Hello, Hermione

The office door clicked softly shut.

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 ago.

"Keep your distance?" he murmured to himself, tapping a fingertip lightly on Grindelwald's portrait. "Pity. I study history precisely so I don't have to keep my distance."

[Your quick wit has temporarily dispelled Dumbledore's suspicions and concerns. Now you finally have time to master the secrets and spells you need. But to make these "treasures" buried deep in history shine anew, you'll inevitably need some extremely sensitive magical materials.]

[Some of these materials can be easily gathered at Hogwarts. Others are not at Hogwarts, not even in Britain. Even a wizard would need to spend a great deal of time on them.]

[So, at the end of one term, you approach Dumbledore and request a six-month leave from school, citing the need to travel and exchange academic ideas with other scholars.]

[Dumbledore expresses full support for your academic pursuits, but notes that your leave is rather long. He hopes you'll reconsider carefully—after all, finding a substitute teacher is quite troublesome.]

[This time, you stand firm and refuse to budge, claiming you've received word that an ancient magical ruin is about to be discovered. But when Dumbledore presses you for specifics about the ruin, you become evasive.]

[Three days later, Muggles unearth a Roman-era ruin in Exeter, England. The news appears simultaneously in the Muggle world's The Times and the wizarding world's Daily Prophet.]

[The ruin contains research material that nearly every ancient magical historian would covet. You deliberately let the whole school know that you could have been first on the scene, but now you're being held back at the school.]

[Hearing your deliberate complaints, a suddenly enlightened Dumbledore no longer finds reasons to reject your application. He also offers his apologies, realizing his suspicions were misguided.]

1990, England.

On a train from Exeter to London.

Exeter is a city with a thousand years of history. The Roman-era city walls still silently guard the medieval streets.

Now, the city's silhouette is being left behind by the slowly accelerating train.

Inside the carriage, Caesar sits by the window.

Outside, the damp fields and pastures of southern England race backward in the twilight, like a roll of green velvet being hastily gathered up.

His gaze falls on the neatly folded Daily Prophet in his hands, and a faint, barely perceptible smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

[Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Briefing]

An anomalous magical disturbance occurred yesterday on the outskirts of Exeter. Suspected to be related to an unregistered magical creature.

Relevant departments have intervened and conducted an investigation. Preliminary determination: an incidental phenomenon. No impact on Muggle society.

Citizens are advised not to be overly concerned.

An incidental phenomenon?

Only Caesar knows that the so-called "unregistered magical creature" was merely the echo of ancient magic slumbering in the earth's ley lines, stirred when he removed an ancient magical material from the ruin.

But the bureaucrats at the Ministry of Magic, as always, are happy to paper over the cracks.

That saves Caesar a lot of trouble.

He folds the newspaper and turns his gaze to the window.

The glass reflects his young but overly calm face, and a family walking toward him from the carriage connection.

Three people in total: a father carrying a briefcase, a gentle mother, and a side profile buried in a thick, heavy tome, with bushy brown hair swaying gently with each step.

Caesar's gaze pauses briefly, fixed on the reflection.

A slender young girl, about eleven or twelve years old, dressed in neat, almost meticulous casual clothes, as if ready for an important interview at any moment.

Hermione Granger?

At this moment, Hermione is still entirely a child. Even while walking, she is completely absorbed in the world of her book, oblivious to the fate about to change.

The gold-embossed letters on the cover of that thick book are clearly legible even in the swaying reflection: Selected Important Historical Events of the Twentieth Century.

Screech—!

The train jolts violently, accompanied by a piercing screech of brakes, and comes to an abrupt halt.

The lights in the carriage flicker. Passengers lurch forward from the inertia. Murmurs of complaint and confusion instantly fill the air.

"Due to a sudden strike, service at the final stop, Victoria Station, is suspended. Resumption time to be announced..." The broadcast voice is drowned out by the commotion of the crowd.

Caesar stands up. His gaze cuts through the chaotic carriage and locks precisely onto the location of Hermione's family.

In the brief moment of confusion caused by the train's stop, a thin figure nimbly presses close to Mr. Granger, who is comforting Hermione.

A pair of slender tweezers silently reaches toward the open pocket of his vest, clamping onto the delicate pocket watch chain.

"Sir, I believe you've picked up the wrong thing."

A calm voice sounds behind the thief.

Caesar's hand has already clamped down like an iron vice on that grimy wrist.

His movement is so fast that the surrounding passengers don't even see how he crossed the crowded aisle to appear there.

The thief whips his head around, meeting a pair of eyes as deep as an abyss.

There is no anger in those eyes, no panic. Only a nearly cold scrutiny that sends a chill down his spine instantly.

"Mind your own business!" The thief tries to break free, but finds the young man's hand utterly immovable.

"Dad! Your pocket watch!" Hermione exclaims, immediately understanding the situation.

Mr. Granger finally snapped out of it, hurriedly patting his pocket, both startled and furious. The surrounding passengers cast their gazes over, and the thief, caught in plain sight, instantly panicked.

Caesar paid no heed to the thief's struggle, merely applying a bit more force to compel the man's fingers to loosen. The old silver pocket watch fell back into his palm with a soft click.

Without even glancing at it, he directly handed it back to the shaken Mr. Granger.

"I believe this is yours."

"Th-thank you, young man!" Mr. Granger took the watch, clutching it tightly. "Good heavens, this was my grandfather's..."

In the chaos, the subdued thief seized an opening, broke free, and vanished into the agitated crowd.

Caesar didn't give chase. Instead, he turned and met Hermione's unwavering gaze.

The girl's eyes were full of scrutiny, curiosity, and a lingering trace of shock.

"How... how did you do that?" Hermione finally gave in to her curiosity and asked. "Your movement just now was so fast, like a gust of wind."

Caesar merely curved the corner of his mouth slightly, his tone carrying a composure far beyond his years. "Just happened to be close by, that's all."