AN: Hello, everyone. The formatting of this story has been causing a bit of a bother probably due to some mistakes on my end, I hope this time things will be fixed though. I feel it only fair to say that I have a habit of getting writer block for long periods of time before getting inspiration out of the blue, so release times may vary. This is also a hobby of mine that I wish to improve on so I'd request that if anyone has any pointers or tips then please feel free to give them in a review.

A famous man once said death is but only the next great adventure, my first one though wasn't really all that interesting. Born to a decent family neither poor or wealthy and no real clue what I wanted to do as I grew up I went on to study drama. That's not to say I was the most confident or social person, in fact a lot of the time I was on the outskirts looking in, a little too nervous to take the step into the deep end. So imagine my surprise when I was good at it; acting, being on a stage in front of people entertaining a crowd with the smiles that I always struggled to make. I was ecstatic finally something I could do. When the offer to go to the London Drama School came up I went for it. It was the beginning of a new adventure.

Back in June 2016, just a few months ago actually, I was interviewed by the London Drama School which composed of two pieces and a small follow up interview. This unlike so many other things to me meant something, so where usually I was calm, collected and just a little not bothered, this time I was anxious, terrified and very much bothered. In a way I think those emotions helped me during my performances. Either way my pieces as Abigail from the crucible and Juliet from Romeo and Juliet passed, and with flying colours. I couldn't be more ecstatic when the confirmation letter came through.

Now three months later I was on the way to my next adventure.

Since I originally lived in the Scottish city of Glasgow, which was a seven hour journey by car living at home was impossible, though I still wanted to try if only to stick with my family. My mum had quickly rid me of any plans for getting the hour and a half plane journey everyday. So now I was on a coach to London for the campus accommodation, settling in day.

Now please don't assume because my dad wasn't taking me by car he didn't love me or the world was ending. In reality my mum had bought me the 'accommodation essentials' as approved by her. Yup, she went overboard. So now I was on a coach carrying carrying over a bagadazillion ton (yes it's a real number) of 'accommodation essentials' while speeding along the M6. Well not me, but the driver on the coach I was on, same thing really.

It was just around this point that things went horribly wrong. With little traffic we were moving along quickly, as was everyone else on the roads. This included the long haul truck going just under the speed limit. Speeding or not however meant very little when a sudden tyre puncture lead the rig right into our buses back bumper. The rest of the bus braced themselves, me… Well I jolted and dropped my iPhone. When the world faded to black I don't think it was because the iPhone bigger than my hand hit my head.

At 1pm on the 5th of June 1980, Narcissa Malfoy is admitted to the maternity ward of St Mungo's. After nine months of pregnancy she has finally entered labour. The event is not an entirely pleasant one as she spends much of the time alone, her husband Lucius already preoccupied with a Death Eater raid is unable to arrive until four hours since she was administered. It is a grim experience hearing her scream for the next two hours until finally the effort pays off.

They have two perfectly healthy children, a boy and a girl. The boy, the older twin is named Draco Lucius Malfoy after his father, while the girl is named Aurora Narcissa Malfoy after her mother. For this moment the propriety of their station is forgotten in place of the joy of first time parents. This will be a moment they hold onto.

Three years later and Narcissa finds it difficult to think how her life would be without the twins; she knows they're probably what kept her going even when the war progressed until its sudden ending. So many times when her husband left the house she found herself alone, helping them learn to walk and talk, their hilarious babbles distracting her long enough for Lucius to return safely home.

She remembers the first time they walked, Draco was first. Though Aurora seemed to stand first she seemed anxious of the moving part until her brother showed her how. Narcissa's princess got him back though when she spoke her first words earlier, her heart felt like putty when her little girl told them 'I luv yooo'. Admittedly their pride may have gotten away from them at that moment as they began to fight tooth and nail to get Draco to say their name first. In the end up his first word had been 'No'. She didn't think she'd ever seen Lucius pout before then.

Due to the baby boom of the first wizarding war Narcissa has many people to talk to when it comes to raising her children. It is to her surprise then that so many of her fellow purebloods, and a few less desirables, though they are not personally asked, speak of the terrible trouble they have with their children. At the time Narcissa can't understand what they mean - Aurora is an active little girl and terribly bright with the word prodigy already looming over her head, but at the same time so well behaved. Draco is different... more privileged but well behaved all the same, and easily managed. The troublesome toddlers are nowhere in sight, until they appear so quickly it must be a horrible curse.

Half way through their threes, on the 20th of December the Yule ball comes around and Aurora finally misbehaves, just not in a way either parent can truly oppose.

The bones family are meant to be holding the event this year, as a largely neutral party during the war and neither pro-dark or light they were chosen as a safe host. The party was meant to start at four, it's already ten minutes past. If they're quick they might just be fashionably late. In the entrance hall Lucius is ready in his tuxedo and dress robes, while in his arms a similarly dressed Draco is scratching at the collar of his robes a face of disgust printed across his face due to the 'poor quality' most likely, it is a shame there own tailor doesn't specialise in children's clothing Narcissa thinks.

Still in one of the female dressing rooms Narcissa is dressed in a slytherin green formal evening dress with a sophisticated hemline that reaches her ankles. On the other hand Aurora... well, her dress is a little crumpled and her small stubby limbs are struggling to find a way in. Her mother has already tried to help, as have the house elves but the little princess has already put her foot down with a pout that would be adorable if her defiance wasn't so Gryffindor. After fifteen variations though Aurora has finally perfected 'No, I want to do it myself.'.

"Really, dear it would be quicker if..."

"...No, I want to do it myself."

"Sweetheart wouldn't it be easier..."

"No."

"We're going to be late"

The young toddler paused, looking surprisingly nervous as she stared down at the defiant dress which just didn't want to go on. If she hadn't she might have seen Narcissa unsheathing her wand.

"Trabeas" The elder witch intoned as the dress which was once on the ground found itself sitting comfortably on her daughter's shoulders, then with a flick and a command of "Scourgify" her daughter's dress looked brand new and they were ready to go.

"Now come along child, we don't have all day."

"But mum..."

Usually in these stories the one reincarnated has this horrific moment where they're pushed out their new mothers vagina confused, disorientated and screaming. Well either that or they're the silent, watching devil baby. Anyway they then go on to have horrific memories of their babyhood learning to walk, talk and most disturbingly use the toilet. In the other case they get dreams which slowly reveal their past life. For me however as my brain developed, my memories returned slowly merging my past life and this new one to form what my parents knew as me, Aurora.

With the development of my long term memory, by the age of four my earliest memory was actually of my mum, Narcissa Malfoy trying to teach me how to eat properly as a respectable woman... when I was one and a half at the time. The fact my reply had been to childishly slingshot my food at her had caused me to giggle more than a few times when I found myself bored. Which was surprisingly often considering I was a 'mature' seventeen year old in a toddlers body.

That's not to say I was a bad child, just that when I got bored I could get a little more creative than others of my age or amuse myself by simply being a child. For the most part though I was exceptionally mature for my age, mentally if not physically. It was because of this and the sharp progression that had dwarfed most of the other magical children that I'd been heaped with praise. I couldn't deny I was spoiled. The new toys and clothes where just a bonus when seeing my stoic dad with a real smile or mummy bragging when she thought I couldn't hear (Of course a Lady Black never brags, they merely inform their lesser's of the importance of their accomplishments).

You've probably realised by now I haven't really talked much about how I felt learning just who my family was, and exactly where I was. The truth is when I learned just who my parents where I didn't care. I couldn't, my parents were kind and caring where Rowling portrayed them as ruthless and cold. Intellectually I knew they could be both but that big part of me, the innocence of a child and a teenager who's greatest tragedy was failing their higher history exam first time around rejected such cruel perceptions of such loving people. After all if Rowling's stories were so focused on the power of love my parents were practically beaming with it.

That wasn't to say though I took it all well, learning I was in the world of Harry Potter was... difficult, I admit.

The first time I heard mention of a Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived adventure book, about a boy saving princesses from dragons before returning home to his palace in Camelot, left me feeling physically sick knowing just how fantasised that story was when a child out there was suffering, I knew rationally it was doubtful the Dursley's had started anything yet but still I couldn't stop thinking just how luxurious my life was when he lived in a cupboard. My parents worried a lot for an entire week after that as I constantly shifted between depressed and scared. Depressed for Harry, and terrified of the coming war which would drag my entire family into it. Including my big brother.

Little Draco who fell to sleep every night listening to one of our parents read the Harry Potter adventure stories, or other magical bedtime stories. The same brother who followed me around and tried to get me to play tag, and then blamed me for starting it when mum caught us, ok he wasn't perfect but he was normal. He was a child, and I couldn't stop the nightmares about how that thing, that monster in human form who'd mark him at the start of sixth year if the story was true.

I had many nightmares about Voldemort now that I knew he was real.

By the point I was self-aware, I was so used to seeing magic that some of the interest was gone, not entirely of course I was still a child (and always had been at heart) when it came to the idea of magic. Either way by the third month of my fourth year without the inclination to run about like Draco I was bored. So I went back on an old hobby from my past life, I searched for a book to read.

One problem, I didn't know where the books were. Sure I knew there was a library somewhere but the Malfoy mansion had more than fifty rooms, more than half of which I'd never entered. Sure I could spend the entire day on tiny legs searching for the mythical land of books, but babyhood had made me lazy... so I asked the house elves. They were great help, though I wish Mr Beggle didn't cry when I said 'thank you', it made me feel bad and rather reluctant to ever ask again.

Stepping into the library was an experience like very few others, the bookcases that lined the wall spread from corner to corner of the room with only a space for the window. Each of the bookcases seemed to carry hundreds and hundreds of books, a sobering thought passed through my head as I realised even in a decade I would only be cracking the proverbial shell, there was just so many.

What surprised me the most however was despite the bookshelves reaching the roof there was no ladder as would be expected in a library of this size. The reason was obvious when I thought about it of course, these where wizards if they wanted a book they'd summon it, such a demeaning activity as having to climb a ladder to reach a book they'd only read once was unnecessary. It also meant I couldn't get to any of the older books, I realised as my head craned up to the top before scanning down to the bottom three rows which I could reach. They where all children books.

In the centre of the second shelf though one stuck out amongst them all with the name 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' in golden writing on top of a weighty brown leather cover. As my chubby fingers wrapped around the book and slid it free with a grunt, only to drop it when the weight held up by the shelf transferred entirely to me. Luckily however the book missed my toes as it snapped open on the ground, my eyes meeting the line after line of text as I realised a problem...

...My parents hadn't taught me enough to read. Not really anyway. Sure, they'd taught me the basics which would be expected for someone my age, so I could read a muggle nursery or pre-school book but even the 'children' books here had words I'd never encountered in this world. After all how common was it someone explains what a bard is when the ABCs use 'Broom'. At least I knew because of my past life but my parents didn't know that. I'd been an exceptionally quick learner from an outside perspective but I wasn't entirely eager to push the limits of belief. So I needed a teacher, and I knew where to get one.

Maybe mum would have been easier.

Right now I was rather regretting asking Dad if he'd teach me to read, come to think of it I should have picked another book, one with pictures preferably. The script of text probably gave him the wrong idea. Now we were in his study, my feet hanging off the large chair facing him and his desk, it was rather intimidating especially for a four year old. Daddy was oblivious though as he stared at me with piercing eyes. His hands clenched together as he leaned on his elbows against the desk.

"Me and your mother planned to start both you and your brothers lessons when you turned five."

"Oh..." I whispered, nervously pushing my thumbs together. He sounded so impersonal, as though he'd flicked a switch and now I was only seeing Lucius Malfoy rather than my father. The fact he'd changed so suddenly into something I didn't recognise scared me.

"We can change this." Lucius said, he was in his business deal mode. He didn't really interact with many children. Whatever he saw in my face though caused him to blink before a silence fell over us. I didn't know what to say as he stared at me again before he spoke softly this time. "If you would like."

I nodded.

"It wouldn't just be reading. You would have other studies."

"I'm bored Daddy."

"You will be expected to ask your mother."

"But..."

"I will ask after."

"Why?"

"...some things are easier that way."

So after my Father had subtly convinced me to bend Mother to his plan, where he wanted to provide numerous tutors early I got what I wanted, with a tutor to teach English. I should have clarified what he meant by 'other studies' however, because I ended up also learning; Arithmetic, writing, etiquette, dance, music, additional languages (French, Latin and Old English), Pureblood culture, magical history, geography and politics. It was a lot. On the plus side, I wasn't bored any more.

Somehow though Draco had also got included into my little plot. To say he wasn't happy was an understatement. I was constantly stuck between feeling overly guilty and extremely curious, wondering if Dad had looked the same way when he had thrown a strop. I decided such a look of devastation on the mature pureblood was impossible.

Lucius is used to making deals, after all the Malfoy family is one of the wealthiest in the country even after the peculiar loss of funds during the time he was wrongly accused as a Death Eater after Voldemort's fall. In his experiences he's learned to be cunning, cold and unrelenting in the search of an advantage. By the time his children are born these qualities are second nature to him, and he does not deny that it is difficult to keep this side of his personality hidden around them. Their childish innocence does much to hold less savory masks back... though it does not always succeed.

It is why when one of his children, whom he has fought tooth and nail over with Narcissa to give the best education as soon as possible (Narcissa believes their own teaching will suffice until their children have learned how to behave and function properly. It is obvious she worries about the insanity of her black blood and most of all in her scarily intelligent daughter who), requests to learn and in the process reminds him of so many discussions that his mask slips on. She is only three, but this same subject has been brought up with Narcissa so many times that he finds himself treating the child just like her mother. They look so alike in that regard, Aurora may have his hair but the face is all her mother's. So when Lucius see's that face fill with fear and uncertainty like he's never seen before it's a slap to his face, and he realises this is his fault.

When he is alone, away from those scared eyes he makes a choice. He shall pay her back in the only way he knows how; not with awkward hugs and nervous kisses but instead with a future. Narcissa be damned they will get that education…. though he will be careful. Don't want another Bellatrix of course.

Dad was weird after getting our lessons scheduled with some of the most renowned tutors in the world; he became more distant. His smiles were weaker and his actions uncomfortably tense. I wish I could have said I noticed it instantly but with the amount of lessons I had and daily incursions to the library I didn't.

It was Draco who noticed first, it was the real reason he'd been distant to me after my meeting with Lucius, he didn't really care about the extra lessons, he was more worried about Dad. I didn't believe him. There was no way I could have missed something which Draco had apparently noticed weeks ago considering how long he'd been in a mood with me for.

Dad had always been slightly distant after all, not in a bad way just in the way of someone who wants to do good but isn't sure where the boundaries are. The moment I looked however it was blatantly obvious and I felt like I had been sucker punched. I hadn't noticed how uncomfortable he'd been when I should have, and it left me feeling like the worst daughter in the world. So I went about figuring out a way to solve it, a way to break through that barrier he'd put up between us.

I called it Operation: Icebreaker; and so for the next four months Lucius was ambushed, assaulted and attacked by a roaming four and a half year old with the most grippiest hugs in all the land.

It worked. Sorta.

The first time I hugged Dad after beginning my operation was exceptionally awkward. For whatever reason he'd been naturally avoiding me, not enough to be malicious or intentionally cold but in a cautious way as if approaching an injured animal. I neither appreciated or desired the comparison; even if it was only in my own head, so instead I would be the viper in the grass, the predator in wake.

After a few days of preparation following dad's schedule I waited for him in a corridor that lead from his office to the main hall. Luckily for my patience he hadn't been long when I caught sight of him and instantly charged. The tightening of his stance caused him to look as though he was ready to hex me with his wand, which knowing even rumours of his duelling prowess left me having to consciously fight to continue charging.

I couldn't back down now though, to retreat now would be to surrender and cripple any self-confidence my father would have around me, and so I leapt. My eyes only beginning to close as he loosened the tight grip on his wand just in time to catch a mini-missile that slammed into him with a padded thump before tiny arms were wrapping around his chest from underneath his armpits. My eyes shut closed I ignored the rigid tension of his frame that left me ever so slightly worried before I dipped my head into the crook of dad's neck and sighed. It would be a long road.

I just didn't realise how long. After the first hug rather than freeze awkwardly, instead my father would flinch away from me as though burnt by scalding water. It hurt. Still every time I did so I would see the same hurt mixed in his own eyes, only mixed with shame. So I continued to push; hugging harder and longer every time until the heat of my body began to thaw whichever fear he held to hold me.

Then one day, almost four months after my relentless pursuit something changed. This time rather than freeze or flinch he reacted, clutching me closer. It wasn't exactly a hug since his hands were busy gripping my armpit but still it was closer than I'd ever gotten before from him… and it felt like magic.

Speaking of magic I hadn't mentioned it much. The truth is it I didn't think of it often, living for four years with the existence of the house elves was more than enough to disenchant myself to the basics. After all the novelty of a wand flick erasing a smudge of dirt wore off quickly the same way a brand new washing machine would. And it wasn't as if anyone in the house often exhibited spectacular magic like a dragon made of fire. That would be irresponsible and Mum would be livid if anyone damaged the wooden flooring. So over time I forgot about the true wonder of magic as it settled into the back of my thoughts.

That wasn't to say I ever forgot about the existence of magic. That would be impossible, for my past life had given me one advantage to the rest of my world. I could sense magic. Where others could be born with a sensitivity or even learn it my past life's lack of magic meant I had a distinct feel for what was different between our two lives.

Such as the magic that pumped through my veins giving my body a subtle strength which was probably the reason I'd never been sick in this life. How if I concentrated I could feel the flow and how it clumped into a ball in the center of my chest. The same way I could feel the way the ambient magic would seep into the pores of my skin especially around my hands. It left me extremely self-aware.

That wasn't even touching on the magic outside my body. The way I could feel the wards of Malfoy manor welcoming me like an elderly grandparent, a feeling of safety and serenity as it wrapped around me like a well worn blanket or a warm hug. While in the rare few other homes I'd went to, the wards had felt like persistent nannies forever watching for naughty little girls. I never gave them a reason to show their potential punishments. As a result most people assumed I was a little angel in a horde of demonic toddlers (it wasn't really wrong so I didn't correct them.)

In purebloods culture it was common to restrict children to social gatherings and play dates where their parents would constantly watch them to ensure they wouldn't create any grudges at a young age. It meant I hadn't ever been to the Ministry of Magic or Diagon Alley, two places I had to admit I longed to see just to feel the magic in the air. Nevermind Hogwarts. Still I suppose on the positive side I'd been in more mansions than in my past life, and feeling the difference between the growling guard dog wards of the Crabbe family in contrast to the soft welcoming of the Greengrass wards and everything in between was amazing.

People even more so. When I felt for father his presence felt like an arctic tundra with blizzard winds, though rather than hurt me they felt protective as if they could feel my own probing magic. In contrast mothers was a desert with deep caverns which hid the treasure she held dear. Draco's was an igloo hiding a soft fire within. Each of them was fascinating…. and yet one day I realised I couldn't feel my own.

The shock was terrifying and left me horribly confused. With no explanation my mind quickly turned to the worse. The possibility I was a squib.

Now I know what you're thinking, 'your not a squib, you can sense magic'. The truth is so can any squib unlucky enough. After all a squib is born with enough magic to resist the passive effects of muggle repellent wards or drink a potion, but they can't use the magic in their body. It's a horrible fate; to be looking in on a world of wonder and yet never be truly part of it.

So I ignored it, burrowing my head in the sand (Like so many other Wizards with problems. Hmm. Maybe it's genetic.) and hiding it behind excuses. After all I was the pureblood daughter of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, two of the strongest bloodlines of my time. I was part of the genetic jackpot with a golden ticket before it even began, nothing like the muggleborns who relied on pure luck. To even suggest I would become anything other than a magnificent witch was ridiculous and so I squashed those niggling fears under my heel.