[After the half-year break ended, you returned to Hogwarts and reported the results of your trip to Dumbledore.]
[Thanks to your talent, you managed to publish two articles of considerable academic value in the Daily Prophet while taking care of your own affairs. Dumbledore praised you for your work.]
[As for your research on Grindelwald, you also decided to bring it to a close as soon as possible. You shared your findings with Dumbledore and discussed many of the details with him.]
[You completed the final draft of A History of Gellert Grindelwald. This work, which had secured Grindelwald's place on history's pillar of shame, earned you recognition.]
[After that, you began work on other research projects. In every way, you appeared to be a diligent, ordinary History of Magic teacher.]
[Because you treated your students kindly and were close to them in age, you earned more appreciation by helping them solve their problems than the stern professors McGonagall, Snape, and others did.]
[Then, in the summer of 1991, on Hermione Granger's eleventh birthday, an owl flew up to her window with her Hogwarts letter in its beak and tapped on the glass.]
[Usually, to explain things to Muggle families and win their trust, Hogwarts would send a professor to visit them at home.]
[The original choice was Professor Minerva McGonagall. She was both deputy headmistress and the Transfiguration professor, knew a great deal about the Muggle world, and was meticulous and highly persuasive.]
[However, in the Hogwarts headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore looked at you over his Half-moon Spectacles, his blue eyes gleaming with insight. "I've noticed that your... friendship with the Granger family hasn't faded with time.]
"Given that special bond, perhaps you'd be better suited to serve as our emissary on this visit? I believe your appearance, as an old friend, will put them more at ease than a stranger would."]
[You gladly accepted the assignment, a hard-to-describe sense of anticipation welling up inside you. Watching the little girl who had once frantically tugged open your shirt to check your "injuries" because she was worried about you take her first steps into your world—there could be no better arrangement.]
London, England. Two in the afternoon.
It was another rainy, misty day.
When Caesar stood once more before the familiar door of the Granger home, Mrs. Granger opened it with astonishment written all over her face.
"Caesar? Goodness, it's been ages!"
Mrs. Granger hurriedly ushered Caesar inside, her tone both warm and puzzled. "You've come at just the right time. Something very... strange is happening here."
Caesar walked into the living room and immediately spotted Hermione sitting on the sofa.
She was a little taller than she had been the year before, her hair still just as bushy. At that moment, she clutched the letter to her chest as if it were her strongest shield.
When she saw Caesar, an unbelievable light flashed in her bright brown eyes, followed by an immense hope that threatened to overflow.
She wanted to rush over, but held herself back. Instead, she silently mouthed Caesar's name.
The gift Caesar had left her when he departed last time finally made sense. Everything had fallen into place.
"Actually, Mrs. Granger,"
Caesar said with a smile. His gaze swept over Mr. Granger's serious face before settling on Hermione. He gave her a slight nod. "I'm here precisely because of this 'strange thing.'"
Then Caesar gave an elegant wave of his hand. In an instant, his Muggle clothes transformed into the dark robes unique to Hogwarts professors, their hems stirring despite the still air.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly: Caesar Habs, Professor of Ancient Magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Caesar announced calmly, "I'm honored to represent the school in officially inviting Miss Hermione Granger to attend Hogwarts and to guide her into the wizarding world."
Over the next hour, Caesar patiently and clearly explained the basics of the wizarding world to the Grangers, along with Hogwarts' history and safety record.
He didn't use any especially flashy magic. He simply made Mr. Granger's favorite pipe fly back to his hand and made the lilies in a vase bloom and close again in an instant.
These small but undeniable demonstrations were more convincing than any spectacular spell.
The Grangers went from shocked, to doubtful, and finally, faced with Caesar's steady composure and the irrefutable facts, fully accepted this incredible reality.
The looks they gave Hermione changed from worry to pride and support.
Once all their questions had been answered, the Grangers began excitedly discussing the list of supplies they needed to buy. Only then did Caesar finally get the chance to approach Hermione.
Hermione looked up at him, her voice trembling with immense joy. "So when you left last time, you went to... Hogwarts?"
"Yes." Caesar crouched down to meet Hermione's eyes, just as he had that afternoon years ago. "I promised we'd see each other again."
As he spoke, he took a small object wrapped in soft cloth from the inner pocket of his robe.
"Happy birthday, Hermione. And welcome to the wizarding world."
Hermione carefully opened it. Inside was neither a toy nor a storybook.
It was an old-fashioned brass compass, but instead of directional markings around its needle, it was engraved with delicate Runes.
"What is it...?"
"An Ancient Rune Learning Aid, and your first tool in the wizarding world," Caesar explained softly. "It will guide you—not only in matters of direction."
Hermione gripped the compass tightly, her knuckles turning pale. She looked at Caesar, tears shimmering in her eyes, but a broad smile on her face.
"Then..." She took a deep breath and asked as seriously as she could, though her excitement still shone through. "Caesar, when are we going to Diagon Alley?"
"Hermione, you should call him Professor Caesar now." The Grangers had calmed down from their excitement and corrected her. "Caesar is a Hogwarts teacher, and you're a student. You can't keep calling him by his first name. That isn't ladylike."
The excitement on Hermione's face froze in an instant, as if someone had doused her with cold water.
She bit her lower lip without thinking and shifted her gaze from her parents' stern faces to Caesar, seeking confirmation, a little unsure of herself.
She had always called him "Caesar," ever since the day they'd met.
That name held all their secrets: the Butterbeer that afternoon,
the faint white scar on his chest, almost invisible though there was still a button over it—she could see the wound.
And the dusk before he left, when he had ruffled her hair.
Before you continue