, they had been reporting her missing.
"Young man, thank you again!" Mr. Granger stepped forward and vigorously shook Caesar's hand.
"The station was a complete mess. After we got separated, we couldn't find Hermione anywhere, and our hearts were pounding! Thank you for bringing her back safely!"
"It was simply my duty, sir."
Caesar bowed slightly, his manner appropriate and displaying a maturity beyond his years. "In that situation, anyone would lend a hand to a little girl in need of help."
His politeness and composure left an excellent impression on Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
Mrs. Granger wiped the tears from her eyes and warmly invited him: "Please, you must come in and sit down so we can thank you properly. We are just about to have dinner—you absolutely must stay!"
Caesar's gaze subtly and quickly swept over the interior: cozy, tidy, and filled with the atmosphere of a Muggle middle-class home. Hermione's awards hung on the walls, and the bookshelves were overflowing with books.
He wore a perfect, slightly apologetic smile: "Thank you very much for your kind invitation, that is truly generous. But I'm afraid I shouldn't intrude too much on your family reunion."
"No, no, not an intrusion at all!" Mr. Granger insisted firmly. "You saved our daughter. A simple meal is nowhere near enough to express our gratitude. Please, you must stay!"
Under the sincere and warm insistence of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and Hermione's implicitly expectant gaze, Caesar finally "reluctantly" agreed.
The atmosphere at dinner was very harmonious.
At the dinner table, Caesar's etiquette was impeccable, and his conversation revealed great knowledge and critical thinking skills.
This earned the silent approval of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who grew to appreciate the well-mannered young man even more.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger were gentle and talkative. They asked Caesar some basic questions, such as where he lived, and whether he was studying or already working.
Caesar's answers were cautious and reserved. He only mentioned that he had recently arrived in Britainfrom the United States and was currently a historian.
His reasons for coming to Britain were twofold: first, for academic research, and second, because he had heard about the newly discovered Ancient Roman ruins in Exeter.
He would need to stay in London for the next few months and travel to various places for inspection.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger believed him completely, as Caesar's statements aligned with recent news reports.
Upon hearing that he hadn't yet found permanent accommodation, they enthusiastically recommended a small house next to their villa that was available for rent.
Given the economic downturn and the high cost of rent in London, they figured Caesar, being so young, probably had limited savings, and this was their way of showing gratitude.
Caesar couldn't refuse the offer and had to accept, though he insisted on paying rent, albeit at a very favorable rate.
Hermione looked at Caesar, who was chatting easily with her parents at the dinner table, and the numerous doubts from earlier in the day resurfaced in her mind.
His unusual composure, that strange drink, and his perfectly timed appearance.
But now, in the warm, brightly lit home, seeing her parents' undisguised admiration and affection for him, those doubts seemed somewhat alleviated.
He had indeed helped her, and at this moment, he behaved like an impeccable gentleman.
Chapter 8: The Magical Creature, Biyi Bird
"Your actions during the train strike earned you the trust of The Granger Family. From then on, you used this as a base, frequently traveling the world to find materials needed to cast spells."
"Each trip lasted anywhere from three to five days to one or two months. Every time you returned, you brought gifts from various places for Hermione, increasing her favorability. This clever little girl completely dropped her guard against you, becoming immersed in the persona you created."
"Under your intensive work, you finally completed your original goal before the half-year holiday ended. You also informed Mr. and Mrs. Granger in advance of your departure date."
"The Granger Family was very reluctant to see you go. The past six months together had been very pleasant for them, and your presence brought more laughter and joy to the family."
"However, the understanding Mr. and Mrs. Granger still expressed their blessings to you and returned the rent you had paid them these days, hoping that you would return to their home on your next visit to Britain so they could fulfill their duties as hosts."
Hermione hid in the shadows of the doorway, like a pouting kitten, puffing out her cheeks and impatiently grinding her toes on the carpet.
She hadn't seen Caesar for three days, only knowing that he had locked himself in his room, making clanging noises, tinkering with something unknown.
Caesar was leaving Britain tomorrow. Did he not want to see her at all during these last few days?
Hermione finally couldn't hold back and quietly snuck to his door.
The door was ajar, leaving a crack through which warm light and faint scraping sounds escaped. Like a thief, she glanced left and right, then held her breath and pressed her eye to the crack.
Inside the room, Caesar sat with his back to the door, at an old wooden desk by the window.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the lattice window, casting dappled shadows on his shoulders. He was slightly bowed, so focused that the entire world seemed irrelevant to him.
Hermione's gaze went over his shoulder, fixated on his hands.
He held a strangely shaped small knife, its blade occasionally flashing like a cold star in the sunlight.
His fingertips were pinching a silver, unfinished chain, the pendant already taking shape.
It was a dark jade piece, meticulously carved into an irregular shape, its material appearing ancient and warm.
Caesar's movements were slow, with an almost reverent meticulousness.
The small knife gently scraped the jade piece, each movement extremely steady and precise.
Jade dust fell like tiny snowflakes, accumulating into a small pile beside his hand.
This was not rough cutting, but guiding, as if the jade's soul already existed, and Caesar was patiently, little by little, releasing it from its confinement.
Hermione couldn't make out the specific shape of the pendant.
But she could see Caesar's fingertips turning slightly white from the effort, and she saw him occasionally pause to gently caress the carved lines with his thumb, feeling its curve and depth, before continuing.
His breathing was steady and long, merging with the rhythm of the carving knife in his hand.
She watched, mesmerized, even her initial unhappiness diluted by this quiet and focused scene.
She had never seen Caesar like this, stripped of his usual lazy or playful expressions, leaving only the pure stillness of being immersed in a creation.
His entire aura had changed, like a silent mountain or a deep sea.
Just then, Caesar's movements paused.
He didn't turn around, but his voice clearly carried over, with a hint of imperceptible gentleness, breaking the silence in the room:
"Had enough looking, little Hermione?"
Hermione jumped, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, shooting upright, her cheeks instantly flushing.
She bit her lip in annoyance, knowing she had been discovered.
But since she was already found out, she simply stopped hiding, pushing open the door with a defiant air.
"You... you've been working on this all these days?" She walked into the room, her gaze still fixed on the necklace in his hand, her tone a mix of curiosity and a lingering hint of grievance.
"What is this?"
Caesar finally turned slowly, his fingertips still pinching the unfinished necklace.
He looked at her, his eyes showing a hint of fatigue, but more so a deep emotion that Hermione couldn't understand.
Caesar didn't answer her question, but merely raised the hand holding the necklace slightly, allowing the dark jade pendant to be more clearly visible in the sunlight.
"A necklace," he said. "Do you remember what I told you last time I came back, about the two strange large birds I discovered at the Top of the World in the distant East?"
Hermione recalled the stories Caesar told her every time he returned and asked:
"Are you talking about those two Biyi Birds that look like owls but only have one wing and one eye, and must pair up to fly? Is this necklace made from them?"
Caesar nodded, gripping the necklace, his gaze filled with reminiscence: "It was very dangerous at the time. The male bird's wing was sharper than any blade in this world, just barely.
If I had been 0.1 seconds slower, what you'd be seeing now might be a beautiful scar from my left shoulder all the way to my ribs."
Then, Caesar paused, seemingly reliving that perilous moment, before looking up at Hermione, his eyes holding an indescribable brilliance:
"However, it was precisely when that feather grazed just above my heart that I managed to capture its essence.
Not with a wand, nor with any spell, but in that moment between life and death, I felt the unbreakable connection between them…"
Caesar reopened his hand. The dark jade pendant lay quietly in his palm. The previously unclear patterns now became distinct in the light.
It wasn't simple carving, but rather a slender, resilient feather shimmering with a faint iridescence, embedded into the jade in an extremely intricate way.
The base of the feather was also adorned with a tiny, yet dazzling, dark red crystal, smaller than a grain of rice, like a solidified drop of blood.
"This is a Biyi Bird's feather,"
Caesar's voice was soft, with a solemnity like telling a legend, "Not just any single feather, but the only Symbiotic Feather that falls off when the pair of birds' auras intertwine and their magic resonates during flight."
He then pointed to the red crystal: "Next to it is the heart's blood the male bird urgently spat out to protect its mate, containing the purest intention of protection."
Hermione held her breath, staring unblinkingly at the small necklace.
She could feel the faint but solid magical fluctuations emanating from the item—warm, harmonious, carrying an undeniable power of connection.
This also proved that she possessed talents that Muggle didn't; this was the aptitude of a Wizard.
"Wait!"
Hermione suddenly shot up, her face drained of color, her eyes, which had just been sparkling with intelligence, now filled with pure panic.
"You just said you were injured? Where? Let me see!"
With that, she reached out without explanation to touch Caesar's shirt buttons, her movements urgent and unyielding.
In her opinion, any minor wound from battling a legendary Magical Creature could harbor unknown dangers.
Caesar seemed not to have expected her reaction to be so intense. He paused for a moment, then somewhat helplessly allowed her to unbutton the top two buttons, revealing a patch of sturdy chest skin below his collarbone.
Chapter 9: The Best Birthday Present
Knock, knock, knock—!
"Dear."
Just as Hermione was getting carried away, Mr. Granger, who had just arrived outside the door, finally couldn't help himself and walked in.
His eyes behind his glasses were filled with a kind, amused smile, finding his daughter quite adorable, as he said:
"Interrupting your 'adventure stories' for a moment, it's time for a meal. Come on out."
"Caesar was injured fighting a Magical Creature; he should go to the hospital first."
Hermione retorted urgently without looking back, completely unaware that her current behavior was a bit over the line: "And they aren't adventure stories, Dad!"
"Alright, alright, they aren't adventure stories."
A helpless smile appeared on Mr. Granger's face as he looked at Caesar, his gaze suggesting: You're the one who has to coax her out of this.
Every time Caesar returned, Hermione would pester him to tell stories about Magical Creatures.
Children of this age have no resistance to stories of Magical Creatures; she listened with great interest every time, believing them implicitly, which Mr. and Mrs. Granger found very amusing.
However, they wouldn't argue that these stories were actually fake; after all, childhood innocence is a child's most beautiful memory.
They also hoped Hermione's childhood could be spent in beautiful fantasies; adults shouldn't destroy a child's dreams.
"Don't worry, little Hermione. I've been on many adventures, and that bird didn't hurt me."
Caesar gave Mr. Granger a reassuring look, glanced down at his chest, and finished dressing.
He covered the scar that would have been revealed if he'd unbuttoned just one more button, and casually patted his chest to show he was fine.
"Are you really okay?" Hermione felt slightly relieved seeing this.
"Of course it's true. You've seen Caesar's skills before. Besides, such a wonderful story is better shared at the dining table. After all, even heroes have to eat breakfast, don't they?"
As Mr. Granger spoke, he hugged Hermione and continued: "And your mother and I have been preparing carefully for a long time this time. We even have your favorite chocolate bars, little Hermione."
After breakfast, a sense of parting spread through The Granger Family.
Caesar quickly finished packing his luggage, though it was just a single suitcase, and the train wasn't departing until tonight.
Perhaps not wanting to wait around in such an atmosphere, Caesar pushed open the door and looked at Hermione, saying calmly, "Little Hermione, is the rest of the time yours?"
His tone was as casual as if he were just going to the street corner next door.
Hermione had originally been holding a grudge because he had left for several days without saying goodbye, and she had planned to say a few harsh words.
But looking at his smiling eyes and hearing "the rest of the time is yours," all the words she had prepared got stuck in her throat.
"Let's go."
She simply nodded and ran back to quickly grab her coat.
Just like the afternoon Caesar first knocked on the Grangers' door, London today was shrouded in a thin layer of grey mist and rain as the two walked out.
He seemed to carry a halo of dry, warm light around him. He hadn't brought an umbrella, and tiny droplets of water clung to his hair, sparkling like crushed diamonds.
Caesar took her and hopped onto a red double-decker bus, heading straight for the front row on the top deck.
The bus started with a wobble, moving through the wet streets; outside the window, London looked like a flowing oil painting washed by rain.
Hermione sat up straight, her eyes bright as she watched the familiar streetscape unfold from a novel angle.
Caesar didn't speak, only occasionally reaching out to steady her shoulder when she leaned slightly during the bus's turns.
The bus stopped near the London Eye.
Caesar went to buy tickets and then led her into a transparent capsule. The capsule slowly rose, and all of London spread out beneath them.
The River Thames was like a grey ribbon, and the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben appeared somewhat hazy in the mist.
Hermione leaned against the glass, mesmerized.
Caesar stood behind her, as quiet as a shadow.
It was clearly a rare time for fun, but because of the impending separation, the pleasant mood slowly became submerged by another sensation after leaving the house.
It felt as if every drop of rain was counting down the time they had left.
"Caesar, those stories are all true, aren't they?"
Hermione looked at Caesar's reflection in the window and added: "The Biyi Bird with only one wing and one eye, the Dragon that can destroy cities with its breath, the dangerous and terrifying crazed Venomous Leopard—you didn't lie to me."
"I won't lie to you, little Hermione." Caesar gently closed his palm, took out the necklace, stepped forward, took Hermione's hand, and placed the necklace softly in her palm.
The jade was warm and smooth, and the feather embedded within it seemed to carry a faint warmth of life.
"I made two necklaces using the Biyi Bird; you should be able to feel it. This necklace represents a kind of 'absolute'."
"An 'absolute' where no matter how far apart we are or what we encounter, we can never truly be separated."
Hermione felt her palm burning; the warmth spread through her blood to her cheeks and then to her heart.
She looked at this gift in her palm, which carried thrilling legends and deep sentiment; all her previous dissatisfaction, grievances, and stubbornness vanished in that moment.
In its place was a sour yet swelling sense of being moved.
She gripped the necklace tightly and looked up, her eyes slightly red but her gaze incredibly bright: "You promise? Promise it will let you know I need you?"
"I'm only leaving for a while." Caesar looked at her, his gaze deep. "Wear it."
"That way, no matter where I am, as long as you need me, I'll be able to sense it. And it will protect you, just like that male bird protects its... family."
Caesar treated Hermione as his family; for the past six months, The Granger Family had truly treated him like a member of the household, never excluding him in any aspect of life.
After getting off the London Eye, Caesar took her to a roadside stall to buy hot dogs, drenched in too much ketchup and yellow mustard, so much so that even the tip of Hermione's nose got a bit of sauce on it.
He also won a carnival shooting game and got a silly-looking long-eared rabbit recording plush toy, which he insisted on giving to Hermione.
Hermione held the rabbit, which was almost half her size and made of coarse fabric.
Normally, she would have complained that the rabbit wasn't refined enough, but at this moment, she held it very tightly.
The rain stopped at some point, and the setting sun revealed a golden edge behind the clouds.
Caesar walked her back to her doorstep and stopped.
"This is it," he said.
Hermione looked up at him.
She knew it was time for a real goodbye.
She didn't ask if he would come back, nor did she say anything sentimental.
She just hugged the rabbit in her arms a little tighter, then held up the necklace and said very seriously:
"On my birthday six months ago, my parents gave me a ticket to Exeter. That was the best birthday present I'd had in ten years."
For a proud girl like her, this sentence was almost the highest form of praise.
It didn't involve any magic; it was only about her feelings at this moment.
Caesar was stunned for a moment, and a very, very real smile—one without any playfulness or depth—slowly bloomed on his face.
Then he reached out and very lightly, very quickly, ruffled her bushy hair.
"Little Hermione, I left a gift for you under your bed. Consider it compensation for that first taste of butterbeer."
Then Caesar turned around, hands in his coat pockets, and walked into the twilight that hadn't yet completely faded, without looking back, his voice calm.
Hermione stood at the door, watching his figure disappear, holding the silly rabbit in her arms and clutching the necklace in her hand.
She felt a place in her heart filled to the brim with a warm yet melancholy emotion.
This afternoon, this frozen moment, had been permanently captured in her time by something even more wonderful than a magic story.
Chapter 10: The Letter of Acceptance
As the six-month holiday ended, you returned to Hogwarts and reported the results of your trip to Dumbledore.
Thanks to your talent, while busy with your own affairs, you also managed to publish two academically valuable articles in the Daily Prophet, for which Dumbledore praised you.
Meanwhile, you also decided to wrap up your research on Grindelwald as soon as possible. After giving Dumbledore your research notes, you discussed many details with him.
You completed the final compilation of 'The History of Gellert Grindelwald'. This work, which firmly nails Grindelwald to the pillar of historical shame, earned you honor.
After that, you began other research projects, behaving entirely like a diligent and normal History of Magic teacher.
Because of your amiable attitude towards students and your similar age, compared to strict Professors like McGonagall and Snape, you gained more recognition while helping students solve problems.
Until the day Hermione Granger turned eleven, an owl directly carrying the letter of admission knocked on her window.
Originally, to explain to Muggle families and gain their trust, Hogwarts would typically send a Professor for a home visit.
The originally designated person was Professor Minerva McGonagall. She is both the deputy headmistress and the Transfiguration Professor, possesses considerable understanding of the Muggleworld, acts with rigor, and is highly persuasive.
However, in the Hogwarts headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore looked at you from over his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes twinkling with insight: 'I've noticed that your... friendship with The Granger Family has not faded with time.'
'Considering this special bond, perhaps it would be more appropriate for you to act as the envoy for this home visit? I believe the appearance of an old friend would put them more at ease than that of a stranger.'
You gladly accepted the task, a feeling of indescribable anticipation welling up from deep within. Watching that little girl, who once frantically checked your chest for 'injuries' out of worry for you, step by step enter your world—there could be no better arrangement.
London, Britain. 2:00 PM.
It was another misty, drizzly day.
When Caesar stood once more before the familiar door of the Granger household, Mrs. Granger's face, upon opening it, was written all over with astonishment.
'Caesar? Good heavens, it's been so long!'
Mrs. Granger hurriedly ushered Caesar inside, her tone both affectionate and bewildered, 'You've come at the perfect time. Something very... strange is happening here.'
Caesar entered the living room and immediately spotted Hermione sitting on the sofa.
She had grown a bit taller since last year, her hair still bushy. At that moment, she was clutching the admission letter tightly to her chest as if it were her sturdiest shield.
When she saw Caesar, her bright brown eyes instantly sparkled with disbelief, followed by immense, almost overflowing hope.
She wanted to rush over but restrained herself, only silently mouthing Caesar's name.
The gift Caesar left her when he departed last time now found a reasonable explanation in this moment; everything connected.
'Actually, Mrs. Granger,'
Caesar smiled, his gaze sweeping over the stern-faced Mr. Granger before finally settling on Hermione, giving her a slight nod, 'I've come precisely for this'strange matter.''
Immediately, Caesar elegantly waved a hand. His Muggle clothes transformed instantly into the distinctive dark robes of a Hogwarts Professor, the hem stirring as if by an unfelt breeze.
'Allow me to formally introduce myself. Caesar Habus, Professor of Ancient History of Magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'
Caesar announced calmly, 'I have the honor of representing the school to formally invite Miss Hermione Granger to enroll at Hogwarts and to be responsible for guiding her into the wizarding world.'
For the next hour, in his capacity as a Professor, Caesar patiently and clearly explained to Mr. and Mrs. Granger the basic structure of the wizarding world, and Hogwarts' history and safety.
He didn't use overly flashy magic, only made Mr. Granger's favorite pipe fly back to his hand and caused the lilies in the vase to bloom and close in an instant.
These small but undeniable pieces of evidence were more persuasive than any dazzling spell.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger progressed from initial shock to cautious belief, and finally, before Caesar's composed demeanor and irrefutable facts, completely accepted this incredible reality.
The look in their eyes when they gazed at Hermione also shifted from worry to pride and support.
When all questions had been answered, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger began excitedly discussing the list of items to purchase, Caesar finally had the chance to walk up to Hermione.
At this moment, Hermione looked up at him, her voice carrying a slight tremble and immense joy:'So, when you left last time, it was to go to... Hogwarts?'
'Yes,' Caesar crouched down, meeting Hermione's eyes at her level, just like that afternoon many years ago, 'I promised we would definitely meet again.'
As he spoke, he retrieved a small, soft cloth-wrapped item from an inner pocket of his robe.
'Happy birthday, Hermione. And, welcome to the wizarding world.'
Hermione carefully opened it. Inside was not a toy, nor a fairy tale book.
But a seemingly ancient brass compass. However, the area around the needle was not marked with directional degrees but engraved with intricate runic characters.
'This is...'
'An Ancient Rune Learning Aid, and also your first tool in the wizarding world,' Caesar explained softly. 'It will guide your direction, not just geographically.'
Hermione gripped the compass tightly, her knuckles whitening slightly. She looked at Caesar, her eyes glistening with tears, but the corners of her mouth were turned high in a smile.
'So...' She took a deep breath, asking in as serious a tone as she could muster, which still held a little girl's eagerness, 'Caesar, when do we leave for Diagon Alley?'
'Hermione, you should call him Professor Caesar now,' Mr. and Mrs. Granger, calming down from their excitement, corrected her. 'Caesar is a teacher at Hogwarts, and you are a student. You can't just call him by his first name anymore; it's not ladylike behavior.'
The excited expression on Hermione's face instantly froze, as if doused with cold water.
She subconsciously bit her lower lip, her gaze shifting from her parents' serious faces to Caesar, carrying a hint of bewildered verification.
She had always called him 'Caesar', ever since the day they met.
This form of address carried all the secrets between them—the butterbeer from that afternoon.
The nearly invisible pale mark on his chest; although a button still lay over it, she could see that scar.
And the dusk before he left, when he ruffled her hair.