It Was Time to Think About Himself

The next Flying Class went much more smoothly.

Hermione seemed to have completely overcome her initial fear and started trying some basic turns and changes in speed. Her movements were still a little clumsy, but her focus and growing confidence were plain to see.

Caesar stayed somewhere in the middle—not standing out and drawing attention, but not falling behind and making a laughingstock of himself, either.

At the end of the lesson, Madam Hooch unusually praised several students who had made clear progress. Hermione was one of them.

What excited the Gryffindors even more was this:

Harry Potter, the talented Seeker who had pulled off a daring save the first time he ever touched a broomstick,

and Hermione Granger, who had shown excellent balance and quick reflexes,

had both been nominated by Professor McGonagall, who had appeared at the edge of the field at some point to observe them. They would have a chance to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team!

The news dispelled the last lingering shadow of the previous night's conflict.

Ron chattered excitedly around Harry and Hermione, while the other little lions looked on with envy or offered their congratulations.

Caesar stood on the outskirts of the crowd. He watched Hermione, surrounded by her friends and finally wearing a genuinely happy smile, then glanced at Harry, whose eyes were shining with excitement. His gaze remained calm and unreadable.

The excitement belonged to them.

He turned and left the grounds, heading for the castle.

He had no classes that afternoon.

Caesar didn't return to the common room or go to the library.

He headed straight for the lower levels of Hogwarts Castle, exploring the secluded corridors and abandoned storage rooms that few people ever visited.

The Legendary Magic Talent had given him more than improved spellcasting ability. It had also sharpened his sense for magical ingredients.

In the simulations, he had searched nearly every part of Hogwarts and its surroundings where the herbs and minerals he needed might grow, all for Hermione's sake.

Now, those memories combined with his heightened senses to make finding the ingredients far easier.

He moved quickly and quietly, using his new talent and his awareness of the flow of magic to avoid attracting attention.

He also deftly steered clear of places protected by weak defensive or warning charms.

He didn't need a large quantity of ingredients—just enough to brew a few doses of the basic Longmu potion.

In the previous simulations, he had poured his heart into researching and improving this ancient magic-nourishing potion almost entirely to lay a foundation for Hermione and help her grow quickly.

Now it was time to think about himself.

He had the finest talent, a vast store of knowledge far beyond what his age would suggest, and a deeper understanding of the nature of magic.

The only things holding him back were this body's still-limited magical capacity and physical strength.

Perhaps his innate mind wasn't quite clever enough, either.

Longmu could gently and effectively widen his magical channels, strengthen his affinity for magic, and build up his body's ability to bear its power.

That was exactly what he needed right now, as long as he kept a low profile.

Gathering the ingredients went surprisingly smoothly.

By evening, he had returned to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower with a small leather pouch that he had treated with a simple Undetectable Extension Charm.

He locked the door and cast simple spells to muffle sound and keep out disturbances.

He didn't use a classroom or the common room; there were too many people around, and too many prying eyes. The dormitory had enough space.

His exceptional talent gave him an almost instinctive grasp of the heat, the ingredients' potency, and the right moment to infuse them with magic.

The complicated preparation steps and delicate points of reaction felt effortless in his hands now.

Under the guidance of magic, the ingredients underwent a wondrous fusion and transformation.

A strange aroma, blending fresh herbs with a faint mineral scent, filled the air. The liquid in the cauldron gradually cleared, its surface gleaming with a flowing, rainbow-colored light.

The whole process was quiet and swift, marked by the focus and efficiency of a true researcher.

There was none of the deliberate explanation or slow pacing he had used when brewing the potion for Hermione in the simulations. Now, he had only one purpose.

Once the last drop of stabilizer had been added, the potion settled into a pale gold that shimmered like starlight. It was cool and clear, with the consistency of melted honey. Caesar put out the flame.

Carefully, he poured the potion into several prepared crystal vials and sealed them.

The first batch of Longmu he had made for himself was ready.

He put away the vials and lifted the protective charms.

The dormitory returned to normal. Only the faintest trace of the strange potion's scent remained, mingling the satisfaction of success with a sense of quiet solitude as it slowly faded into the stillness of dusk.

In the days that followed, Caesar didn't join the trio in their fun. He devoted himself to improving his strength, training alone even during the Quidditch matches.

Before long, the holidays arrived, and their first year came to an end.

Thanks to Caesar's butterfly effect and his interference behind the scenes, Harry hadn't noticed anything suspicious about Snape or Quirrell that term.

Platform 9 3/4 at King's Cross Station was still filled with the noisy bustle of farewells and reunions.

The thick smoke from the steam engine mingled with the hoots of owls, parents' reminders, and children's excited shrieks.

Carrying a suitcase that looked especially plain, even a little worn, beside everyone else's, Caesar stepped off the Hogwarts Express.

He headed straight for the other side of the platform, where his family was waiting. His gaze passed over Harry Potter, who was being enthusiastically surrounded by the Weasley family nearby. He showed no particular expression.

Then he stiffened slightly when he saw Hermione Granger talking with her parents.

In the fifteen years of simulations, he had instinctively expected this family to come greet him and scold him, saying, "You couldn't even write home once..."

"Caesar, you're finally out!"

Uncle Vernon came toward him with a gruff greeting. His first reaction wasn't to hug him or ask how he was, but to give Caesar a quick, critical once-over.

"You haven't brought anything strange home, have you? Like a book that bites, or a teacup that runs around on its own?"

His hand was already reaching for Caesar's suitcase, as if it might contain some sort of monster.

Caesar turned his gaze toward them. Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley were dressed far too formally and conservatively for the crowd. Their stiff expressions seemed completely out of place amid the lively atmosphere of the wizarding world.

Beside them stood Dudley Dursley, who had grown even fatter and was impatiently kicking at the ground.

Petunia's lips pressed into a thin, pale line. Her gaze darted over Caesar's simple, dark wizarding robes as if they had burned her, then finally settled on his face.

Her expression was extraordinarily complicated. There was an instinctive aversion to, and fear of, anything "abnormal," but deep down, there was also a trace of a mother's concern, long suppressed and twisted out of shape.

"Was the journey... all right?" Her voice sounded a little dry.

"It was fine," Caesar replied evenly, gently taking the suitcase back from Vernon.

He noticed that when he took the suitcase, his mother Petunia's hand—the one wearing a cheap ring, with fingers slightly misshapen from years of hard work—curled almost imperceptibly.