The morning sun painted the village rooftops in hues of gold, casting long shadows that danced through the narrow paths. Birds chirped overhead, and the distant chatter of villagers beginning their day could be heard beyond the open window.
Inside the modest house, the boy stirred beneath a woolen blanket. The scent of porridge drifted through the air, warm and familiar. A voice called out gently.
"Cassian, breakfast is ready!"
His eyes fluttered open—green like soft spring leaves, reflecting the sunlight in a way that almost made them glow. He sat up slowly, still adjusting to the lightness of the body he now inhabited. This wasn't his world. This wasn't his voice.
But this was his life now.
"Coming, Mother," he replied, the words feeling foreign, yet natural.
Downstairs, a woman with gentle features and flour-dusted hands turned from the stove, smiling at him. Her face was tired, but her eyes were warm—like the kind of warmth he never once received in his previous life.
Beside her stood a young girl, her black hair tied in two uneven braids. She looked up with bright green eyes mirroring his own.
"Big brother!" she squeaked, rushing toward him with arms wide. "You're not sick anymore!"
He froze for a second before kneeling down. "Yeah… I'm better now," he said quietly, as her tiny arms wrapped around him.
Her hug was soft. Genuine.
It hurt a little.
Not his body—but something deeper. Something Harry never thought he had left.
He was forced to spend the day outside. Not by the village—but by this new body that seemed to betray his old instincts. When an old woman stumbled while carrying water, his feet moved before he could think. When a young boy scraped his knee, his hands reached out, tearing part of his own sleeve to bandage it. Every time he tried to walk away or ignore someone's pain, something twisted in his chest—an invisible hand of guilt, or maybe divine punishment.
And yet…
Even as he cursed it in his thoughts, there was something oddly quieting about it all.
That evening, he sat beneath a tree near the edge of the village, the setting sun warming his face. Elwill sat beside him, holding a flower crown she'd made. She giggled as she placed it on his head.
"You look like a forest prince now!" she beamed.
He chuckled under his breath. "I'm no prince, Elwill."
"To me you are," she whispered.
His chest tightened. He turned away, hiding the sting in his eyes behind a forced grin.
Later that night, as he lay in bed, memories not his own washed over him. Laughter. Rain. A small injured rabbit beneath a bush. A kind-hearted fool searching through the storm, catching a cold too harsh for his fragile body to survive.
Cassian.
The real one.
"He really was… too kind," Harry muttered.
And now, he had inherited that kindness. A curse. A lesson.
Or maybe—something more.
-To be continued...