Death had been gentle.
One moment, he was a young man drifting to sleep after rereading Half-Blood Prince for the twentieth time. The next, he was… floating. Weightless. Warm. There was no fear, no pain, only a strange softness.
Then—
Light.
A voice.
A trembling whisper.
A woman's tears gleaming silver.
He saw her: pale, exhausted, beautiful in a heartbreaking way. Her hands shook as she placed a glowing locket around his neck. Her voice broke as she apologized to him—"I'm so sorry, baby…"
Her tears fell like stars.
He saw her die.
A surge of panic gripped him. He wanted to speak, to reach out, to tell her he understood—but his new body refused to respond.
His vision blurred.
His consciousness slipped.
And he fell into darkness.
The Baby Years
He woke to warm blankets, a soft crib, and gentle voices speaking above him. He tried to move, tried to blink—tried to think clearly—but every attempt to wake his mind fully was like fighting his way up through deep water.
When he tried to remember who he had been, flashes came:
Books
.A wand.
The castle towers of Hogwarts.
A pair of emerald eyes.
Then something tore through his skull—sharp and white, like someone driving a glowing nail into the center of his forehead.
His body responded before his mind did.
He screamed.
A vase on the shelf exploded.
Nurses rushed in, whispering about drafts and old pipes, cleaning up the mess.
He wanted to tell them it was him.
But the pain dragged him back down, smothering his consciousness like a blanket over a flame.
Year 1 – Silence in the Crib
He spent most of his first year drifting in and out of awareness. Sometimes he felt completely like a newborn; other times, fragments of his adult mind surfaced.
Whenever it happened, so did the headaches.
And so did the magic.
A toy flew across the room and smacked a bully toddler in the face.
A cabinet door swung open by itself when he needed the nurse's attention.
A feeding bottle refilled even though no one had touched it.
The staff chalked it up to coincidence, imagination, ghosts—anything but the truth.
Magic wasn't real in their world.
Not yet.
Year 2 – A New Arrival
In June 1978, the matron found a newborn baby girl left on the orphanage's doorstep.
Just a blanket.
No note.
No name.
Just bright, storm-grey eyes staring up at the sky.
They named her Blake Smith.
From their first day together, she kept crawling toward him. She would reach into his crib, giggling, as if he were the only familiar thing in her strange new world.
He didn't understand it then, but later he would realize:
He wasn't the only magical one abandoned at St. Mary's.
Year 3 – Two Strange Children
By the time they were three, the strange occurrences had doubled.
Blake's oddities were gentler than his.
Where his magic shattered things, hers soothed them.
He caused a toy to explode; she made the pieces float neatly into a trash bin.
He accidentally locked a door telekinetically; she unlocked it by giggling at the knob.
He cried one night and the lights flickered violently; she toddled over and the room calmed instantly.
The staff was uneasy.
But children adapt to the bizarre faster than adults.
To the two of them, it was simply how life worked.
Year 4 – Blake Becomes Home
They grew up together in the same room, the same beds, the same little world inside St. Mary's.
Where he was quiet, Blake was loud.Where he was cold to strangers, Blake was warm.Where he held his emotions in, Blake wore hers openly.
They fit together like two halves of a strange puzzle.
Whenever he withdrew, she grabbed his sleeve and dragged him into group play.Whenever someone mocked her, he stared them down until they backed away.
They became inseparable.
The staff began referring to them as:
"Those two."
"The pair."
"The twins without being twins."
And sometimes, in the few moments he felt his adult mind awakening, he wondered if fate had brought them together for a reason.
Year 5 – The First Big Incident
One summer afternoon, a bigger boy—Tommy Jenkins, age seven—cornered him behind the shed.
Tommy didn't like him.
Never had.
"You think you're special, don't you?" Tommy sneered.
He didn't answer. He rarely did.
Tommy shoved him. Hard.
And something inside him snapped.
His adult consciousness surged upward.
His vision went white.
His head felt like it was splitting in two.
Then—
Tommy dropped.
Not unconscious.
Not hurt.
Simply… asleep.
Mid-punch.
He crumpled onto the grass, snoring.
The headache vanished instantly, leaving him breathless.
The matron scolded Tommy for "falling asleep on his feet."
No one even suspected him.
Blake, however, stared at him with wide eyes.
"You did that," she whispered.
Fear didn't fill her eyes.
Wonder did.
He couldn't explain—not to her, not to himself—but she accepted it anyway.
She always did.
Years 6–7 – Becoming People
They grew into themselves.
He remained distant with others—careful, quiet, watchful. He didn't know why he reacted that way. It wasn't intentional. It was instinct.
Something in him distrusted anyone outside his small circle.
Blake said once:
"It's like you're always waiting for someone to... hit you."
He didn't know how to answer.
But sometimes, late at night, he wondered if the echoes of another life were shaping him. Leading him. Guarding him.
Blake grew into a firm but gentle child. She stood up for younger kids, argued with adults when they were unfair, and always pulled him into things he tried to avoid.
If he was winter, she was early spring.
He didn't smile often.
But Blake could coax one out of him without even trying.
Year 8 – Adoption
Blake was chosen.
A tall, smiling couple visited the orphanage—Dr. and Mrs. Howard. Polite. Educated. Comfortable-looking. They'd read Blake's file, spent time with her, and adored her.
"We want her," Mrs. Howard declared warmly.
Blake hugged him tight before leaving.He didn't hug back at first—touch still felt foreign—but Blake held on anyway.
"I'll visit. I promise. We're still friends, okay?" she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
His throat felt tight.
"…Okay," he said softly.
She left the next day, waving from the backseat as the car turned the corner.
He didn't wave back.
Blake never forgot that.
She was gone for eight months.
Then she came back.
Returned.
The Howards stood at the orphanage doorway, exhaustion and fear in their eyes.
"She's… not normal," Mrs. Howard whispered shakily."She makes things happen. Objects move. Lights burst. She talks to animals. We… we can't handle it."
Blake's eyes were red from crying.Her suitcase sat by her feet again, like she'd never left.
He didn't know what to say.
She threw herself at him, sobbing.
He stiffened—because that's what he did—but after a moment, he placed a small hand on her back.
The matron found them like that, two children clutching each other in the hall.
Blake stayed.
And the staff quietly agreed:
"I don't think either of them will ever get adopted."
He didn't fully understand why he felt relieved.
Maybe because Blake was the only person who made him feel… not alone.
Year 9–10 – Magic in the Air
Their magic grew stronger with age.
His manifested violently:
Glass cracking
Books flying
Doors slamming
Weather shifting in his room during nightmares
Hers was gentler:
Calming crying babies
Fixing broken toys
Warming cold rooms
Soothing tempers with a touch
Together, their energies balanced.
He was the storm.
She was the shelter.
Sometimes Blake joked:
"Maybe we're cursed. Or chosen. Or aliens."
He would stare at her until she giggled.
Then—sometimes—he laughed too.
Just once.
Quietly.
Year 11 – The Birthday Approaches
As his eleventh birthday crept closer, he felt something building inside him.
Not magic.
Memory.
His adult mind stirred more often—sharp, cold flashes of knowledge:
Hogwarts.
Wands.
Owls.
A scar.
Seven books.
A prophecy.
A world of magic he once only dreamed about.
Headaches struck like lightning, leaving him curled up in bed. Strange things happened every time:
Metal bent.
Lights shattered.
A bully kid fainted mid-insult.
A whole shelf of books soared into the air and hovered.
But still, he couldn't fully awaken.
He was trapped between two selves:
The boy.And the man he used to be.
Blake was the only constant.
Whenever the pain hit, she held his hand.
Whenever he felt himself slipping, she grounded him.
Sometimes she whispered:
"You're not normal… and I'm not normal… but we're normal together, right?"
He always nodded.
For her sake.
August 1977 – One Month Before Hogwarts
It was late evening when Blake sat beside him at the edge of the playground. The sun was setting behind the rusted swings.
"You ever feel like… you're waiting for something?" she asked softly.
"…Yes."
"You ever feel like something big is coming?"
"…Yes."
"And you're scared—but excited?"
"…Yes."
She looked at him, eyes bright, hopeful, terrified.
"Whatever happens… can you promise you won't leave me behind?"
His chest tightened.
He opened his mouth to speak—
—and for the first time, his adult consciousness nearly broke through completely.
HOGWARTS.
He tasted the word like lightning.
Then the pain slammed down.
He hissed, clutching his skull.
Blake caught him, embracing him even as the air around them flickered with raw energy.
She held him until the storm passed.
"You okay?" she whispered.
He nodded slowly.
And for the first time, without hesitation, he spoke honestly:
"I'm not going anywhere."
The Eleventh Birthday — The Mind Breaks Open
The morning of 10 September 1988 began quietly.
The staff gave him a biscuit and a pat on the back.Blake gave him a paper star with his name on it.Everything seemed normal.
Until noon.
A knife of pain split through his skull so suddenly he doubled over, dropping the cup he was holding. It hit the floor and shattered.
Blake screamed his name and rushed to his side.
He didn't hear her.
Because the door inside his mind finally burst open.
And the flood began.
The Flood of Memory
Images.
Voices.
Books.
Magic.Spells.
Battles.
Hogwarts in winter.
Hogwarts in war.
A boy with a scar.
Death.
Rebirth.
His mother's silver tears.
His father's last stand.
Her final whisper—
"His name is Alastair Caelum S–P…"
Every memory of his past life slammed back into him at once.
The knowledge of two worlds collided violently—his old self and new self merging, rewriting, reshaping.
His body convulsed on the floor.
Magic exploded outward like a shockwave.
Every window in the orphanage rattled.
Lights flickered wildly.
Books flew off shelves.
Beds shook.
A metal lamp twisted like soft clay.
Children screamed.
Staff panicked.
Blake held onto his shoulders, refusing to let go even as the air crackled with power.
"ALASTAIR!" she cried. "STOP—PLEASE—PLEASE LOOK AT ME!"
Her voice cut through the storm.
His vision snapped to her face—wide grey eyes full of fear and fierce loyalty.
And the magic began to settle.
The air calmed.
The lights steadied.
The room stopped spinning.
His breathing slowed.
His mind cleared.
And when he looked up again, for the first time—
he was fully awake.
knowledge.
Childhood memories.
Trauma.
Destiny.
Magic.
All of it now belonged to him.
_________________________________
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