Have you ever had one of those nights where everything feels... off? Like something deep inside you shifted while you slept, and now nothing feels quite right? That's exactly how I felt when I woke up.
I was warm — almost too warm — wrapped in a soft, heavy duvet that clung to me like a cloud. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something else — something sharp yet comforting. For a moment, I didn't care. The bed was too comfortable. The kind of comfort you know you'll never get back if you move.
I closed my eyes again, trying to melt back into the warmth, but then something tickled my face. Light — a stubborn ray of moonlight poking through the curtains. I twisted away from it, but it followed me like a curse, landing right on my eyelids.
"Ugh..."
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. The room was bathed in a soft bluish glow, and I squinted against the night light. My gaze drifted toward the window, narrowed in irritation. Maybe if I covered it up... just a quick fix so I could go back to sleep.
With a sigh, I pushed myself up and swung my legs off the side of the bed. Except... something was wrong. My feet didn't touch the floor.
I blinked, confused. My legs dangled awkwardly, like a child's. That... wasn't right. I stared down, expecting to see my usual limbs, but instead, two small, pale legs hung over the edge of the bed. My heart skipped a beat.
"What the..."
My hands shot to my knees — smaller, thinner knees — and when my fingers came into view, I froze. They were delicate, almost dainty. Definitely not my hands.
Panic bloomed in my chest. I stared at those hands like they might vanish if I blinked. My breath hitched. What's happening?
I stumbled out of bed, my movements clumsy. My legs felt weak, unsteady — like I was balancing on stilts. I turned toward the full-length mirror near the wardrobe, praying this was some bizarre dream.
But the face that stared back at me was anything but mine.
A boy — pale and sharp-featured, with icy grey eyes and platinum-blonde hair that fell perfectly around his pointed face. He looked aristocratic — smug, almost — but there was fear behind those grey eyes. My fear.
"No..." I whispered, stepping closer to the mirror. "No, no, no..."
I reached out and touched my reflection — cold glass meeting my trembling fingers. The boy mimicked my movements perfectly.
"Draco... Malfoy..."
I staggered back, my mind reeling. Memories that weren't mine flickered like fragments of a broken film reel. Malfoy Manor's endless corridors. The disapproving glare of Lucius Malfoy. The quiet affection in Narcissa's eyes. Hogwarts. Slytherin. Potter. The Chamber of Secrets. The diary. Dobby's freedom... Voldemort.
"I... I'm Draco Malfoy," I muttered, barely able to form the words.
My breath came in short, shallow bursts. My chest felt too tight, like someone had cinched a belt around my ribs. My mind spun, the room swimming before my eyes. No memories of my old life surfaced. No name. No face. Just a gnawing emptiness where my identity should have been.
"Calm down... calm down..."
I forced myself to sit back on the bed, gripping the duvet tightly. I couldn't afford to lose control now. Breathe. Focus. I had to think. If I really was Draco Malfoy — if I was him — then what year was it? What part of the story was I in?
I squeezed my eyes shut, digging into my fragmented thoughts. Memories flickered past — duels in Hogwarts' hallways, Snape's sneer of approval, Dumbledore's piercing gaze... then something clearer. The Chamber of Secrets incident. Lucius furious after Dobby's freedom. The whispers of Voldemort's return, growing louder.
"It's... after second year," I muttered. "It's summer..."
The realization sent a shiver down my spine. The fallout from the Chamber of Secrets had left my family's reputation bruised. Lucius had been furious. His anger, his disappointment... it was all there in the tangled web of memories.
I'm going to die.
Panic surged again, clawing at my chest. My breathing hitched, fast and ragged. Desperation gripped me, cold and suffocating.
No... No, I can't die. I won't.
I needed power. I needed to be strong enough to survive. Not just survive... thrive.
Suddenly, a cold voice rang out in my mind.
[System Activation Complete.]
"What the..."
A translucent screen appeared in front of me, glowing faintly. Lines of text scrolled across it, filled with terms I recognized — magic, mythology, ancient runes, potions... all detailed as if catalogued from my mind.
[System Initialized: Information Analysis Interface Activated.]
[Source: Combined Memory Archive Accessing Data — Draco Malfoy + Previous Life Memories]
The words shifted, expanding.
[AI System Online — Your Personal Guide and Analysis Tool Activated]
[Functions Include:]
Strategic Analysis
Memory Cross-Referencing (Draco's Life + Your Previous Knowledge)
Spell Optimization and Creation
Ritual and Mythological Integration
Potion Crafting Enhancements
Predictive Combat Insights
I stared at the screen, heart hammering in my chest. The system... it wasn't just Draco's memories. It was everything I had ever learned before this — my love for mythology, my endless readings of fantasy fiction, my analytical mindset from my old life — all reorganized and improved. The system could filter through Draco's knowledge, combine it with my own understanding, and produce smarter, stronger results.
"This... this is perfect..."
I focused on one thought: Who am I now?
[Profile Data Compiling... Subject Identified: Draco Lucius Malfoy]
[Year: 1993 — Post-Chamber of Secrets Incident — Summer at Malfoy Manor]
"Third year..."
For a moment, the panic returned — icy and sharp. But then... a spark of something else — determination.
"No," I muttered, eyes narrowing. "I won't just survive this."
I stared at my reflection again — at the boy who had once been destined to follow in Voldemort's footsteps. That wasn't my fate anymore. Not if I had a choice.
"I'm going to win."
I swallowed hard and stood up, my legs still shaky. The room felt colder now — less welcoming, more like a battlefield waiting to be claimed.
"Tibby!" I called out, my voice hoarse but firm. A crack like a whip echoed in the room as a small figure appeared — a house-elf dressed in pristine black robes bearing the Malfoy crest.
"Young Master Draco, sir!" Tibby bowed deeply, ears twitching nervously. "You is awake! What can Tibby do for you?"
"Tibby... What's been happening in the Manor since I returned from Hogwarts? Is my father... still angry?"
Tibby's ears twitched again, his gaze flicking nervously to the door. "Master Lucius is... displeased, young master. He has been in meetings... speaking to wizards from other noble houses. Mistress Narcissa is worried."
I exhaled slowly. "I see..."
"And... my wand? Where is it?"
"In your study, sir. I will fetch it at once!"
Moments later, Tibby returned with a polished ebony wand resting on a silver tray. I reached out, fingers curling around it. The wood felt warm — reassuring, like an anchor to reality.
For the first time that night, I felt like I had control again.
"Good," I muttered under my breath, gripping the wand tightly. "Now... let's get started."