The first thing Alexander felt was the cold. Not the kind of cold you experience on a winter night, or the discomfort of an ice cube slipping into your palm. This was deeper, a biting chill that seemed to freeze the marrow in his bones, an oppressive sensation that made his very soul shiver. It wasn't simply the temperature it was as though his body was adjusting to something entirely new. Something foreign.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, struggling to focus. The sterile, metallic scent of his lab the beeping monitors, the glass, the quiet hum of machinery was gone. Replaced by something unfamiliar. Dark. Old. The air smelled faintly of dust, wood, and candle wax. He blinked, adjusting to the low light.
Where am I?
He was lying on a bed. Not his bed. The sheets were rich, made of a fabric far finer than anything he had ever owned smooth, slick, like satin. His body felt strange on it, as though it didn't quite belong. He sat up slowly, each movement deliberate as his mind caught up with the suddenness of his circumstances. His thoughts were muddled, like fragments of a dream he couldn't quite remember.
His eyes roamed the room, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls were covered in dark, intricate tapestries. The furniture, ornate and Gothic, loomed in the dim glow of candlelight. There were no harsh corners, no modern fixtures just antique, medieval splendor. Cold, but undeniably grand.
His gaze locked onto the tall mirror on the far wall.
The face staring back wasn't his.
The reflection was young barely seventeen, maybe a little older. It was a face that exuded power, regal and dangerous, with sharp, aristocratic features. Dark hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, and his eyes those eyes were a stormy gray, too intense, too calculating. He wasn't just a stranger in this room. He was a stranger in his own skin.
The voice that came out of his mouth when he spoke was different too—deep, resonant, carrying an authority he wasn't used to.
"What the hell?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
He stood, shaky at first, as if his body was still learning to move. His fingers brushed against the silk of his robe black, embroidered with silver threads. The Black family crest was unmistakable: a serpent, coiled under a shining star. The Black family.
The name hit him like a punch to the gut.
Memories flashed in his mind, fragmented at first. The rigorous teachings of bloodlines, the cold austerity of pureblood society, the weight of expectations crushing every moment. He had been someone else someone who had lived in a world of science, logic, and alchemy. Alexander Cain. A genius in his own right. Yet here he was, in a body that didn't belong to him, in a world he had never thought real.
Then, just as quickly, a voice rang through his mind.
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[System Activated: Welcome, Player!]
Identity: Alexander Black
Age: 17
Bloodline: Pureblood (House Black)
Status: Initiate
Abilities Unlocked:
Alchemical Intuition (Passive)
Wandless Magic (Novice)
Pureblood Presence (Increases influence among pureblood families)
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Objective: Assimilate into your new world without raising suspicion. Failure to adapt may result in irreversible consequences.
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The words hung in his mind, glowing faintly, almost like a whisper in the back of his consciousness. It was surreal. He had read about this concept fictional stories, video games, and novels where characters were given new lives with some sort of system to guide them. But this wasn't fiction. This was real.
Reincarnation.
He was Alexander Black now. Part of the Black family one of the most prestigious and powerful pureblood families in the magical world. And if that wasn't mind-boggling enough, there was the system itself, a strange entity that provided him with abilities and objectives. Was this a game? Was this some kind of experiment?
His new body a younger version of a well-known scion of the Black family felt alien. But the more he focused, the more natural it began to feel, as though the weight of this identity was settling onto his shoulders. His mind began to sift through the memories that weren't truly his own, remembering fragments of conversations, lessons, and ideals about bloodlines, magic, and family duty. This was his world now.
The world he would need to learn to navigate quickly, or else fail.
He was brought back to the present by a soft voice at the door.
"Master Alexander?"
A small house-elf stood there, eyes wide and bat-like ears twitching. The creature's high-pitched voice squeaked, "Mistress Walburga requests your presence in the dining hall."
"Of course," he replied smoothly, before adding, "Tell her I'll be down shortly."
The elf bowed and disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and Alexander was left alone in the room once more.
A strange thought crossed his mind: What now?
The dining hall was just as grand and imposing as the rest of the house. The high ceilings loomed overhead, enchanted to mimic the sky with dark, swirling clouds. A long table stretched across the room, draped in silverware and candlelight. At the head of the table sat Walburga Black—his mother, if the system's prompt could be believed. Her eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on him the moment he entered. There was no warmth in her gaze, just a cold, imperious expectation.
Beside her sat Orion Black, his father. He was a man of few words, but his presence was heavy, his sharp features betraying no emotion. Across from them sat his two brothers: Sirius, the older one, slouched in his seat with a rebellious air, and Regulus, the younger, who seemed every bit the obedient heir that the Black family demanded.
"Alexander," Walburga's voice sliced through the tension. "You've been unusually quiet. I trust you aren't wasting your time on trivialities?"
Alexander sat down, his posture straight but his gaze never leaving hers. He could feel the weight of the expectations in the room, each person watching him, waiting for him to speak, to show his place. He had to act the part. He had to fit in.
"No, Mother," he said, keeping his voice calm and steady. "I've been reflecting on how best to serve the family."
Walburga's eyes gleamed with an almost imperceptible approval, but Sirius's derisive snort broke the moment.
"Serve the family?" he mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How noble of you, dear brother."
Alexander's gaze met Sirius's. For a brief moment, the tension between them was palpable, crackling in the air like a live wire. Sirius leaned back, crossing his arms, eyes narrow and defiant.
Alexander remained calm, his voice unfaltering. "Better to contribute than waste time on mindless rebellion."
The words hung in the air, unspoken challenges passing between them. Walburga's lips twitched whether in approval or frustration, it was unclear. Regulus, ever the obedient one, said nothing, his gaze shifting between his brothers as though calculating the political landscape of the room.
Sirius smirked, clearly unprepared for the shift in dynamics. He tilted his head, as if trying to assess the unfamiliar version of his brother that sat before him. Alexander, however, was already thinking of the bigger picture. He wasn't here to fit into the mold of the family. He was here to reshape it. To use it.
After dinner, Alexander retreated to the library. The Black family library was vast shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes filled with knowledge and secrets that had been passed down through generations. As he wandered through the room, his eyes scanning the titles, the system in his mind began to hum again. He could feel it the potential within these books. The knowledge that was just waiting to be unlocked.
He couldn't waste time. He needed to learn everything alchemy, magic, family politics, the wizarding world everything. His mind burned with the need to understand, to master it all.
Hours passed as he sifted through the books, pulling volumes of magical theory, alchemical texts, and historical records. The system responded to each action, providing him with insights and feedback. Slowly, he began to understand the intricacies of this new world. Magic was more than just waving a wand. It was about understanding the very fabric of the universe something he had already done in his past life, but with science. Here, he would do it with magic.
The alchemical texts intrigued him the most. They spoke of ancient potions, magical compounds, and recipes that defied reason. But there was one ingredient in particular that caught his eye: Philosopher's Salts. The very same he had tried to synthesize before his untimely demise. He would try again.
The night stretched on as Alexander meticulously gathered ingredients, carefully selecting the components. His fingers moved deftly, following the ancient instructions, his mind piecing together the puzzle of alchemical creation. The process was slow, but his focus was unwavering. This was where his expertise lay. In alchemy. Here, he would master the foundations of magic in ways no wizard had ever done before.
As the final ingredient dissolved in the solution, the resulting compound shimmered with a faint glow. Philosopher's Salts. He had done it. The thought sent a rush of excitement through him, though he quickly tempered it. This was just the beginning.
Tomorrow, he would test it. And when he did, the world would see what alchemy could truly achieve.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Alexander stood, the compound glowing faintly in his hands. This was his moment. He was no longer a stranger in this world. He was Alexander Black. And he would change everything.