Chapter Text
She blinks into existence with a shuddering breath, sweaty palms and a concerning limit to her movement. Something is wrong. Something is so horribly wrong but she can’t place just what it is yet.
“Good morning, Corvus.” A woman’s voice from above cooes at her. What the fuck?
She tries to follow the sound, moving strangely blurry eyes and chalking it up to her state of drowsiness.
She tries to open her bleary eyes wider, wanting to shake off the unfocused vision and tiredness but it’s to no avail. She slips back into the inexistence in which she had only just recently come out of.
/ / /
She wakes up again later, she can’t tell how much time has passed but it can’t have been much considering that her vision is still blurry and her movement is still restricted.
She tries lifting herself from whatever surface is beneath her but there’s no give, no matter how much she wills it. It’s like she’s at an impasse with her own body. She tries again to move, but this time with a much easier body part, her hand. Her fingers are shaky and slow but her hand slowly rises. It isn’t enough to make her satisfied but it’s a relief to know that she can still move.
Orange light seeps between chubby fingers and in that moment a sudden realisation dawns on her. She’s a fucking baby.
With the test of her own physicality out of the way, she takes a moment to observe her surroundings. Although her vision is slightly worse, she can immediately tell that she has no idea where she is.
The walls of the room are pale red and there are wooden bars surrounding her on all sides (she checked with the little movement available in her head). There are other items in the room but they’re at a distance that’s too far away for her to evaluate.
Her face starts scrunching up and her chest starts to tighten with the combination of the unfamiliar surroundings and the lack of knowledge on how she ended up here. She wasn’t usually one to cry but everything about the situation was so overwhelming and this tiny baby body was basically programmed to cry.
A wail tears itself from her throat involuntarily and a moment later a figure comes into view from the edge of the room. As the figure comes closer, she realises that it's a woman, one with soft edges and a concerned look on her face that could be seen even through the terrible baby vision.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Corvus.” The woman picks her up and cradles her, mentioning the same name as before. Oh. That must be her new name. She never knew girls could be named Corvus. So then… this must be her mum.
She grasps up at the woman, small hands reaching up to grab at dangling brown strands. She isn’t sure why she did it, it was more of an impulse than anything. The woman - her mum - smiles, a big wide grin with endearing eyes. And suddenly the crying stops. A feeling of warmth grows in her chest, she knew already that she’d like her.
/ / /
She was right. About liking her mum that is. The woman was beautiful in not just looks but also personality. She would sing Corvus songs to send her off to sleep and read her children's books even though she assumed she didn’t understand the language at all. She heated bottled milk up to just the right temperature and gave her stuffed animals to hold. The woman was literally a saint in her eyes.
And so, with each new memory that was created, those of her previous family had started to fade, becoming more of a fact than something that was real. Corvus learned to love her new mum, to grow attached to her and smile at her soft lullabies. This new reality wasn’t as bad as she had expected it to be.
It had only been a few weeks and it was slow going, her eyesight had become much better though and she was finally able to see her mum. She had dark brown hair, curly and long, that came down to the middle of her back and an angular face that was contradicted by the softness of her character. Corvus could also see some of the items around the room. On a table across the room sat pictures of who she assumed to be herself, red all over and tightly wrapped in a blanket. They must’ve been taken on the day she was born.
Inside Corvus’ cradle there were small stickers of dinosaurs lining the end of it, there was a stegosaurus one which she was happy about - it was her favourite dinosaur. An olive armchair that looked decently comfortable sat in the corner of the room, a small and simple bookshelf that contained a limited amount of books next to it. In the middle of the room was a knitted rug with purple bindweeds and daisies sewn into the fabric. She had remembered stopping to admire a group of bindweeds on her way to school once in her previous life, not even knowing that they were weeds. Even if she saw them now, with the knowledge that they were weeds, she would still stop to appreciate them.
If only she could walk, she’s growing antsy having to lie in a cradle all day, only being able to crawl around in the small space provided. It must not be normal for babies as young as her to crawl because as soon as she had done it, her mum had dropped the cup of tea that she had been drinking from while reading a book in the armchair. She remembers the shock on her face so vividly, and then the celebrating as she came over and cheered her on.
Corvus was trying to act like a normal baby but it was difficult to just lie in your own urine and feces all day just waiting to fall into a state of sleep again. Oh, and that was another thing, she slept. Like all the time. It must be because of the size of her body. It was good though because it meant that time passed faster than she originally thought it would.
Time had started to fly by, at first it was slow and monotonous, but then the weeks had started to turn into months. At six months old she was finally able to lift up her own body, her mum had had the exact same reaction minus the cup of tea. At nine months old she said her first word, she knew it was important for parents so she made sure to say “mama”. At a year old she was finally given a proper bed, which she insisted on through the use of the phrase “big bed”.
When Corvus was one something else occurred. She learned something.
In a spur of independence after receiving her new bed, she had wandered around the halls of her new home, admiring the architecture and decorations. Framed pictures of family members as well as artworks of magnificent tigers and scenes of oceans lined the cream-coloured walls. There were only a few rooms on - what she assumed to be - the second floor of the house. There was her room, a bathroom with walls covered in a pale pink and her mum’s room.
It was only when she had the sudden urge to pee, entering the bathroom and sparing a glance at the hanging flora by the shower curtains with swans stitched into them, that it became known. When she sat on the toilet it became clear that there was an appendage that hadn’t been there previously. She freaked out at first, taken aback by the sudden new addition and what this meant for her. But as she calmed and it internalised, she took it in stride.
Corvus was no longer a girl as she had once thought, he was a boy.
/ / /
Corvus is two when he finds out his surname. It wasn’t even intentional, he was just downstairs when he happened to overhear the mailman speak to his mum.
Mail for Laura Judd.
He had hummed softly to himself, listening intently to the windchimes at the back of the house, before trying the name on his own lips, “Corvus Judd.” It would take some getting used to. It was still taking him a while to get used to the name Corvus.
It wasn’t that hard to get used to being a boy, it was almost exactly like being a girl except he had to learn how to stand up while peeing, which took a lot of trial and error. Everything else was pretty much the same though, he still lived and breathed and read books and smelled the scent of rain and flowers on the wind.
He’s now gazing out the window and watching the gentle breeze between the trees - ones which are all shades of red, auburn, orange and brown in the cold of autumn - upon the mismatched quilt on his bed. He hasn’t figured out what time period it is yet but he knows that mobile phones don’t even exist yet. The window is open so he can feel the wind on his face, he smiles softly at the sensation and breathes in the scent of petrichor from the recent downfall.
Corvus would be doing something else right now if he could, like writing a story or poem, or drawing. He could even pick up gardening or an instrument. But that was never gonna happen in his current situation, not until he got older anyways. The only thing there was to do in his room was scribble smudged colours with crayons, not even pens, onto blank paper and read the few books on his bookshelf. The problem was that he’d already finished the limited number of books.
He likes the bookshelf though, it has the constellation he’s named after painted on the side of it. He knows this because he asked his mum what it was the moment he saw it. It was in much simpler terms than he would’ve liked to say it though so it had come out as, “ What that? ”
The books mostly consisted of picture books with small pieces of text beneath them which frustrated him to no end because he wanted something that was actually suited to his reading level. That was impossible given the fact that he was two years old and his mum thinks he’s incapable of reading such high level material. In reality, he’s sixteen (would he be eighteen now given that he was two?) and quite frankly sick of reading this is a deer, this is a dog, this is a cat . He swears he’s going to wring someone’s neck if he has to read another book like that again.
/ / /
The first time he sees himself in a mirror is when he’s three. He was too short to see into it before, his short legs and arms not long enough to climb onto the toilet seat. So it came as a surprise to him when one day he had been able to climb onto it, although not without huffing and puffing with exertion through the whole process.
Where he had expected to see brown eyes there was blue. There were cerulean blue eyes accompanied by wavy bright blond hair, it reminded him of the kind of brightness that would be lost after childhood. It had happened to his previous hair, dulling to a dull blonde-brown colour that was so indecisive in its colour that he couldn’t decide what to call it.
He wonders how he’ll look once he’s older and his face fits his skin more.
/ / /
One thing became glaringly obvious as he grew, his appearance taking shape as quickly and as hastily as a wild morning glory. His name did not suit him at all. Corvus reminds him of dark nights filled with biting cold, of men in dark cloaks getting up to no good, of ash, and soil, and burnt coals and those are all the things he isn’t. His face, this body’s face, is round and angelic, with wispy waves of flaxen hair and soft baby blue eyes.
He has no idea where his mum came up with the name. It’s probably a family name, considering how little it actually suits him. It’s a name that’s heavy on his tongue, it feels wrong, his tongue curled bitterly the first few times he tried it on blistered lips. It doesn’t roll off as easily as his previous one did.
Corvus is five, the baby fat still clinging to his face and his hair is only just below his shoulders. It’s a warm summer afternoon and it sticks to the back of his neck, glued there by his sweat and the humidity.
His mum, who had been diligently scrubbing the tiled walls of the shower had suddenly come out with a pair of scissors and her offendingly bright green pair of rubber gloves. He quirks an eyebrow up at her as he pulls himself away from examining himself in the hallway mirror.
She grins back at him, eye crinkling as she holds up the scissors, “Haircut?”
He grimaces immediately, curling a piece of his bright blond hair around his pointer. He’s beginning to like how it looks on him, hating the way shorter hair looks on his head.
He looks at the pair of scissors and frowns, then states plainly, “No.”
“Why not, Corvie?” His mum pouts, obviously previously excited at the prospect of being able to cut his hair.
“I like it long.” His mum nods, disappointed but understanding, and returns the scissors to the bathroom. If he’s gonna be a guy he may as well be the prettiest guy ever.
Corvus still doesn’t remember how he ended up in this world yet, it’s like something is preventing him from knowing. The idea of being reborn doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would though. He’d quickly become acclimated to the situation, although the lack of control over his body in the first few years was infuriating to no end.
A few things had happened between the ages of three and five, firstly he’d gotten books that were at a higher reading level. And by that he means books that an eight year old would read but hey, it’s a start. Corvus had also started speaking much closer to how he originally did, needing to dumb down his sentences less as his mum became used to sentences that were very unlikely for a five year old to say, with words bigger than six letters.
He could also run without stumbling or falling flat on his face so that was a bonus too.
School starts in a few months and he’s definitely not happy about that, he’d already gone through primary school before and having to do it again was going to be a pain.
Corvus sighs, weighted and tired, he just wants a break.
/ / /
Corvus is seven. It’s spring, and the flowers had started blooming so beautifully at the front of their house that Corvus had asked (begged) his mum to plant some in their backyard. A few days later an arrangement of cornflowers, sunflowers, star jasmine, lilacs and hydrangeas appeared in the garden bed that had been previously empty. His eyes were wide in awe the moment he noticed them from the kitchen window, his mum smiling in at him with dirt streaked across her face and plant soil on her clothes.
A week later, just before dinner, his mum starts frowning at the flaking corner of the dining room table as she prepares the food. It was such a distinct difference from the week before, when her grin had been so wide it was almost splitting her face. Something was wrong. And when she later sat him down - a plate of warm beef stew in front of the two of them - and finally revealed the thought that had been bothering her so much he blinked slowly, the information still processing in his mind.
He almost wanted to laugh. Almost. It felt like a scene from a movie or show he would’ve seen whilst channel surfing in his old world yet it was happening right here, right now, and to him of all people.
You’re adopted, Corvus.
He had already memorised the way her hands wrapped together while the sentence was formed, hands curling with an emotion he couldn’t read.
All the things that he’d previously noticed but never thought too much about seemed to click all at once. She was all warm brown hues and ochre-eyed smiles, while he was striking blond hair and steel-eyed frowns.
He gets a sudden and overwhelming urge to ask. To ask about his lost heritage and his parents and how he came to be with her but he doesn’t. There’s a look in her eyes that tells him not to pry - a heartbreaking, desperate look that tells him that this isn’t the right moment. So he doesn’t.
He doesn’t pry and is left to ponder the information for the next few days, and then days turn into weeks, and when he comes to ask her again - to ask if she’s ready - that same painful look takes hold in her eyes and he can’t bring himself to ask.
So the information is soon tucked away, not forgotten but just tucked away, like a reluctant child with shaking hands placing away a beloved toy that they had taken everywhere. It was painful but it had to be done.
/ / /
Corvus is nine and magic is real. Magic is real and that scares the shit out of him because it means this world isn’t like his. It’s a different world entirely because the laws that applied to his world no longer applied here.
He doesn’t know how he never noticed it before. How he never noticed his mum planting flowers with a single gesture or stirring the ladle with something that wasn’t her hand or scrubbing the shower quicker than it would normally take to clean a shower.
Corvus groans, sitting on the curb at the front of his house and wiping his hands down his face. Of fucking course magic exists. It was just his luck that some power above would throw him into some universe where magic existed. They were probably laughing at him right now.
Reincarnation was one thing he could take, it was plausible and actually made some kind of sense in his mind. But magic? It didn’t make sense at all.
He needs a distraction. Something to occupy his mind so he doesn’t have to think about the fact that magic is fucking real.
He stands up, chuck taylors scraping against asphalt road, and looks around. Just something, anything. A wind chime sounds softly from across the street, resounding so loudly it’s like he can taste the tangy metal in the air.
And that’s when he hears it. A distant meow from down the road. His head whips around so fast he gets a crick in his neck and winces, raising a hand to rub at his sore muscles.
But holy shit it actually worked, down the road is his distraction on four feet. He lowers to his haunches and calls the cat, “Psspss, here kitty.” He extends a hand out and tries to look as non-threatening as possible.
It makes its way over slowly and lazily, obviously in no rush to meet him. Corvus waits, gangly legs shaking from the position he’s in, but he continues to wait. He’s rewarded when the cat comes over, brushing a furry head against the palm of his extended hand.
The cat is warm and marble patterned with shaggy grey and white hair. He smiles warmly at it as it brushes against his side. He hasn’t seen a cat since his last life so the sight of it makes him grin so hard his cheeks feel painful. He misses having a pet.
The cat is loud now, chattering and purring at him louder than he’s ever heard a cat do before. Corvus finally sits down, the back of his legs connecting with the heated road. It climbs over him, taking a seat in his lap and he runs a hand down its back, carding fingers through soft fur.
The perfect distraction.
A moment later his mum calls from inside, lunch is ready. He stares at the cat and then back to the door before making a split second decision. Corvus picks the cat up and carries it inside.
/ / /
Corvus is ten and after pleading with his mum to teach him magic she conceded. He had already learned a charm that made him able to move items without the need of his hands, a charm that changed the colour of things and a charm to levitate objects. Each time he would wash the dishes with his magic, Pandora, the cat he had taken in from the street, would perch herself on his shoulder and stare wide-eyed at the moving objects. It never got old no matter how many times it happened.
/ / /
Corvus is eleven and he has a letter addressed to him for the first time in this life. It’s professionally closed with a waxy red seal. He examines it and the intricate details on the seal as if it’ll reveal its secrets to him without even having to open it. He makes sure to carefully peel back the wax, he’s always hated damaging letters, even if they contained the most unimportant news.
He licks his lips, a nervous habit he’d picked up from his mum, as he finally slips the letter out of its envelope and unfolds it.
Dear Mr. Judd,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall.
Something starts to build up in his chest, something bitter and tingly and itchy and he lets it out in the comfort of his room. A laugh. A laugh so bitter and thick and manical that he can’t even stop the noise because if he withholds it it’ll burn his lungs. The sound resounds within the confines of the pale red walls.
It was just his luck wasn’t it? His existence had almost become ironic at this point. First it was reincarnation. He could deal with that. Then there was the magic, that was a bit harder to handle but he eventually got used to that and even learned a few tricks from his mum. But then there was this. There was this stupid fucking yellow letter written in cursive and swirly lines, mocking him and his existence.
By the time his laughter stops his throat is red raw, he clutches the letter to his chest shakily. It’s not a joke. The magic that he already had knowledge of and the stupidly curly writing is testament to that.
Corvus smiles with twitching lips.