With classes over for the day, I made my way to the library, seeking solace in the quiet hum of turning pages and the scent of old parchment. The vast shelves stretched endlessly around me, the air thick with the smell of books—each one a doorway, a fragment of infinite possibility.

  Today's focus was non-lethal spells—a necessary addition to my growing arsenal. When the time came to face the Dark Lord, brute force wouldn’t always be the answer.

  The towering shelves surrounded me like ancient sentinels, their presence familiar and comforting. The sight stirred a sense of nostalgia, not for a past I had lived, but for the knowledge lost to time. There were entire ages of wisdom that had withered away, crumbling into dust, known now only to the dead.

  And I had met many of them.

  I had expected to read in peace.

  Instead, I was met with disappointment.

  "I can't believe you treated her like that," Draco’s voice cut through the silence, piercing and unrelenting.

  I blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all people, Draco Malfoy—the self-proclaimed mudblood-hater—was lecturing me about morality?

  I gave him a dry look. "Why do you care?"

  Draco closed his book with a deliberate snap, his gaze firm. "Because you're my friend, Ben—regardless of your origins. And whether you admit it or not, you care about her."

  I scoffed. "She's important for the prophecy. That’s all."

  Draco exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You, who can’t even fly a broom, threw yourself out of a bloody window after her," he pointed out. "That wasn’t strategy. That wasn’t logic. That was instinct. It’s obvious to anyone watching—you care about her, whether you realize it or not."

  "It was worth the risk," I argued.

  "You think so because she’s special to you. And because I care about you, I’ve decided not to mind her existence so much." His lips twitched, as if amused by his own words. "Who am I to judge? If she makes you happy, then that’s what matters. The choice is always yours. But you’re unbelievably oblivious and stubborn."

  I sat there, slack-jawed, absorbing the sheer magnitude of what I had just heard.

  Draco Malfoy.

  The same Draco Malfoy who had once spat pureblood ideology like a second language… was telling me he had reconsidered his stance because he valued my friendship.

  I knew he had been reading Merlin’s texts—diving deeper into morality and philosophy—but this? I hadn’t predicted this.

  "...You’re different," I muttered.

  Draco smirked. "I’ve been learning. You should try it sometime."

  I frowned, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. "Even if I… cared for her, it wouldn’t be right." I gestured vaguely. "Draco, I am ancient. Older than this world itself. If I were to love her, it would be wrong. Not to mention, I have to leave when the balance is restored."

  Draco hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, about that—I’ve been thinking."

  He steepled his fingers, his eyes glinting with something sharp.

  "You said your other godlike siblings can maintain the balance for decades without it completely unraveling, right?"

  I hesitated. "...Yes."

  Draco tilted his head. "So what difference does one whole lifetime make?"

  My fingers clenched around the edges of my book.

  "It’s… minimal at first," I admitted. "But the damage snowballs. Over time, even small disruptions can accumulate—growing into something uncontrollable."

  Draco raised an eyebrow. "And how much time are we talking, exactly?"

  I sighed, rubbing my temples. "A few hundred years, give or take."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Draco grinned.

  "So, it’s not a real issue, then, is it?"

  I scowled. "Possibly not, but we’ve had two Dark Lords in a row. Who’s to say another one isn’t already on the horizon? If I stay too long, the damage caused by my absence could be exploited."

  Draco rolled his eyes. "Right. And what if that never happens? What if you’re worrying about something that won’t even be a problem? What then?"

  I opened my mouth to argue—but nothing came out.

  Because for once, I didn’t have an answer.

  Draco sat forward, his expression serious now. "You can’t live your entire existence waiting for disaster. If something happens, you deal with it. But if it doesn’t?"

  He shook his head.

  "Then you’ve wasted the one and only life you were ever given."

  His words struck something deep in me—something uncomfortable.

  But he wasn’t done.

  "You keep saying you’re ancient, that you’ve lived millions of years," he continued. "But that’s a lie, isn’t it?"

  I frowned. "No. I was—"

  "No, you weren’t." Draco cut me off. "You weren’t living, Ben. You were working. You’ve spent eons doing a job—serving the living, guiding the dead, maintaining balance. That isn’t living.

  This? This is living. And it’s a life worth living.

  Especially with you in it."

  Silence stretched between us.

  I stared at him, feeling something shift inside me.

  Something I didn’t quite understand yet.

  Draco leaned back with a smirk, crossing his arms. "You look like you just had an existential crisis. You alright?"

  I exhaled, shaking my head. "...No. I think you just broke me."

  Draco chuckled. "Yeah, well, it’s about time someone did."

  I turned my gaze downward, absently running my fingers along the spine of my book.

  A life worth living.

  Could I really have that?

  Do I even want that?

  For the first time since my creation, I am uncertain.

  After all my eternity of staying steadfast to my duty, why am I now so conflicted?

  So drawn to this mortal life.

  "You think you know what it's like to be a Primordial?" I muttered, quieter now, the weight of my own existence pressing down on me. "The responsibility alone would break the most formidable of mortals."

  Draco didn’t flinch. His gaze remained steady.

  "No," he admitted. "But what will you tell Cedric? What will he think of all of this?"

  My stomach lurched.

  I had been dreading that very thought.

  I didn't respond. I didn’t know how.

  Draco followed my gaze and gestured toward a nearby table.

  "Well, here he is," he said, pointing to Cedric, who sat reading beside a girl I could only assume was the “Cho Chang” he’d mentioned.

  A sinking feeling settled in my chest. "What are you—"

  Draco cut me off, eyes gleaming. "If it all means nothing, then why not tell him? If you don't do it now, then when? It only gets harder the longer you wait."

  He raised an eyebrow.

  "Or are you just soft like the rest of us?"

  A volatile mix of emotions surged in me—indignation, anger, righteousness—rising to meet the fear that had rooted itself within me.

  Against my better judgment, and with a burst of misplaced courage, I stood. I was going to prove Draco wrong.

  I watched Cedric’s date come to a close—a brief, gentle kiss goodbye before she walked off, smiling to herself.

  Then I stepped forward.

  “Hey Cedric, can we talk for a moment?”

  I didn’t call him brother. Not now. Somehow, in this moment, the word felt too heavy. Like saying it aloud would break something sacred.

  Cedric turned toward me, a bit surprised. “Ben! How long have you been there, little bro?” His cheeks were tinged with a light flush.

  “Not long. And… it’s not about you.”

  I hesitated.

  His smile faded slightly. “What is it?”

  I took a breath I didn’t need, steadying myself.

  “I’m not who I seem.”

  He blinked. “Ben, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m not just a wizard. I’m a particular kind of magical being—one that was incarnated into this world after the destruction of the Chosen One.”

  He stared at me, brows furrowing.

  “Pfft!” Cedric laughed—but it didn’t last. The librarian shushed him, and he gave a sheepish “Sorry” in return.

  “Cedric, think about it,” I continued. “All the strange things about me. I’ve always been magical—not talented. Magical. Because I was born from magic itself. This life… it isn’t natural. It was created. Crafted to mend the prophecy—to finish what fate began.”

  His smile disappeared entirely.

  “No…” he whispered. “That can’t be…”

  His voice dropped low, barely restrained. “You’re saying... you’re not really my brother?”

  “It was the only way,” I said.

  His fists clenched at his sides. “Then you were never my brother,” he growled. “Not really.”

  I swallowed, throat dry. “That… could be said to be accurate.”

  “Why us?” His voice trembled with emotion. “Why our family? Why not any other?”

  “Because you were meant to die,” I said quietly. “That was your fate. But in exchange for Harry’s sacrifice and the creation of this vessel… you were allowed to live. A full life.”

  His silence was louder than any scream.

  Then, more softly: “And Mom? Dad? Do you think it would hurt them any less if they lost you now? Do you think Mom wouldn’t—wouldn’t die of heartbreak?”

  Something snapped in me.

  My chest tightened. My eyes burned.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t know. I didn’t feel things like this before—I didn’t have feelings like this. Not like this. I didn’t understand what family meant, not really—not until now. I never thought I’d care this much…”

  The world stood still.

  Then—arms. Around me.

  A hug.

  Warm. Human. Forgiving.

  “Then it wasn’t all a lie,” Cedric murmured into my shoulder. “You are my brother. We don’t always get to choose the kind we get, do we?”

  Tears stung harder. My voice cracked. “You… forgive me?”

  Cedric nodded, holding me tighter. “Yes. But no more secrets, Ben. Whatever this is, we deal with it together. We can’t let either of us die before Mom and Dad. They’d never recover.”

  “Thank Creation…” I breathed. The relief was almost too much. Like something heavy, buried deep inside, had finally been lifted.

  But Cedric, of course, wasn’t done.

  He pulled back, just enough to meet my gaze. His brow arched.

  “Oh, and by the way…”

  He smirked.

  “What kind of magical creature were you, Ben?”