Admission Notice

[The six-month holiday ended, and you returned to Hogwarts to report the results of your trip to Dumbledore.]

[Thanks to your talent, while handling your own affairs, you also casually published two articles of considerable academic value in the Daily Prophet, earning praise from Dumbledore.]

[At the same time, you decided to wrap up your research on Grindelwald as quickly as possible. After handing your research insights to Dumbledore, you discussed many details with him.]

[Completing the final draft of A History of Gellert Grindelwald, this work—which nailed Grindelwald to the pillar of historical shame—won you honor.]

[Next, you moved on to other research topics, behaving entirely like a diligent, normal History of Magic professor.]

[Because of your gentle attitude toward students and your similar age, compared to strict professors like McGonagall and Snape, you earned more recognition while helping students solve their problems.]

[Until the summer of 1991, on Hermione Granger's eleventh birthday, an owl flew directly to her window, carrying an acceptance letter and tapping on the glass.]

[Normally, to explain things to Muggle families and win their trust, Hogwarts would send a professor for a home visit.]

[The original choice was Professor Minerva McGonagall—Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration professor, well-versed in the Muggle world, meticulous, and highly persuasive.]

[However, in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore looked at you over his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes glinting with insight: "I've noticed that your... friendship with the Granger family hasn't faded with time."]

["Given this special bond, perhaps it would be more fitting for you to serve as the envoy for this visit? I believe that the appearance of an old friend would reassure them far more than a stranger."]

[You accepted the task gladly, a surge of indescribable anticipation rising from deep within you. Watching that little girl—who had once frantically pressed against your chest to check for "injuries" out of worry for you—step into your world, one step at a time, there could be no more beautiful arrangement than this.]

London, England, two o'clock in the afternoon.

Another misty, rainy day.

When Caesar once again stood before the familiar door of the Granger home, the face of Mrs. Granger, who opened it, was filled with astonishment.

"Caesar? Good heavens, it's been so long!"

Mrs. Granger quickly ushered Caesar inside, her tone both warm and puzzled, "You've come at just the right time—something very... strange has been happening here."

Caesar stepped into the living room and immediately spotted Hermione sitting on the sofa.

She had grown a bit taller since last year, her hair still bushy, and she was clutching the acceptance letter tightly to her chest, as if it were her strongest shield.

When she saw Caesar, a flash of disbelief lit up her bright brown eyes, followed by a surge of hope so immense it seemed ready to overflow.

She wanted to rush over but held herself back, silently mouthing Caesar's name.

The gift he had left her last time now made perfect sense—everything connected.

"Actually, Mrs. Granger,"

Caesar smiled, his gaze sweeping over the stern-faced Mr. Granger before finally resting on Hermione, to whom he gave a slight nod, "I am here precisely for this 'strange thing.'"

With that, Caesar waved his hand gracefully, and his Muggle clothes instantly transformed into the dark robes of a Hogwarts professor, the hem fluttering without a breeze.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself: Caesar Habs, Professor of Ancient History of Magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Caesar announced calmly, "It is my honor to represent the school, to formally invite Miss Hermione Granger to enroll at Hogwarts, and to guide her into the magical world."

For the next hour, as a professor, Caesar patiently and clearly explained to the Grangers the basic structure of the magical world, as well as Hogwarts' history and safety.

He didn't use any flashy magic—just made Mr. Granger's favorite pipe fly back into his hand, and caused the lilies in the vase to bloom and close in an instant.

These small, undeniable proofs were far more convincing than any dazzling spell.

The Grangers moved from initial shock, to skepticism, and finally, faced with Caesar's steady demeanor and irrefutable evidence, they fully accepted this incredible reality.

The look in their eyes when they turned to Hermione shifted from worry to pride and support.

Once all questions had been answered and the Grangers began excitedly discussing the shopping list of supplies they'd need, Caesar finally had a chance to walk over to Hermione.

Now, Hermione looked up at him, her voice trembling with a mix of emotion and immense joy: "So last time you left, you were going to... Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Caesar crouched down to meet Hermione's eyes, just like that afternoon years ago, "I promised we would meet again."

With that, he reached into the inner pocket of his robes and pulled out a small item wrapped in soft cloth.

"Happy birthday, Hermione. And... welcome to the magical world."

Hermione carefully unwrapped it. Inside was not a toy or a fairy tale book.

It was an old-fashioned brass compass, but instead of directional markings around the needle, it was engraved with intricate runic characters.

"This is..."

"An Ancient Rune Learning Aid—your first tool in the magical world," Caesar explained softly. "It will guide your way, and not just geographically."

Hermione clutched the compass tightly, her knuckles turning white. She looked at Caesar, tears glistening in her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted high.

"Then..." She took a deep breath, trying to sound as serious as possible, though her voice still carried a little girl's excitement, "Caesar, when do we leave for Diagon Alley?"

"Hermione, you should call him Professor Caesar now," the Grangers interjected, having calmed down from their excitement. "Caesar is a teacher at Hogwarts, and you're a student. You can't just call him by his first name—it's not ladylike."

The excitement on Hermione's face froze instantly, as if doused with cold water.

She bit her lower lip instinctively, her gaze shifting from her parents' stern faces to Caesar, seeking confirmation with a hint of helplessness.

She had always called him "Caesar," ever since the day they met.

That name carried all their secrets—the butterbeer that afternoon, the faint, almost invisible white scar on his chest (though a button still covered it, she had seen the wound), and the dusk when he had ruffled her hair before leaving.