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 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 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.
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 toward 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 did not 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 turned their gazes, and the thief, under public scrutiny, panicked.
Caesar ignored the struggles, simply applying a bit more force, forcing the man 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 met Hermione's.
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 herself. "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."