The number pulsed faintly in the corner of his vision like an itch he couldn't scratch—constant, mocking, and impossibly close to the first threshold. Just 2% more, and the system would grant him access to the first tier of spells from the Archmage Veylan template.
But after what he'd just uncovered, it didn't feel close enough.
This isn't canon. Neville is the Boy Who Lived. Harry's just… Harry. And that means anything can happen.
Caelum sat in his quarters that evening, a thick magical theory tome spread out across his desk. A half-empty teacup steamed gently beside him, long gone cold. He hadn't turned the page in nearly twenty minutes.
He wasn't reading.
He was thinking.
What if other things are different too? What if Dumbledore is weaker? Or the protections on the Chamber are flawed? Or—Merlin forbid—Voldemort comes back stronger, sooner, or with allies I can't predict?
That last one chilled him.
The mission the system had given him at the start rang in his ears: Change the plot. Speedrun the show.
Voldemort had to die. For good. No loose ends. No seven-book arc.
And right now, Caelum had nothing but his memory of the books, a fragile new identity, and a handful of spells that barely qualified as flashy.
I need that 10%.
He stood abruptly, closing the book with a snap. He needed synchronization, and that meant staying in character—fully, constantly. No breaks, no slips.
He grabbed his wand—polished mahogany, outwardly mundane—and whispered the template's activation phrase again, even though he didn't need to.
"Role Player System: template, Archmage Veylan. Current sync: 8%."
I can't afford to waste time. Every moment I'm not channeling him is a moment wasted.
The next day, Caelum's classes changed.
He stopped simply teaching. He started performing.
He spoke with slow, deliberate weight in every sentence. His hands moved like a conductor as he demonstrated control over elemental forces. He quoted arcane laws like he'd written them himself and began weaving smaller spells into casual lectures—levitating chalk to draw diagrams, freezing spilled ink in mid-air, summoning wind to turn pages.
The students were awestruck.
To them, it looked like showmanship.
To the system, it was alignment.
Behind the scenes, Caelum spent hours in the library, buried in tomes on dueling forms, magical resistance, Hogwarts' history, and spell architecture. Professors had free access, and he used that to its limit.
His evenings were spent in solitude, recreating and practicing spells he remembered from the Archmage's profile—even if they hadn't unlocked yet. Training stances. Mana flow patterns. Gesture precision.
Each time he acted, thought, or reacted like Veylan, he felt a tiny flicker in the back of his mind. A quiet click, like a cog sliding into place.
It was working.
By the fourth night, while hunched over a transcription of the Restricted Section's index (he hadn't dared enter yet), the number shifted.
Synchronization: 10% – Basic Spell Set Unlocked.
His breath caught.
Instantly, knowledge surged into his mind—structured and cold, like a magical download. Five spells:
Arcane Bolt: a fast, controlled offensive spell that ignored minor shields.
Spellweaver's Hand: fine telekinetic manipulation up to 10 kg.
Mental Clarity: a focus charm that steadied concentration and eased memory access.
Warding Sigil (Lesser): a static rune-based ward against physical intrusion.
Aether Sense: a passive detection spell for ambient magical energy and enchantments.
Nothing earth-shattering… but they were clean, stable, and precise. Magic meant for battle-hardened sorcerers, not schoolchildren.
Caelum smiled for the first time in days.
He'd reached his first milestone.
Now… onto the next fire.
Because the next part of canon had just begun to whisper its presence. A dark artifact, hidden in plain sight. A diary with a soul inside.
Caelum closed his book, stood, and walked toward the corridor.
I need to find the diary… before it finds a victim.
----
Hogwarts was quieter after dark. The laughter, the footsteps, even the moving portraits all seemed subdued in the late hours, as if the castle respected the silence of its own age.
Caelum walked the empty corridor leading to the library, robes trailing behind him in practiced elegance. He glanced at the softly glowing panel above the door—locked to students at this hour, but it shimmered with gentle acceptance as he approached.
He stepped inside.
The Restricted Section lay cloaked in shadows deeper than the rest of the library, but his newly unlocked Lightwhisper spell drifted at his side like a silent will-o'-the-wisp, illuminating row upon row of titles most people should never read. Soulcraft. Binding rituals. Memory extraction. Obscure ancient curses.
At 10% synchronization, his system had unlocked a few spells. Basic for the Archmage, but still powerful in a world like this. Aether Sense, Lightwhisper, Veilstep, and a general affinity for rapid spell recall. But it wasn't enough.
Not yet.
He needed more spells. More strength. More control. Because the world wasn't canon—and that changed everything.
Voldemort didn't go after Harry. He went after Neville. Why?
He didn't have the answer. But he knew what it meant: the story could break at any moment. And with that came chaos. Unexpected variables. The kind that killed people who relied too much on plot armor.
The faster I get stronger, the better my chances. The system said I could speedrun this mess. Fine. I'll burn through it.
He grabbed three books from the highest shelves—Essence Seals and Counter-Possession, Warding Beyond Blood, and Dark Marks: Origins and Imitations—and found a quiet desk in the corner. The castle hummed faintly beneath his feet. His fingers flicked through the pages, eyes devouring the knowledge.
The next morning came with a purpose.
Caelum descended into the Great Hall with a composed air, robes neatly pressed, his wand holstered but within easy reach. As he approached the staff table, his gaze casually swept the Gryffindor table.
Ginny sat between two classmates. Smiling, but pale. Her fingers tapped absently against her pumpkin juice. Nothing outwardly alarming. But her aura—
With Aether Sense, it shimmered oddly. Uneven. Slightly… hollowed.
It's her. The diary's already feeding on her.
He didn't react outwardly. Just filed it away.
The synchronization bar hovered at 10.3% now. He'd been meditating daily, staying in character, and teaching with care. It wasn't a jump—but it was progress.
He needed more.
After lunch, he arranged a small supplemental lecture on magical theory for the Ravenclaws—an excuse to refine his performance and impress the staff. His system pinged faintly when he ended the class with an elegant demonstration of a dual-cast defensive veil, raising his sync to 10.7%.
Still not enough.
At this rate, I'll crawl to 15% by Christmas. That won't do.
He made a mental note: start slipping system-approved behavior into everything. Teaching, posture, speech cadence, magical habits. The more he lived as Veylan, the Archmage, the faster the System rewarded him.
But magic practice alone wouldn't be enough. He needed missions. Challenges. Real threats to push his growth.
That night, he returned to the Restricted Section with another goal: find a ritual to track cursed objects.
If he couldn't pull the diary from Ginny's hands yet, maybe he could isolate its influence.
The books hissed with enchantments as he opened them—sentient bindings trying to confuse or distract the reader. But he was calm. Focused. He gently pushed through magical interference with a whisper of Veilstep, blurring the lines of reality for just long enough to bypass the book's defense.
There. Ritual of Resonant Anchoring.
It wasn't foolproof. But if he adapted it using soul-frequency imprinting, and placed the anchor within Gryffindor Tower, he might be able to detect when the diary was being written in.
He jotted down notes quickly, then leaned back, exhaling.
10.9%.
Good. Now let's see how far I can push this.
---
The Room of Requirement appeared for him as a study chamber—dim, with stone floors and a floating crystal light that adjusted brightness based on his focus. The kind of place Archmage Veylan would've felt at home in.
Caelum stood barefoot in the center, chalk etched in runes around him. He didn't need the comfort of robes tonight. The Archmage template had begun whispering instinctive patterns into his mind—sigils that pulsed with structure and intent.
He knelt, placing the ritual core—a black stone borrowed from one of the lesser wards—at the circle's heart. The spell was simple in theory: use ambient soul resonance to track an object steeped in dark magic. The diary couldn't hide forever.
But it required focus. Intention. And alignment with the character template.
Caelum inhaled slowly.
Act like Veylan. Think like him. The system wants roleplay? Let's play the role.
He whispered the incantation in the Archmage's tongue—a forgotten dialect the System had burned into his mind at 10% sync. It wasn't powerful yet, just ancient. Fragile, like glass that hadn't shattered in centuries.
A low hum filled the air.
The chalk glowed faint blue, then flickered. His mana filled the space with gentle resistance. Caelum adjusted, narrowing his aura output. The resonance point began spinning.
Then it stopped.
One direction.
Gryffindor Tower.
He exhaled. Not definitive—but it aligned with what he sensed earlier. Ginny's aura had ripples, like someone skimming the surface of her soul.
It's starting. I need to intercept it before it gets worse.
---
The next morning, he stepped into the Great Hall earlier than usual. A few students sat scattered at tables, most of them Ravenclaws reviewing notes or trying to sneak a breakfast snack past curfew.
He moved toward the staff table but paused at the Gryffindor row. Harry was there, hair messy as ever, spooning porridge into his mouth with one hand while reading something under the table. Likely a Defense textbook.
Caelum noted it in passing. No strange aura. No visible emotion shift. He didn't move like a warrior or reek of trauma.
Perfectly ordinary… almost.
Then, as Caelum turned to leave, Aether Sense kicked in—just lightly. Not alarm bells, but enough to flick at his curiosity.
His mana pool's a bit too dense for a second-year.
Not remarkable—nothing wildly out of place—but refined. Like someone who trained it consciously. Harry caught his glance and offered a polite, slightly tired nod.
Caelum returned it with an academic's smile and kept walking.
Not my business yet, he thought. Neville is the one with the spotlight in this world. Unless proven otherwise, I won't waste time chasing ghosts.
Still, he filed the impression away. His mind didn't like loose threads.
---
By evening, he returned to his office—now rearranged for magical training. The synchronization bar floated passively in the corner of his vision: 11.14%.
He'd earned more progress through the ritual, teaching, and staying in character. He could now access a few more spells—Aether Bind, Memory Loop, and the passive effect of Accelerated Recall.
Not battle magic yet, but tools.
The kind of things that built foundation. Advantage.
Speedrunning the plot means more than just killing Tom early. It means preparing for what comes next. Draco's father. The Ministry. Dumbledore. Everything.
Caelum sat at his desk and wrote in the logbook the System had created for him—a task he didn't skip. Staying methodical was part of his role.
> Day 4
Status: 11.14% Sync
Goal: Monitor Ginny. Complete Resonant Ritual. Gather spells for mental shielding.
Observations: Harry Potter shows slightly above-average mana density. Watch later, not urgent.
He closed the log and leaned back.
If this diary escalates, I'll need to act. And for that… I need at least 15% in my template.
His eyes burned with silent focus as he reached for the next book—Layered Ward Structures in Magical Environments.