Being a passerby in HP female protagonist fanfiction

By chance.

I mean, by chance.

I wonder if my presence has had a negative impact on Willotte.

No, I don't mean I'm having doubts about myself or anything. I'm just thinking that if this is a complete fan fiction world with self-consistent logic, then even without me, Astra, it won't get any worse or better. And if there's any danger, Willotte will take care of everything.

Logically speaking, she and Harry are the protagonists of the world, with Harry being the cornerstone of everything, while Willotte bears the hidden responsibility of maintaining that cornerstone, even though she herself is unaware of this. However, if she, as the female lead, cannot save the original story from its unsatisfying ending, it would be tantamount to losing its meaning for the vast majority of readers.

—That includes me.

The reason I've been able to live so easily until now, with my worries limited to studying, is precisely because I know Willow will cover for me. Those unresolved grievances, the dead, the enemies lurking in the shadows... her existence almost allows me to comfortably cast aside my burdens, focusing only on myself, without worrying about Voldemort's return.

If Willotte had never met me, she would have lost nothing, but if I didn't have Willotte, my whole life would have been turned upside down.

Willow will create a happy ending that satisfies everyone. The fan fiction has endowed her with so many qualities and talents. No matter what Willow does, she will definitely succeed. She is so persistent, and I believe so too.

Therefore, Willotte's failure seems to be an exceptionally difficult thing to understand.

"..."

I opened my eyes.

The rain was still falling, and the temperature suddenly dropped considerably. I shivered and couldn't hear what the people around me were saying at all, nor could I see their faces clearly. The red flags fluttered under the protection of magic. The rain was helpless against the fanatical Gryffindors. They had been looking forward to this victory for a long time. The Slytherin students all had ashen faces, and some even booed. There was constant arguing.

I saw Willotte standing in the rain, expressionless, her purple eyes oblivious to her surroundings.

Slytherin lost, which means Willotte lost; she did not win the match against Gryffindor.

It's normal for competitions to have winners and losers, but unease crept into my heart. Did she lose in the original storyline? In my memory, she always won.

What caused the outcome of the game to shift?

I asked myself this question, and the answer came to me without me even having to think about it—it was me.

It was I who influenced Willotte. I gave her new plans and new goals. I proposed cooperating with the Weasley twins. It was also I who complained to Willotte that Hogwarts' defense system was unreliable. At the same time... I can't be sure about this, but perhaps it was because of my existence that the conflict between Willotte and the system appeared earlier, causing her to lose some of the system's assistance.

With so many tasks piled up, even with the Time-Turner, Willotte was simply not up to the task. Therefore, it was only natural that she lost the game – being busy meant less Quidditch training time, a lack of chemistry with her teammates, and the Seeker failing to catch the Golden Snitch. Even with Willotte's strong skills, she couldn't create a gap of more than 150 points.

When Harry caught the Golden Snitch, everything was settled.

I realized that my existence altered the future, and these alterations were not necessarily for the better; at least for now, Willotte failed because of me.

"..."

An indescribable feeling welled up inside me. I looked towards the center of the court, and Willotte was still there, but I didn't want to stand there and wait to die. Something was wrong. Why did I think that I had a bad influence on Willotte?

"Velocity!" I couldn't help but shout, but she didn't seem to hear me in the rain and didn't move.

"Velocity!" I couldn't stop calling out, the voice echoing in my ears.

"Wei..." My throat tightened, and everything seemed to freeze.

—Will this ever end?

An unusual surge of anger welled up inside me. A chill ran through me, and I opened my eyes again. Unable to sort out my chaotic thoughts, I could only rely on my instincts to clench my fists and throw a powerful punch at the black-haired youth who had suddenly appeared in front of me.

"Hey!"

The fog that had been bothering me dissipated, and the black-haired youth—who was also the system—who hadn't held back his punch, covered his left cheek and cried out in pain. His face, which looked seven-tenths like mine, was now covered in his own.

"Why did you hit me?" he shouted incredulously.

"..."

I silently withdrew my hand, trying not to show too much surprise.

I feel no guilt about typing the system, but typing a face that looks too much like myself feels strangely awkward.

"What's going on?" I looked around. We were still at the Quidditch pitch, but now it was just me and the system.

Is it an illusion? A dream?

No matter how I think about it, I could never have the kind of thoughts I had before, letting the sudden sadness and guilt overwhelm me.

"What could it be? It's time for the plot to unfold." The system replied to me while covering its face. I bet it wasn't actually in pain. It inexplicably raised the corners of its lips. "I can't make a real Dementor appear on the Quidditch pitch, and I'm afraid Dumbledore will notice something if I use a fake one. So I had to trouble you, Claire, to dream about it and get through this plot in the form of a dream."

Moving on from the plot?

"Was that just a dream within a dream?" I gathered my thoughts.

"That explanation works too." The system didn't seem to care much. "As long as it's within the realm of magic's explanations, it's fine."

I looked up and saw a group of Dementors dancing wildly above me, diligently performing their functions as atmosphere makers and dry ice.

No wonder it was so cold; I couldn't help but shiver again.

The system blinked, immediately forgetting the punch it had received a few minutes earlier, and revealed an inappropriate concern. It snapped its fingers, and the surrounding temperature instantly rose, even the rain and wind subsided.

"feel better now?"

"……good."

I glanced at the system, and it smiled at me.

His smile was extremely bright, and his eyes were looking directly in my direction, gentle and kind. I looked left and right and found that this expression was unusually familiar - I usually look like this when I'm with my friends. But the same expression on the face of a similar young man feels extremely awkward.

I laughed because I like my friends and I'm happy. What is the system's purpose in doing this?

I sneered.

"Don't you have any other questions?" the system asked.

There was a hint of expectation in his tone.