Hogwarts, Gryffindor Common Room
"Why is it that whenever other transmigrators arrive in the wizarding world, they're once-in-a-century prodigies, the focus of every professor's attention, winning the House Cup without effort… while I, despite getting into Hogwarts, am a genuine bottom-of-the-barrel student? What exactly am I here for? To sit in and observe?!"
Caesar stared at the latest Charms transcript pinned to the notice board, his chest tightening with frustration.
It wasn't just a grade.
It was proof of failure — carved in ink.
In his previous life, Caesar had lived an ordinary twenty-five years. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing tragic.
Until 2025, when a sudden fire devoured everything.
Since transmigrating, he had been at Hogwarts for nearly half a year. His current identity: Caesar Dursley, Harry Potter's cousin.
A special case.
One who had only been admitted because of a magical fluctuation so faint it was almost undetectable — and because of Dumbledore's quiet, deliberate approval.
The day his acceptance letter arrived, he had been ecstatic.
His dreams had been golden.
He imagined Professor McGonagall one day adjusting her spectacles and declaring that he possessed rare potential, simply awaiting the right guidance.
He imagined an ancient tome in the Restricted Section resonating with him alone.
He imagined some mysterious system awakening in his mind, telling him that destiny had chosen him.
But expectation eroded under reality like sand under rain.
Now, he didn't ask for miracles.
He only wished to cast a basic spell successfully once — just once — so he could stop embarrassing himself in class.
Today, the Charms grades had been posted.
Professor Flitwick's subject.
Hermione Granger's strongest field.
The parchment was long, names densely packed.
And there his name remained.
At the very bottom.
Again.
Above him, repeatedly, glaringly—
Hermione Granger.
Why did Caesar know this so well?
Because every correction.
Every comparison.
Every public reminder of what "proper effort" looked like—
Came with her name attached.
"Protagonist? I suppose… I'm not one."
His lips twitched — half smile, half surrender.
"Merlin's beard, Caesar, you've done it again!"
Hermione's voice cut in beside him, low but sharp.
"I copied out the seven precise wrist movements and pronunciation details for the Cheering Charm for you last week! Did you even read them?"
Caesar swallowed.
He wanted to explain.
That magic wouldn't stabilize at his wand tip.
That he memorized every movement.
That the light always flickered and died.
But under Hermione's piercing stare, every explanation felt hollow.
"I read them," he said quietly.
"You read them?" Her voice rose despite herself, drawing glances from nearby Slytherins.
"If you read them, how did this happen? You've cost Gryffindor twenty house points this week!"
Harry shifted uncomfortably.
Ron grimaced in sympathy.
Caesar's face tightened.
His magic was thin.
His control was poor.
This wasn't laziness.
It was talent.
But in Hermione's eyes, it was proof of carelessness.
"I didn't want it to be like this either!" Caesar shot back. "Do you think I enjoy failing? Do you think I want every spell to fizzle?"
"Then put in the effort!" Hermione refused to retreat.
She thrust her notes forward.
"Look at this! This is preparation! Magic doesn't favor the lazy or the hopeful, Caesar!
Hogwarts isn't a place to 'experience life.' If you're here, you follow the rules. Right now, you're dragging Gryffindor down!"
Dragging down.
The words struck like ice.
"So in your eyes," Caesar said slowly, "someone like me is just a burden?"
Hermione faltered.
"I didn't mean it like that! But at least show progress! Instead of making the same mistakes and then acting as if you can't help it! Do you know how hard the rest of us have to work to regain the points you lose? Is that fair?"
"It's not fair!" Caesar stood abruptly.
Not to her.
Not to him.
Not to anyone.
He grabbed his bag, knocked over his chair, ignored Professor Flitwick's startled glance—
And walked out.
The Rain
The sky had turned the color of lead.
When the rain began, it did not hesitate.
Students scattered.
Caesar did not.
Water soaked his uniform, plastered his brown hair to his forehead, ran down his jaw and into his collar.
But he no longer felt cold.
No longer felt humiliation.
Only emptiness.
There is no grief greater than the death of expectation.
And then—
Something shifted.
The rain no longer touched him.
The world quieted.
A voice echoed directly within his mind.
Not heard.
Understood.
[Narrative threshold achieved.]
[Host mental state stabilized.]
[Designation confirmed: Caesar Dursley.]
The rain seemed suspended mid-air.
[Protocol Initiated: The Villain's Chronicle.]
[World Anchor: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.]
A faint shimmer unfolded before his vision like ink spreading across parchment.
[Core Directives: Experience. Choice. Consequence.]
[Each path walked shall forge traits. Each decision shall shape destiny.]
His heart pounded.
A final line burned into his awareness—
[Tutorial Sequence commencing.]
[Let us begin, future architect of chaos.]
In the curtain of rain, Caesar slowly lifted his head.
And for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts—
Something inside his eyes ignited.