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--Caddell Manor—21st, October 1927--

"I'm sure you would have loved it! They had all different kinds of treats, it was quite lovely. I hadn't expected her to have so many treats. As a girl, I'm always told to be careful of what I eat so I don't gain weight," Seraphina mindlessly told her baby brother. He was aggressively bitting down on the ice pack their mother had given him.

She looked at him, sighing, "You're not much fun, are you? I can't wait when you can talk", she told him, staring into similar eyes as she laid flat on the ground, using her hands to support her head.

He stared right back at her, his nose scrunching as his sister tapped it, "It was at the Greengrass Manor. You know Lena has a little brother too, his name is Aries. He's the heir to the Noble House of Greengrass, just as you are the heir to our house."

He wished he could understand her, seeing as he wished to know more about where he was, but all he could really hear was gibberish. The random words went in one ear and out the other, but from the accent, he was able to know they were British. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, seeing as he had been Irish before. There were some words he was able to understand. After being in this world for so long, he wasn't even sure how long it was.

He knew names. That was really it and some other words.

He wanted to say he missed home, his past life but he really didn't. There wasn't much there for him anyway. Right now, he was more focused on this new mission of his, and that was chewing on the ice pack his incredible mother gave him.

With him now being a baby, he now understood why babies literally put anything in their mouth without care- teeth growing in was not a joke, it hurt like a bitch, and the ice and pressure were helping.

'Crack'

He nearly tipped over to the side. He was still trying to get the hang of this 'balance' thing, as well as house-elves, popping out of nowhere.

"Young Mistress Cadell? Mistress has called for dinner."

"Right, tell mother I will be there," Seraphina said dismissively.

She got up from where she was seated and took another look around her brother's nursery. The sun was still shining brightly outside, and the rays of light played on her face as she squinted, the room drenched in a pool of light that poured in from the two windows that stood tall and apart by afoot. The calm, soothing blues of the walls made her feel at ease.

Emrys' crib sat in the center of the large room, with deep blue stripes beautifully patterned on his bedding. A little silver hummingbird hung from the crib railings on both sides, which made sounds of singing birds and lovely lullabies during her brother's naps. A rocking armchair with green plush pillows with tiny white outlined leaves sewn on it sat close to the entryway. The left wall was lined with bookcases packed with nursery rhyme books around the room.

Paintings of other mythical animals adorned the opposite wall. A dark wooden box, or chest, sat straight ahead, right beneath the double windows, behind the crib. It was crammed to the brim with every stuffed animal imaginable.

As Seraphina left the room, she felt as though she had revisited her childhood all over again, yet she had barely left it. She felt older than she was.

Even though Emrys couldn't understand what was being said, he could just assume and guess. He was guessing that the elf was telling her she needed to eat, which always happened when she came to his room at this time of day. It was like she wasn't available until this time, but he could guess why.

He was already aware of where he was, what this world was. He was now in the Harry Potter universe. He knew the moment he was able to finally comprehend that it was a house-elf he was seeing and then, of course, the use of magic by his parents, waving their wands about.

He wasn't sure what to think of it. Sure he was aware of the series, but it wasn't like he was knowledgeable about it all- though he did know stuff. He wasn't the best person when it came to paying attention when watching something but what he did know was that he didn't want to die in some stupid war.

One second he's a fifteen-year-old in class, and the next, he was a baby in the arms of a woman he could barely even see clearly. He was really excited about this new life- a whole new adventure, friends to make, people to meet- Spells to try!

This was brilliant! In his previous life, he had always been asked what do you want to be when he grew up? Or told, 'Don't turn up like your dad. You don't want that future.'

'Don't listen to anything your mum has to say. I hope you didn't pick up any habits from her'.

It didn't even matter because he had no clue what he wanted to be, nor did he know his previous well enough to be like them. He was going to be him.

Now he was in the wizarding world, maybe being an inventor would be fascinating…. He could create spells! Make potions! Oh, he could try perfect the wolfsbane potion so it doesn't taste as bad as it was said to taste. Wasn't it expensive as well? Then he will be making it cheaper.

There was a whole lot to think about. For the first few months, he wasn't even sure what was going on. He was simply confused like his brain just couldn't comprehend everything. He couldn't walk, he couldn't talk, he could barely even move his limbs. Then there was the fact he couldn't see clearly at first with everything being blurry, which had his uncomprehensive brain freak out.

He was in an unknown place without the ability to protect himself, which warranted some panic attacks. However, he was fine now, hopefully?

He was perplexed because he desired—needed—to obtain a better understanding of this new world he had entered, to take a step back and view the big picture. There was still so much more to see, do, and say.

Because people experience the truth from different angles, their accounts of the same events are frequently contradictory. Confusion occurs when your conscious brain cannot process information, but your subconscious can. So, in order to remedy the dilemma that his consciousness was experiencing, he took it easy. He calmed down and took naps because he had nothing else to do.

Clarity comes with patience and time. Wisdom is slow to develop, like a good old fashioned photograph.

He wasn't even sure what had caused his death. He was in class, then he simply couldn't think, process why he wasn't in class anymore, why it was all dark and blurry? Why he could hear voices but not understand them.

How he was aware of who he is, what he is and what is to come. Having been put in such a passion and being aware of his past life, bringing the memories he had made into this world only made things slightly vexing.

If 'fate' decided to reincarnate him into this world, he would have much preferred not to have his memories at all. It would have been easier that way since every action he would perform wouldn't be thought up with the logic of continuous, 'what if's.'

The radical languages connect logic and self-control to empathy in order to ground society in essential values and encourage cooperation. The languages of all forms of extremism engender emotional apathy toward dread and sometimes logic without empathy. It is biologically difficult to make good decisions without combining reasoning and empathy. Indeed, it devolves into a type of slow-motion developmental brain damage that obliterates both the individual's connection to their best self and society as a whole.

He sighed as he was placed in his crib by a house-elf. It was obviously time for a nap. Seeing it hadn't been too long ago, he had a bottle.

He stared at the ceiling that was filled with stars. It was fascinating. He truly was in a world filled with magic, yet he wasn't able to grasp it and use it right at this moment. He was in a world with chaos in its future, blood, death…

He knew he wasn't exactly born around the same time as Harry. It was easy enough to realise that. Something he could at least do was read… well, to come extent, he had been in his 'mother's' lap at some point when she was reading a tabloid. He was slightly surprised that he was able to read numbers, which was how he had seen the year 1927.

It was fascinating how the brain worked. That just left a whole lot of time before disaster stuck…. And, of course, that also meant he was in the era of Grindelwald. How ridiculous. He should have just been reborn.

Realistically, he had to survive Grindelwald, which he really couldn't do anything about. Though it wouldn't hurt to be prepared for him.

Then there was Voldemort. Seeing as it's 1927, that means Voldemort, aka Tom Marvolo Riddle, has been born. Therefore they were age mates. That should at least make things easier. So now what? Was he supposed to be a hero? That was laughable.

Heroes are motivated by a sense of duty and love, a desire to defend others, and a readiness to suffer in order to keep others safe. They channel their rage into good deeds, developing self-control and the ability to do the difficult thing when it's the right thing to do. Heroes would work hard every day for others and consider it an honour to have the chance to do so.

He wasn't that- he wasn't a hero. He wasn't going to die for people he didn't know. If he had to be a hero, it wouldn't be because he wanted to save mankind, but perhaps those around him that he cares deeply for, his friends, family and himself.

Though the idea of all the deaths to come was unsettling. He would try to prevent it. It was either befriending Tom Riddle or killing him. Befriending him seems easier, a simple solution. If the 'friendship' idea doesn't work, then strick him down while he's still young and still learning about 'magic' and how to use it to his advantage.

An adult Voldemort, who hadn't changed at all from his 'friendship', would just be a problematic issue that Emrys wished not to have to deal with. He died at 15, a young age. Now by some miracle, he was given another life, one with so much to wonder about- he wanted to be something, be someone. He wanted to be able to grow old and live a happy life.

He will grow strong, so he will be able to protect himself. There was no guarantee he would never cross paths with Grindelwald, nor that his plan to befriend Tom would work.

--Caddell Manor—5th, December 1928—

He was 'two' now… in all honesty, he still felt like a fifteen-year-old. Shouldn't he feel seventeen? Probably because he wasn't living as a seventeen should, a child with more responsibility and expectation. Being seventeen, everyone around him would expect so much, would watch him with watchful eyes.

It was depressing knowing that they see them as 'Adults' yet don't give them much leeway. As one approaches adulthood, one gains responsibility. Thus, it's essential they have the time and space for personal reflection that garners them the ability for self-control and emotional self-regulation.

Right now, he had responsibilities, just not one of an adult nor a seventeen year…, not even a fifteen-year-old.

He's Emrys Cyrus Caddell, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Caddell. Therefore that comes with the responsibility of understanding his title at the moment.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Caddel was one of the oldest and wealthiest pureblooded wizarding families in Britain and one of the Sacred 'Twenty-nine'. A family who was descendants of Rowana Ravenclaw, whose name had been kept alive by her son, passing the name Ravenclaw down to their descents until the House of Caddell was created by a Ravenclaw, many years later

You can say his father has started him on lessons already. He had three different tutors. Edmund Granor was in charge of his studies at the moment, just giving him an understanding of certain things, such as him being a wizard and talking about magic.

The man was tall, with a youthful face. His hair was short, a light golden brown, the lightest brown, nearing blonde but had a brown shading to it, his face clean-shaven. The man was always well kept.

He started rather impressively with his teachings, starting from the very beginning, which was expected as he was after 'two'.

Then there was Eron Landeny, who was in charge of teaching him to read, giving him books to read, and then teaching him geography, maths, literacy etc. He wasn't as tall as Mr Granor, but by no means he wasn't short either. His hair was dark, nearly as dark as Emrys' own hair.

While Mr Granors hair was short, barely reaching the lobes of his hair, Mr Landeny's was long, just about reaching his shoulders, but it wasn't often he kept it down. Usually, it was tied at the back. The man gave a more masculine vibe to him. At first look, he seemed aggressive and arrogant but sitting in his teachings, he was the opposite.

He is just as good at his job as Edmund Granor.

Last, there was Agatha Flint. She was in charge of his etiquette lessons, teaching him about his title, talking about the purity of blood and where everyone stands in their society. She was a strict older lady. She didn't really allow him to ask questions, much preferring he stay silent and listen and only speak when she expected him to.

As a pureblood, he must know when it is right to speak and when not to. It is expected of him to respect his elders- it doesn't matter his age, he must understand it, of course.

She had brown hair that would probably have been completely a light brown many years ago, but now it was greying, most of it grey with only a handful of brown strands reminding those who looked at her that she was once that a young woman, ready to embark the world.

He would be having a lesson with her later on in the day, Madam Flint, that is. She is the mother of the current Lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Flint. She was nearly as annoying as his grandmother, the mother of his mother, Tetra Malfoy.

He didn't mind the lessons at all. He loved learning just as much as reading.

It was a sort of hobby he had in his past life. He had just much rather stay huddled in his room, 'alone' of course. What was the point of staying in your room if someone else was there? He didn't need someone to start an unnecessary conversation with him. One could say he was an introvert.

He much preferred solitude over business. He usually just based his 'introvertness' on an imaginary scale, which showed how much energy he had for conversing with others.

It all just depended on the day, time and place if he wanted to talk or just not. There were times he liked just being in the midst of others but not being forced to talk but just listening, giving him a sense of belonging.

"Emrys."

That was his mother. He looked up from the wooden floors to look up at her. She was stood right behind him, having walked through his already open door, her arms crossed just as her brows furrowed. She wasn't looking at him but at the floor, and he could understand why.

The floors were covered in white chalk, random numbers scattered around the floorings. Right, to her, it was just 'number, and there were some figures, like the use of 'alpha' and 'beta'.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?! Your robes are covered in chalk?! Where did you even get it? You've ruined your floors. Such behaviour like this is unacceptable." She said firmly.

He glanced back to the floor, not replying. He didn't exactly have 'paper' nor 'parchment' to use. Even if he went out of his way to find some, it would be troublesome to use. Having to write small, with a hand like he took effort, his body was still developing and didn't need much strain since he had much to write. Well, he had to do this. He had been working out the probability of being able to access his magic. He was two, after all.

Magical children develop their magic at a young age. He had yet to even try to access it, in fear of destroying the magic after trying to use it at such a young age. Still, now he was sure his magic was developing after having his first magical accident not too long ago. It should be safe to use now, right?

He needed to get a rough estimate of it actually working and not just ruining his chances of ever using magic. Was it worth the risk? He could simply just wait longer and just focus on theory for now. There really wasn't a rush.

From the calculation, it didn't really seem it was worth the risk. He'll wait a few more years and just focus on studying for now.

"He's barely a 'child'. Seraphina had her moments when she was his age," another voice sounded. The man was standing tall in the middle of the doorway, staring at the floor in amusement. His mother, Ophelia, turned to him, her face showing disgust and annoyance. Her gaze unmoving, her grey eyes piercing through him, yet he made no reaction to such behaviour.

"Might I ask what it is you're doing here? 'Lord Caddell'" her voice levelled. He turned to her, his father, that is, Atticus Caddell, "Are you truly going to continue calling me that? Is it a crime to wish to see my son, who should be in a lesson with Madam Flint, might I add?"

There it was… they were going to argue again. It was like it was the only thing they could actually do when they were in the same room as him and not this time, like before they were going to argue about him.

The last time he was in his father's office, after announcing his curiosity to know what it was, his father usually did in there. Since he was always busy. His father allowed him to enter. Before he knew it, his father was telling him a story of himself and his brother and his mother marched in.

His mother had said something, something Emrys wasn't able to understand, but from the way his father reacted, maybe she shouldn't have said it. It resulted in her grabbing Emrys and marching out of there, without a word, after their full-blown argument that made no sense.

He stood up from the floor, releasing the white chalk he had in his hand, "I'll just go to Madam Flint now, mother. I'm sorry, I forgot." He said, trying to lessen the tension in the air, but all he got was more arguing. They didn't' even hear him.

His father pointed his wand towards the floor, waving it and the floor was how it was before, without random numbers, and then he did the same to Emrys, cleaning his robes. Fascinating magic without words. "Go," His father told him, "He's not going anywhere!" his mother spoke.

This was getting ridiculous now. Whatever issue they have with each other shouldn't have him involved. What kind of parents were they? It was like they were trying to have him choose a side.

"Where is it? What have you done to Adir!" a voice hissed out from the door. Emrys' brows frowned at her appearance.

Who was this? He hadn't seen them before, but the way they were speaking seemed to prove that she was familiar with his father as she directed the question to him. She was old, her hair white, reminding him of what Dumbledore looked like, though her eyes were crossed, one looking in another direction than the other. She looked about, ready to attack his father.

Atticus groaned in frustration as he looked at the woman, "It's gone. You can't simply just make things like that, grandmother!" his father said. Grandmother? That was his grandmother? Therefore, that made her his great grandmother. Why was he only seeing her now?

He glanced at his mother, who just stood looking confused, staring between both the other adults. "I want him back! He is the key to rising-"

His father didn't' even let her finish, "ENOUGH. Grandmother, it's dead and will stay dead. Are you trying to be sent to Azkaban?!" She screeches at him in response before apparating away.

"What did she want?" His mother, Ophelia, asked his father. Was she not listening? She wanted to know where Adir was… and apparently, he's dead? "How come I didn't know you had a living grandmother, like mother," Emrys asked his father, not giving him a chance to answer Ophelia's question.

"What? Did you're mother tell you about her?" Atticus asked. "No? you called her grandmother, didn't you?" Emrys spoke. He noticed how his father's eyes widened slightly, "Emrys", his mother called him, and he turned to her as she neared him.

She lowered herself to his level, brushing the strands of his hair that were on his forehead back, "When they were talking, you could understand them?" she asked gently. He nodded, was he not supposed to?

"Then I suppose we have another parseltongue user within the House of Caddell. I'm surprised. I didn't think you would have it. Seraphina doesn't, nor did Th- it's a gift, Emrys." His father spoke.

He was able to speak the language of serpents… well. He hadn't expected that at all. His father explained how he had inherited the ability from his grandmother, Merel, who was once Merel Gaunt before marriage into the house of Caddell. That wasn't something he expected to be fair. He was related to the Gaunts, which only meant, there was a possibility he was also related to Tom Riddle, which would come in handy if he was planning on befriending the possibly future Dark Lord.

The whole time his great-grandmother and father were talking, it was all in parseltongue, and he hadn't even known. It didn't feel any different from hearing someone speak English.

What really was Parseltongue? It's just a language. What's so special about it? Things could be enchanted to respond to certain passwords in that particular language, whether English, French or Greek, so realistically what difference does it make when using Parseltongue? Sure there was using parseltongue to cast spells, but he could just learn to cast them nonverbally just as his father had done.

He needed to study more about it. It wasn't like the Harry Potter series left a guide about it, so now he was in that world, he could find information on it. Surely his great grandmother could help in that department.

After all, she is part of the Gaunt family, who are descendants of Slytherin, which were known for their family line of parseltongue and their heirlooms from Slytherin… Slytherins heir…

Tom Riddle was said to be Slytherin's heir, being the last 'descendant', with the new generation of Caddell's, that being himself and sister, wouldn't their future offsprings be descendants of Slytherin too? All of them have the possibility of being born with the ability to speak to snakes. Only the heir would be able to control the Basilisks in Hogwarts- though it makes sense that Voldemort is the 'true' heir, even with his existence in this world.

Tom Riddle was the heir of Slytherin because his mother's side of the family of cause, the Gaunts, are related to Salazar Slytherin. That title of Heir would go to him before it could ever go to Emrys, as the title would have been passed down through his grandfather Marvolo Gaunt.

He wasn't even sure what his great grandmother's relationship with the Gaunts was yet. She could be a cousin of Marvolo or his brother.