Christopher Sterling stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the hem of his skin-tight black t-shirt. It hugged his toned frame perfectly, a testament to years of rigorous training. His grey baggy joggers provided the comfort and mobility he always prioritized, while his black combat boots added a rugged edge to his look. At eleven years old, Christopher had an aura of confidence that belied his age, and today was no exception—he was going to Diagon Alley for the first time.
Excitement coursed through him as he grabbed his wandless magic-enhanced backpack, designed to hold all his purchases without weighing him down. He had been waiting for this day since the owl had delivered his Hogwarts acceptance letter. The thought of exploring the magical shops and streets he had read about in his past life filled him with anticipation.
Downstairs, his parents were already waiting. Eleanor Sterling, dressed in an elegant emerald-green dress paired with diamond earrings, looked every bit the sophisticated surgeon she was. Julian Sterling, in a tailored navy suit with a gold pocket watch, exuded the charm of a successful businessman. Their outfits screamed wealth and status, but their expressions were warm and full of pride as they watched their son descend the staircase.
Eleanor fussed over Christopher immediately. "Look at you! You've grown so much," she said, cupping his face and inspecting him as though she hadn't seen him in years. "And so strong! I swear you're going to outgrow your father soon."
Julian chuckled from behind her, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Strong enough to catch the attention of girls at Hogwarts, I bet," he teased with a wink.
Christopher rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Dad…"
"Don't 'Dad' me," Julian said with mock seriousness. "You're going to be breaking hearts left and right."
Eleanor swatted her husband lightly on the arm. "Stop teasing him! He has more important things to focus on than girls."
Christopher laughed at their banter but felt a pang in his chest as he thought about Diya. Despite all the love and support from his parents, there was still an ache in his heart—a longing for the girl he had lost in another life. Shaking off the melancholy, he focused on the day ahead.
The family stepped outside into their driveway where their sleek 1991 Bentley Continental R awaited them. The car gleamed under the morning sun, a symbol of their affluence and taste. Julian opened the door for Eleanor before climbing into the driver's seat himself.
Christopher slid into the backseat, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as they pulled out onto the road toward London's Leaky Cauldron. His mind raced with thoughts about what Diagon Alley would be like—the bustling cobblestone streets, magical shops filled with wonders, and witches and wizards going about their lives.
As they drove through London's busy streets, Christopher couldn't help but smile to himself.
The Leaky Cauldron was bustling with activity as Christopher Sterling stepped inside with his parents. The dimly lit pub, with its wooden beams and flickering lanterns, was alive with the chatter of witches and wizards. The air smelled faintly of butterbeer and roasted meat, and the atmosphere was thick with excitement. Christopher's sharp green eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. This was a place he had read about in his past life—a gateway to the magical world—and now, he was here.
But something else caught his attention. A crowd had gathered near the bar, buzzing with energy. Whispers filled the room.
"Harry Potter," someone murmured.
"It's him! The Boy Who Lived!"
Christopher's gaze shifted to the center of the commotion, where a small boy with messy black hair and round glasses stood awkwardly beside a giant of a man. The boy's lightning-shaped scar was Potter,Christopher thought, his heart skipping a beat. Beside Harry was Rubeus Hagrid, towering over everyone but looking sheepish as he tried to calm the excited crowd.
The noise grew louder as more people pressed forward to get a glimpse of Harry. Christopher could see the boy's discomfort, even from across the room. His parents, standing beside him, seemed oblivious to the commotion as they marveled at the magical surroundings.
Christopher frowned. He didn't like crowds—especially ones this chaotic—and he could sense Harry's unease. Without thinking, he let go of a fraction of his magic, allowing it to ripple outward like an invisible wave. For his parents, it felt warm and soothing, like a comforting embrace. But for everyone else in the room, it was oppressive—a heavy pressure that demanded attention and respect.
The effect was immediate. Conversations halted mid-sentence as people froze in place. Some staggered backward, their faces pale with shock. Hagrid dropped to one knee, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he struggled against the weight of Christopher's magic. A few witches and wizards even fainted, slumping into their chairs or onto the floor.
Only Harry remained unaffected. He stood still, his emerald eyes meeting Christopher's across the room. There was no fear in them—only curiosity and something deeper that Christopher couldn't quite place.
As the oppressive atmosphere subsided and people regained their composure, Christopher turned to his parents. "Let's move closer," he said calmly.
Eleanor and Julian nodded, still unaware of what had just happened as they followed their son through the parting crowd. When they reached Harry and Hagrid, Christopher extended a hand toward Harry.
"Hello," he said with a polite smile. "I'm Christopher Sterling."
Harry hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. "Harry Potter," he replied quietly.
"I know," Christopher said warmly. "It's nice to meet you."
Hagrid, still catching his breath, looked up at Christopher with wide eyes but said nothing.
As their parents exchanged pleasantries in the background, Christopher studied Harry closely. There was something about him—something powerful yet unrefined—that intrigued him deeply. For now, though, he simply smiled and said, "I think we're going to Hogwarts together."
Harry nodded slightly, his expression softening. "Yeah… I think we are."
After introducing himself to Harry Potter, Christopher Sterling turned to Hagrid with a polite request. "Excuse me, Mr. Hagrid," he said, his emerald-green eyes shining brightly. "I'm a Muggle-born, and I'm not sure how to access Diagon Alley. Could you help us?"
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. The bustling crowd in the Leaky Cauldron froze, their whispers growing louder as they processed what they had just heard. A boy who looked like he belonged in the upper echelons of wizarding society—a boy whose presence was so commanding it had brought even Hagrid to his knees—was claiming to be Muggle-born? It was unthinkable.
"Did he say Muggle-born?"
"But he looks like he's from an old family…"
"Look at his parents—they're clearly rich! How could he be Muggle-born?"
Christopher ignored the murmurs, his focus remaining on Hagrid, who had finally regained his composure. "Aye, lad," Hagrid said gruffly, standing up and brushing off his coat. "I'll show ye how to get in. Follow me."
Christopher nodded and gestured for his parents to follow him. Eleanor and Julian exchanged curious glances but said nothing as they walked behind their son, their elegant presence drawing even more attention from the crowd.
Hagrid led them through the back of the Leaky Cauldron to a small walled courtyard. He pulled out his pink umbrella and tapped a specific brick in the wall three times. The bricks began to shift and rearrange themselves, creating a large archway that revealed the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.
Christopher's breath caught as he stepped through the archway. The cobblestone streets were alive with magic—shops with colorful signs, witches and wizards bustling about, and the faint hum of enchantments in the air. It was everything he had imagined and more.
"Here we are," Hagrid said proudly, gesturing toward the alley. "Diagon Alley."
Christopher turned to Harry and smiled warmly. "Thanks for your help earlier," he said. "I guess I'll see you at Hogwarts?"
Harry nodded, his shy demeanor softening slightly. "Yeah… I'll see you on the train."
With that, Harry and Hagrid headed toward Gringotts Bank while Christopher turned to his parents. Julian clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, son," he said cheerfully, "let's get started."
The towering white structure of Gringotts Bank loomed ahead as they approached it. Goblins stood guard at its bronze doors, their sharp eyes scanning everyone who entered. Inside, the marble floors gleamed under the light of massive chandeliers, and rows of goblin tellers worked diligently behind their desks.
Julian approached one of the goblins at the counter with confidence. "I'd like to open an account for my son," he said.
The goblin looked up from his ledger with a calculating gaze before nodding curtly. "Follow me."
They were led down a corridor to an office where another goblin awaited them—a goblin dressed in finer robes with an air of authority about him. He introduced himself as Griphorn, an account manager for high-profile clients.
"Before we proceed," Griphorn said in a clipped tone, "we recommend conducting a heritage and magical ability test for your son. It will provide us with valuable information regarding his lineage and magical potential."
Julian frowned slightly but nodded. "Very well."
Christopher sat down at the desk as Griphorn placed a parchment and quill before him. "Place your hand on this parchment," Griphorn instructed.
Christopher did as he was told, feeling a faint tingle as magic surged through him and into the parchment. Words began to appear on it in shimmering ink:
Heritage Results:
Name: Christopher Sterling
Bloodline: Direct Descendant of Salazar Slytherin
Magical Ability Results:
Magical Core: Vast (Comparable to Pacific Ocean)
Special Attributes: Exceptional Wandless Magic Potential
The room fell silent as everyone stared at the parchment in shock. Eleanor gasped audibly, her hand flying to her mouth. Julian's jaw tightened as he processed what this meant for their son.
"A direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin…" Griphorn muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied Christopher more closely.
Christopher's mind raced as he read the results. He had suspected there was something extraordinary about him—his vast magical reserves had hinted at it—but this revelation was beyond anything he had imagined.
Julian cleared his throat and addressed Griphorn firmly. "What does this mean for my son?"
Griphorn folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward slightly. "It means your son is heir to one of the most powerful bloodlines in wizarding history," he said gravely. "Salazar Slytherin was one of the founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—a wizard known for his mastery of magic and controversial beliefs regarding blood purity."
Eleanor frowned at this but remained silent.
Griphorn continued, "While Slytherin's legacy is often associated with dark magic, being his descendant does not dictate your son's choices or character. However, it does mean that certain doors will open for him—doors that are closed to others."
Christopher looked at his parents nervously but found reassurance in their expressions. Eleanor reached out and squeezed his hand gently while Julian nodded firmly.
"We'll support you no matter what," Julian said.
"Now, regarding the finances of House Slytherin," Griphorn began, his sharp gaze shifting from the parchment to Julian Sterling. "The Slytherin family vault, while ancient and respected, is… modest in comparison to the Sterling family's holdings."
Julian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Modest, you say?"
Griphorn nodded. "The Slytherin family has been… inactive for quite some time. Their assets have remained largely untouched, accumulating interest but lacking strategic investment. In its current state, the Slytherin vault contains approximately 50,000 Galleons, a collection of valuable heirlooms, and several ancient artifacts."
Eleanor leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. "50,000 Galleons is nothing to scoff at, but I understand what you mean. The Sterling family's wealth is far more diversified." The Sterlings were famous in the Goblin community for their shrewd investments and immense wealth, a legacy Julian had expanded through ventures in Muggle technology and real estate.
"However," Griphorn continued, a glint of excitement in his eyes, "with the right investments, the Slytherin fortune could be greatly expanded. The Slytherin family possesses several untapped resources and connections within the wizarding world. If managed correctly, it could even surpass the Sterling family's wealth within a few generations."
Julian's eyes lit up at the challenge. He had always enjoyed a good investment opportunity. "Tell me more," he said, leaning forward. "What kind of resources are we talking about?"
Griphorn proceeded to outline various investment opportunities in both the magical and Muggle worlds. He spoke of magical real estate, potion ingredients, and even Muggle technology that could be enhanced with magic. Julian listened intently, peppering Griphorn with questions about potential returns and risks.
After a lengthy discussion, Julian made his decision. "I want to invest heavily in both the magical and Muggle worlds," he said decisively. "I want to diversify the Slytherin fortune and ensure its growth for generations to come. And I'd like to add two million pounds to the vault. Please convert it to galleons and deposit it immediately."
Griphorn nodded approvingly. "An excellent decision, Mr. Sterling. I assure you, the Slytherin fortune is in capable hands." He then turned to one of the goblin tellers and barked out instructions. The teller scurried away to carry out the transaction.
Turning back to Christopher, Griphorn said, "Now, young Mr. Slytherin, would you like to see your vault?"
Christopher nodded eagerly. "Yes, please." He was excited to see what treasures and artifacts his ancestors had left behind.
Griphorn led them out of the office and toward a set of mine cart tracks. A goblin guard stood beside a rickety-looking cart, waiting for their arrival. Griphorn spoke a few words in Gobbledegook, and the guard nodded before gesturing for them to board the cart.
Christopher, Eleanor, and Julian squeezed into the small cart, and with a sudden jolt, they were off. The cart plunged down a steep tunnel, twisting and turning through the labyrinthine depths of Gringotts Bank. The ride was fast and bumpy, and Christopher couldn't help but laugh as they zoomed past vaults and chambers.
Finally, the cart came to a screeching halt in front of a vault door with the Slytherin family crest emblazoned on it. Griphorn stepped forward and touched the door with his finger, causing it to swing open with a loud groan.
Christopher stepped inside the vault, his eyes widening in amazement. The chamber was filled with piles of gold coins, shimmering jewels, and ancient artifacts. Tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of Slytherin's most famous achievements. Bookshelves lined one side of the vault, filled with tomes bound in leather and gold.
Eleanor gasped as she took in the sight. "This is incredible," she said, her eyes sparkling with wonder.
Julian nodded approvingly. "Quite a collection. But what catches my eye is…" He gestured toward the back of the vault, where a display case stood in the shadows.
Christopher followed his gaze and saw two swords resting in the case. They were unlike anything he had ever seen before. The swords were made of a silvery-white metal that shimmered in the dim light. Their blades were curved and elegant, with intricate designs etched into their surfaces. The hilts were wrapped in dragon hide, providing a comfortable grip. The swords appeared to be two halves of a single weapon, each like a crescent moon.
As he stepped closer, Christopher noticed that the case had a small inscription:
"For the Heir of Slytherin: May these blades guide you on your path."
Christopher reached out and carefully lifted one of the swords from its resting place. The metal felt cool and light in his hand, yet strong and durable. As he swung the blade, it hummed with a faint magical energy, feeling like a natural extension of his own body. He could feel the power contained within it, waiting to be unleashed.
Suddenly, the two blades began to hum in unison, reacting to Chris's magic. In a flash of light, they flew to his hand and merged, creating a huge bladed weapon with a series of interlocking triangles reinforcing the blades. The blade glowed for a moment before turning a dull grey, heavy in Chris's grip.
"This.. this is Mithril." Griphorn stared at the blade, and Chris looked up in shock. "Mithril is incredibly rare, and can only be forged using magic. To see it used for a weapon such as this.."
"I can use it, father. I can feel it. This will be a powerful addition to my arsenal." Julian gave a short nod.
Christopher looked at the weapon with a smile. He knew that these swords were more than just weapons; they were a symbol of his heritage and a reminder of the challenges and responsibilities that lay ahead. And as he held them in his hands, he felt a surge of determination—a resolve to honor his ancestors and carve his own path in the wizarding world.
With the Slytherin vault now managed and the mithril blades secured, Christopher and his parents exited Gringotts. The swords were held in specially crafted scabbards that crossed over his back, the hilts resting near his shoulders. He looked every bit the young warrior, ready for any challenge that came his way. Eleanor watched him with pride, her eyes reflecting the deep love and admiration she felt for her son.
"You look amazing, darling," she said, adjusting his collar. "Like a true heir of Slytherin."
Julian chuckled. "Just try not to scare the other students on the train, son."
Christopher grinned, his green eyes sparkling mischievously. "No promises."
Their next stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, a bustling shop filled with witches and wizards being fitted for their Hogwarts uniforms. The air was thick with the scent of new fabric and the murmur of conversation.
As they entered, Christopher scanned the room, taking in the scene before him. Students of all shapes and sizes stood on platforms, being measured and fitted by Madam Malkin and her assistants. And then, his eyes landed on her.
Standing on a raised platform near the back of the shop was Daphne Greengrass. Her blonde hair shimmered under the light, and her elegant posture exuded grace and confidence. She was dressed in a simple white dress, but even in such plain attire, she stood out from the crowd.
Time seemed to stop as Christopher's gaze locked with Daphne's. It was as if the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in existence. He recognized her instantly—the girl from his past life, Diya. His heart skipped a beat, and a wave of emotions washed over him—joy, relief, and an overwhelming sense of connection.
Daphne's eyes widened as she met Christopher's gaze. Recognition dawned on her face, and a faint smile touched her lips. The years melted away, and she saw not Christopher Sterling but Chinmay, the boy she had loved and lost in another life.
For a moment, neither of them moved, lost in the intensity of their shared recognition. It was as if fate itself had orchestrated this meeting, reuniting two souls across the boundaries of time and space.
Eleanor, noticing her son's sudden stillness, followed his gaze and gasped softly. "Christopher, is that…?"
Julian, too, looked at Daphne with interest. "She's a Greengrass, isn't she? A very influential family they have pharmacy businesses all over the world."
But Christopher heard none of it. His entire being was focused on Daphne, on the girl who had once been Diya. He took a step toward her, drawn by an invisible force.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the spell was broken. Madam Malkin called out Daphne's name, and the blonde witch turned away to continue her fitting. The world around them came back into focus, and Christopher realized that he was standing in a crowded shop, surrounded by strangers.
The world exploded into a kaleidoscope of emerald silk and ancient portraits. One moment, I was Diya Gupta, walking down a crowded street with Chinmay; the next, I was waking up in a bed fit for a princess, surrounded by the opulent trappings of Greengrass Manor.
It was disorienting, to say the least. Memories of my past life—of Chinmay's smile, the warmth of his hand in mine—clashed with the reality of my new existence as Daphne Greengrass, heiress to one of the most influential pureblood families in Britain. The Greengrasses were different from the Malfoys, though. Yes, we valued tradition, but we also understood the importance of progress. Our influence extended into both the magical and Muggle worlds, a fact that Draco Malfoy seemed to conveniently forget every time he tried to angle for a betrothal contract. Honestly, the boy was persistent, but also painfully predictable.
Three days I slept, my magic swirling around me like a tempest, until finally, I awoke. My parents were beside themselves with worry. Mother, usually so composed, clung to me as if I might disappear again. Father, ever the stoic patriarch, ran a diagnostic charm so thorough I thought my insides would turn to jelly.
"It's all right, Mother," I had said, my voice sounding strange and unfamiliar in my ears. "I'm here now."
But even as I reassured them, the image of the truck barreling toward us flashed in my mind. Chinmay… where was he? Was he even here? The thought plagued me, a constant ache in my heart.
My magical training began almost immediately. Father believed in starting young, and as the heir to the Greengrass line, I had a reputation to uphold. Charms, Potions, Transfiguration—I devoured it all, my natural aptitude amplified by the knowledge and experience I carried from my past life. I excelled in wandless magic, a skill that came almost instinctively to me.
My wand was cherry wood, eleven inches, with a dragon heartstring core. It chose me the moment I stepped into Ollivander's. The surge of power I felt when I first held it was exhilarating, terrifying even. Under Father's watchful eye, I learned to channel that power, to control it, to bend it to my will.
Still, despite my rigorous training and privileged life, a part of me remained incomplete. I missed Chinmay, missed our laughter, our dreams, our shared understanding. I wondered if he remembered me, if he was even alive.
Years passed in a blur of lessons, balls, and tiresome attempts by Draco Malfoy to win my favor. My eleventh birthday arrived, bringing with it the coveted Hogwarts letter. Excitement warred with apprehension. Hogwarts was where I would truly begin my journey, but it was also a place where I might find answers about Chinmay.
The trip to Diagon Alley was… eventful. The moment we stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, the air crackled with anticipation. Harry Potter was there, the Boy Who Lived, surrounded by a throng of adoring fans. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. Fame at such a young age couldn't be easy.
Then, it happened.
We moved toward Madam Malkin's, and as I stood on the platform, being fitted for my Hogwarts robes, I saw him.
He stood near the entrance, his back straight, his gaze intense. He was taller than I remembered, though still lean and wiry. His black hair, streaked with red highlights, framed a sharp, angular face. But it was his eyes that truly captivated me. Emerald green, as bright and vivid as I remembered, shining with intelligence and a hint of something… wild.
He had changed, grown more refined, more… dangerous. But there was no mistaking him. It was Chinmay.
My breath hitched. My heart pounded in my chest. The world around me blurred, the sounds of the bustling shop fading into a distant hum. All I could see was him, standing there, staring at me with that familiar intensity.
Chinmay…
He looked magnificent, but also troubled. He had grown up well, a sign of good family and health. I could see the promise of an adoring life, and wondered if he had any idea who I was.
For a moment, we were suspended in time, lost in a shared recognition that transcended words. I wanted to run to him, to embrace him, to tell him everything. But propriety and years of pureblood training held me back.
Then, Madam Malkin called my name, and the spell was broken. I turned away, my heart aching, my mind racing. What was he doing here? Was he a wizard? Did he remember me?
As I continued my fitting, I couldn't shake the feeling that our reunion was not accidental. Fate had brought us together once again, and I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that our paths were destined to intertwine. Whatever lay ahead, I was ready to face it—as long as I had Chinmay by my side.
Now, to discover who he was reborn as.