So, I am now in the body of O'Shea Wyllt, and the log lying over me is Shayna Wyllt—ten years younger than me, a whole five years of cuteness condensed into one surprisingly heavy child. We are the children of Elaine Rayne and Arzan Wyllt.
From what I can piece together, the body I now occupy had been recreating a ritual—some form of strengthening magic. The ritual failed. Or rather, it appeared to fail. There were no immediate consequences, no dramatic backlash. Instead, the soul's consciousness dispersed slowly over time.
That vacancy is where I crossed over.
Now then, as a politician, what is the first thing to do?
Adapt.
The boy died. I got a body. From now on, I adventure in the name of O'Shea Wyllt.
What surprises me is that even though I never read Harry Potter very carefully back in my home world, I remember enough to know that this place is not exactly the same as the books everyone was so fond of. There are differences. Important ones.
Take the Wyllt family.
The family I was born into here is one of the major power brokers of this world—a continental powerhouse in Europe, with more than seventy High Wizards, thirteen Warlocks, and seven Archmages. If the memories of this boy are correct, then we are among the finest families not just in England, but in the entire world.
And yet—
What use is so much power kept secret?
Still, now that I am here, I occupy the body of one of their descendants. World conquest sounds tempting, but first things first. Control the family. That starts with my so-called parents.
And this kid.
"Fuck," I think. "I'm going to conquer this family, and then the rules of this world will be rewritten."
Step one: get this child off me.
What a healthy kid. Do parents here have no shame at all? How does so much food fit into a five-year-old's body? I'll have to slim her down later. At least then she'll be useful—
That is when everything goes dark.
One moment I am present, firmly in control of my body, and the next I am nothing—wiped away,
erased so completely that the transition itself terrifies me. Control is ripped away, and when sensation returns, it does so violently. My eyes refuse to work. Panic follows instantly, sharp and primal. Fresh from death, I feel myself unraveling, as though I am dissolving in water.
But it isn't my body that's coming apart.
It's my soul.
Fragments of thought slip away—ambition, conquest, strategy—scattering before I can grasp them. For a moment, I am convinced this is the end.
Sometime later—minutes, hours, I have no way of knowing—the pieces settle back into place.
I wake with a violent gasp as pain tears through me. It is everywhere, crushing and absolute. The terror of near death collides with the agony of a soul broken apart and forcibly reshaped. The overload is too much.
I faint.
When I wake again a few hours later, something is poking my face.
Instead of pain, the first thing I feel is bliss.
Not because the pain is gone. Not because my magic feels stronger.
It is bliss because my sister is awake—and she is the one poking me.
I open my eyes slowly and see her hovering above me, face scrunched up, tears trembling at the corners. The moment she realizes I am awake, she bursts into tears.
"Meawie… ywu not gwtting wup. I fweel scawed."
Oh.
She must have come in during the night to sleep beside her brother. When morning came and I did not wake—did not respond—fear took hold of her tiny heart.
Now that I am awake, her emotions are still spilling over.
Dear lord. What an unbearably cute menace.
I need to calm her down quickly, or mother will come in and start breaking my legs.
"Dear, cutie baby," I say softly. "Brother was just playing. Don't cry. You won't look pretty if you cry. Mother will beat me again if you cry—you don't want mother to beat me, right, Sha?"
She hiccups, sniffling, considering this very seriously.
"Let's play castles today, alright? Brother will make you a super castle after breakfast. Come on, smile. Yes, yes—see how pretty you look when you smile."
She wipes her cheeks with her sleeves and peers at me.
"Dow I lwook as pwetty as mowther?"
The lisp is mostly gone now, just faintly lingering at the edges.
How cute.