A/N & Disclaimer:

Hi all, I'm Arty. I don't own the characters in this story. Heck, I don't even own the premise of the story! It's loosely based on Circus by SNicole25, A Fresh Bouquet by Tsume Yuki, and just about every other "girl reborn into a fictional world" fanfic out there. I just really liked the idea of a someone from the "real world" being reborn into the HP world and wanted to play with the idea myself.

Prologue

I'd like to say that I died in a meaningful, heroic fashion: but unfortunately, that's not true. I didn't die rescuing an old lady from an oncoming car or saving a baby from a burning building. I didn't even die trying to save myself. The reality is actually quite embarrassing. Really. I died trying to get my mom's cat off the roof – and not because I was worried about him or anything. He stole my bra. My bra. I wasn't about to let him run up and down the street with that again!

Long story short: I grabbed him, he scratched me, I slipped, and we fell.

The cat survived.

Death was not at all like I expected. I mean, sure, it was just as painful as I imagined it'd be. But…I don't know – it just wasn't as final as I thought it would be.

One second I was leaning out of my bedroom window trying to grab hold of the stupid cat, and the next I was lying face-up on the pavement. The pain hit me like a tidal wave as soon as the shock faded.

I could feel every bone in my body reverberating from the impact. I could feel the cold wetness of my blood-soaked pajamas. I could feel my heart beating faster than ever before and then slower and slower, and slower still. And then…I couldn't feel anything. There was just…nothing.

I remember thinking "It can't end this way!" as everything faded to black.

And it didn't.

I woke up.

But when I woke up I was no longer cold and dying on the pavement clutching a bright blue Victoria's Secret bra. I was warm and…being forcefully ejected from a dark and slimy tunnel?

What awaited me beyond the tunnel was something I never dreamed I'd be saying out loud: my bloody, chaotic, and disgusting birth.

The shock of it all caused me to faint immediately (which I found, as a former fully-grown adult with a credit card and everything, absolutely mortifying). When I came to, I thought it had all been a dream, an oddly realistic and extremely detailed dream. But unfortunately, it wasn't.

The first year of my new life as "Maren Masterson" was entirely uneventful. I learned how to walk and talk as quickly as I possibly could, mostly so I wouldn't have to experience the humiliation of having my diaper changed any longer than absolutely necessary. My new parents were baffled when, at just 14 months old I walked right into the bathroom and used the kiddie toilet on my own for the very first time (since the day I died, at least). It truly was a glorious feeling.

My new life got much easier once I gained that small amount of independence, but at the same time it also got stranger. I began noticing a bunch of odd little details.

First of all, my new parents were British (I'd been American in my past life, so naturally I found this odd). Secondly, everything in our house seemed strangely outdated (I mean, our television set had bunny-ears.) And lastly, my parents never took me outside. Ever.

And…well, I don't know how to describe it, but life was just…weird.

Greg and Martha never seemed to laugh or smile. Not even when I said things no ordinary toddler would, like "Could you please pass the morning paper?"

They always seemed to be on edge. But everything changed the year I turned 3.

Greg came home one day looking…frazzled, which was odd, because he seemed like a pretty well composed man most of the time. He immediately pulled Martha into the kitchen and they began talking in hysterics. I couldn't catch what it was he was saying, but it made her wail and shout incoherently.

Soon they were both shouting, "The dark lord is gone! Hail the Boy Who Lived! Hail Harry Potter!"

Now, full disclosure, I was no psychology major in my previous life. In fact, I was a freelance artist. But I figured this could only mean one of two things: 1. My new parents were bat-shit crazy, or 2. I was bat-shit crazy, probably stuck in a comatose state brought on by the severe trauma of falling out a window at 2 am trying to accost a cat. And I really hoped it'd be option number 2.

A few years later, after my first bout of accidental magic, I realized it was actually option number 3, which I hadn't even considered because it just sounded absolutely ridiculous.

I had been reborn into the magical world of Harry Potter.

Fuck.

Adjusting to life after the "great reveal", as I like to call it, wasn't too difficult at all. As it turned out, my new parents were both muggle-borns who'd left the wizarding world after Hogwarts. Partly out of fear, but mostly because they just couldn't live without the modern day muggle tech the wizarding world lacked – like pens. (It's the little things you miss most, I guess.)

As much as I missed my old mom and dad, I had to admit, Greg and Martha were pretty cool.

When I was expelled from primary school for calling my teacher an "uneducated tool", they decided to homeschool me – they weren't even mad! So, from the ages of 5 to 11 I was pretty much free to do whatever I wanted, which was, incidentally, to plan out the rest of my life.

My goal was to live past the age of 20, which I failed to do in my previous life, all while causing as little damage to the storyline as possible. In order to do that, all I have to do is make sure I stay faaaaar away from the main characters.

I mean, I did read all the books in my previous life. How hard could it be? …

Maybe I should leave the country.

A/N:

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