Maybe One More Look

On the drive back to Number Four, Privet Drive, the atmosphere was stifling.

Uncle Vernon grumbled nonstop about the Muggle drivers on the road and the outrageous price of petrol, while stealing glances at Caesar in the rearview mirror.

As if checking whether this strangely robed "son" was still the one he remembered.

"So," Vernon's voice boomed in the cramped car, "you haven't brought shame on the Dursley Family at that... strange school of yours, have you? How were your grades?"

He deliberately emphasized the words "Dursley Family."

Caesar watched the familiar yet unfamiliar streets of Surrey rush past the window, his tone utterly calm.

"Classes as usual. My grades... met expectations."

"Met expectations?"

Vernon snorted, apparently dissatisfied with the answer.

But then a strange emotion surfaced on his ruddy face, a blend of disgust and some twisted pride.

"Still better than that freak who lived in the cupboard under our stairs!

"I'd bet a whole year's takings that Potter boy's at the bottom of the class at your freak school!

"Maybe he's already been expelled! Right?"

He looked to Petunia for agreement.

Petunia stiffened slightly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. A short, ambiguous sound squeezed from her throat.

"Mm."

Everything about Harry Potter always struck the Dursley Family right in their most sensitive, most vulnerable spot.

It stirred up their fear of magic and their contempt for anything "abnormal."

And there were Petunia's complicated feelings, born of her sister Lily, long since soured and festered deep inside her—feelings she refused to admit even to herself.

Just then, Dudley, who had been slumped in the passenger seat and taking up most of the space, suddenly twisted his thick neck around.

"Hey, bro," Dudley said in his usual spoiled, muffled voice. "Does your school really teach you to use those stupid sticks?"

He crudely mimed swinging one. "You know, shooting green light at each other? Like in the movies?"

Caesar met Dudley's gaze in the rearview mirror, then shook his head calmly. "You're not allowed to attack people at school. It's a serious violation of the rules."

"Boring," Dudley muttered, turning back around. But not even two seconds later, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "So, have you ever... used one on someone in secret?

"Like, made someone's hair fall out? Or their nose grow longer?"

His small eyes glinted with a child's cruel curiosity.

"Dudley!" Petunia snapped, though it sounded more like a habitual, half-hearted attempt to stop him.

Caesar didn't answer Dudley's question. He simply looked away and turned his gaze back to the window.

He could feel the family's attitude toward him growing into an even more contradictory tangle.

On the one hand, Caesar, the "freak older brother who could do magic," had become a warped topic for Dudley to brag about to his friends while putting him down at the same time.

On the other, Vernon and Petunia felt something complicated and hard to name toward Caesar: fear and rejection, tempered by their blood ties and the fact that he was "their son, after all," into an awkward tolerance and a veiled discomfort.

Caesar saw it all clearly, but found it absurd and cold.

Every emotion in the Dursley household—fear, rejection, twisted pride, petty jealousy—

was no more than environmental noise he had to deal with, an insignificant backdrop.

His goal lay far ahead, deep within the magical world. The petty dramas of this Muggle family couldn't stir even the slightest ripple in his heart.

Perhaps... there was another place, too.

A stuffy afternoon in mid-July.

After using up his first batch of Longmu at home, Caesar told the Dursleys that he needed to go to London to consult some materials for a "summer independent research project at magic school."

It might take a few days, and he would be staying with "a classmate's family."

Vernon grumbled about how "secretive" it all was and how much money he'd waste on train fare.

Petunia, meanwhile, asked anxiously, "Your classmate's family—is it a normal family?"

In the end, after Caesar gave his calm, firm assurance, they reluctantly agreed.

Perhaps deep down, they too wanted a brief respite from the invisible pressure of having an "unpredictable bomb" in the house.

Caesar changed into the Muggle clothes the Dursleys had picked out for him, clothes that suited their taste, and boarded the train to central London.

His destination was clear: Hampstead.

The closer he came to the Victorian Townhouse from his memories, the more violently that suffocating sense of dislocation surged within him.

Cold reason declared that this was the first time he had formally visited Hermione Granger's home as a classmate.

Yet in the dark waters of his consciousness, countless fragments of memories from his simulations, vivid with warmth and detail, rose frantically like ghosts breaking free of their chains—

The scent of old books, parchment, and faint coffee in the study beneath its warm lights.

Discussions around the dining table, where improvements to Muggle dental instruments mingled strangely with the pronunciation of some obscure Ancient Runes.

The sweet aroma of the apple pie baked by his mother-in-law, Monica, its edges caramelized to just the right shade.

His father-in-law, Wendell, sharing a treasured bottle of port—supposedly a gift from some Muggle noble—and rambling proudly about it.

And... the brown-haired girl with bright eyes who always spoke at lightning speed, sometimes puffed out her cheeks at one of his teasing remarks, only to be distracted by a new question the next moment.

So familiar, yet so... unfamiliar that it left an aching emptiness in his heart.

He stood before the red-brick townhouse. The afternoon sun cast a warm golden glow over its tidy porch and blooming roses.

Everything matched the outlines in his "memories" perfectly, yet there was a hard, cold quality to it—the chill of a "first visit in reality."

Maybe... one more look?

Unable to stop himself, he rang the doorbell and listened as its clear chime echoed through the house. His heart beat steadily, without the slightest flutter.

Mrs. Granger opened the door, smiling warmly, though with a hint of surprise. "Hello. Can I help you...?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger." Caesar bowed slightly, his posture impeccable and his voice calm and clear. "I'm Caesar Dursley, one of Hermione's classmates at Hogwarts. I'm sorry to trouble you with an unexpected visit."

"Caesar!" The surprise in Mrs. Granger's eyes instantly turned to a warm smile. "Hermione's told us about you, Harry, and Ron many times! Please, come in! Wendell, it's one of Hermione's classmates from Hogwarts!"

In the study, Wendell Granger put down the medical journal in his hands and rose to greet him, warm and friendly.

The air held the scent of old books and leather, with the faintest trace of disinfectant.

The bookshelves were just as crowded as ever, weighty Muggle tomes standing shoulder to shoulder with introductory books about the magical world.

As his gaze passed over the broad desk, Caesar could almost "see" Hermione from his simulations, brow furrowed as she worked through a difficult Ancient Runes problem there.

And he was sitting in the chair opposite her, absently tapping the armrest with his fingertips as he casually offered a key hint.

Everything seemed to flicker through his memories once more, illuminating her intent profile.