The Grangers' Invitation

She struggled to swallow the strange liquid, quickly handing the bottle back to Caesar, her small face a mix of forced politeness and barely concealed embarrassment:

"The taste is quite unique, but I'm not sure it suits me."

Caesar watched her conflicted expression—wanting to speak frankly yet holding back—and couldn't help but chuckle softly.

He took the bottle back without hesitation, tilted his head, and drank a mouthful himself, his expression as relaxed as if savoring fine nectar.

"It seems it's not to your taste. No matter—each to their own. Also, my name is Caesar Habs. Just call me Caesar."

"Let's go, Miss Granger," he said, resuming his usual composure. "Let me fulfill my promise and take you home. What's your address?"

"Wendell and Monica Granger's Home, in Hampstead." Hermione answered instinctively, then widened her eyes in surprise.

"Wait! How do you know my last name is Granger? I don't think I told you that."

In the heat of the earlier crisis, she hadn't had time to think, but now that she was safe, her sharp mind immediately caught the inconsistency.

Caesar's step faltered almost imperceptibly, then he turned his head and gave her a meaningful, faint smile.

A ray of sunlight happened to pierce through the ever-present London clouds, landing in his deep eyes and stirring tiny specks of light.

"At the station, your mother called out to your father, and I heard the surname 'Granger.' As for your name, little Hermione... your father shouted it in his panic. My hearing has always been quite good."

The explanation was perfectly reasonable.

Hermione let out an "Oh" and outwardly accepted it, but a faint thread of doubt lingered in her mind.

She quickened her pace to keep up, staring at the tall, somewhat mysterious back of the young man ahead.

A thought circled in her clever little head:

This Caesar Habs seemed shrouded in an impenetrable mist.

He was unnaturally calm, his drink bizarre, and his appearance and timely help almost too coincidental.

Yet, regardless, he had helped her.

Hermione Granger had always been clear on gratitude and grievance.

"So, Caesar,"

She jogged two steps to walk beside him, her tone serious.

"As repayment for your help, and as an apology for not properly appreciating that drink, maybe another day I can treat you to a real fruit juice?"

Caesar looked down at her. The girl's brown eyes sparkled with sincerity and intelligence. The curve of his lips deepened slightly.

"Sure," he replied warmly. "I look forward to it."

London, known as the "Foggy City," had a temperamental sky. Soon, dark clouds gathered, and thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.

Fortunately, Caesar managed to escort Hermione to the tidy Victorian townhouse in Hampstead based on the address.

Before he could ring the doorbell, anxious voices came from inside, followed by the heavy clatter of a phone receiver being slammed down.

Hermione immediately ran up and knocked on the door: "Mom! Dad! I'm back!"

The door was yanked open almost instantly. Mrs. Granger, her eyes red-rimmed, pulled her daughter into a tight embrace:

"Hermione! Oh my God, where did you go! We were nearly out of our minds!"

Mr. Granger followed close behind, his face etched with relief. He patted his wife's back soothingly while looking at the young man standing quietly outside.

"It was this Mr. Caesar Habs who helped me."

Hermione lifted her head from her mother's arms and quickly explained, "In all that chaos at the station, he got me out safely."

The Grangers' gazes immediately fixed on Caesar, filled with heartfelt gratitude.

A uniformed police officer also stepped out from inside, notebook in hand—clearly they had been filing a report.

"Young man, thank you again!" Mr. Granger stepped forward and firmly shook Caesar's hand.

"The station was utter chaos. After we got separated, we couldn't find Hermione anywhere—our hearts were in our throats! Thank you for bringing her back safely!"

"It was only what anyone should do, sir."

Caesar gave a slight bow, his demeanor impeccable, carrying a composure beyond his years. "In such a situation, anyone would lend a hand to a young girl in need."

His politeness and calm left an excellent impression on the Grangers.

Mrs. Granger wiped the tears from her eyes and warmly invited, "Please, do come in and sit. Let us properly thank you. We were just about to have dinner—you must stay!"

Caesar's gaze swept quickly but discreetly across the interior—warm, tidy, full of the atmosphere of a Muggle middle-class home. Hermione's certificates hung on the wall, and the bookshelves were packed.

A perfectly measured, slightly apologetic smile appeared on his face: "Thank you so much for your kindness; it's truly generous. But I'm afraid I wouldn't want to intrude on your family reunion."

"No, no, not at all!" Mr. Granger insisted firmly. "You saved our daughter. A simple home-cooked meal is the least we can do to express our gratitude. Please, stay!"

Under the Grangers' sincere and enthusiastic insistence, and Hermione's hopeful gaze, Caesar finally "reluctantly" agreed.

The atmosphere at dinner was very pleasant.

At the table, Caesar's manners were flawless, and the knowledge and reasoning he displayed in his speech and demeanor

earned silent approval from the Grangers, who grew even more appreciative of this seemingly well-bred young man.

The Grangers were warm and talkative; they asked Caesar some basic questions, such as where he lived and whether he was studying or already working.

Caesar's answers were cautious and reserved; he only mentioned that he had recently arrived in England from America and was currently a historian.

His reasons for coming to England were twofold: first, for academic research, and second, because he had heard about the newly discovered ancient Roman ruins in Exeter.

He would need to stay in London for several months and travel to various sites for investigation.

The Grangers had no reason to doubt this, as what Caesar said matched recent news reports.

When they learned he had not yet found permanent lodging, they immediately and warmly recommended a small cottage for rent next to their own villa.

With the economy in decline and London rents being high, a young man like Caesar likely had limited savings—this was also their way of showing gratitude.

Caesar could not refuse this offer and had to accept, but he insisted on paying rent, albeit at a very favorable rate.

Hermione watched Caesar chatting and laughing easily with her parents at the dinner table, and the many doubts from earlier in the day resurfaced in her mind.

His extraordinary calmness, that strange drink, his perfectly timed appearance.

But now, in the warm, bright home, seeing her parents' undisguised admiration and fondness for him, those doubts seemed to fade a little.

He had indeed helped her, and at this moment, he was behaving like an impeccable gentleman.