That Was Just a Mistake

The rain had not stopped.

The damp air still hung heavy over the night.

Caesar stood alone on the silent street. The streetlights stretched his shadow across the rain-slick asphalt, where it glimmered faintly.

The long, lifelike simulation, along with the cold notification that had appeared when it ended, had quietly slipped away from the surface of his active consciousness like the ebbing tide, leaving only the more essential things to settle within him.

He raised a hand and gave the empty air the slightest flick with his fingertip.

Without a spell or even much magic, a thread-thin streak of silver-blue light appeared as naturally as could be. It wound around his fingers and danced about, like a living sprite.

Before, he had needed to concentrate with all his might and draw on a considerable amount of magic to keep this light-element spell stable. Now it came as easily as breathing.

"So this is what Legendary Magic Talent feels like? It's amazing!"

The obscure magical principles he had once needed months of poring over old books and long hours of meditation just to glimpse were now crystal clear to him.

It was a transformative experience. His intuitive grasp and understanding of magic itself had risen to an entirely new level.

"And all that magical knowledge belonging to Hogwarts professors is in my head now. As long as I have the materials, I can easily cast those powerful spells."

Caesar could feel that it wasn't just his talent. The vast, sprawling wealth of magical knowledge he had accumulated over more than a decade in past simulations—

Fragments, conjectures, and conflicting theories gathered from the Hogwarts library, lost ruins, even the black market and restricted books—

It had all been preserved in his mind.

"But why do I feel... like I'm not thinking as clearly?"

Caesar's thoughts stirred, but his lips barely curved into a smile. Instead, they pressed together slightly.

Without the Genius Scholar trait, it was as if a stone had been placed on his head. He no longer had that uncanny, effortless insight he'd experienced in the simulation.

Simply put, he'd gotten dumber.

No, it was more accurate to say he'd returned to being himself.

In his original plan, Hermione was meant to make up for that. She would become Caesar's "brain," his strategist, and help him devise plans.

But the thought surfaced beyond his control, carrying with it the complex impression left by the clever, stubborn girl in the simulation.

She certainly had the ability—in fact, she might do even better than he'd expected. But...

Caesar's gaze suddenly turned cold as he tried to freeze and strip away the softness, born of his simulated memories, that had no place there.

He'd let himself get soft.

He calmly examined the many choices he'd made in the simulation.

The unnecessary considerations, the unplanned "interactions," the variables that might ultimately have led things out of control.

He had given Hermione too much unplanned "attention" and too many "resources." In the simulation's ending, he had even married her... He cut off the thought.

Next time, he couldn't repeat the same mistake.

Cold resolve took hold again.

In the next simulation, he needed a "clever female character," a brain capable of serving as his strategist and helping him carry out complex plans.

But she also had to be easier to control—or at the very least, someone who wouldn't stir up unplanned romantic entanglements.

Fleur Delacour? One of Beauxbatons' finest, beautiful and ambitious. Perhaps she'd be easy to use, but she wasn't quite... devious enough.

Luna Lovegood? Her intuition was remarkable and her perspective unusual. She might offer unexpected insights, but she was too unpredictable to fit into a rigorous plan.

Astoria Greengrass? A pure-blood, clever and patient enough, but physically frail. The family interests involved might also be complicated...

Names flashed through his mind, then were quickly set aside.

He would have to choose someone based on the world and identity of his next simulation, but the principle was clear:

Next time, his tool would be just a tool. He had to maintain absolute rationality and distance.

Caesar took one last look at the deep night sky, then turned and walked off, his figure vanishing into the mist and shadows of Hogwarts at night.

In the next simulation, he would be colder and more efficient, heading straight for his goal. He would cast aside all warmth and hesitation.

As for the occasional visions that crossed his mind—the bubbles in a glass of Butterbeer clinking together in the sunlight, a bright smile on someone's face despite the tears in her eyes...

That was just a mistake.

Nothing more.

Early the next morning, before the sunlight had fully driven the damp mist from the Gryffindor Tower boys' dormitory, Harry and Ron appeared beside Caesar's bed, looking hesitant, as though they wanted to say something.

"Caesar, um... good morning."

Ron ran a hand through his fiery red hair, his eyes wandering. "About last night... are you okay? We heard about it afterward. Hermione didn't mean to, you know. She just gets a little too serious sometimes..."

Harry nodded vigorously beside him, his green eyes full of sincere concern. "She just wanted to win so badly, and Malfoy was saying some really nasty things. She felt awful about it afterward."

Caesar propped himself up against the headboard, still carrying the languor of someone just out of bed. His expression was unremarkable as he gave a slight nod. "It's fine."

Flying Class was held on the broad lawn that morning.

The sky was a clear, washed-out blue, with a few fluffy white clouds drifting lazily overhead.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the students rose into the air, some awkwardly, others with more skill, as they handled their brooms.

Unexpectedly, the atmosphere wasn't as tense as they might have expected.

Perhaps the previous night's confrontation had been so intense that it had allowed some of the feelings to dissipate.

Caesar handled the school's somewhat old Comet 260. His movements weren't elegant, but they were steady enough.

At least he didn't awkwardly spin in place or suddenly plummet again.

He deliberately reined in the near-instinctive understanding of flying that came with his improved talent, making himself seem like an average student with decent ability who was still getting used to it.

During a slow lap around the field, he guided his broom toward Hermione, who was carefully maintaining her balance but had clearly improved by leaps and bounds.

Looking at that familiar face and unfamiliar gaze, Caesar spoke in a low voice that carried on the breeze. His tone was calm and gave nothing away.

"About yesterday... I said some things too harshly. I'm sorry."

Hermione had been concentrating on controlling the broom's pitch. At his words, she turned in surprise, her brown eyes blinking quickly.

Her expression was complicated, a mix of lingering remorse, a trace of barely perceptible embarrassment, and... perhaps a little surprise.

She pressed her lips together and replied just as quietly, "I also... shouldn't have acted that way. I'm sorry."

Those two simple sentences were like an unspoken truce.

They offered no lengthy explanations or forced attempts at closeness, but the tense hostility between them had eased considerably.

Harry saw them from a short distance away and smiled with relief. Ron winked at Caesar.