Ch: 41-50
Chapter 41: The Death of Dumbledore
Professor McGonagall's entire body shook violently, her eyes widening suddenly, filled with shock, pain, and a final... indescribable complexity as she looked at Hermione's face.
Her lips moved, as if she wanted to say something, but only a mouthful of dark red blood gushed out.
The strength in her body drained away rapidly. Like a fallen leaf losing its support, she slumped backward limply, her gaze quickly dimming, the breath of life flickering out like a candle in the wind.
Until the moment of her death, she stared intently at Hermione, as if she wanted to carve the image of this student—on whom she had once placed high hopes but who had now personally killed her—into the depths of her soul.
"Minerva—!"
Dumbledore let out a heart-wrenching roar, his blue eyes instantly ignited by immense grief and a raging fire of fury.
The elder wand erupted with an unprecedentedly brilliant silver light, like a galaxy pouring backward, carrying a majestic will to purify all darkness, mourn the deceased, and punish sin, cascading down toward Hermione!
This time, he held nothing back!
At the moment of her success, Hermione used the counterforce from her wand striking McGonagall, combined with the stumble from her heavily injured left shoulder, to roll backward, narrowly avoiding the direct impact of the silver torrent.
The aftershock swept across her back, completely tearing her already tattered school robes and leaving a large area of charred burns on her back, but she seemed unable to feel the pain.
While rolling, her gaze remained deathly locked onto Dumbledore.
More accurately, it was locked onto the moment Dumbledore slightly loosened his control over the Philosopher's Stone to attack with full force; that crimson stone was slightly sliding out of his sleeve!
The chance!
Ignoring the heavy injuries to her back and shoulder, Hermione dropped to one knee upon landing and slammed her wand into the ground!
"Earth Bind!"
The ground instantly turned into a viscous mire, and several thick arms made of rock and mud suddenly reached out, grabbing for Dumbledore's feet!
At the same time, she struggled to raise her left hand, making a grasping motion toward the Philosopher's Stone in mid-air!
"Accio!"
A powerful summoning force was applied to the Philosopher's Stone. The stone jolted violently, on the verge of breaking free from Dumbledore's control!
Dumbledore gave a cold snort of anger and jabbed the elder wand downward. The mire and rock arms instantly turned into hard stone slabs and shattered inch by inch. His other hand quickly reached for the Philosopher's Stone.
But Hermione's madness exceeded his expectations.
In the moment he was distracted by dealing with the ground binding and grabbing the stone, Hermioneactually abandoned all defense and charged at him like a cannonball!
She poured all her remaining magic, along with that desperate, demonic will, into this collision!
Caught off guard, Dumbledore was slammed hard in the chest. Even with his powerful magic protection, the impact made his blood churn, and he stumbled back repeatedly.
The hand reaching for the Philosopher's Stone was forced back to parry.
Now!
Hermione's right hand shot out like lightning. Her target wasn't Dumbledore, but the Philosopher's Stone suspended in mid-air, uncontrolled due to the clash of their magic!
Her fingertips just barely touched the warm surface of the stone.
A fierce look flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, and he pointed the elder wand toward the center of Hermione's back without hesitation.
This time, the distance was closer, the magic more concentrated, determined to kill this fallen girl who had murdered her teacher on the spot!
However, as if she had eyes in the back of her head, at the instant her fingertips touched the Philosopher's Stone...
Her body twisted at an incredible, almost bone-breaking angle, using her heavily injured left shoulder blade to meet the elder wand's lethal strike once again!
Thud!
Another dull sound. The tip of the elder wand almost completely sank into Hermione's left shoulder, protruding slightly from the front, bringing with it a spray of tragic blood and bone fragments.
The unimaginable pain made Hermione's vision go dark, almost causing her to faint.
But the metallic taste of blood from her bitten tongue and the single figure in her mind allowed her to burst forth with a final surge of ruthlessness.
Using the impact of the elder wand piercing her body, she lunged forward, forcibly snatching the Philosopher's Stone from the air and clutching it tightly in her palm, which was stained with her own blood!
At the same time, her body completely tore free from the elder wand's piercing, leaving a shocking through-and-through wound as blood sprayed out like a fountain.
"Argh—!" She finally couldn't help but let out a suppressed groan of extreme pain. Her whole body tumbled to the ground like a ragdoll, yet she held the Philosopher's Stone in her hand with a death grip.
Dumbledore looked at the heavily injured Hermione on the ground, who still held the Philosopher's Stone tightly.
Looking at Professor McGonagall's cold corpse not far away, a nearly distorted anger and deep sorrow appeared on his aged face for the first time.
He raised the elder wand, a destructive light gathering at its tip. This time, there would be no accidents.
However, at the very moment he was about to unleash the final blow...
On Hermione's blood-stained face, a faint but strangely satisfied, crazed smile suddenly appeared.
She looked at Dumbledore and, using her last strength, pressed the fist holding the Philosopher's Stone firmly against her bloody, mangled chest, as if trying to shove the stone into her heart.
Then, in a tone that was almost a breath but clearly reached Dumbledore's ears, she said hoarsely:
"...He... wait for me..."
In the next moment, her body was enveloped by an extremely unstable and chaotic spatial fluctuation that erupted simultaneously from the Philosopher's Stone and her own blood!
Was it a random teleportation triggered by the Philosopher's Stone being soaked in blood and hit by intense magic?
Or had she unconsciously triggered some life-saving trump card Caesar had once branded into her mind before her death?
Dumbledore's expression changed. The light from the elder wand shot out, but it only shattered the gradually blurring spatial ripples.
Hermione Granger, along with the blood-stained Philosopher's Stone, vanished from the spot.
However, at this very moment of the master and student turning against each other...
"Avada Kedavra!"
An extremely faint yet viciously precise emerald green light shot out from a gap in the rubble.
The target wasn't Hermione, but Dumbledore, whose defenses had a gap because of his severe emotional shock!
It was Lord Voldemort!
He still had the strength and malice left to deliver one final blow!
Everything happened too fast.
Dumbledore's dodging spell was half a beat slow... The abandoned Potion Class classroom deep within the Castle now felt like a forgotten tomb, with silence filled with dust and the faint scent of blood.
The sounds of fighting, explosions, and dragon roars outside were isolated into a blurred background noise by the thick stone walls and the protective spells Hermione had set, making the silence inside feel even more oppressive and surreal.
Hermione practically crashed through the door.
She had run all the way here, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Every beat tugged at the pain under her ribs and the string in the depths of her soul that was stretched to its limit.
She held the crimson Philosopher's Stone tightly in her hand. Its warmth formed a sharp contrast with her cold, sweaty palm, as if it were her last connection to the world.
The sight inside the classroom made her breath suddenly stop.
Chapter 42: She Didn't Kill Him After All
Caesar was still leaning against that dust-covered laboratory bench, in almost the exact same position as when she had left.
His head was merely bowed, thick dark brown curls obscuring most of his face, motionless, like a lifeless wax figure.
The blood on his body had dried and turned black, and the terrifying faint blue cracks beneath his skin seemed to have stopped pulsing, leaving only a deathly gray decay.
In the entire room, not a trace of a living creature's presence could be felt, only a coldness belonging to death and finality, so thick it wouldn't dissipate.
"No... no..." Hermione let out a hoarse, tuneless sob from her throat, her legs going weak as she nearly collapsed to her knees. All the hope, all the madness, all the sins, seemed to lose their meaning at this moment.
She had defeated Lord Voldemort, reclaimed the Philosopher's Stone, and even... even potentially stained her hands with blood that could never be washed away.
But if he was gone, what did any of this matter?
Despair, like the coldest tide, instantly submerged her.
However, at the very moment her pupils dilated and the world was about to lose all color.
Beside the laboratory bench, the fingers of that "corpse" twitched ever so slightly.
It was a very subtle movement; if Hermione's entire focus hadn't been fixed on him, if the room hadn't been so deathly silent that a pin drop could be heard, she would have almost missed it.
Following that was an extremely weak sound of inhalation, as if squeezed from the deepest part of his lungs, accompanied by bloody froth.
Hermione froze instantly, all her senses heightened to the limit. She held her breath, staring intently at Caesar.
His chest, extremely slowly and almost imperceptibly to the naked eye, gave a faint rise and fall.
He was still alive!
He wasn't dead! Professor McGonagall... Professor McGonagall didn't kill him?!
Ecstasy, like an exploding star, instantly breached all the dams of despair, sweeping through every cell of Hermione's body with unstoppable force.
It was a near-dizzying, weightless sensation, an extreme emotion mixed with disbelief and the relief of surviving a catastrophe.
Tears surged out without warning—not tears of sadness, but a torrent of intense joy and released pressure.
Her knees gave way, and she truly collapsed to the ground, not out of weakness, but because this pleasant surprise was too heavy to bear.
"Caesar..." Her voice trembled beyond recognition as she scrambled to his side, her hands cupping his face carefully yet almost greedily.
His skin was cold, and his breathing was so weak it seemed it might stop at any moment, but it was indeed there.
He was indeed still alive!
Only then did Hermione belatedly notice two students wearing Ravenclaw robes curled up on the ground not far from Caesar's side.
A boy and a girl, both appearing to be only thirteen or fourteen, their faces carrying the exhaustion and daze that follows terror. Their eyes were tightly shut, their chests rising and falling steadily; they seemed to be merely asleep, or perhaps placed under a gentle Stupefy.
Their wands lay dropped by their hands, with no obvious battle scars on their bodies.
They were guards.
Professor McGonagall, after all... hadn't struck the killing blow.
She hadn't chosen to end the riot of those Magical Creatures by killing Caesar; instead, she chose to subdue him, leave guards, and go to "reveal the truth" herself in an attempt to redeem herself.
A flicker of extremely complex emotion crossed Hermione's heart, but it was quickly suppressed by the stronger thought of how to save Caesar.
Why McGonagall hadn't killed him or why those two students were here didn't matter right now.
What mattered was that Caesar was still alive, and the Philosopher's Stone was in her hands!
She forced herself to calm down, even though her hands were still shaking uncontrollably as she quickly checked Caesar's condition.
His life force was so weak it was almost extinguished, his magic core was in a state of chaotic collapse, and his body was severely damaged by backlash and injuries.
But the power of the "Source of Creation and Life" in its purest form, contained within the Philosopher's Stone, was exactly the right medicine.
Hermione took a deep breath and gently placed the Philosopher's Stone over Caesar's cold heart.
Her right hand gripped her wand tightly, while her left hand covered the Philosopher's Stone, and she closed her eyes.
Her magic flowed into the Philosopher's Stone gently yet firmly, carefully avoiding the parts contaminated by Lord Voldemort, precisely guiding out the most central and pure essence of creation.
Strands of warm, soft energy flowing with a faint golden light, like living stream water, poured out from the Philosopher's Stone.
Following her guidance, it slowly seeped into Caesar's chest, flowing through his entire body, nourishing his parched magic circuits, repairing his shattered organs, and smoothing over those violent faint blue cracks... This was an extremely delicate and mentally taxing process. Hermione was fully concentrated, and fine beads of sweat soon appeared on her forehead as her face turned pale.
She could feel Caesar's life force returning bit by bit, extremely slowly, like a faint spark gradually reviving beneath the ice.
His previously cold and stiff body began to have a slight warmth and softness.
After an unknown amount of time, Hermione finally withdrew her hand slowly, her wand drooping, her body swaying slightly from exhaustion. The glow of the Philosopher's Stone had dimmed considerably, but it remained warm and lustrous.
And Caesar... his breathing was noticeably steadier; though still weak, it was no longer like a thread that could snap at any moment.
The deathly gray pallor on his face had faded a bit, and though he was still as pale as paper, there was a faint hint of life about him.
Most heartening of all was that the faint blue cracks beneath his skin, while not completely gone...
...had faded significantly in color and were no longer pulsing, as if temporarily suppressed and sealed by the power of the Philosopher's Stone.
He was still unconscious, his injuries were still severe, and recovery was a long way off. But at least the most dangerous moment had passed.
He had survived.
Hermione slumped on the ground, leaning against the cold laboratory bench, watching the regular, faint rise and fall of Caesar's chest as tears silently fell again.
This time, it was out of pure lingering fear and relief.
Her nerves, which had been tense for what felt like a century, could finally relax slightly. An extreme exhaustion swept over her like a tide, making it difficult for her to even lift a finger.
However, this fragile peace did not last long.
Outside the corridor, there were initially sporadic, suppressed sobs and disbelieving whispers, like stones thrown into stagnant water, creating larger and larger ripples.
The footsteps became chaotic and heavy, carrying a sort of doomsday-like panic.
The sounds approached from afar, passing through the heavy wooden door and her protection spells, reaching her ears blurred yet clear:
"Professor McGonagall, she..."
"No, impossible! The deputy headmistress, she..."
"And Headmaster Dumbledore, they're saying the Principal also..."
"It's Lord Voldemort! It must be that Dark Lord!"
"Merlin, what is Hogwarts to do..."
Headmaster Dumbledore... has also fallen in battle?!
Hermione's body, leaning against the laboratory bench, stiffened imperceptibly for a moment.
Tears still clung to her eyelashes, but the relief in her eyes froze instantly, replaced by an extremely cold, high-functioning sharpness.
In the "official version," Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore died in a fierce battle with Lord Voldemort's minions, having sacrificed themselves to protect Hogwarts.
Chapter 43: He Is the Hero Who Turned the Tide
The logical chain was rapidly constructed and refined in her mind, cold and efficient, like the most precise alchemical instrument.
All emotional fluctuations—the trace of complexity regarding Professor McGonagall's final gaze, the subtle palpitation for Dumbledore's wand that failed to fall at the end.
Were all forcibly stripped away, compressed, and buried deep by her.
Now was not the time for sentimentality, nor even for rest.
Caesar survived, but he was still very fragile.
The power of the Philosopher's Stone could only temporarily stabilize him; he needed a safer environment, more meticulous treatment, and a longer recovery period.
And she herself, heavily injured with her magic nearly exhausted, still bore the absolute taboo of "killing the deputy headmistress and causing the Principal's death."
External perception was at its most chaotic and vulnerable moment.
Grief, panic, the urgent need for a hero, and the fear of order collapsing—this was the most dangerous, yet also the easiest window of time to shape "facts."
Although Lord Voldemort's temporary body had been defeated by her, those remaining Death Eaters and summoned dark creatures were still there.
They were the final "evidence," the final "obstacles," and also the best "culprits" and "achievements."
Hermione propped herself up against the lab bench and struggled to stand.
Tearing pain radiated from all over her body, especially the wounds on her left shoulder and back; every breath brought a searing, burning ache.
But she only frowned slightly, her hand tightening around her wand once more, even though her fingers were still trembling uncontrollably.
She gave the unconscious Caesar one last deep look, her eyes swirling with endless exhaustion, resolve, and a hint of deeply hidden tenderness.
Then, she turned and pushed open the door that blocked out part of the clamor.
The light in the corridor was dim, filled with dust and the lingering scent of gunpowder smoke.
A few lower-year students walked past, supporting each other, their faces covered in tear stains and bewilderment; seeing Hermione, they froze for a moment, and then their eyes erupted with a light mixed with awe, reliance, and supplication.
"Senior Granger..."
Hermione did not respond, only nodding slightly to them, her face devoid of expression, showing only a deathly, water-still paleness.
She set off toward the main battlefield, toward the places where sporadic fighting and wailing still echoed.
Her steps were stumbling at first, but they grew steadier and faster.
With every step, the magic within her seemed to recover slightly as her cold will condensed.
It wasn't returning to its original state, but regrouping in a more condensed, focused form that existed solely for "cleansing."
For the dark forces remaining in Hogwarts, the next few hours were a silent and total nightmare.
People only saw that the genius Witch who had resisted Lord Voldemort at dawn and saved the crisis, dragging her heavily injured body, threw herself once more into the battle to clear out the remaining enemies.
Her silhouette appeared in every corner of the Castle where Dark Wizards or dark creatures were still putting up a final struggle.
Her fighting style was concise, cold, and efficient. No flashy exchange of spells, no prolonged skirmishes.
It was often just a single, extremely precise strike: either a Magical Spike piercing the heart, a Shadow Erosion instantly draining life force, or an ancient curse directly dismantling the soul's structure.
The darkness would then be annihilated, leaving behind only a rapidly cooling corpse or remains turning to ash.
She killed in silence, as if executing a predetermined purification program.
Wherever she passed, the darkness was thoroughly purged, leaving nothing behind. There were those who tried to surrender, those who wailed in collapse, and those who attempted to take her down with them.
Before her, the outcome was no different.
When the sun hung high, exposing the tragedy and sorrow of Hogwarts to the broad daylight, the last discordant whisper of darkness completely vanished.
Covered in blood, riddled with scars, her face as pale as a ghost yet her back as straight as a spear, Hermione Granger stood alone in the center of the plaza before the Main Tower, which was littered with rubble, scorch marks, and wet bloodstains.
Survivors gradually gathered—Professors, students, and belated officials from the Ministry of Magic.
They looked at the girl before them, at the surrounding area where not a single living enemy remained, and at the ground beneath her feet that had been cleaned exceptionally "clean," their gazes complex and indescribable.
There was relief at surviving the disaster, immense grief for the deceased, and deep confusion about the future.
Even more, there was an extreme awe of Hermione's terrifying strength and iron-blooded methods, and even... an inexplicable trace of fear.
But regardless, in the "history" about to be frozen in time:
It was Hermione Granger who, after Principal Albus Dumbledore and deputy headmistress Minerva McGonagall died heroically in the final battle against Lord Voldemort and his lackeys.
With a heavily injured body, remained calm in the face of crisis, and through her supreme courage, wisdom, and strength, not only completely crushed the Dark Lord's plot.
But also, with thunderous momentum, purged all remaining dark forces, preventing Hogwarts and the wizarding world from falling into an even greater catastrophe.
She was the hero who turned the tide, the light that illuminated the darkest hour, and the new legend and pillar of Hogwarts.
As for the details of the battle that were too "thorough," those figures who vanished into the darkness before dawn.
Along with certain possible doubts surrounding the sacrifice of the Principal and deputy headmistress—in the face of absolute achievement, the gratitude of survivors, and instinctive awe of powerful strength.
They all became blurred, eventually being quietly covered and corrected by the mainstream narrative, becoming insignificant footnotes in the heroic epic... The dust settled, the pain remained, but life and order had to continue.
The heavily injured Professor Caesar Habus was confirmed to have been ambushed by Dark Artsduring the chaos.
Fortunately, Hermione Granger used the Philosopher's Stone in time to stabilize his injuries, and after treatment at St. Mungos Hospital, his life was miraculously saved.
However, his magic was severely damaged, requiring long-term recuperation.
Given his irreplaceability in the field of Ancient History of Magic, his public status as a "victim" of that battle, and Hogwarts' severe lack of faculty following the trauma.
Caesar Habus was able to retain his teaching position; once his body had somewhat recovered, he returned to the Castle and stood before the lecture podium.
Hermione Granger, for the extraordinary courage, precise magical talent, and leadership in crisis displayed in the final battle, received the highest honors from the Ministry of Magic and a Special Contribution Medal from Hogwarts.
Her O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s results were, without suspense, all Outstanding, and she graduated with record-breaking high scores, her brilliance dazzling.
Two years later, by virtue of her profound academic reputation, her "indispensable" contribution to the reconstruction of Hogwarts, and subtle yet solid support from some school governors and emerging forces within the Ministry of Magic.
Despite rumors that his magic had not fully recovered to its former state, Professor Caesar Habus was nevertheless appointed as the Principal of Hogwarts.
This decision was unexpected, yet upon reflection, it seemed like an inevitability of history.
Chapter 44: Destruction of Hogwarts Completed
He implemented a series of prudent reforms, advocating for the fusion of "Practical Magic" and "Ancient Wisdom."
Under a series of reforms, the Castle gradually recovered from ruins and grief, even revealing a certain restrained vitality that surpassed the past.
In the same year, Hermione Granger stepped into the Ministry of Magic with an impeccable record.
Her efficiency was astonishing, her methods both tough and sophisticated. She excelled in tasks such as purging remnant Dark Arts, promoting magical creature rights, and mediating international Wizardrelations. Her rapid promotion was remarkable.
Five years passed, and Principal Caesar Habus's position became increasingly stable.
Under his leadership, Hogwarts entered an era described by the outside world as more "open" and "pragmatic."
Meanwhile, Hermione Granger, through a series of sensational legislations and crisis management, reached the top amidst fierce political maneuvering, becoming the youngest Minister in the history of the British Ministry of Magic.
The public and close cooperation between her and Hogwarts Principal Caesar Habus was seen as a model of synergy between the wizarding world's administration and education systems.
Two stars shining together, as if jointly illuminating a new chapter for magical Britain.
Until the assembly at the end of that semester.
Caesar Habus stood at the front of the Great Hall, his voice steady and clear as he announced:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with its thousand-year history, will be officially disbanded after this academic year.
The reasons were sufficient and forward-looking—for the diversity of magical development, for more professional and personalized education, and to break down inherent barriers.
Waves arose suddenly. Surges of doubt, protest, and pleas to stay were overwhelming.
However, the Principal's preparations were flawless, the logic of the plan was rigorous, and the procedures were impeccable.
And the most decisive support came from an immediate public statement issued by the Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger.
She promised that the Ministry of Magic would fully guarantee a smooth transition.
In the face of power and a seemingly perfect blueprint, the voices of opposition eventually quieted down, diverged, and were absorbed.
Another academic year ended. The Hogwarts Castle rang its school bell for the last time.
Teachers and students departed, carrying complex emotions.
The Castle was not abandoned but remained as the "Magical Education History and Research Center," yet its mission as a complete school of magic came to an abrupt end.
Four new colleges were established across Scotland, inheriting some traditions while emphasizing professional specialization.
The educational foundation of the wizarding world was completely reshaped.
No one knew that on the night the disbandment was announced, Caesar stood alone in the empty Principal's office.
Outside the window, the Black Lake was like ink, and the starry sky hung low.
His fingertips toyed with that "Philosopher's Stone," which had turned completely dull and become a deep red crystal. A very faint, uninterpretable curve, like one after completing a long narrative, spread across the corners of his mouth.
Meanwhile, in the Minister for Magic's office, Hermione signed the final documents regarding financial grants for the new schools.
She put down her quill, rubbed her brow, and walked to the window.
Below her, the lights of Magical London flowed brilliantly, but her gaze pierced through the void, casting toward that silent ancient Castle in the north.
In her eyes, there was no complacency of peak power, only bottomless exhaustion and a thick complexity.
"Caesar, what is love?" Her own voice in her memory was naive and curious.
"Love is the most dangerous spell. It can make people lose their reason, cloud their judgment, and endure the deepest pain. It can also make you strong enough to be fearless, or fragile enough to be vulnerable." His answer back then sounded like a distant parable.
"I don't quite understand... is it that exaggerated?"
Hermione took out the slightly worn letter from an inner pocket of her robes—Caesar's handwriting, the "proof" handed over by Professor McGonagall.
She knew every letter on it by heart, and every logical point was as clear as a mirror to her.
She knew this was a lie.
Whether to Professor McGonagall or to her, it was.
But she had never sought verification from him, not once.
Because of love... the thousand-year Hogwarts thus came to an end.
The curtain of a new era slowly rose amidst the ashes of power and the reorganized order. Whether it was light or shadow behind the curtain, only time would tell.
[Main Quest: Destruction of Hogwarts Completed]
[Comprehensive Evaluation: S+]
[Rewards being settled...]
[Task time limit fifteen years, three years remaining. Host can end the simulation at any time.]
[After choosing to end the simulation, the simulated body will die due to an accident. Would the Hostlike to end it now?]
"Do not end this simulation."
Caesar's voice was firm.
Logically, after getting what he wanted, he should have left.
But the moment this thought flashed through his mind, countless images flooded in at once.
Three years left... He wanted to do some things simply out of "wanting to," rather than "planning"... On a sunny afternoon, at the home in Hampstead.
When Caesar brought Hermione to knock on that door again and stood at the entrance saying, "We're back," the shopping bag in Monica's hand dropped to the ground.
Wendell froze for three seconds, then laughed loudly and pulled him inside, patting his back hard while saying, "You kid, you didn't even send a letter!"
On the dining table were Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding meticulously prepared by Monica. Wendellbrought out his treasured wine and pulled Caesar into a conversation about dental care and anecdotes from the wizarding world.
Wendell and Monica Granger's initial shock at hearing the news of the two being in love had transformed into their current joy.
After all, they had long since considered Caesar a part of their family. The couple did not hesitate for a moment to accept this man who deeply loved their daughter.
Of course, they were now welcoming Caesar with a new identity—as true family.
Hermione smiled and added comments from the side, occasionally exchanging a knowing look with Caesar.
The atmosphere was warm and harmonious, the fire in the fireplace crackling, illuminating the sincere smiles on everyone's faces.
Caesar watched all this, suddenly remembering another afternoon many years ago.
Back then, he was also a guest at this dining table, and Hermione was still a little girl who would get Ketchup on the tip of her nose.
And he, of course, was calculating the task progress in his heart, inadvertently crashing into this family's life and becoming one of them.
"Caesar?" Hermione's voice pulled him back to reality.
He looked up and found her looking at him with concern in her eyes.
"You were spacing out just now," she said.
"I was just thinking," he smiled, "some things, after going around in circles, still return to the starting point."
"Just like a dream." Hermione raised her glass and said happily, "A toast to the starting point! A toast to family!"
"To family." Caesar repeated the word aloud and in his heart, clinking glasses with her.
That was a kind of ordinary warmth that Caesar might have had a subconscious flicker of longing for during countless intervals of cold calculation.
Yet he had never believed it would belong to him.
And now, he sat in the middle of it.
Feeling like a thief who had stolen happiness.
Chapter 45: I Do
...An ordinary wizarding residence with a small garden.
In the study, the books the two had collected filled every corner, Muggle and magical works harmoniously intermingled, forming a universe of knowledge that belonged only to them.
Caesar sat in an old armchair by the window, reading an ancient book on obscure branches of Eastern Alchemy by the afternoon sunlight.
Hermione was curled up on the sofa, her brow slightly furrowed as she reviewed Ministry of Magicdocuments, occasionally looking up to ask him about the historical origins of a certain legal clause.
Time flowed quietly, marked only by the rustle of a quill across parchment and the light sound of turning pages.
Sometimes Caesar would set down his book, walk behind her, and gently knead her tense shoulders, earning a comfortable sigh and her leaning back into his embrace in reliance.
"Sometimes I feel like none of this is real," she said softly, eyes closed. "Like a dream that's too beautiful."
"Why?"
Hermione fell silent.
She didn't answer, only burying her face deeper into his chest, breathing in his scent.
Caesar also fell silent.
His hand stopped on her shoulder, his movements becoming gentle and restrained.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, cutting geometric patterns of light and shadow onto the study floor.
Dust motes swirled and floated slowly in the beams of light, as if time itself had taken shape.
The secret they both knew was like a thin, transparent film separating them. It was visible, yet neither reached out to touch it.
"Caesar," Hermione finally spoke, her voice very soft, nearly drowned out by the sound of the wind outside the window.
"Hmm?"
"If this really is a dream," she didn't look up, still leaning in his arms, "then I hope I never wake up."
Caesar's arms tightened; he could feel Hermione trembling, though it was slight, he could feel it... It was a cloudy dusk, and the silhouette of the Hogwarts Castle ruins loomed indistinctly in the distance.
Caesar knelt on one knee somewhat clumsily.
In his hand was no flashy jewelry, only a simple silver ring that he had permanently enchanted with magic for starlight and a Breeze Spell.
Hermione stood before him, still wearing ordinary Wizard robes, even clutching a roll of an unfinished proposal in her hand.
Her brown eyes were first filled with shock, then quickly clouded over with a layer of glistening moisture, while the corners of her mouth involuntarily curved upward in a pure and bright smile.
There was no grand ceremony, no crowd of onlookers. Only the wind blowing from the Black Lake, gently fluttering her curls.
Just like the rain and fog of London years ago, gently brushing against the window of a double-decker bus.
He looked up at her and spoke the request he had never truly envisioned through long years and countless calculations: "Marry me."
Her tears finally fell, but she nodded heavily and threw herself into his arms, scolding him with a laugh, "No planning at all, not like you at all."
The moment she threw herself into his embrace, another dusk suddenly flashed through Hermione's mind—
Under a gray sky, he turned and walked into the twilight without looking back.
And she, holding that silly stuffed rabbit and clutching the warm necklace, stood at her front door.
At that time, she didn't know that that silhouette, which seemed like a final farewell, was actually the beginning of a promise.
Now, that promise was finally fulfilled.
The two kissed in the breeze and sunlight by the lake.
That kiss was long and tender, as if to make up for all the missed time and smooth over all the hidden scars.
When the ring slipped onto her finger, the Starlight Micro-spell quietly triggered, tiny points of light surrounding their fingertips like living things... by a quiet lakeshore in Scotland.
Caesar wore a wide-brimmed hat and sat on a small folding stool; the fishing rod in his hand hadn't moved for a while, as if his mind wasn't on the fish.
Hermione was handling work on a picnic blanket spread out nearby, but more often she was resting her chin in her hand watching him, or staring blankly at the lake surface.
The sunlight shattered into ten thousand gold coins on the water, and in the distance, Muggle boats glided leisurely by. There were no schemes, no life-or-death dangers, only a peace so mundane it was almost a luxury.
Sometimes she would walk over, hug him from behind, and press her face against his back without saying a word.
He would then put down the fishing rod, take her encircling hand, and gently stroke the simple silver ring at the base of her finger with his fingertips.
"Sometimes I think of the London Eye," she said suddenly in a soft voice, muffled against his back. "That rainy afternoon, we stood so high up, the whole city beneath our feet.
You stood behind me, quiet as a shadow, but I could feel your presence, just like now."
Caesar's hand paused slightly, then he gripped her hand tighter: "I will always be by your side."
...A simple wedding filled with blessings.
The location was neither the magnificent hall of the Ministry of Magic nor the ancient manor of some pure-blood family, but right in their own flower-filled back garden.
Not many people attended:
Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who gave them their heartfelt blessings; when Hermione took her father's arm and walked toward Caesar, she saw her mother quietly wiping away tears.
A few friends from Hermione's student days who were truly close to her stood in the crowd, winking at her.
There were also several important collaborators from the Ministry of Magic, and several Professors from the four new schools who had kept in touch with them after Hogwarts was disbanded.
Hermione didn't wear an elaborate wedding dress, just a simple white robe, with dew-kissed lilies pinned in her curls.
She was as plain as the girl who, years ago, had stood at her front door after the rain stopped, holding a stuffed rabbit.
When they exchanged vows, the sky was as clear as if it had been washed; a few curious owls, attracted by the scent of flowers, landed on the garden fence, tilting their heads to quietly observe.
When he said "I do," a light brighter than the stars sparkled in her eyes.
Before saying her own vows, Hermione paused for a moment, her gaze passing over Caesar as if looking somewhere very far away.
"A long time ago," her voice was clear and firm, "someone gave me a gift and told me it represented an 'absolute.'
An absolute that could never truly be separated, no matter the distance or the adversity faced.
Today, standing here, I want to give that person a response."
She raised her hand, her fingertips unconsciously touching the front of her robes—the necklace was no longer there, but the movement had become a deeply ingrained habit.
"My response to you is: I do."
She looked directly into Caesar's eyes and said word by word: "Not because of that 'absolute' you once promised.
But because, starting from that rainy afternoon, without knowing it, you had already become my absolute."
Caesar's Adam's apple bobbed.
In those eyes that were always unfathomable, at this moment, an undisguisable ripple was clearly reflected, profound and sincere.
Chapter 46: Goodbye, Little Hermione
On an ordinary day.
Hermione feigned anger because Caesar forgot their anniversary, but she couldn't help but break into a smile when he conjured a bouquet of never-fading Starlight Roses.
In the kitchen late at night, they shared a steaming bowl of creamy mushroom soup. Outside the window, fine snow fell silently.
When she tossed and turned, unable to sleep due to work pressure, he would tell her those bizarre "bedtime stories" about another world until her breathing gradually became steady and long.
Together, they tried planting magic plants and ordinary roses in the garden, teasing each other when they failed and raising a glass to celebrate when they succeeded.
One evening after a failed planting, with mud all over their hands and the hems of their robes, Hermione looked at the messy flowerbed and suddenly burst out laughing.
She turned and brought out an old lop-eared rabbit doll from the house—the fabric was coarse, and one ear was sewn on crookedly, yet it was exceptionally well-preserved.
"Do you remember this?" She pressed the button on the rabbit's belly, and a blurry recording with static noise began to play—the background music of a shooting game from some amusement park.
Caesar looked at the rabbit, his gaze as soft as the evening light. "I thought you had thrown it away long ago."
"How could I ever throw it away?" She gently placed the rabbit in his arms. "You won this for me. You were caught in the rain that day, with water droplets on the tips of your hair shining like tiny diamonds. You said, 'The rest of the time belongs to you,' and then, you gave me an entire afternoon—an afternoon that will never be forgotten."
He embraced her along with the rabbit and whispered, "I will also remember that afternoon forever."
Late at night, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
In her sleep, Hermione unconsciously brushed her hand over her chest.
Meanwhile, Caesar watched her quietly, his fingertips gently tracing her brows and eyes, as if trying to etch this face into the depths of his soul... Later, at a warm and noisy party.
Perhaps it was a holiday or someone's birthday. Figures flickered in the living room, with laughter, conversation, and music blending together.
Hermione was surrounded by friends, her slightly tipsy cheeks flushed with a faint red, her smile bright and relaxed.
Caesar stood a little further away, holding two glasses of frothy butterbeer. His gaze never left her, filled with a tenderness he hadn't even noticed himself.
Then, she walked through the crowd toward him, took a glass of beer, and gently clinked glasses with him. With a crisp "ting," foam cheerfully overflowed the rim.
"This reminds me of the first time I met you," she said with a smile. "You handed me a glass of butterbeer and said it was a meeting gift."
"You were so guarded back then," he recalled, "like a small animal ready to run away at any moment."
"Because I didn't know," she leaned in, her voice as light as a whisper, "that the stranger who suddenly appeared in my life would become the most important 'absolute' of my life."
Amidst the laughter and cheering of friends and family, they kissed once more.
In this kiss, there was the malty aroma of butterbeer, the sweetness of memories, the warmth of the years, and all the unspoken love already etched into their very bones.
The party lasted late into the night. After the guests had gradually dispersed, a slightly tipsy Hermioneleaned gently on Caesar's shoulder.
"I'm so happy today," she murmured indistinctly.
"I..." Caesar's voice suddenly became strained.
Hermione paused, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and said gloomily, "Sometimes, I'm really afraid that all of this is just a dream."
Caesar didn't answer; he only held her tighter.
Because he knew that what she feared was about to become reality.
[3, 2, 1...]
[Extraction complete.]
The last trace of simulated light and shadow was completely swallowed by the void.
Caesar's consciousness returned to the system's pure white settlement space. The previous noise and warmth were replaced by absolute silence.
There was no wind from the Black Lake, no fire from the fireplace, no sweet aroma of butterbeer, and none of her warmth or smiles.
Only the floating, coldly glowing settlement list remained before him, along with a new prompt:
[Congratulations to the Host for completing the mission to destroy Hogwarts. Rewards: Legendary Magic Talent, Animagus.]
[Starting the removal of three initial talents: Redemption, Genius Scholar, Ancient Magic of Love.]
[Detected that the Host carried the talent "Redemption" in this simulation. You may retain the emotional memories with a certain character from this simulation to affect the same character in the real world.]
[Load "Simulated Memories and Emotions" for Hermione? Yes / No]
Caesar floated quietly in the pure white, his dark eyes staring at the "Yes" option.
Time lost its meaning here.
He saw her tearful smile when he proposed.
He saw the light in her eyes at the wedding, brighter than the stars.
He saw her warmth as she pressed against his back by the lakeside.
He saw the bowl of mushroom soup they shared late at night.
He saw her silhouette walking toward him through the crowd at the party.
He also saw an even earlier time—
The rain in London, the double-decker bus, the slowly rising London Eye, the necklace in her palm, her back as she turned away in the twilight, and that sentence: "This is the best birthday present I've had in ten years."
All the images intertwined and overlapped, finally converging into the simple choice before him.
After a long time, he very slightly and slowly curled the corner of his mouth. It was a cold, complex curve that was difficult to decipher.
He raised his hand, his fingertip hovering over "Yes," trembling slightly.
"Forget me, and rest well..." he whispered, his voice dissipating into the pure white without any echo.
But in the end, the one he pressed was "No."
Then he smiled, a smile carrying a tenderness that was almost cruel.
"Goodbye, Little Hermione."
He spoke to the empty, pure white void as if she could still hear him.
"That rainy afternoon, that rabbit, that necklace... and everything that followed, they were all too beautiful.
So beautiful that I can't bear to let them become a painful part of your memory.
Just let yourself remember the original me—the stranger who arrived in the rain and left in the twilight.
At least that way, in the years to come, you won't be repeatedly tormented by this illusory memory.
In this simulated world, you will remember the promise of the necklace, the warmth of that afternoon, and then... after I die, slowly forget me.
The great power of time will take away all emotions.
Continue your life and become the person you want to be.
Only this time, I'm sorry, I'm afraid... I can't take you home."
His figure began to turn transparent. The system prompt sounded again:
[Memory and emotion sealing complete.]
[Simulation record archived.]
Before disappearing completely, Caesar took one last look at that void.
Something shattered in the depths of his eyes, then quietly reorganized, finally returning to a bottomless calm.
"Goodbye, my absolute."
Chapter 47: It Was Just a Mistake
The rain hadn't stopped yet.
Damp moisture still heavily saturated the night air.
Caesar stood alone on the silent street, the streetlights casting his elongated shadow onto the wet asphalt, shimmering with a dark light.
The long and realistic simulation from just now, along with the cold settlement prompt at its end, quietly slipped away from the surface of his active consciousness like a receding tide, leaving only something more fundamental to settle.
He raised his hand, his fingertip giving an extremely slight hook in the void.
Without chanting an incantation, or even calling upon much magic, a silver-blue, thread-like trace of light naturally emerged, winding around his finger and swimming lively, like a sentient sprite.
Previously, this light element magic, which required his full concentration and a considerable amount of magic to maintain stably, was now as easy and casual as breathing.
"Is this the Legendary Magic Talent? It's truly comfortable!"
Those obscure magical principles that once required him to delve into old books for months and ponder deeply in meditation just to barely glimpse the threshold, now became exceptionally clear and transparent in his perception.
This was a qualitative change in experience; his intuition and understanding of the essence of magic had leaped to a completely new dimension.
"And, all that magical knowledge belonging to the Hogwarts Professors is now in my mind. As long as I have enough materials, I can easily use those powerful spells."
Caesar could feel that it wasn't just his talent, but also the vast sea of magical knowledge he had accumulated over more than a decade in his past simulations—
Fragments, conjectures, and contradictory theories scavenged from the Hogwarts Library, lost ruins, and even black markets and forbidden books.
All of it remained in his mind.
"But, why does it feel like... my head isn't as sharp anymore."
Caesar's thoughts shifted slightly; his lips didn't show much joy, but instead pressed down slightly.
Without the Genius Scholar trait, it felt as if a stone had been placed on his head, lacking that flash of inspiration and wisdom he had in the simulation.
To put it simply, he had become stupider.
No, it should be said he had returned to his true self.
In the original plan, Hermione was meant to compensate for this... she would become Caesar's "brain," Caesar's strategist, devising plans for him.
But this thought popped up uncontrollably, carrying the complex impressions of that clever and stubborn girl remaining from the simulation.
She indeed had that ability, perhaps even better than he had anticipated. But... Caesar's gaze suddenly turned cold, as he struggled to completely freeze and strip away that trace of unwarranted soft emotion originating from the simulation's memories.
His heart had softened.
He calmly reviewed many of his choices in this simulation.
Those redundant considerations, those unplanned "interactions," and those variables that could ultimately lead to a loss of control.
He had invested too much unplanned "attention" and "resources" into Hermione, even marrying her in the simulation's ending... He cut off that train of thought.
Next time, he must not repeat the same mistake.
Cold determination regained dominance.
In the next simulation, he needed a "smart female character," a brain capable of acting as a strategist to assist him in completing complex plans.
But at the same time, she must be easier to control, or at least, not trigger unplanned emotional entanglements.
Fleur Delacour? A standout at Beauxbatons, beautiful and ambitious, perhaps easy to exploit, but not... cunning enough.
Luna Lovegood? Amazing intuition, a unique perspective, perhaps able to provide unexpected ideas, but too flighty, difficult to incorporate into a rigorous plan.
Astoria Greengrass? A pure-blood family, smart and patient enough, but physically weak, and the involved family interests could be complex... The name flashed through his mind and was quickly set aside.
The specific candidate would need to be considered based on the world background and identity of the next simulation, but the principle was set:
Next time, a tool is a tool; he must maintain absolute rationality and distance.
Caesar took one last look at the deep night sky, turned, and walked away, his figure merging into the mist and shadows of the Hogwarts night.
In the next simulation, he would be colder, more efficient, and go straight for the goal. All warmth and hesitation would be completely discarded.
As for the illusory images that occasionally flashed in his mind—the foam of butterbeer clinking in the sunlight, a certain bright smile filled with tears... that was just a mistake.
Nothing more... Early the next morning, before the sunlight in the Gryffindor Tower boys' dormitory had completely dispelled the morning mist's dampness, Harry and Ron appeared by Caesar's bed with hesitant, uneasy looks on their faces.
"Caesar, uh... good morning."
Ron scratched his flaming red hair, his gaze somewhat wandering. "Last night... are you okay? We heard later, Hermione didn't mean it, you know, she's just too serious sometimes..."
Harry nodded vigorously beside him, his green eyes filled with sincere concern: "She just wanted to win too much, and Malfoy's words were really nasty. She regretted it later."
Caesar sat leaning against the headboard, still carrying the laziness of morning, but his face had no particular expression, only nodding faintly: "It's fine."
The morning Flying Class took place on the broad lawn.
The sky was a washed azure, with a few fluffy white clouds floating lazily.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the students awkwardly or skillfully controlled their brooms to take flight.
Unexpectedly, today's atmosphere wasn't as stiff as anticipated.
Perhaps because last night's conflict was so intense, it actually allowed some emotions to be released.
Caesar controlled the school's somewhat old Comet 260; his movements weren't exactly elegant, but they were steady enough.
At least there were no more embarrassing spins in place or sudden drops.
He deliberately suppressed the almost instinctive insight into flying brought by his improved talent, acting like an average student with decent aptitude who was working hard to adapt.
During a gap in slow flying around the field, he steered his broom closer to Hermione, who was carefully maintaining her balance but had clearly made huge progress.
Looking at this familiar face and unfamiliar gaze, Caesar's voice wasn't loud, drifting over with the wind in a calm tone that betrayed no emotion:
"About yesterday, I said some things too harshly. Sorry."
Hermione was concentrating fully on controlling the broom's pitch and yaw; hearing this, she turned her head in surprise, her brown eyes blinking rapidly.
The expression on her face was somewhat complex, mixing residual annoyance, a trace of undetectable embarrassment, and... perhaps a bit of surprise.
She pursed her lips and also replied in a low voice: "I... shouldn't have done it that way either. Sorry."
Simple sentences, like a silent truce.
No excessive explanations, no deliberate closeness, but the previous sword-drawn tension had indeed dissipated quite a bit.
Harry saw this scene from not far away, a relaxed smile appearing on his face. Ron winked at him.
Chapter 48: Time to Consider Himself
The subsequent Flying Class went much more smoothly.
Hermione seemed to have completely overcome her initial fear and began trying some basic turns and speed changes; although her movements were still a bit stiff, her focus and gradually building confidence were evident.
Caesar maintained a middle-of-the-pack level, neither standing out to attract attention nor falling behind to become a laughingstock.
At the end of the lesson, Madam Hooch gave a rare word of praise to several students who had shown obvious improvement, including Hermione.
And what excited the Gryffindors even more...
Harry Potter, the talented Seeker who could perform thrilling recovery maneuvers the first time he touched a broomstick.
And Hermione Granger, who demonstrated excellent balance and reaction speed.
Both were nominated by Professor McGonagall, who had appeared at the edge of the field to observe at some unknown point, for a chance to participate in the Gryffindor Quidditch team trials!
This news dispelled the last trace of gloom from the previous night's conflict.
Ron chattered excitedly around Harry and Hermione, while the other little lions cast envious or congratulatory glances.
Caesar stood slightly on the periphery of the crowd, watching Hermione, who was surrounded by friends and finally showing a truly happy smile, and then looking at Harry, whose eyes were bright with excitement; his own gaze remained calm and rippleless.
The liveliness belonged to them.
He turned away from the grass and walked toward the Castle.
There were no classes in the afternoon.
Caesar did not return to the common room, nor did he go to the Library.
He headed straight for the lower levels of Hogwarts Castle, to those remote corridors and abandoned storage rooms where few people set foot.
The Legendary Magic Talent brought not only an enhancement in spellcasting ability but also a sharper perception of magical materials.
In the simulations, for Hermione's sake, he had traversed almost every place in and around Hogwartsthat might produce the necessary herbs and minerals.
Now, the combination of those memories and his perception provided him with great convenience in searching for materials.
His movements were swift and quiet, utilizing his newly acquired talent and perception of magic flow to avoid potential notice.
He also skillfully bypassed areas with slight protective or warning magic.
He didn't need a large amount of materials, just enough to brew a few doses of the basic "Cascading Bath" potion.
In previous simulations, he had expended heart and soul researching and refining this ancient magic-nourishing potion almost entirely to lay a foundation for Hermione and help her grow quickly.
But now, it was time to consider himself.
He had the top-tier talent, a vast reserve of knowledge far exceeding his current age, and a deeper understanding of the essence of magic.
The only thing restricting him was this body's not-yet-fully-grown magic capacity and physical strength.
And perhaps... an insufficiently clever original mind.
"Cascading Bath" could gently and effectively broaden magic channels, enhance magic affinity, and consolidate the body's foundation for carrying magic.
This was exactly what he needed most right now, under the premise of maintaining a low profile.
The material collection went unexpectedly smoothly.
By evening, he returned to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower carrying a small leather pouch simply treated with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
He locked the door and set up simple silencing and anti-interference spells.
He didn't use the classrooms or the common room, as they were too public. The dormitory space was sufficient.
His top-tier talent gave him a near-instinctive grasp of heat control, material activity, and the timing of magic injection.
Those complex processing steps and subtle reaction points seemed effortless in his hands now.
Under the guidance of magic, a wonderful fusion and transformation took place.
A strange fragrance, a mix of fresh vegetation and a faint mineral scent, filled the air; the liquid in the cauldron gradually turned from turbid to clear, emitting a shimmering, rainbow-like light.
The entire process was quiet and rapid, carried out with the focus and efficiency unique to a researcher.
There were no deliberate explanations or slowed-down steps like when he had prepared it for Hermione in the simulations; there was only pure purpose.
When the last bit of stabilizer was added and the potion in the cauldron completely settled into a pale gold color sparkling like starlight, with a texture like melted honey yet cool and translucent, Caesar extinguished the fire.
He carefully poured the potion into several prepared crystal vials and sealed them.
The first batch of "Cascading Bath" prepared for himself was complete.
He then put away the crystal vials and removed the protective spells.
The dormitory returned to its usual appearance, with only a very faint, strange medicinal fragrance—a mix of success and solitude—remaining in the air, slowly dissipating into the silence of dusk... In the time that followed, Caesar did not join the trio in their antics but instead focused entirely on increasing his strength, continuing his solitary cultivation even during the Quidditch matches.
In the blink of an eye, the holidays arrived, and the first year came to an end.
Due to Caesar's butterfly effect and secret interference, Harry did not discover anything unusual about Snape and Quirrell this term.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station was still filled with the bustle of partings and reunions.
The thick smoke from the steam engine was wrapped in the hooting of owls, the instructions of parents, and the excited screams of children.
Caesar walked off the Hogwarts Express carrying a suitcase that looked exceptionally plain, even somewhat old, compared to those around it.
He walked straight to the other side of the platform to wait, his gaze sweeping over Harry Potter, who was being warmly surrounded by the Weasley family not far away; his face showed no expression.
Then, he was slightly startled because he saw Hermione Granger talking with her parents.
In the fifteen years of simulation, he subconsciously felt that this family should be coming to greet him, and then say in a reproachful tone: "I don't even know if you'll write a letter home..."
"Caesar, you're finally out!"
Uncle Vernon came to meet him with a gruff voice; his first reaction wasn't a hug or a greeting, but a quick, critical look up and down at Caesar.
"You didn't bring any strange things back, did you? Like books that bite, or teacups that run around on their own?"
His hand was already reaching for Caesar's suitcase as if it contained some kind of monster.
Caesar turned his gaze over; Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley's clothes looked overly stiff and conservative in the crowd, their expressions tense, completely out of place with the vibrant atmosphere of the wizarding world around them.
Beside them was Dudley Dursley, who had grown another round fatter, impatiently kicking the ground beneath his feet.
Petunia's lips were pressed into a thin, pale line; her gaze quickly swept over the simple dark Wizardrobes Caesar was wearing, then jerked away as if burned, finally landing on Caesar's face.
That look was extremely complex—there was an instinctive rejection and fear of "abnormal" things, but deep down, there was also a trace of concern that belonged to a mother, yet had been suppressed and twisted for years.
"Was the journey... smooth?" her voice was somewhat dry.
"Smooth," Caesar replied flatly, gently taking the suitcase back from Vernon's hand.
He noticed that his mother Petunia's hand, wearing a cheap ring with knuckles slightly deformed from years of labor, curled almost imperceptibly when he took the suitcase away.
Chapter 49: Perhaps, One More Look
In the car back to Number Four, Privet Drive, the atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy.
Uncle Vernon grumbled incessantly about the Muggle drivers on the road and the outrageous price of gasoline, all while unable to resist glancing at Caesar in the rearview mirror.
It was as if he were confirming whether this "son," who had returned wearing strange robes, was still the one he knew.
"So," Vernon's voice sounded exceptionally loud in the cramped car, "at that... strange school of yours, you didn't embarrass the Dursley family, did you? How were your grades?"
He deliberately emphasized the words "Dursley family."
Caesar gazed out the window at the familiar yet foreign Surrey streetscape rushing past, his tone devoid of any emotion:
"Classes were normal. Grades... met expectations."
"Met expectations?"
Vernon snorted, seemingly dissatisfied with the answer.
But then, a strange mix of disgust and a twisted sense of pride surfaced on his fat face:
"Still better than that freak living in our cupboard!
That Potter boy—I'd bet a whole year's turnover that he's at the bottom of the heap in that freak school of yours!
Maybe he's even been expelled already! Isn't that right?"
He looked toward Petunia, seeking validation.
Petunia's body stiffened slightly, her gaze fixed intently on the road ahead as she squeezed a short, ambiguous syllable from her throat:
"Mm."
Everything regarding Harry Potter always managed to strike the most sensitive and unsightly nerves of the Dursley family.
It was a mixture of fear of magic and contempt for the "abnormal."
And deep within Petunia, there were complex, long-fermented, and distorted emotions stemming from her sister Lily—emotions she refused to acknowledge even to herself.
At that moment, Dudley, who had been sitting silently in the passenger seat occupying most of the space, suddenly twisted his thick neck around.
"Hey, bro," Dudley's voice carried his characteristic, spoiled nasal drone, "does your school really teach you to use those stupid sticks?"
He crudely mimicked a waving motion: "You know, like shooting green light at each other? Like in the movies?"
Caesar looked back at Dudley calmly through the rearview mirror and shook his head: "Attacking people at will is not allowed in school. It's a serious breach of discipline."
"Tch, boring." Dudley muttered and turned back, but after barely two seconds, he couldn't help lowering his voice, "Then did you... use it on someone secretly?
Like, making someone's hair fall out? Or making someone's nose grow long?"
A childishly cruel curiosity flickered in his small eyes.
"Dudley!" Petunia barked sharply, though it sounded more like a habitual, half-hearted attempt to stop him.
Caesar didn't answer Dudley's question; he simply looked away, turning his gaze back out the window.
He could feel that this family's attitude toward him was a heightened paradox.
On one hand, as the "freak brother who can do magic," Caesar had become a twisted sort of topic for Dudley to brag about and simultaneously belittle in front of his peers.
On the other hand, there was the indescribably complex attitude of Vernon and Petunia. Fear and rejection, yet tempered by blood relations and the awkward tolerance and hidden discomfort of him being, "after all, our son."
Caesar saw through all of this clearly, finding it merely absurd and cold.
All the emotions of the Dursley family—fear, rejection, twisted pride, and petty jealousy—
To him, they were nothing more than environmental noise to be managed, an insignificant background.
His goals lay far away, deep within the wizarding world; the trivial dramas of this Muggle family couldn't stir even a ripple in his heart.
Perhaps... there was another place.
One stifling afternoon in mid-July.
After using the first batch of Cascading Bath at home, Caesar Dursley made a request to the Dursleys that left them both relieved and vaguely uneasy:
He needed to go to London to consult materials for an "independent summer research project for the magic school."
It might take a few days, and he would be staying at "a classmate's house."
Vernon grumbled a few complaints about "secrecy" and "wasting train fare."
Petunia asked nervously, "A classmate's house—is it a normal family?"
Ultimately, under Caesar's flat and certain assurance, they reluctantly agreed.
Perhaps deep down, they also yearned to temporarily escape the invisible pressure brought by this "time bomb" in their home.
Caesar changed into the Muggle clothes the Dursleys had prepared for him—ones that matched their aesthetic—and boarded a train to central London.
His destination was clear: Hampstead.
The closer he got to that Victorian townhouse in his memory, the more the suffocating sense of fragmentation surged.
Reason coldly declared: This was his first time officially visiting Hermione Granger's home as a classmate.
However, in the dark waters of his consciousness, countless memory fragments from the simulations, filled with warmth and detail, surged up like ghosts breaking their chains—
The scent of old books, parchment, and a faint aroma of coffee in the study under warm lamplight.
The dining table, where discussions about improvements to Muggle dental equipment and the pronunciation of obscure Ancient Runes intertwined wonderfully.
The sweet fragrance of the apple pie baked by his mother-in-law, Monica, its edges perfectly caramelized.
The boastful chatter of his father-in-law, Wendell, as he shared his treasured Port, allegedly a gift from a Muggle aristocrat.
And... that brown-haired girl with bright eyes and a rapid-fire way of speaking, who would occasionally puff out her cheeks at one of his teases, only to be drawn in by a new question the next moment.
So familiar, yet so... hauntingly foreign it made his heart feel empty.
He stood before the red-brick villa, the afternoon sun gilding the tidy porch and blooming roses with a warm golden edge.
Everything aligned perfectly with the outlines in his "memory," yet it possessed a hard, cold texture belonging to a "first real-world visit."
Perhaps... one more look?
He couldn't resist ringing the doorbell, listening to the crisp sound echoing inside, his heartbeat steady without a hint of disorder.
The door was opened by Mrs. Granger, a gentle and slightly surprised smile on her face: "Hello, may I ask who you are?"
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger." Caesar bowed slightly, his posture impeccable, his voice steady and clear. "I am Caesar Dursley, Hermione's classmate at Hogwarts. I apologize for the intrusion."
"Caesar!" The surprise in Mrs. Granger's eyes instantly turned into a warm smile. "Hermione has mentioned you, Harry, and Ron many times! Please, come in! Wendell, it's Hermione's classmate from Hogwarts!"
In the study, Wendell Granger put down the medical journal in his hand and rose to greet him, his manner genial and friendly.
The air was filled with the scent of old books, leather, and a very faint smell of disinfectant.
The bookshelves were as crowded as ever, with heavy Muggle tomes standing side-by-side with introductory books to the wizarding world.
As his gaze swept across the large desk, Caesar could almost "see" Hermione from the simulations, her brow furrowed as she puzzled over a complex Ancient Rune problem there.
While he sat in the chair opposite, his fingers unconsciously tapping the armrest, casually providing the key hint.
Everything seemed to leap within his memory, illuminating her focused profile.
Chapter 50: Farewell, My Family
A clean linen tablecloth was spread over the dining table.
Although Hermione was not at home,
Monica Granger brought out black tea and homemade snacks.
The conversation was polite, pleasant, and could even be described as harmonious.
Caesar carefully chose his topics, talking about the ancient architecture of Hogwarts Castle and the interesting history lessons.
He sincerely praised Hermione's amazing talent and hard work in her studies.
He patiently and concisely answered Mr. and Mrs. Granger's curious questions about daily life in the wizarding world.
His demeanor was composed, and the insight and steadiness he showed in his speech—far beyond his years—earned him the silent admiration of Mr. and Mrs. Granger, their eyes showing undisguised affection and trust.
However, beneath this seemingly warm and harmonious facade, Caesar's heart was a vacuum as cold as absolute zero.
Every familiar detail, every line of dialogue that felt rehearsed, even the unique combination of scents belonging to this home wafting through the air...
They were all like cold needles, piercing through something that had long been declared dead yet still held a phantom pain.
He sat in his usual spot from his "memory," sipping black tea at just the right temperature, listening to Mr. and Mrs. Granger proudly recount anecdotes of Hermione's childhood.
Some he had heard her repeat with a smile during the late nights of the simulation; others were new. He maintained a perfectly appropriate, slightly shy, focused smile on his face, nodding in agreement at the right moments.
But his gaze would uncontrollably slide across the empty ceramic vase on the study windowsill.
In the simulation, Hermione had once placed a bouquet there—magical Forget-Me-Nots he had brought back from Hogsmeade that changed color with the moonlight.
His eyes flicked past an inconspicuous oak photo frame on the sideboard, containing a brilliantly smiling childhood Hermione.
She was hugging a thick book—this photo, in the "world" of the simulation, had been placed on their bedroom nightstand.
He looked past the blank wall at the turn of the stairs; in the simulation, a tapestry he had given her hung there, magically painted with a star map that shifted with real time... The objects remained, but the person was different.
No, even the "objects" were not entirely the same.
Those marks belonging to a "shared future," steeped in time and emotion, did not exist here.
What existed was merely an ordinary afternoon in this slice of time, where a happy elite Muggle family hosted their daughter's classmate.
And he was a lonely observer from another timeline, carrying the wrong memories.
A sense of alienation and emptiness so vast it nearly swallowed him surged like a silent tsunami beneath his polite smiles and proper words, battering the dikes of his reason.
The warmth, companionship, adjustments, and tacit understanding experienced truly in the simulation—those bonds etched into his very marrow and the complex emotions derived from them.
Faced with this "correct" reality, they seemed so illusory, so absurd, so... despairingly irrelevant.
He wanted to speak, but found no words.
Those cold, heavy torrents churning in his chest could find no outlet, nor could they be shared with the gentle and friendly couple before him.
They simply pooled heavily at the bottom of his heart, bringing a dull pain that bordered on suffocation and a strange, burning sourness deep in his eyes.
The visit ended in a warm atmosphere.
Caesar said his goodbyes politely, thanked them for their hospitality, and declined Mr. and Mrs. Granger's invitation to stay for dinner and wait for Hermione's return.
As he turned to leave, his steps were steady and his back was straight.
Walking down the quiet, tree-lined streets of Hampstead, the afternoon sun filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting shifting spots of light upon him.
Unexpectedly, it wasn't raining in London today.
Yet Caesar felt as if a transparent, indestructible curtain of rain stood between him and this vibrant world.
He stopped, turning back one last time to look at the red brick house gradually fading behind the shadows of the trees at the street corner.
Deep in his eyes, the last ripple faded into absolute silence.
"Farewell, my family."
Then, he turned and merged into the lazy summer crowds on the streets of London.
He took that sudden, fragile illusion—the feeling that "everything is the same yet all has changed, and before I can speak, tears flow"—that nearly broke through the ice.
Along with those warm currents of memory and stabs of pain that shouldn't have existed, he sealed them all away into the hardest, never-to-be-opened prison of his consciousness... The August heatwave had not yet fully receded from the land of England.
Inside the oppressive house at Number Four, Privet Drive, the air remained so stifling it was hard to breathe.
The sky outside was not yet fully bright, and a grey-blue morning mist shrouded the uniform gardens of Privet Drive.
Caesar sat at the old desk by the window, his fingers unconsciously stroking the rough book cover.
A long two-month holiday at the Dursley family home meant nearly sixty days and nights of idleness and an oppressive atmosphere.
The flow of time here seemed to become viscous and sluggish.
He didn't need this kind of "rest."
His "rest" was accomplished through continuous thinking, deduction, and the integration of knowledge.
What the Dursley family provided was merely a barely usable physical space free from magical interference.
True strengthening of power required a freer environment, richer resources, and... opportunities for early strategic placement.
Casting his gaze toward the street scene gradually becoming clear outside the window, Caesar's eyes were calm and waveless, yet a cold and precise calculation flickered in their depths.
Hogwarts.
It was time to go back.
He had no intention of waiting to depart with Harry Potter.
That boy had his own trajectory of destiny.
Caesar's itinerary did not need to be tied to anyone.
As for those defensive measures at Hogwarts forbidding students from returning early, they couldn't stop Caesar, the former Hogwarts Principal.
At the breakfast table, when Caesar flatly proposed returning to school a few days early to go to the Library to complete "final research for a summer independent study project," Vernon's brow immediately twisted into a knot.
"Early? Now?" He put down his copy of the Financial Times, his voice full of reluctance. "What about the train ticket? And all those... messy procedures!"
"I've already made arrangements." Caesar's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable steadiness. "The Ministry of Magic has granted temporary Floo Network authorization to return directly to the vicinity of the school. No extra ticket is required."
"Floo Network?" Petunia repeated shrilly, her face turning slightly pale as if she had heard something filthy.
She quickly glanced toward the stairs, confirming Dudley hadn't come down yet.
"Is that thing safe? You won't bring anything strange into the fireplace, will you?"
"It's very safe, just a mode of transportation in the wizarding world."
Caesar replied briefly, having no intention of explaining further.
He knew that the more he explained, the more the Dursleys' fear and rejection would grow.
Ultimately, under Caesar's calm persistence, Vernon and Petunia reluctantly compromised.
Perhaps deep down, they were also happy to see this "eccentric" son leave early, allowing the home to return to what they perceived as "normal."
There was no grand farewell, not even a decent send-off meal.
Carrying the old suitcase that had accompanied him for two months, Caesar pushed open the heavy oak door of Number Four, Privet Drive, amidst Vernon's muttering of "good riddance" and Petunia's evasive gaze.