Butterbeer

"Hermione! Grab my hand!" Mr. Granger shouted hoarsely over the deafening din, arms outstretched as he tried to shield his wife and daughter behind him.

But the out-of-control crowd was like a burst dam, easily sweeping away his desperate defense; his clenched fingers were forced apart in the jostling.

"Dad! Mom!" Hermione's terrified cry was instantly swallowed. A staggering man slammed hard into her shoulder, nearly knocking her over.

When she looked up again, her parents had been completely cut off by the surging wall of people, only faint echoes of their voices lingering in the chaos.

The Selected Important Historical Events of the Twentieth Century she held slipped from her grasp, its cover instantly stamped with chaotic footprints, the pages crunching pitifully under the trampling.

The Grangers fought against the current like mad, but were pushed further and further away by the panicked crowd still pouring into the train.

"Hermione! Stay right where you are!" Her mother's tearful cry reached her, but it fell on deaf ears.

In the turmoil, Hermione was squeezed into the cold coupling area of the carriage, her small back pressed against the metal wall.

All around were strange, agitated faces; the smell of sweat, the shouting, and pure panic engulfed her, her mind blank from overwhelming fear.

Just then, a strong hand steadily caught her nearly collapsing shoulder.

It was Caesar. Somehow, he stood like a reef in the eye of the storm, surrounded by an eerie calm.

He pulled Hermione into the relatively stable space of the carriage corner, shielding her with his lean but upright back, forming a barrier.

Then, without hesitation, he threw a punch.

Crash!

The window glass shattered on impact, crystalline shards raining down.

"Watch your feet, little Hermione."

Before the words faded, Hermione felt the back of her collar tighten; the next second, Caesar lifted her and, with light but decisive motion, sent her out through the broken window.

A moment later, Caesar braced one hand on the window frame, flipped out nimbly, and landed beside her.

Ignoring the pain from her fall, Hermione scrambled up, still shaken, and tightly gripped the hem of Caesar's clothes, her fingertips white from the strain.

Caesar's gaze swept calmly across the scene. The chaos on the platform was no less than inside the carriage. In the distance, cavalrymen in plumed helmets were reforming, their horses stamping restlessly.

He looked down at the pale-faced girl, who stubbornly stared up at him. "This place is no good to stay."

"But my mom and dad are still inside!" Hermione shook her head vigorously, her brown curls swaying, her voice trembling with forced restraint.

Logic told her that going back now wouldn't find her parents and might only trap her again, but emotion rooted her to the spot.

Caesar watched her—clearly terrified yet pretending to be calm—and a hint of softness flickered in his eyes.

He suddenly reached out and gently ruffled her fluffy hair. The unexpected, intimate gesture stunned Hermione, freezing her fear for a moment.

"The cavalry will charge here any second."

He bent down, meeting her eyes, staring straight into those brown orbs full of panic.

"I promise, once we leave the station, I'll get you home safely. Trust me, little Hermione."

His voice was soft, yet carried a rock-solid certainty. In those deep, unfathomable eyes, Hermione saw no trace of panic—only a calm that instinctively made her want to lean on it.

Clop, clop, clop—

The sound of hooves grew closer, like a death knell.

No time to hesitate. Caesar made a snap decision, took her hand, and said only: "Trust me."

He led her, weaving through the chaotic crowd like a fish through water. His movements were clean and sharp—sometimes sidestepping a brutal collision, sometimes ducking to avoid flying debris.

Several times, Hermione nearly got swept away, but Caesar steadied her each time.

She followed closely, looking up only to see his sharp jawline and eerily calm profile.

In a world where everyone was panicking, this out-of-place composure seemed to radiate a strange power, helping her racing heart gradually find its rhythm.

At the same time, she vaguely noticed a strange phenomenon: whenever someone was about to crash into them, they would unconsciously veer off, as if an invisible barrier quietly separated them from the chaos.

"Hold tight." Caesar's voice pulled her back to reality. "We need to leave as fast as possible."

Hermione instinctively gripped his hand tighter. In this moment full of the unknown and danger, this stranger had become her only lifeline.

And she had no way of knowing how this "chance encounter," born from chaos, would completely overturn her destined path.

One step beyond the bounds of Victoria Station felt like stepping into another world.

The noise and turmoil behind them faded abruptly, replaced by London's usual gray sky and the hurried passersby who knew nothing of the recent commotion.

Silence descended suddenly, carrying a hint of unreality.

Caesar still held Hermione's hand until he was sure they were completely out of danger, then let go naturally.

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly as she murmured a quiet "thank you," but her gaze kept drifting back toward the station, worry clinging to her.

"They'll be fine." Caesar's voice broke the silence, calm and assured.

"The station is under control; the chaos will settle quickly. The Royal Cavalry's priority is dispersing the crowd, not harming ordinary passengers. Your parents are probably already somewhere safe, trying to contact you or heading home to call the police."

Hermione bit her lip.

Caesar's analysis was clear and logical, easing the knot in her heart a little.

She looked up at this boy, who seemed young but exuded a maturity beyond his years: "Thank you for helping me... If it weren't for you, I might have..."

"It was nothing." Caesar cut her off flatly, clearly unwilling to dwell on the matter.

He stopped beside a well-worn red telephone booth and, from that seemingly limited suitcase, once again produced the unfinished bottle of Butterbeer.

"Thirsty after that walk?"

He offered the bottle to her. The golden liquid swayed gently within the glass, a fine layer of foam still clinging to the top.

"It's a drink with a rather unique flavor. No alcohol. You can give it a try."

"Uh... thanks."

Hermione took it curiously. Out of politeness and the trust they had just established, she cautiously took a small sip.

The next moment, her small face instantly scrunched up. It took immense restraint for her not to spit it out in an undignified manner.

It was an extremely complex and intense flavor.

Cloyingly sweet, mixed with a burning sensation that resembled alcohol yet wasn't, and a rich, peculiar aroma reminiscent of toffee intertwined with toasted grains.

For an eleven-year-old girl whose taste buds were accustomed to fruit juice and plain water, the impact was far too overwhelming.