“Ben!” My mother’s voice cut through the cool evening air, pulling me from my task.

  “Yeah?” I called back, hands busy shaping a figure from mud in our backyard. It was a crude thing, barely the size of my palm, but it would do.

  “Stop playing in the dirt, come inside and wash your hands. Dinner will be ready soon.” Sheila Diggory’s voice was as warm as it was firm. I could imagine her, hands on her hips, watching me through the window with a mixture of love and exasperation.

  With a snap of my fingers, the little mud golem sprang to life, wobbling in place as it awaited my command. I stifled a smirk. My “parents” could never know the truth of what I was, of the power I held in these young, unassuming hands. They would never understand—or believe if I told them. My purpose had to remain hidden.

  Obeying her call, I raced inside, brushing my hands quickly under the water, and stealing a glance out the window. A heavy, ominous cloud loomed in the distance, dark and swollen like some harbinger of doom. A fitting image, really. For the dark days ahead.

  All of this, this charade of a life, should have been unnecessary. If only fortune hadn’t favored the Dark Lord. The Potter boy was meant to live, meant to fulfill his destiny, but fate had intervened in a most twisted fashion. A Death Eater loyalist, a fool of a half-blood in Slytherin who worshipped Voldemort, had caught sight of Harry. It was the boy’s scar—a lightning-shaped mark—that betrayed him. Poor, doomed Harry never had a chance.

  With the Chosen One dead, no mortal wizard or witch remained who could challenge Voldemort. I, however, was not bound by the same rules as mortal wizards. I, who once bestowed three powerful gifts to the legendary Peverell brothers, could not stand by and let the world fall to ruin. But the laws of this universe restricted me in my true form, forbidding my interference in the mortal realm. Thus, I faced a choice: let chaos reign, or take matters into my own hands.

  So, I chose incarnation, and here I am, imprisoned in the flesh—a young boy, bound by the fragility of human form. I am now Benjamin Diggory.

  “Ben! Tell your brother Cedric that dinner’s ready—and get your father, too. He’s probably still buried in papers in his study.” My mother’s voice was warm but insistent, carrying the authority I’d grown to respect in this life, if only for appearance's sake.

  “Yes, Mother,” I replied flatly, slipping from the kitchen to fulfill her command. Cedric, my older brother in this life, was oblivious to his future—one that, if left untouched, would end tragically in 1995 at the hands of Voldemort and his followers. My task, however, was clear: defeat the Dark Lord and preserve the balance by saving Cedric. In exchange for Harry’s life, I had given life to myself, crafting this vessel so I could rewrite fate and keep the cosmic scales in harmony.

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  When my purpose here is complete, I will ensure Cedric lives out the full lifespan Harry would have had. The balance will be restored—or so I hope.

  I found Cedric near the fireplace, flipping through a Quidditch magazine, his face lighting up as he saw me.

  “Dinner’s ready,” I said.

  “Great, I’m starving!” Cedric grinned, ruffling my hair as he passed. I resisted the urge to pull away, masking my distaste. Cedric was... fine, for a mortal. Admirable, even, in his own way. He had a heart full of warmth and courage, qualities that would one day make him the embodiment of Hufflepuff’s best virtues.

  I fetched Father next, tapping on his study door. Amos Diggory looked up from his paperwork with a distracted nod. “Right, right. Be there in a moment.”

  As we gathered around the table, my mother set down a dish with a flourish, a proud smile on her face. “How’s the Beef Wellington, my little munchkin?” she asked, pinching my cheek in a way that momentarily jolted me from my carefully constructed facade.

  “It’s… delicious, Mother,” I replied, managing a smile. “Packed with all the dead animal protein my body needs to grow.”

  The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and I saw my mother’s expression freeze, her fork pausing mid-air.

  “Er—sorry, I misspoke,” I added quickly, feigning innocence. “I was just distracted, thinking about that amazing school Cedric’s always talking about.”

  My mother relaxed a little, though she gave me a wary look as she took her seat. “On that note, your father has something to tell you.”

  I turned to my father, who held an envelope in his hand, an owl feather stuck to it—a letter from Hogwarts. My pulse quickened, an echo of excitement mixing with my steely determination. Finally, the next phase of my plan was coming into place.

  Amos cleared his throat, the corners of his mouth twitching with pride. “Benjamin, Hogwarts has accepted you early. They’ve noted your… talents, and are willing to make an exception.”

  My mother’s face softened, though a hint of worry lingered in her eyes. “You’ll be the youngest in your year, Ben. Are you certain you’re ready?”

  Was I ready? I’d walked this earth through countless ages, watching empires rise and fall, and civilizations crumble into dust. Mortal notions of readiness were irrelevant to me. But I simply nodded, managing a look of earnest innocence that I knew they expected.

  “I’m ready, Mother,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “I’ll make you and Father proud.”

  Yet even as I spoke, I felt the familiar weight settle in my chest, the burden of a destiny none of them could understand. The battle against the Dark Lord awaited, and I alone would wield the power to shift the balance.

  For now, though, I played my part, savoring the taste of Beef Wellington and the illusion of family, of normalcy, as we sat around the dinner table. Soon, the world would know my name again, and even Voldemort would tremble.