THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

A Dark lord with Dragons

Sirion Targaryen was a curious and intelligent boy, but his understanding of the world around him far exceeded what was expected of a child his age. Unlike his twin brother, Aegon, Sirion possessed the memories of his past life, as Tom Riddle—Voldemort. The irony of the situation was never lost on him. His mother in this life, Alicent Hightower, had once been his greatest enemy, Sitara Potter.

At first, the idea had seemed impossible to believe. How could his former adversary now be his mother, showering him with love and affection? The very thought was enough to unsettle him in the early days, but slowly, Sirion had grown to care for her. She was no longer Sitara Potter, the woman he had once tried to destroy. Now, she was his mother, and he found himself softening under her care.

What struck Sirion the most was how deeply she loved him and his twin, Aegon. Alicent lavished them with warmth and attention, something Sirion had never known in his previous life. It had been uncomfortable at first, but over time, he started to appreciate it. His affection extended even to Aegon, his twin, despite the simplicity of his brother’s mind compared to his own.

A year ago, Alicent had given birth to another set of twins: Jaemarys and Helaena. Upon meeting Jaemarys, Sirion had recognized him immediately as James Potter, Sitara's father—the very man Voldemort had killed in his previous life. It was a strange sensation, holding the tiny hand of the newborn Jaemarys, and yet Sirion had felt compelled to apologize, offering his unspoken regret for his past actions. He had sworn to protect him, as they were now bound by blood.

His sister, Helaena, fascinated him. Even at a young age, Sirion could sense the immense power within her. The girl was undoubtedly a prophetess or a seer, a gift that would manifest in time. He knew he had to be there for her, guiding her in understanding her abilities. His knowledge of magic, especially the more obscure arts, made him the perfect teacher. He even mused that the only other person who might comprehend such magic as deeply as he did was his mother's old friend, Luna Lovegood.

As much as Sirion had come to embrace his new family, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the complex web of lies and secrets that surrounded them. His muña, Alicent, played the role of dutiful queen, married to King Viserys, but beneath the surface, there was a truth only a few knew—his muña’s heart and soul were bound to Daemon Targaryen, Viserys' younger brother. Sirion had seen the way Daemon looked at her, a gaze filled with unspoken understanding and hidden passion. Though the world believed Viserys to be the father of Sirion and his siblings, Sirion knew better. He, Aegon, Jaemarys, and Helaena were all Daemon's children, a secret that could unravel the fragile stability of the Targaryen reign if it were ever exposed.

This truth weighed heavily on Sirion, though not because of any loyalty to Viserys. He had little attachment to the old king, who seemed to grow weaker and more frail with each passing day. No, the source of Sirion’s frustration was Rhaenyra, the king's eldest daughter and named heir to the Iron Throne. In another life, Sirion might have been amused by her entitlement and self-assurance, but in this life, he found only contempt for her.

Rhaenyra had been handed everything—a birthright, power, influence. She was in a unique position, a woman whose father had decreed she would rule after him. Yet instead of using that position to secure her future and pave the way for others, she squandered it. Sirion, who in his former life as Tom Riddle had clawed his way to power through bloodshed and ambition, could not understand how she could be so careless.

He had earned his place through sacrifice, through manipulation, and by wielding his magic like a sword. He had left behind a legacy, a name that still invoked fear long after his death. But Rhaenyra? She was wasting her chance. She loitered about, indulging in courtly pleasures, and worse still, she targeted his muña with disdainful looks and snide remarks. Rhaenyra didn’t have the fire, the hunger that Sirion respected. She was soft. Weak. Unworthy of the crown she claimed to want so badly.