***
I'm sitting behind the counter, glancing at the front camera every now and then. The TV murmurs in a corner while I scroll Reels on my phone, not really seeing anything.
The TV's sound is background noise… until it isn't.
Damn congressmen, I think, listening to the panelists talk. They're giving themselves another raise, while hospitals don't have medicine and the police sometimes feel more like a suggestion than an institution.
And this weather… of course the weather app had to be wrong.
I sigh. At least the sound of the rain gives me a weird kind of calm. Cheap peace, but peace nonetheless.
Jingle.
From the corner of my eye, I see a guy walk in wearing a jacket.
I go back to my phone, out of habit. Out of denial. Out of that stupid autopilot of "nothing's happening."
The peace doesn't last.
I hear his steps coming straight toward me. Not toward the shelves. Not toward the fridge. Toward the counter.
I look up.
His face doesn't hesitate. One hand stays hidden inside the jacket.
My body goes tense. I stay still for just an instant… until I see him aiming at my face.
"Don't make any sudden moves," he says. "And keep your hands where I can see them."
My legs shake. I stand up slowly, hands raised. He moves fast: grabs a few plastic bags and throws them onto the counter.
"Small bills. And fast."
My mind blanks for a second. Just one. But it's too long, because he slams his fists on the counter.
"Fast! I don't have all night!"
I move to the register. My fingers feel clumsy, like they aren't mine. I scoop up the money as quickly as I can, trying to breathe deep. Trying not to make him angrier.
"H-here… don't shoot me, please," I say, my voice too loud, too cracked.
He snatches the bag without wasting time.
And then I see it: the gap. The tiny moment where his hand drops, where his attention shifts to his own thing.
I lower one hand, just a little. Just to press the alarm button. The one that sends a signal to the nearest precinct.
I press it and—
Click.
BANG. BANG.
It's like time snaps.
At first I don't feel anything. No heat, no cold. Nothing.
Less than a second later, the body understands. I stumble backward. I bring both hands to my stomach and fall.
And then the pain arrives.
So much pain that breathing becomes work. I try, and the pain answers like it has a will of its own: it comes back harder, cuts me, shuts me down.
My ears ring. I don't know if I'm crying. I just know something warm is running down my face and I can't stop it.
Jingle.
The bell rings again. Far away. Like it's in another room. Like it isn't my world.
The rain doesn't stop.
I think about my family.
About my parents.
About my little sister.
I realize, with absurd clarity, that this is a stupid ending. Small. Ridiculous. Unfair.
Yeah. I'm crying.
My vision blurs. The rain is still there, but I hear it slower and slower, like it's falling behind. I'm going numb. I've lost too much blood. I don't have the strength left to pretend I'm getting out of this.
"And-I…"
Nothing else comes out.
I don't know how much time passes. At some point I hear sirens in the distance. Police. Maybe an ambulance.
I don't think I'm going to make it, I think, and the idea doesn't surprise me. It only makes me sad.
The calm hits all at once. Like someone turned the world's volume down.
My body stops moving.
Stops breathing.
And…
I die.
***
I wake up feeling warmth.
I can't see. I can't hear. Just that sensation of being held. For a second I think: so this was dying. This was what came after.
Then I get pushed.
Noise. Movement. A sharp pain that tears through me and rips out a scream I don't understand.
"Hold on, ma'am," a voice says. "There's still one more. You're almost done."
And again, darkness.
***
Being a child isn't the hard part.
Well. Yeah, it is, if you're me.
But the worst part is remembering.
Not being able to speak properly. Not being able to move your hands the way you want. Not seeing anything at all… and at the same time feeling everything. And on top of that, that undignified detail of life: messing yourself because you can't control anything.
I don't recommend reincarnation.
To whatever forces out there—the ones responsible for my situation—I only have one complaint: they could've made it more elegant. I've read transmigration stories. This looks like none of them.
For example: how the hell do people "see perfectly" at birth? I couldn't see anything. Everything was black, or blurry, or a world made of shadows and sounds.
I got scammed.
I learned patience. I learned the art of doing absolutely nothing… because, honestly, I couldn't do anything else besides cry about everything.
But fine. Let's leave those "beautiful" memories behind.
My body is five years old.
Finally.
I can move. Talk. And thank God, I don't depend on anyone for the basics anymore.
I have different parents.
They're good. Patient. They take care of me.
They're not mine.
You don't get over that. You learn to live with it. To swallow it without choking every day.
And I have a twin sister.
I love her. She's my sister. And I'm the older one again… even if it's only by minutes.
Guess my face when I heard our last name.
Granger.
"Stop." That was my first thought. "This is a coincidence."
I didn't want to believe it at first. But when your twin is named Hermione, and over the years she starts looking way too much like someone you've already seen… there's no way to deny it.
I'm in the damn Harry Potter world.
***
Now they call me Hadrien.
At first that name didn't feel like mine. Over time it stopped bothering me.
Not because I fully accepted it.
But because I didn't have a choice.
And the important part: magic.
Capital M.
The first time you feel it, it's like discovering a new sense. Something strange, deep. At first I thought it was my stomach, because… baby. Babies are always hungry.
But no.
It's something else.
I've tried doing magic without a wand, like Tom did. Emphasis on tried.
It doesn't work. Or not how I want it to.
I feel something move inside me, like it's responding to an impulse. It comes out… and fades before it becomes anything real. Maybe I still don't have enough. Maybe I'm missing a shape. Maybe I'm missing everything.
Frustrating.
Let's go back to less mystical topics.
My family: Dan, Emma, and Hermione. A typical British family for the time, from what I can tell. Both dentists, pretty successful. A well-kept house. Routines. Real love. The kind of love that doesn't shout, but is always there.
Hermione is still a pure kid. Without that shadow of insecurity I remember from canon. Without that need to prove she's worth something. And, honestly, she's the cutest creature on the planet.
Now that I'm "older"—mentally speaking—I understand why parents adore their daughters.
Still, sometimes a light sadness hits when I look at her. She reminds me of my sister from before. And it hurts.
But I'm going to get over it.
I have to.
And I definitely don't like primary school.
Jesus. I've got, like, twenty-seven years in my head, added up and stirred together, and I have to share air with kids who are barely learning how to think without tripping over it.
I tolerate them. Of course I do.
But I don't have to like it.
I stand out, yeah. Not enough to look like some unnatural prodigy, but enough to notice the contrast. And I'm not skipping years.
I want peace and quiet before eleven.
***
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