The morning air was cool, and the street was deserted.
Without looking back, he walked away at a steady pace, soon vanishing around a corner in the monotonous streetscape of Privet Drive.
He passed through the shabby fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, where a weak flame burned without ever going out. After a brief spell of dizziness and squeezing pressure,
Caesar stepped into the living room of a secluded cottage in Hogsmeade.
The air was thick with the smell of dust and old wood, but more importantly—
Here, magic flowed freely, unmonitored by the close watch of the Trace. It was a place for adult wizards or those with special permission.
He didn't linger. He Apparated to a spot beyond Hogwarts's boundaries, then walked across the familiar grounds toward the castle.
In the Scottish Highlands, the wind on an August morning already carried a biting chill, stirring the hem of his dark robes.
In the distance, the Black Lake lay still beneath the gray morning sky, its surface the color of iron.
The castle's massive silhouette stood against the brightening dawn, its tower spires piercing the low clouds—silent, ancient, and full of secrets.
Hogwarts during the holidays was so empty it felt almost desolate.
Only a few House-elves and professors staying at the school were on duty.
As a former headmaster of Hogwarts, Caesar had no trouble evading all surveillance.
His footsteps echoed through the corridors. Most of the portraits slept in their frames; now and then, a curious ghost poked its head through a wall, then withdrew, bored.
With the bustle of a thousand students gone, the air held less of their lively energy, but more of the solemn mystery that had settled into the building over a thousand years.
Caesar went straight to Gryffindor Tower.
The common room