The first thing I knew was cold.
It was a strange, shocking cold that made me gasp, and my lungs burned as they took their first breath. One moment, I was in a quiet, muffled darkness. The next, I was surrounded by bright lights and sharp sounds. My body was small and useless, and a cry escaped my lips before I could stop it. It was a thin, helpless sound.
This isn't right, I thought, my mind reeling with a panic I couldn't show. I was dead. I remember dying.
The last thing I remembered from my old life was a different kind of cold. The chill of an alley in winter, the feeling of giving up. Then, nothing. A long, peaceful nothing. This was the opposite of nothing. It was too much of everything, all at once.
Someone wrapped me in a blanket. It was rough against my new skin, but it was warm. I was lifted, and my head wobbled. I couldn't control my own neck. The sheer helplessness of it was terrifying.
My vision was a blur, but I could make out shapes. A high ceiling with dark wood beams. A tall window with grey light streaming in. A woman's face, pale and tired, leaned over me. She had light blonde hair and very blue eyes. She looked exhausted, but she smiled when she saw me.
"My daughter," she whispered. Her voice was shaky. She reached out and touched my cheek.
A man stood beside her. He was tall, with the same light hair, but his face was stern and his eyes were a serious grey. He wasn't smiling. He was just watching me, like he was trying to figure me out.
"She's quiet now," he said, his voice low and formal.
He was right. After that first cry, I'd gone still. The baby part of me wanted to keep screaming, but the person trapped inside knew better. I learned a long time ago that making noise only brings trouble.
The woman in the bed—my new mother, I guess—reached for me. "Let me hold her, Cassian."
I was placed in her arms. She was warm and smelled like lavender and sweat. It was comforting in a way that made me uneasy. My tiny body instinctively snuggled closer, but my mind felt like a prisoner, watching from a distance.
"What should we name her?" my mother asked.
The man, Cassian, looked out the window. "Our family, the House of White, has always endured the winter. She was born in the cold. We will call her Lumi."
Lumi. Lumi White. It didn't feel like me, but I supposed nothing about this did.
"Lumi," my mother repeated softly. "A light for the dark times."
Cassian's serious expression didn't change. "The world is dark indeed, Elara. The Dark Lord is getting stronger. Dumbledore is placing all his hope on the Potter boy, or maybe the Longbottom heir. He thinks one of them is from the prophecy."
The names hit me like a splash of icy water. Potter. Longbottom. Dumbledore. The Dark Lord.
Oh. I wasn't just in some random new life. I was in a story. A story I used to read to escape my own miserable life. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
"And the Blacks continue to bring shame to all the old houses," Elara said with a sigh. "Bellatrix is completely mad, and Sirius has abandoned his family for Dumbledore's side."
"They are still powerful rivals," Cassian said sharply. "We have stayed neutral in this war, but we may not be able to for much longer. Not with a child. She needs to be strong. She needs to be perfect, a true heir to the House of White."
His words settled over me, heavy and cold. A perfect heir. A tool for their family. In my last life, I was a failure. In this one, it seemed like I was a project.
I was so tired. The stress of being born, of realizing where I was, it was all too much. My new eyelids felt heavy, and the world began to fade.
They could have their war and their prophecy. They could watch the Potter boy and wait for their Dark Lord to fall. I had already lived one life where other people made my choices for me, a life where I was trapped.
I wasn't going to let that happen again.
As I drifted off to sleep for the first time in my new life, I made a promise to myself. It wasn't some grand vow. It was simple.
This time, I would be free.