The Best Birthday Gift

Thump, thump, thump—!

"Dear."

Just as Hermione was getting carried away, Mr. Granger, who had just arrived, finally couldn't hold back and walked in through the door.

Behind his glasses, his eyes were filled with kindness and a hint of amusement at how adorable his daughter was. "Interrupting your 'adventure story' for a moment—it's mealtime. Come on out."

"Caesar got hurt fighting magical creatures; he should go to the hospital first."

Hermione didn't even turn her head, her tone rushed as she argued back, completely oblivious to how out of line her behavior was. "And they're not adventure stories, Dad!"

"Alright, alright, they're not adventure stories."

Mr. Granger's face showed a helpless smile as he looked at Caesar, his expression saying, You handle this one.

Every time Caesar came back, Hermione would pester him to tell stories about magical animals.

Kids her age had no resistance to those tales; she'd listen with rapt attention, believing every word, which the Grangers found hilarious.

But they never argued that the stories were fake—after all, innocence was the most beautiful part of childhood.

They also hoped Hermione's childhood could be spent in wonderful fantasies, and adults shouldn't ruin a child's dreams.

"Don't worry, little Hermione. I've been through plenty of adventures, and that bird didn't hurt me."

Caesar shot Mr. Granger a reassuring look, glanced down at his chest, and straightened his clothes.

He covered the scar that would have been exposed if he'd unbuttoned one more button, casually patting his chest to show he was fine.

"Are you really okay?" Hermione relaxed a little at that.

"Of course I am. You've seen what Caesar can do, and such an exciting story is better told over breakfast—after all, even heroes need to eat, right?"

Mr. Granger said as he scooped up Hermione, continuing, "And this time, your mother and I prepared for a long time. There's even your favorite chocolate bar, little Hermione."

After breakfast, the mood of parting spread through the Granger household.

Caesar quickly packed his things—just one suitcase—though the train wasn't leaving until tonight.

Maybe he didn't like waiting in that kind of atmosphere, so he pushed open the door, looked at Hermione, and said calmly, "Little Hermione, the rest of the time is yours?"

His tone was as light as if he were just heading to the corner store.

Hermione had been holding a grudge because he'd left without saying goodbye for days, planning to say at least a few harsh words.

But looking at his smiling eyes and hearing that "the rest of the time is yours," all her prepared words got stuck in her throat.

"Let's go."

She just nodded, ran back, and grabbed her coat in a flash.

Just like that afternoon when Caesar first knocked on the Grangers' door, today's London was shrouded in a thin layer of gray rainy mist as the two stepped outside.

He seemed to carry his own circle of dry, warm light around him. He hadn't brought an umbrella, and tiny water droplets clung to his hair, sparkling like crushed diamonds.

Caesar led her onto a red double-decker bus, heading straight for the front seats on the top deck.

The bus rumbled to life, weaving through the wet streets. Outside the window, London looked like a flowing, rain-washed oil painting.

Hermione sat up straight, her eyes bright, watching familiar scenery unfold from a fresh angle.

Caesar didn't speak, only occasionally reaching out to steady her shoulder when she swayed slightly from the bus turning.

The bus stopped near the London Eye.

Caesar bought tickets and led her into a transparent capsule. As it rose slowly, all of London spread out beneath them.

The Thames was like a gray ribbon, and the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben looked hazy in the rain and mist.

Hermione pressed against the glass, mesmerized.

Caesar stood behind her, quiet as a shadow.

Even though it was a rare outing, the impending departure slowly drowned the cheerful mood in another sensation the moment they left the house.

It felt like every raindrop was counting down the time they had left.

"Caesar, those stories are all real, aren't they?"

Hermione looked at Caesar's reflection in the window and added, "The One-Winged Bird with only one wing and one eye, the Fire Dragon that can destroy a city with its breath, the terrifying Mad Poison Leopard—you never lied to me."

"I'll never lie to you, little Hermione." Caesar gently closed his hand, took out the necklace, stepped forward, pulled Hermione's hand, and placed the necklace softly in her palm.

The jade was warm, and the feather embedded in it seemed to carry a faint life-heat.

"I made two necklaces from the One-Winged Bird. You should be able to feel it. This necklace represents an 'absolute.' No matter how far apart we are or what happens, it's an 'absolute' that can never truly be separated."

Hermione felt her palm burning, the warmth spreading through her blood to her cheeks and then to her heart.

She looked at the gift in her palm, carrying a thrilling legend and deep emotion, and all her earlier dissatisfaction, grievance, and sulkiness vanished in that instant.

Replaced by a bittersweet, swelling feeling of being moved.

She clutched the necklace tightly, looked up, her eyes a little red but incredibly bright: "You promise? Promise it'll let you know when I need you?"

"I'm just leaving for a while." Caesar looked at her, his gaze deep. "Wear it.

That way, no matter where I am, as long as you need me, I'll be able to sense it. And it will protect you, just like that male bird protects its... family."

Caesar considered Hermione his family. The Grangers had truly treated him like a member of the household over these past six months—never once making him feel like an outsider in matters of food, clothing, shelter, or daily life.

After coming down from the London Eye, Caesar took her to a street stall to buy hot dogs, drenched in too much ketchup and yellow mustard, leaving a smear of sauce on the tip of Hermione's nose.

He also won a carnival shooting game, scoring a recording plush toy—a silly-looking long-eared rabbit—and shoved it into Hermione's arms.

Hermione hugged the rabbit, which was nearly half her size, its fabric rough.

Normally, she would have turned up her nose at such an unrefined toy, but at this moment, she held it tightly.

The rain had stopped at some point, and the sunset peeked through the clouds with a thin golden edge.

Caesar walked her to her doorstep and stopped.

"This is far enough," he said.

Hermione looked up at him.

She knew—this was really goodbye.

She didn't ask if he would come back, nor did she say anything sentimental.

She just hugged the rabbit a little tighter, then raised the necklace and said, very seriously:

"Half a year ago, for my birthday, Mom and Dad gave me a train ticket to Exeter. That was the best birthday gift I've gotten in ten years."

For a proud girl like her, this was almost the highest form of praise.

It had nothing to do with magic—only with the feeling of this moment.

Caesar froze for a second, then a very, very genuine smile—one without any teasing or depth—slowly spread across his face.

He reached out, very lightly, very quickly, and ruffled her fluffy hair.

"Little Hermione, I left you a gift under your bed. Think of it as compensation for that first Butterbeer we had."

Then Caesar turned, hands in his coat pockets, and walked into the twilight that hadn't fully faded, without looking back, only his calm voice lingering.

Hermione stood at the door, watching his figure disappear, clutching the silly rabbit in her arms and the necklace in her hand.

She felt a certain place in her heart fill with a warm, wistful emotion.

This afternoon, this motionless moment, had been forever frozen in her time by something more wondrous than any magical story.