The cries of a newborn echoed through the grand halls of Malfoy Manor, sharp and high-pitched, like the wail of a ghost announcing new life. In the private chambers of the estate, Narcissa Malfoy lay in an ornate four-poster bed, her usually flawless hair damp with sweat, her face pale but proud. In her arms, wrapped in a silver-threaded blanket, was a small, squirming infant red-faced, wrinkled, and new to the world.
The child's hair was faint, nearly invisible tufts of white-blond fuzz just beginning to show on his scalp. But his pale skin and striking features already hinted at the unmistakable Malfoy lineage.
Lucius Malfoy stood nearby, watching with a mixture of pride and distance, his expression cold and contemplative. His long platinum blond hair was pulled back neatly, and his silver-grey eyes scanned the child as if appraising a rare artifact. He was tall, dressed impeccably even now in tailored black robes with silver trim, and carried himself with the self-assured elegance of a man who had never once needed to explain himself.
"He's strong," one of the Healers murmured, stepping away respectfully.
Lucius tilted his head slightly. "He will be," he said simply, stepping forward to look down at the boy. "His name will be... Cassian. Cassian Malfoy."
Narcissa looked up at her husband, her voice soft but clear. "Cassian... yes. A strong name."
And so, Cassian Reed died in one world… and was born again in another.
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Cassian's POV
His head felt like it was full of cotton. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't even open his eyes properly. But slowly, like a computer booting up after years of dust and abuse, his mind began to tick. Memories drifted in like ghosts. Prison. Fights. Pain. His father. His mother. The TV... the heart attack.
‚Wait, wasn't i dead?'
The realization didn't come with fear. More like confusion. This wasn't the kind of afterlife he'd expected. No fire and brimstone, no clouds and harps. No nothing. Just sounds and shapes and voices calling him...
He tried to move, but all he managed was a small, pathetic wiggle. Something wrapped him tighter. Was he... a baby?
‚Oh, hell no.'
His eyes finally opened fully, and what he saw shocked him even more: high ceilings, gilded walls, a chandelier that looked like it belonged in some Victorian horror movie. The people around him looked straight out of a fantasy film. And their clothes, robes?
The tall one caught his eye.
Pale skin. Long, white-blond hair. Expensive black robes. An expression like he'd just smelled something foul and was deciding whether it was worth commenting on.
Cassian's blood ran cold.
‚No fucking way.'
‚Lucius Malfoy.'
The name clicked into place like a puzzle piece. Then the floodgates cracked open.
‚Harry Potter. Magic. Wands. A snotty blond kid named Draco. That was his dad, right? I remember this guy. He was in the books. The ones I read… years ago.'
His heart, if it could be called that in this squishy newborn body, pounded harder.
‚I've been reborn. In the Harry Potter world. As a fucking Malfoy.'
He lay still, trying to keep breathing, trying to think. All he knew about this place came from a few books he barely remembered from when he was, what, fourteen? Fifteen?
And yet, here he was.
Cassian Malfoy.
Born into money. Born into magic. Born into a family he knew had serious dark wizard vibes.
Great. Just great.
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Cassian Malfoy lay in his velvet-wrapped bed, arms folded behind his head, gaze fixed on the enchanted ceiling mimicking the starry sky.
Six years. Six years in this body.
He didn't want revenge. There was no one left to get revenge on. His old life was gone, buried under prison walls and bloodstains. No, this time, he wanted something else. Something bigger.
Power. Not to rule. Not to save the world. Just to have it. For the sake of it.
He'd been powerless once. It wouldn't happen again.
And the magic? The magic was real. He could feel it hum beneath his skin, just waiting. He wasn't a prodigy, not quite, but he was gifted. Spells came easily to him during the rare moments he was allowed to practice. Levitation, summoning, even accidental bursts of elemental magic.
A soft knock tapped at the door. A small house-elf with oversized ears poked her head through the crack. "Master Cassian, sir. It is almost time for breakfast. Mistress says not to be late."
Cassian sat up, brushing his silver-blond hair back with his fingers. "Thank you, Tella. I'll be down shortly."
The elf gave a nervous curtsy and vanished with a pop.
He slid out of bed and walked over to the tall mirror leaning against the far wall. He liked this mirror, it didn't lie. The enchanted ones that flattered him in the hallways were annoying.
In the reflection, a boy stood. Pale skin, unnaturally smooth. Sharp cheekbones, pointed chin. Hair white-blond and neatly combed to the side. Gray eyes, stormy and cold, just like his father's.
He glanced once more at his reflection and narrowed his eyes.
"I'll be better than all of them," he
whispered. "Just watch."