A sharp ding cut through the dream like a knife.
Styx’s eyes snapped open.
His hand went automatically for the phone that should have been on the nightstand.
Fingers scraped rough wood instead.
“What the hell…” He sat up.
Cracked plaster walls.
Yellowed ceiling.
Cobwebs in the corners.
The air reeked of damp mold, cheap detergent, and something floral that made his nose itch.
No 24K screen.
No horror movie.
No apartment.
His voice came out wrong when he spoke—younger, thinner, not his.
A slow turn toward the wardrobe mirror confirmed it.
White hair.
Sharp cheekbones.
Pale skin.
A stranger’s face staring back with his own confusion.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.” Memories slammed into his skull without permission.
Lethean Styx.
Twenty-four.
Orphan.
Odd jobs.
Dead last night from a body that finally quit after too many late nights and zero self-preservation.
And him—Styx—curled up alone watching jump-scares until his heart decided it had seen enough.
Styx rubbed his temples and let out a dry laugh.
“At least the new calendar only has three hundred sixty-three days.” A cold mechanical voice slid into his mind.
[Highly compatible otherworldly soul detected.
Evil God System binding complete.] Styx raised an eyebrow.
“Evil God System.
That doesn’t sound like a self-help app.” [Name’s just a name.
Don’t get dramatic.] [Objective: elevate the host to the supreme ‘evil’ entity.
Earn Evil God Points through missions, daily check-ins, and related activities.
Points exchange for items, bloodlines, skills, and rare draws.] [Host Panel] Host: Lethean Styx (Styx) World: Harry Potter Age: 24 Talent: Worthless Companion: None Items: Newbie Gift Pack Evil God Points: 0 System Evaluation: Too lazy to evaluate Styx stared at the last line.
“Show a little respect.” The system stayed silent.
He almost liked it for that.
Harry Potter world.
Actual prize pool.
He was a die-hard for this setting.
“Open the newbie pack.” [Open it yourself.] “You want me to—” [Newbie Gift Pack automatically opened.] [Congratulations.
Advanced Draw Pool Ten-Draw Ticket ×1.
Evil God Points ×1000.
Wizard Bloodline ×1.] Warmth flooded his limbs, slow and steady.
No light show.
No screaming.
Just quiet power settling into bone and blood.
He clenched a fist.
Felt solid.
Better than the old body by a mile.
“System.
Draw.” A purple-gold roulette materialized.
Spun.
First result: Thanks for participating.
Second: Thanks for participating.
Third: Thanks for participating.
Styx’s mouth opened.
Fourth spin erupted in gold.
[Shadowkhan Mask (Nezha) — Jackie Chan Adventures] [Occlumency Mastery Skill Card] [Unforgivable Curse · Killing Curse Mastery Skill Card] The remaining draws returned to consolation prizes: one thousand Galleons and something labeled Merlin’s Old Socks.
Everything stored itself neatly in system space.
Side effects scrubbed clean.
Styx looked at the black mask, the two skill cards bleeding faint black energy, and the glittering coins.
A slow grin spread.
The mask summoned ordinary Shadowkhan.
Occlumency would keep Dumbledore out of his head.
The Killing Curse was the kind of card you didn’t waste, but you didn’t throw away either.
[Bro.
What did you just say under your breath?] “My mother is in excellent health.” [I preferred the arrogant version.
Bring him back.] “You’re the one who only shows up after I start cursing.” [I am your—] Styx closed the interface before it finished.
He pushed the window open.
Cold damp air hit his face.
Neat suburban houses.
Trimmed lawns.
Red postbox.
Classic 1990s Britain.
He dressed in the cleanest white shirt and pilled overcoat the original owner owned, checked himself in the mirror one more time, and stepped outside.
House number: 23 Privet Drive.
He stopped.
Turned.
Looked down the street.
June 1991.
Three months before Harry Potter went to Hogwarts.
The Boy Who Lived was still doing dishes for the Dursleys.
Ten minutes later he stood near Number Four.
Vernon Dursley forced his bulk into the passenger seat.
Petunia’s face was tight with distaste.
Dudley rolled into the back like a pink cannonball.
Harry climbed in last.
Before the door shut, the boy glanced over.
Their eyes met.
Styx nodded once, small and unreadable.
Harry hesitated, then returned the nod before Vernon yanked him inside.
The car pulled away.
Styx watched it go, chin in hand.
“Little shota…” [Get out of that child’s body, you damn priest.] “It was a joke.” He kept walking, thinking out loud.
“Three months.
Plenty of time to reach Hogwarts the proper way.
First problem is a wand.
Ollivanders.
Diagon Alley.” [Knight Bus.] Styx snapped his fingers.
“Right.
Knight Bus.” He stood at the curb and tried to push magic the way the memories suggested.
Gestures.
Intent.
Nothing refined.
A triple-decker bus appeared with a violent bang and screeched to a stop inches from his toes.
Stan Shunpike leaned out the open door, professional smile already in place.
“Welcome to the Knight Bus.
Where you headed—why are you on the ground?” Styx stood, brushed dust off his coat, and held up a single Galleon between two fingers.
“Diagon Alley.
This is all I’ve got.
Can you make change?” Stan looked at the coin, the empty hand, the Muggle clothes, the lack of wand or luggage.
Then he shrugged.
The Knight Bus did not ask questions.
“Course we can.
Climb aboard, Mr.
Weird Wealthy Guy.” The ride was exactly as advertised: violent, nauseating, and entirely too close to Formula One for anyone with a functioning inner ear.
By the time the bus dumped him on the street, Styx was leaning against a lamppost and fighting the urge to throw up everything he had never eaten.
He straightened.
Crooked shops.
Uneven slate.
Owls cutting across the sky with packages.
The smell of parchment, old wood, and something that defied polite description.
An elderly wizard in dark green robes passed, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, almost kindly, “Welcome to Diagon Alley, dear wizard.”