The First Few Months
Being dead was really cramped. I couldn't see anything, and honestly, it felt like I was in a sardine can. If I had claustrophobia, this would probably feel like hell, but to be truthful, it was strangely comforting.
It was warm, I wasn’t in any pain, and for a while, I was a bit freaked out. Though, of course, once I made peace with my situation, everything became a whole lot worse.
I was being reborn as someone new.
Not only that, but I wasn’t alone. I had a twin brother. Brothers are the worst.
Not really.
Before I died, I was the eldest sibling to my younger brother, and nobody could quite get under my skin like he could. At least in my last life, I had a few years of peace before he was born. In this one, I have to grow up with a twin.
My new brother was also very loud, screaming after a very traumatic birth process that I will try my hardest to forget in my second life. I still couldn't see much, and I assume it's because my eyesight wasn't fully developed yet, but I could hear the humming of my new mother, and the whispers of my father complimenting us in her ears. I knew that I would be loved.
For a while after that, my consciousness would become aware only in brief flashes, something I was eternally grateful for. If I had to go through and remember that many diaper changes or breastfeedings without being able to do anything but lie around, I might've gone insane. Because of this, I didn’t become fully aware of anyone's name—not even my own—for a whole half year.
The day I realized I was born as a character in a fantasy world that shouldn't exist was a day unlike any other for a small, somewhat self-aware infant. I had no clue what the correct process was for a baby growing up, so I mostly just watched my brother during the times I was awake, assuming that I probably acted normal when I became unaware. Of course, it's not that simple.
I woke to my new mother crying, her half-blonde hair obstructing her tears from me, but I could hear her sobs. My father was holding us both, rubbing her back, and then I finally listened to her whispers.
“Oh Lucius, I just know she’s like Bella.”
My father looked calm, but his eyes widened, giving away his panic. “How so? She’s only half a year old. Ursa has plenty of time to say her first word and show she won’t grow up like your sister.”
“But Lucius,” she whispered, “she has made no cries, nor has she cooed or giggled.” Then she began sobbing, clutching at her husband’s strange clothes. “She must have the black madness. She shows early signs of developing my family’s curse.”
My father then clutched her closer and held her hand as he whispered so gently I almost didn’t hear him, “Then we will love her, unlike how your parents didn’t love Bellatrix, and raise her to be the very best witch she can become.”
Then, even as my brain screamed, What the everloving hell? I'm a witch? Magic? Born as a Malfoy? Twin to Draco, the dramatic little ponce? I was rocked to sleep and knew no more until I awakened.