Pain. Searing pain. My lungs burned screaming for oxygen. Longing for just one gulp of the fresh life sustaining air. Suddenly there was an immense pressure in my head and my entire body felt like it was being twisted and compressed.

I remember hearing once that having a heart attack was like having an elephant sitting on your chest. Well if that's true then this pressure was like having a herd of elephants stamping on my chest, for I had never felt anything like it. The way my body was squeezed through a space that was surely much too small for a body to fit. I thought it would never end that my entire existence had been sentenced to this pain, this pressure, this eternal torment, when suddenly there was a blinding light

I gasped my lungs filling with oxygen, my chest expanding as it filled with the sweet air. Nothing had ever tasted as good. My muscles relaxed, the tight pressure finally being relieved and then there was screaming. A shrill ear-piercing scream and my mouth was open and I realised I was the one screaming. I tried to control myself. I really did, I was 17 years old for goodness sake, I was not about to be reduced to a whimpering mess by a bit of pain. But in spite of all that I screamed and it felt so good.

And then I felt my body being wrapped in a soft material and I felt hands grab me and there was a slight lurch in my stomach as my body was moved without my consent. I was placed in a pair of arms and in spite of myself my shrieking was reduced to a mere whimper and then ceased completely. For I had never felt as warm and as safe as I did nestled in those warm caring arms.

I opened my eyes looking for a glimpse at my saviour but all I saw were blurred shapes. I squinted trying to make sense of the blur of colour which had all melded together. I could just about make out two big blobs and one small blob

The first was the big soft blob that held me and instilled in me the greatest calm I had felt since, well I couldn't even remember feeling this calm. The second big blob was the tall blob and though I couldn't make out its features there seemed to be a sense of pride radiating off it that created a fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then there was the last blob, distinctly smaller than the other two and far less stationary. It seemed almost as if to vibrate and then it was closer, right in front of my face and I felt the arms that held me move as the soft blob was wobbled slightly by the presence of the smaller blob. Then the small blob stuck out one of its blobby appendages towards me and I felt a sharp jab in my face as I was poked.

It didn't hurt, not really. But I had been startled out of the intoxicating sense of calmness the soft blob had put me in. Broken from my trance I started to whimper, my lip trembling.

And then, before I was given an opportunity to extend my cries beyond a soft whimper, the small blob placed its blobby finger into my hand and in a completely reflexive action I wrapped my fingers around it, clinging to it.

Suddenly my eyes felt heavy and my eyelids drooped. As I listened to the soft beating sound that came from the warm chest of the soft blob I drifted off into sleep. But before I succumbed to the sleep I found myself thinking that I liked this small blob.

In the consequent days I made a lot of rather startling discoveries.

Turns out that the blobs do in fact have names and those names are not Soft blob, Tall blob and Small blob.

Also turns out the blobs are not actually blobs. Once the blurry cloud that overwhelmed my vision finally cleared, I was able to expertly deduce that the blobs are in fact people.

And finally, this one's not that important but I thought I should mention it anyway, turns out that I am actually STUCK INSIDE A BABY'S BODY.

But I mean there's no need to panic right. It's not like I went from being 17 one day to being stuck inside the body of a baby the next.

But really everything is totally fine and I am absolutely positively not freaking out. I mean sure I can't do anything for myself but it's not like I'm completely helpless, except, oh wait, that's exactly what it's like.

At the beginning I couldn't remember what had happened before I became trapped in this impossible situation. I could remember the entire life that I had before this one but the moments before my 'birth' were completely blank.

But gradually it came back to me. I remember driving home. It was late. I turned the corner. I remember headlights coming out of nowhere. The screeching of my brakes. The car swerved. There was a crash. And then pain.

And now I'm here. They say that when you lose someone you love it'll hurt but it'll get easier everyday until you eventually learn to live with the pain. But there's not much advice out there in regards to grieving yourself. How does one go about mourning their own death? Well not really death, I'm still alive after all, but loss. The loss of my life and everything I had.

Being re-born is something very hard to comprehend. It doesn't exactly come with a hand book but I suppose I'm luckier than most. If this was an ordinary situation I would've been gone, there would have been no second chances. Maybe that's what this is, a second chance for a girl who died before she had even started living.

Either way it's all rather a lot to deal with. I guess I was lucky I had a lot to distract myself with. The main distraction being observing all I could about the blobs, or rather my new family.

First there's my mother (a.k.a. Soft blob) and while she's still soft and warm, she looks distinctly different when you can actually see her face. She has curly brown hair that spills down to her shoulders and a warm smile. Her soft brown eyes that are bordered by laugh lines, the slight creases imprinted in her milky skin. Her name is Celia. The thing about Celia is that she is always laughing. Her melodic laughter constantly ringing through the kitchen. She has one of those laughs that fill up her face. Her mouth opens up wide revealing her shiny teeth and her eyes light up, the resulting effect is truly beautiful. And if Celia really is my mother in this new life I'm living or 'mama' as she puts it, I can only hope that I will inherit some of her plentiful good looks. After all, I really think I deserve some sort of compensation for this situation.

The blob that I had ever so fondly dubbed, Tall blob is actually named Amos and he is for all intents and purposes, my father. He's tall ( I had gotten that part right at least) with a ruddy complexion and longish brown hair. He also favours stubbly beard that gives me a great aversion to the many kisses he sees fit to bestow on my small cheeks. Because apparently that's how one treats a baby, especially if that baby if their only daughter.

Which brings me to the third and final member of my new family, Cedric (or as you know him, small blob). Cedric clearly takes after Celia in the looks department. He's only three years old but I can already tell that he's going to be sickeningly good looking when he gets older. He has the same pale skin that both our parents have and atop his head sits a mass of shiny brown curls. He has our mother's big brown eyes, rosy red cheeks and dimples that he inherited from our father. However, if the red cheeks were naturally occurring or if they were a result of physical exertion I could never be certain because Cedric, like every young boy I'd ever met is extremely hyper-active.

From the minute he wakes up he's running through the house or trapaising throughout the garden. He only pauses for two reasons; the first being for food, I suppose he need to get his energy from somewhere and the second being for his favourite activity as of late, bothering his 'little' sister.

I had never been anybody's little sister before, heck I'd never been anybody's sister before, in my old life I had been an only child so this new experience of having a brother was interesting to the say the least.

Cedric loves to beg our mother to let him hold me, a request she always refuses, to my immense relief. You see I'm rather new to this baby thing and am still a bit unsettled in the steady arms of adults let alone in the smaller arms of hurricane Cedric.

So despite being thoroughly blocked from picking me up, he finds other ways to interact with me, such as rocking my rocker back and forth at dangerous speeds, waving stuffed animals in my face or simply poking my face himself.

However despite all this I found I rather enjoyed the company of my 'older' brother, who was without a doubt the most interesting family member to observe. As I had formerly been an only child of two only children, I didn't have much experience with children. So i discovered that it was rather enjoyable to be in the presence of someone so young and carefree.

Not only was spending time with my brother enjoyable but it was also critical if i wished to keep up the charade that I was an ordinary child. Because from watching Cedric I had come to the painstaking realisation that I had no idea how to act like a child. Sure it was alright now when all I was capable of doing was eating and sleeping but I had no idea at what rate a normal child develops. When was I meant to start walking? And how on earth do I know when I should say my first word?

I suppose one option would be to pass myself off as a child genius of sorts but given the circumstances I thought it was best to keep a low profile and pretend that I am an ordinary child and not a teenager stuck in a baby's body.

The portion of my day that I did not spend sleeping (baby's bodies are truly not equipped to do much else) or with Cedric was spent with my mother. I watched from my rocker as she bustled about the kitchen sweeping and polishing. Or I would lie nestled in her arms as she hummed. Or sometimes she would just talk, like she did today.

I lay in my rocker as she gently swung it back and forth with her foot.

'We've had a busy day today haven't we Beatrice' she mused softly.

Oh yes that's another detail I've forgotten, my name, Beatrice. It certainly is not the one that

'We cleaned the whole kitchen, didn't we? Your father doesn't believe me but magic just doesn't compare to good old elbow grease when it comes to cleaning' she stated, rolling her eyes, 'Sure I could just pick up my wand rhyme off a few spells but you can't get that shine using magic' she said, gesturing towards the oven.

These conversations I had with my mother would be rather enjoyable if it weren't for two reasons; the first being when she talks to me she insists on using that voice high-pitched voice that adults love to use when talking to babies ( it gets very old very fast) and the second being that half the time she simply makes no sense.

She's always saying things like that, talking about magic as if it's real and quite frankly I'm worried. Because I've grown rather attached to my new mother and the last thing I need is for her to be whisked off to a mental asylum.

My fretting however was rudely cut short as my own body betrayed me and I felt my eyelids becoming heavy. I tried to fight the wave of sleep threatening to overcome me, resulting in a yawn that caused my mother to coo. She began softly humming and I gave in and let sleep consume me.

It didn't take long for me to learn that my new family is very routine oriented and that a typical evening consisted of 3 things; dinner, a bath and a story.

After dinner, Cedric would dutifully march upstairs followed closely by father for a bath while I, being too small for the tub, was placed neatly in the sink that was filled to the brim with warm soapy water.

After our baths, mother went to the sitting room a cup of tea in one hand and one of her romance novels in the other. As for father, Cedric and I, we retired to Cedrics room. Where Cedric sat happily in his bed and I lay content in father's arms so that we may be read a story. Having been an avid reader in my past life I thoroughly enjoyed these moments spent with my father and brother and shockingly most of the tales we were read were not ones I had heard before. In my first inclusion in the story time I had been expecting the run of the mill, Cinderella or the Three Little Pigs but instead my father seemed to possses a story book that even I had not read before.

So this evening as mother sat on the couch with her copy of 'Spellbound' in hand (perhaps that's where she had been drawing her wild fantasies from), upstairs father with me balanced in one arm, and a book in the other, prepared to read.

He grinned at Cedric 'What'll it be tonight Ced?'

Cedric jumped up and down beneath his bed covers, his curls bouncing as he did 'Read the brothers, the brother is my favourite, can you read the brothers?'.

Father nodded 'Ah 'The Three Brothers', good choice' he looked down at me 'What do you think Bea?'

He looked at Cedric, shaking his head sadly 'You know what Ced, I don't think Bea wants to read 'The Three Brothers'' he looked down at me as if for confirmation 'Isn't that right darling?'

That's what I love about father; he always speaks to me like I'm person and not just a baby.

Cedric giggled 'Don't be silly dad, Bea's only a baby'.

If I could scoff, I would have. If only you knew Ceddy, if only you knew.

Dad grinned 'Alright Alright, 'The Three Brothers' it is'.

As dad began to read I found myself enthralled in the story. Dad really commits to his designated job as storyteller, adding tone to his his voice and putting on different accents for the characters.

However as dad read through the story I couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Unlike the other stories we had read I felt as if I had heard this one before, I just couldn't remember where. As dad expertely depicted death fashioning the invisibility cloak for the third brother it clicked.

Images flashed through my head of a boy with a lightning scar. Magic. Hogwarts. The Goblet of Fire. Cedric's name being picked. The triwizard tournament. The final task. Portkey. 'Kill the spare'.

I was screaming and this time completely of my own accord. Tears ran down my face and in the background of my horrified screams I could hear dad trying to subdue my cries. I wailed. This couldn't be happening. I had just about come to turn with my own death. I couldn't lose Cedric. Not Cedric, weweet Cedric with his angelic smile and his never ending energy. Not Cedric with his childlike innocence. Not Cedric. Not. My. Brother.

Because it didn't matter that I was a teenager stuck in a baby's body. It didn't matter that I died in her old life because this is my life now. This is my family and Cedric is my brother and I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt him, let alone a spineless idiot who thought wormtail of all things was a good nickname.

I stopped my screaming, my small lips still trembled but my eyes were alight with a new found vivacity. I was going to save Cedric no matter what it takes. Sorry Harry, but I am Beatrice Diggory and this is my story.