The world around him was a blur.
One moment, Alex was drowning in the chaos of his final moments—pain, noise, the desperate scream of a body reaching its end—and the next… nothing.No pain. No light. No darkness.Just endless silence.
It was the kind of stillness that didn't bring peace. It felt like floating in a void, like being erased.
Then, breath.
Sharp, sudden.
His eyes flew open.
He gasped, instinctively clutching the sheets beneath him. His chest rose and fell with urgency, as if his lungs were relearning how to breathe. For a moment, he couldn't think. He couldn't move. His senses struggled to catch up with his consciousness. His heart thundered—not with fear, but confusion. He was alive.
But this wasn't Earth.This wasn't his body.
He blinked, slowly taking in his surroundings. Gone were the gray skies and cracked pavement of the city. Gone were the dull ceilings of hospitals and the hum of machines. In their place was warmth, richness, silence wrapped in magic.
He sat up.
The bed was enormous. A grand four-poster with curtains the color of midnight and sheets softer than anything he had ever touched—like clouds spun from silk. His hands sank into them, and he stared, stunned.
They were… smaller. Paler. Elegant in a way his old hands had never been. Not a scar, not a blemish. Smooth like porcelain.
His heart skipped.
This wasn't a dream.
His gaze flicked to the room. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, each crammed with leather-bound tomes whose spines gleamed with golden lettering. A fireplace crackled nearby, the scent of burning cedar drifting through the air. The floor beneath the bed was marble, cold and smooth beneath his feet as he slid off the mattress. Everything about the space whispered power. Old money. Legacy.
And then the flood came.
The memories weren't his. And yet—they were.He clutched his head as names, places, and faces swirled in his mind. Ancient magic. Bloodlines. The legacy of House Blackthorn.He wasn't Alex anymore.
He was Elias Blackthorn—sole heir to one of the oldest and most influential wizarding families in Britain. A name spoken with respect, fear, and envy.
And this was the world of Harry Potter.
A chill passed through him—not of fear, but something deeper. Reverence. Awe. Disbelief.
He moved to the mirror, almost afraid of what he'd see. The boy who stared back had sharp, intelligent eyes the color of ink. High cheekbones. A strong jawline. The unmistakable features of the Blackthorn line—aristocratic and intimidating. Young, yes, but with a presence that lingered.
This was real.He had been reborn.
A second chance.
A knock broke the silence.
"Elias, are you awake?"The voice was smooth, graceful, yet laced with authority. Feminine. Familiar.
He turned.
There, standing in the doorway, was Seraphina Blackthorn—his mother. Her presence struck him like lightning. Tall and poised, she carried herself like a queen. Her robes were finely tailored, dark with silver embroidery, and her gaze was piercing.She looked at him with a mixture of expectation and something warmer—pride, perhaps. Or something close to it.
"Yes, Mother," Elias said, the words sliding off his tongue more easily than expected. His voice was calmer than he felt. Inside, his soul was still trembling.
"You've slept long enough. Your father will be waiting for you at breakfast," she said, glancing briefly at the ornate clock on the wall. "And the family council expects your presence afterward. It's time you begin your training as heir."
Her tone was matter-of-fact. Not unkind, but resolute. Elias could already sense that Seraphina was the kind of woman who allowed no weakness, no hesitation.
He gave a small nod, masking the storm inside.
A life had ended.A new one had begun.And expectations were already upon him like a crown made of iron.
As she turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the corridor beyond, Elias stood in silence.
This family—his new family—was built on power. On influence, legacy, politics, and secrets. The name Blackthorn opened doors, but it came with chains. They had plans for him. A path already carved in stone.
But Elias had lived once before.He knew how stories played out in this world—who rose, who fell, who died.
And he wasn't here to repeat anyone's script.
"I'll be down in a moment," he said softly, mostly to himself.
He faced the mirror again, his reflection now looking back not just with curiosity, but with intent.
He wasn't here to play the game. He was here to master it.Not to change the future—but to rise above it.
This was his second chance.And he wouldn't waste it.