Chapter 1: Oh, that's not a cosplay
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It took me a while to figure it out. It would have been embarrassing if it weren't for the fact that assuming where I was would have been insane, and nearly impossible outside a few coincidences that added up. No one just thinks they reincarnated into a fictional world, even if they remember their past life. Why the hell would I think it would get even crazier?
I'm born on a fall night, but outside of blurry faces and incoherent noise, I don't remember much. Your not really supposed to rember your own birth, that shit will fuck you up. Terribly traumatic.
I though I was dead. I remember dying. Getting kidnapped and brutally murdered? Not shit that's easily forgotten. And I know damn well no hospital could have saved me with a gaping hole, or several in me. Heh, but I took that fucker with me.
It only takes me a few days to realize that, yeah, I'm derfinetly a baby. The breast feeding, diaper changing, and general inability to do anything gave it way. It might of been a surprise, but not really freak out worthy. I lived a real shitty life, but I wasn't a bad person, I don't think. More like very unfortunate, always. Some God probably took pitty on my pathetic ass. I could see it. I welcomed this second chance.
Besides, I had more important things to do than worry about than things I had no control over.
The dreams, they come almost immediately. I can't remember if I ever didn't have them in this life, but they became my constant. Dreams of life and death, magic and science, peace and war. Some were horrors that showed the evilest parts of humanity, terror and destruction that would cause me to scream myself awake, sobbing in relief when my father would come. Some were bliss and ecstasy of the sort that would also cause me to cry desperately when I would wake because they were just dreams and I wanted them so badly to be real.
I would have liked to have been an easy baby for my father, but I imagine the sleepless nights and constant worry and the doctor visits with no result disqualified me pretty early on. The dreams almost always came and tonight was no exception.
Cold, high pitched laughter and a women pleading for the life her child. Merciless cruelty and the ultimate sacrifice for love. Green light flashing. A baby cries in pain and fear for parents that won't come. The wheel of fate turns-
I wake, crying silently. It's taken a very long time, but I've learned to keep my mouth shut after my dreams and not worry my parents. Not that it always works. I slide out of the small cot in my room, and sit on the floor, learning how to breathe again.
This dream had honestly been bad, but not significantly so. Rather tame compared to the literal war crimes of last week. I busied myself with hiding the evidence of my night from my father once again. It didn't usually work, but this father of mine was so painfully kind compared to the bitches I had as guardians before that I endeavored anyway. I wiped my face, and did my best to blow my nose in a shirt from the hamper. Kinda gross but basically the same as a handkerchief. I also checked my diaper, and did a happy dance when it was mercifully dry all thanks to my extensive effort, (and or internal screaming). I was proud of that shit too, baby bodies just aren't built for any kinda control.
I am playing with blocks trying to hone motor control a few hours later when my father came in. In this life, I still managed to be some kinda Arab mix, although I think I'm less white and more South Asian, Mediterranean, Greek, and Persian, I think, from what I've gathered. Retaining those cultures is great because as shitty a family as I had, I cherished my heritage and it was too big a part of my identity to abandon. Yes, I want this new chance, but I don't want to leave who I was behind, not entirely. In the end, I hated a lot of my life and I was constantly fucked over and miserable, (and maybe wanted to die), but I am proud of who I was, because I fought for every inch of my sense of self. I was who I was because I learned every lesson the hard way, mostly on my own. I was damaged for sure, but to forget would be to disregard everything I stood and worked for.
This life I'll heal, I'll reforge myself in a new fire, fix the cracks with everything I am offered, and I'll be the same blade remade stronger. There are something's I'll let myself leave behind, but who I was? Who I fought to be? Never.
Dad is a very handsome brown man, of very diverse and indecipherable origins. I don't think I've ever met someone so kind, in either life. He's soft spoken and hasn't ever hit me or forgotten to feed me, and yes, my standards are fucked but it's what I got. I know family should be so much more, something I learned as I found one for myself when I got older, but even this much was more than I was expecting, and it seems to get better everyday. I can't wait to be able to eat his cooking either, smells bomb as hell. He knows a shit ton of languages, and often wears clothes from our many different heritages, and he tells my baby self all about them which is the only reason I know he isn't just some giant travel enthusiast, or cultural appropriator or something.
"Kamaria? Hello, little love." My father coos, scooping me off the floor. Apparently, we're also British. That's cool shit, but I have to bury my original somewhat southern American accent down reallll deep. I bable my hellos cheerfully. I find myself rather fond of this dude who kisses my cheeks and rubs my back and dotes on me at every opportunity . "Happy birthday Little One!"
"Thank youuu!" I gurgle as best I can, giving him sloppy kisses on a scruffy cheek. Papa takes me to the kitchen where I'm given some very yummy pancakes, and told we will be spending my second birthday Trick or treating with the neighbors. Naturally, I'll be a magic princess, cuz Papa's corny like that. Having my birthday on Halloween is turning out great. Trick or treating was something I had to sneak out to do in my past life, but it was always my favorite holiday anyway, consequences be damned. And there was always consequences.
Papa gets a call while I'm stuffing my face and gleefully making a general mess of myself. One thing about being reincarnated was that memories be damned, I was still a baby with baby feelings. There is only so much combating a person can do against their own body. And, to be frank, dying kinda killed any semblance of inhibitions or filters I may have had… as small as they were.
"What the hell do you mean? You've been cheating- on me? We have a daughter! How can you-" Uh oh... Eh, she gave of dead beat vibes anyway. We can do better.
Truthfully, the loss of my mother wasn't that upsetting. I rarely saw her and she was rather distant and cold. While my first dad died early in my life, my mother from my last life was outright neglectful and somewhat abusive, also bringing in a horrifying amount of evil people into my life, including a long line of evil, abusive ass step dads, so I don't feel like I'm missing anything with her impending absence from our family. I had been outright wary of both new parents in my first two years, but Papa won me over well enough. She didn't.
My poor dad was yelling, before he abruptly hung up, and pulled me to his chest trying his best to pull himself together. I was pissed that this bitch really decided to wreck my daddy daughter birthday time. Pissed that she hurt my lovely father. I scowl, and ignore the lights flickering to comfort my dad, who is definitely dropping tears into my pig tails.
We end up going to the hospital for a paternity test. I ignore the voice in my head that questions if he would throw me away if I wasn't his. It hurts. I understand. Thankfully, it comes back positive and dad buys me ice cream on the way home. We don't go trick or treating that night. Bitch.
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I wake up with a gasp, tears on my lashes, and body shaking. Today I dreamed of a baby locked in a small dark room, crying desperately for help that wouldn't come. Heartbreaking, and even a bit familiar.
Deciding to abandon sleep, I carefully crawl to the window seat and settle there, gazing out at our boring little street.
I blink as the lights go out all across the street, one by one. Then a man and women appear a few houses down, and I wonder if I'm going in and out of sleep because I could have sworn there was no one there a minute ago.
I continue to watch them, oddly intrigued by the robe wearing people in front of a neighbor a few houses down. Someone from an Arab culture maybe? It would be nice to have someone to share tea with in the neighborhood. A few minutes go by and a loud ass motorcycle comes rolling through, right past my window, carrying the largest motherfucker I've seen in any life. I'm in fucking awe of him. It suddenly clicks what this reminds me of, and I just barely to hold back baby screams of glee, because are they fucking reinacting fucking Harry Potter?! What level of fucking production? What kinda mad dedication is this?!
I climb to my feet leaning against the window, and nearly sending myself toppling to the ground in my near hysteric excitement. Opps, right, baby balance noted. Oh my God, is that a Dumbledore beard I see? I wanna touch it!
It's only as they set a bundle down on the front step and vanish or ride away, (Wait, they were just there! Where the fuck-), that I decide something's off. The whole street relights too, which is frankly a lot for a cosplay, even with the crazy shit I've seen. Deciding it's adventure time, and that my curiosity must absolutely be sated, I end up sneaking out in a baby world record. Fuck it, babies don't get punished for shit…Probably. It only takes a solid few minutes of careful butt scooting down the stairs and a stool that dad keeps for me in the kitchen. Then, I'm determinedly tottering out and a few houses down, across a street, and to a bundle.
…That is a real fucking baby. I gently poke a soft cheek. I brush my fingers across a real feeling, but painful looking cut. Messy dark hair peeks out of the blankets and I see a letter. I stare, gobsmacked for god knows how long, before I snap out of it. I look around to see absolutely no one. A sudden feeling of trepidation overcomes me and I quickly totter my ass home, internally connecting the dots.
If this is a joke, it's a bad one. It's cold for a baby, and it has already been several minutes. If someone was watching, they would have said something about the apprearance of another random child… that cut was a fucking lightning bolt.
I make it home just as the screaming starts. Whipping around, some lady is shrieking and flailing at the baby on her doorstep, and I book it. I tumble to the ground and crawl the rest of the way home, a bit desperate to erase any evidence that could place me at the scene.
I fall through the front door, palms and knees scraped to hell and panting just as I hear my father start to wake up. Shit!
Carefully moving the stool back takes a while and I hear my father start looking for me, clearly worried because I'm not in my room like I should be. I'm not gonna make it to the living room and he's already checked my bedroom. New plan! Time for Baby Allabi 1. I yank open the fridge and plop downn in front of it, just as dad comes racing down the stairs. He stares, mouth agape. I stare back blankly, hand stretched out for a juice box, scratches carefully hidden until I can take a tumble later to explain them. Papa bends over, bursting into a fit of laughter, ending up on the ground. Still wheezing, he takes out his phone and snaps a photo or two from where I'm still frozen."Hungry, Little One?"
"Cheeeeeese!" I tell him solemnly. He's still snorting when I'm scoped up and placed in the play pen while my dad starts on the food. Success! Now, it's time to dissect this fuckery. I need a calendar.
I get dad to show me one in the kitchen, and really, his phone not being a touch screen was pretty damning evidence as it was, but the year is 2002, meaning I was born in 2000. Now, I likely can't exist in the same wold in 2 different bodies, meaning that this affirms that I'm not in my home… world? Dimension? Because I died in 2022 at the age of 27. However, Harry Potter should have been born in what? 1980? So that's a strike against that theory,… I twitch in agitation. But not a strike out. I could be in an alternated Harry Potter dimension. FUCK! That would mean predicting things would be harder because I can't rely on memories. Ok, think. I'm a reincarnation. If this is by some weird twist a Harry Potter dimension, would I be more likely to be reincarnated in position to help him, or would this be coincidence? Would I even be likely to interact with him, or would I end up never meeting him at all? What are the odds…. Would I even have magic.? Fuck, ouch, getting ahead of myself, ow, baby brain, grrrugh.
I eat my damn cheesy omelette and try to block everything else out…. Yummy, yummy. I spend some time playing with dad and then take a nap to recharge my fetus functions. Then, I spend the evening trying to find answers I don't have.
First things first, I need to figure out if I'm tripping or actually ended up in the…a? Harry Potter dimension. Easiest way would be finding magic or Harry again, but that's easier said then fucking done.
"Life's fucking hard, Papa." I tell my father, emphatically shoving grapes into my mouth. Dad spits out whatever he was drinking, (Hell yeah, perfect timing!), and stares at my shameless, solemn face. He snickers, "It maybe a bit early, but I suppose you have had to learn that lesson regardless. On a side note, we're getting a swear jar. I should have never doubted you were my kid." I shrug. Your money, dude. I go to bed, not any closer to knowing what I could possibly do to find any answers.
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I find myself in a snowy forest under a glorious night sky. Tottling forward, I wonder what my fucked up imagination will show me this time. The snow makes the trek difficult for my baby limbs, but the air is fresh and peaceful, so I roll along without complaint and the snow keeps me froth, feeling pain from the falls. The only thing off was the strange tension that seemed to be building in the air. The odd quiet. Both exciting and terrifying.
"Kamaria." A voice calls me softly, and I turn, startled at the fact that anyone could even see me in my own dreams, and find a stunning woman. She sits on a rock by a lake, hair tumbling out like liquid silver and pooling on the ground with a black cloak whose hood rests on her head, held in place by an ornate jeweled chain that draped across her forehead. It looks more like a crown more than anything else. The rest of her body is covered in black strips of the same fabric as the cloak, somehow both glossy and as though made of mere smoke, wrapping around her delicately in loops, both tight and loose. It flutters in a wind that should be icy and biting, but isn't, perfectly in place despite its insubstantiality.
Where her arms were bare from entwing glossy black fabric or ornate bangles, I could see warm golden skin. Her face was equally lovely, with glowing silver eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips and I know instinctively that I'm not looking at a mortal. I drop my eyes to my feet, feeling…something saturating the air.
It's familiar, in that I've felt it before, although never in my previous life. In the minutes after I've woken from a dream, or when I'm feeling a particular way, or even in dreams themselves. But, never have I felt it like this. Like it fills my lungs, vibrates through my toes and fingertips, tugs at my very soul. Something electric but warm. A blaring melody or a soft lullaby. Like safety and home, or maybe destruction and chaos. Indescribable and contradictory. A tingle of fear down my spine has me bowing my head forward further in subtle deference.
"Hello, child." Her voice resonates with the same power in the air. It has a melodious quality that echoes in the woods covered in snow, a beautiful sound…that apparently has me waxing poetic. Yo, what the actual fuck?
The…woman laughs and beckons me forward, and I get the horrifying feeling that she heard me loud and clear. "Come sit. You have once again proven yourself worthy." Fuuuucckkk, she definitely heard me.
I decide whatever happens will happen, as I have zero power in this situation, so I plop myself down in the snow at her feet, legs splayed in the only ways babies can really comfortably sit. Get smiled or don't, I guess. "Sooo…are you god?"
She laughs again, bright and warm, like bells chim- STOP. Fuck, that's difficult. She smiles, her eyes blazing, "I have been known by many names through the ages, and yes, mostly as a god. There is a name in particular that magickind uses for me, for it is my gift that they rely on."
The gift has to be magic, and magickind pushes more towards the HP theory, so…"Lady Magic? Lady Hecate, Lord or Lady Loki? Or-"
She laughs, again, seemingly delighted. "You never disappoint. Yes, child, any will do. I'll even let you give me a new one, should you wish. Your names are always well given. We primordials tend to need our own entertainment as well."
"I take it I'm entertainment?" I'm not even really mad about it, wondering how we met, and when.
She smiles softly, tilting her head up the starry sky above, and I look as well. Even I'm not crazy enough to risk upsetting a god. "I saw your previous life, and I saw the ones that would come after. I even knew you through one of your more exciting lifetimes, and you made a certain impression. I judged your worth, and chose you because of it. Now, we are running out of time, Little Champion." What the hell- "There is someone you wish to help, yes? You have some gifts to aid your journey, as allowed by Death, Fate, and I.
Firstly, your soul is that of a seer, but fate isn't so generous, and she may even be cruel at times. While she has allowed you to change fate, to twist and tamper with it as you see fit, she remains stubborn, and will not make it easy, or unrestricted. One such instance is how your inner sight burdens your outer sight. But you are used to this, are you not? It is a blessing and curse seen in many of your lives."
I wince at the reminder of my visual impairment which seems to have followed me to my next life. Oh, well, can't miss what you never had. Best to get over it.
"Death and I struck a deal, for he is as fond of you as I. You shall retain your memories from your previous life, and gain more from those before as you grow. We know you will aid his champion, regardless of our desires, so you will discover more gifts along with the boy. My gift is in your magic. You may find yourself surprised as you grow."
"Wait, exactly how many lives have I lived?" I say, a bit overwhelmed. I mean, more lives isn't surprising considering I assumed I wasn't only on my second life, if souls can be recycled like plastic cups. But finding out I'm here because some gods were fans of my own personal brand of crazy? Yeah, that's a bit much. And that one of the…gods? Primordials? Is Lord Death himself? Big what the tuck there. Ok, so I've never been afraid of death, even accepted it, but still. Is it just because I "greeted Death like an old friend"?
Lady Magic smiles. "You were not a whim, Child. We chose a second chance for a worthy soul to aid another one. Our time is up now, so go on and do what you do best."
"What's that?" I say, pushing myself onto my unsteady feet. Lady Magic smiles wider, a hand brushing my head.
"Bring chaos and change down. Shatter "what would have been", and bring "what should be".
And with that bit of ominousness, the world dissolves into nothingness again.
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I wake up quietly, not in the slightest disoriented for once. For a second, I wonder if it was just a dream, but I'm too self aware to not know if I had main character syndrome, and the whole dream felt so, so real. Not possible to imagine the sensation of oppressive, infinite magic in a dream.
I huff, climbing the window seat. Now fucking what? We've already established I'm a mofo who has to meddle, so I can't leave Harry where he is. Fuck, child abuse pisses me off, and I spent so many years in school to become a lawyer for kids with childhoods like my own, so I know for a fact it won't be easy to remove him.
I rest my head on the window before flopping onto my back, looking at the little glow in the dark stickers that my dad put on my ceiling. There is no way I can wait until I'm older, and this isn't canon, at least not anymore, so there is no guarantee Harry won't kick it before then from a bad hit in the head or starvation or something.
Can't go to Dumbledore, because frankly, at best he's super neglectful, and at worst, he raised Harry to be slaughtered out of some deluded God complex and manipulated the entire wizarding world to kiss his ass.
The only person who would have right to custody would be Sirius "Snuffles" Black and- I'm suddenly tossed head first into a dream- no, a vision. A big ass white marble building guarded by goblins. Gringotts. It's gone in a flash.
This is what she meant by sight. I didn't realize it would be more than dreams. I hadn't been psychic in my last life. Highly intuitive? Yes, but not psychic.
I sit up to watch the sky begin to lighten as morning comes. I suppose I can't do shit without money, so it's as good a start as any. I need to find my way to Diagon Alley, then Gringotts, and then a bookstore. Sirius might hold rights as a Black, a Noble and Ancient House, which seems like it means something, at least among the Pureblood elite, and irregardless, there should be someone who cares about the fact that he didn't get a trial. It should horrify someone, at least.
WAIT! Has he even been tried yet?! Fuck, it's only November 2! Crap, gotta get a move on. Okay. I begin to pace in wobbly steps around the little round floral rug. I can't do shit in this body. I won't be able to for a long while, but the thought of leaving an innocent man to dementors makes me sick. I freeze, realizing the only solution is getting help.
I gotta tell Papa about magic. Even if he hates me, even if I'm abandoned, I have to try. I plop down, misery and fear making tears drip from my eyes as I come to a conclusion; I'd rather be hated than guilty.
My jaw clenches. I would have to reveal my magic at some point, so what will come, will come. Realistically, I won't be able to keep up the pretense of being a normal baby indefinitely. I'm already weird as hell, and it's gonna be bloody obvious when I start really fucking up this detention as soon as I can confidentially control my bladder. I've got people to blackmail! That shit can't wait!
I take a deep breath, and start to plan. Mentally apologizing to Sirius, I spent the whole next week trying to find my magic. I need at least some proof, and that means a demonstration. It's not until before bed time one night that I find it. A tiny spark somewhere in my upper abdomen and low chest area. That familiar feeling. It's a drop compared to Lady Magics oceans of magic, but it's there. I grin.
Step One of Operation Get Out the Doghouse is underway.
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See, magic is weird shit, and JK Rowling didn't really directly tell us anything about how it actually works. Two things are generally understood by the fandom; Magic is based on intent and emotion. The primary example is the patronus charm.
Maybe imagination is needed? I tilt my head, squinting. Is that intent? I sit on the little round rug in my room across from a pile of toys. I remember that wandless and wordless magic were a thing. I'm pretty sure that wasn't Fanon. Probably.
I look at the teddy bear in front of me. Small and blue with glitter and a silky top hat and bow tie. I stare at Mr. Glitter the Great. I want him to come here. I really don't wanna walk to grab him. I can imagine him shooting into my palms. I concentrate and raise my hands out. Mr. Glitter the Great twitches, and topples forward. Elation spills into me and I cackle ecstatically.
"Fuck yeah, Bitches!" I do a happy wiggle as my father sticks his head into the room.
"Language, Little Love."
"Ana asif, Papa." I'm sorry, Papa.
Papa folds like wet paper, cooing."Ok, Baby." My dad disappears back into the kitchen to finish dinner.
Okay, it's been like a week since I started practice. Could be worse, but progress is a process. Again!
It takes me another few days to get the toy to twitch constantly. It's upsetting because it's really not enough evidence as far as, Hey, I gots magic! Do you still love me, dad?
After a long ass time, I figure out that whenever I manage to make anything happen, the little spark of magic seems to… Warm? Glow? I reach for it, and it feels like trying to grab warm air. You can touch it, but not really grasp it. But, i'm a persistent bitch, so a dip my metaphorical hand right the fuck in. I try again. And again. And again. I want that fucking bear. I want it to come to me so I can save a damn puppy. I can almost see it coming to me. It's several days later that I manage to finally tug? on the spark, and something shifts, a small vibration in my soul, or maybe a barely there static shock, but it races through me and out, almost unnoticeable.
The bear flies and I howl my victory to the fucking sky, accidentally waking dad up at the butt crack of dawn.
Still takes another week to do it reliably, though.
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Weekly Power Status
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