The Great Hall was warm, golden, and loud.
Dozens of candles floated lazily above the four long house tables. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a dusky sky, stars peeking through streaks of cloud. A few owls still lingered near the rafters, rustling as they found perches above.
Caelum stepped through the main entrance just as the noise dipped—just enough for a handful of students to glance up. The hush was brief. A few murmurs floated through the air.
"Is that the new DADA professor?"
"I thought he'd be older."
"He was here last year, idiot."
That last comment nearly made him flinch. The System had said the identity it assigned him was real—he "existed" in the minds of others, with fabricated memories and records woven into history. But hearing it confirmed was something else entirely.
He walked between the house tables with practiced calm. Students parted instinctively, some offering curious stares, others avoiding his gaze altogether.
At the staff table, Dumbledore stood and gestured.
"Professor Vey," he said, smiling. "Welcome back. I believe your seat is just there, beside Professor Sinistra."
Caelum inclined his head in thanks and took his place. Sinistra nodded politely. To her left sat Professor Flitwick, who gave a cheery wave. Across the table, Snape offered no more than a cool glance before returning to his plate.
Caelum looked around, slowly, carefully. No sign of Harry Potter. No scar, no mop of messy black hair. But a few of the Weasleys were here—he recognized the twins immediately from their grins. And down the Gryffindor table, a familiar frizzy-haired girl whispered something to a redhead.
Granger. Ron.
So they were here. That narrowed it.
Second year, maybe?
He didn't remember the exact order of events. Not everything from the books was clear in his mind—too many fan theories, rewrites, AUs. But if Granger and Weasley were here and Harry wasn't…
Then something was off.
Or he hadn't looked hard enough.
He turned to Sinistra, voice low but pleasant. "How's the term so far?"
She smiled. "Busy as always. Though things have been... tense since summer. The incident in Diagon Alley put the Ministry on edge."
Caelum nodded slowly. "And here at Hogwarts?"
"Rumors," she said, brushing a curl behind her ear. "Strange things happening in the corridors. A cat was found petrified near the second-floor landing just last week."
That was it.
Second year confirmed. Chamber of Secrets. That means the diary, Ginny, and the basilisk. And Tom Riddle... in some form.
He picked up his goblet and took a sip, more to buy himself time than out of thirst.
> System Notification: Synchronization increased — 6%
His act was working. No dramatic spells. No duels. Just conversation, posture, presence.
Sinistra leaned closer. "They say the Heir of Slytherin has returned. Of course, half the students are blaming Draco Malfoy, but no one takes it seriously. Yet."
"I'll keep an eye open," Caelum replied, his tone even.
The food appeared a moment later—an assortment of roasted meats, vegetables, and breads. He let himself settle into the rhythm of the hall: the clink of silverware, the chatter of young witches and wizards, the occasional shout across tables.
But beneath it all was tension.
Subtle. Threaded through the laughter and routine like hairline cracks in porcelain.
It wasn't just students being scared. It was the staff too.
Even Snape, ever the statue, kept glancing toward the Slytherin table more often than necessary.
So that's the state of the world, Caelum thought, eyes sweeping the room once more. Plot in motion. The second book, mid-stage. Which means... I'm already behind schedule.
He'd need to find the diary. Or Ginny. Or both. He didn't care about "how it happened in canon." The mission was simple: kill Voldemort permanently.
No horcruxes. No reincarnations. No second comings.
> Main Mission Reminder:
Speedrun the show.
Status: Plotline Engaged – Mid-Arc.
Suggested Action: Identify the Horcrux-in-play and neutralize it. (High Sync Rewards)
Caelum let out a soft sigh as he leaned back in his chair. His plate remained mostly untouched. His mind, already working a dozen angles.
First thing tomorrow, he'd start with the DADA class. Build credibility with the students. Let them reveal what they knew.
And if Ginny Weasley so much as looked pale?
He'd follow the thread straight to Tom Riddle's face—and burn the plotline down from there.
-----
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was exactly where Caelum expected it to be—but not quite how he remembered it from the films.
The desks were older, darker. The walls, covered in faded tapestries and shelves of aging tomes. Light filtered in from narrow, arched windows, casting long shadows across the floor. It was a lived-in room. Not clean. Not sterile. Real.
He stood at the front, wand resting idly in his right hand as the second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins filtered in, one group louder than the other.
They were children. Maybe twelve, maybe thirteen. Some wide-eyed, others already bored. One or two suspicious.
His eyes caught Hermione Granger's almost immediately. She had the kind of posture that screamed prepared. A sharp glance confirmed the others: Ron, arms crossed, clearly wary. And behind them, yes—Harry Potter. Eyes a little more tired than expected. Not yet scarred by war, but not untouched either.
So. He is here. Late to the feast, maybe. Doesn't matter. He's alive.
Caelum's eyes swept the room once more.
Draco Malfoy sat near the center, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle like loyal furniture. He had that aristocratic sneer that seemed too polished for his age.
Not him, Caelum noted. Not yet.
The room settled.
He didn't raise his voice.
"Wands away."
The words were quiet, but final. Even the murmuring stopped.
Good. They listened.
"You may know me as Professor Vey," Caelum said, pacing slowly in front of the board. "Or not at all. Either is fine. You'll know me by the end of the week."
He turned, writing one word on the chalkboard in precise, sharp strokes:
FEAR
"That," he said, stepping aside, "is the subject of today's lesson."
The class hesitated. Even Hermione paused before raising her hand.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Isn't this Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
Caelum nodded. "Precisely."
"But... that's not a creature or spell."
Caelum let a thin smile touch his lips. "No, it's not. It's worse. You can't hex fear. You can't banish it. You can't even see it until it's already inside you. Most of you will face magical beasts, curses, and hexes in your time here. A few of you, if you're unlucky or reckless, will face worse. But every single one of you will face this."
He tapped the word again with his wand.
Soft murmurs.
Eyes began to sharpen. Even Malfoy sat up straighter, curiosity slipping past arrogance.
Caelum moved down the aisle, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped beside Neville Longbottom, who shrank slightly in his seat.
"You, Mr. Longbottom. What frightens you most?"
Neville flushed. "Er... I—"
"No wrong answers," Caelum said gently, voice low. "Just the truth."
Neville hesitated. Then, barely above a whisper: "Disappointing people."
Caelum nodded. "A quiet fear. But it makes your wand hand shake in a duel. Makes you hesitate. That's all it takes."
He moved on.
"Mr. Malfoy. You seem less fearful than most."
Draco smirked. "I'm not scared of anything."
"Of course not," Caelum said calmly. "Because your father is always right, isn't he?"
The smirk twitched. Just slightly. The room held its breath.
"Fear," Caelum continued, "is not cowardice. It is awareness. Pain waiting in the future. Loss you haven't suffered yet."
He let the words settle before turning back to the front of the room.
"There are spells to repel banshees. Charms to ward off dementors. Potions to resist poisons. But the only defense against fear is understanding. You face it. You break it down. You learn its name."
> System Notification: Synchronization increased — 9%
Almost at ten. Progress was slowing—but still climbing.
"Next class, we'll learn to cast the Boggart-Banishing Charm. But that's not what today is for."
He stepped behind his desk, fingers brushing a worn leather tome.
"Today, you will each write one page on what you fear—and why. You will not share it. You will not be graded. But I will read them. Because before I teach you how to fight, I need to know what you'll run from."
Some groaned. Others were silent.
But they pulled out parchment and quills.
Even Harry was already writing.
Caelum sat behind the desk and watched them.
Not for grammar. Not for spelling.
For clues.
He needed to know which student was already being touched by Tom Riddle's shadow.
He needed to find the thread and pull.
Before the Chamber opened wide.
As the students scribbled their fears onto parchment, the classroom was wrapped in the scratch of quills and the tension of unspoken truths.
Caelum leaned back in his chair, quietly observing. He didn't need Legilimency to read their emotions—some wrote with hesitation, others with sharp, frantic energy. A few looked around nervously before committing pen to page. When the class ended, they filed out, leaving their folded notes on his desk without making eye contact.
All except Harry.
The boy paused at the door, eyes flicking back once, meeting Caelum's gaze.
There was no recognition. No fear. Just... wariness.
Good, Caelum thought. He's paying attention.
The door closed behind them.
He exhaled through his nose and began unfolding the parchments, reading in silence.
Spiders. Being buried alive. Losing family. Failing expectations. Becoming like my father.
He paused on that one.
Scribbled in tight, nervous handwriting: "Being controlled. Becoming someone else and not realizing until it's too late."
No name. But he had a guess.
He tapped the page once with his finger, then folded it again.
"Tom's got his claws in you already," he murmured. "I'll find out how deep."
> **System Notification: Synchronization — 10%
Status: Threshold Reached. Further Progress Requires:
Role consistency
Targeted actions/quests
Training or character-aligned accomplishments**