A/N: Just a quick note for any cynical readers, this is a self insert. If you ever think I'm taking the whole Ravenclaw thing a bit too far, know that I do actually think this way, pretty much all the time. (That's rather embarrassing to admit, but there it is). Charlotte is her own character though, just based off of the way I think and what decisions I would make. She has already started taking on a life of her own (I don't like ice cream that much) so I hope you like her! I've been thinking about this story for a while because I think the "reborn into a world" trope is so much fun for fanfiction and not a lot of people have a Ravenclaw mindset like I do.

If you guys have read any cool Ravenclaw fics, please PM the links to me!

I am what some people would call an avid Harry Potter fan. Others would call me a filthy casual. I read a lot of fan fiction (and even did some writing myself), but would be the first to forget major plot points of the books compared to the movies. I am a Ravenclaw, or, at least, I was. I haven't actually been sorted yet- in this life.

I somehow have become a part of the fanfiction cliché of being born into a "fantasy" world. I guess it isn't so much a fantasy now.

I'd love to say that being born into a wizarding family has been a dream come true, but so far it definitely has not. Mostly because it's been so dull. I mean, I'm laying in my crib right now pretending to tell my life story on fanfiction because I am actually that bored. Being a baby again has definitely sucked. Not that I thought it would be fun, mind you. This certainly isn't something I'd planned on reliving. At least I have lovely parents, though thinking of them as my parents still feels a bit foreign. I'll probably be used to it by the time I'm older. Hopefully.

My dad is an American muggle and my mum is an English witch, so please excuse the jumping back and forth of common phrasing. I have somehow managed to amalgamate their verbiage into some half-and-half nightmare that no one will be able to understand when I start talking.

But since I can't talk yet, I'm bored out of my skull. I'd kill for a good book right now; in fact, I'd love to get a head start on studying magic. Maybe I could graduate from Hogwarts early? Though with how much fun Hogwarts is, I don't think I'd actually want to. Maybe I could take extra electives?! That sounds like so much fun. Oh, I wish I could just go to Hogwarts right now! Ah sorry, my inner Ravenclaw is totally geeking out right now.

In my boredom, I'd worked out a few goals and plans for myself so that I wouldn't actually lose my mind. First, and most importantly, I need to find out the date and put my memory to the test to see if I can remember what time period means what. Is this a Marauder's fanfiction or will I be in Harry's class? Am I older than him? The same age? I'm certainly not a love interest, I know that much.

Second, did I actually possess magic? The anxious part of me told me that being a squib is entirely possible and despite the fact that it's unlikely, I can't help but worry.

Third, I need to figure out how to get my hands on a book that is longer than four words so that I can actually read something. These long hours in my crib are really taking their toll.

The fourth plan...I didn't want to think about it until I knew the date.

At first I worried about somehow alerting my new parents to the fact that I'm not technically a baby, but my body did a fine job of shielding me from scrutiny. I thought I'd be crawling and talking in no time, but my stupid muscles won't cooperate with me and my mouth just doesn't move the way I expect it to. In the end, it still took me months to work up to even the simplest of things.

…...

"Dada," I gurgle. I'd decided he is my favorite, so I'm blessing him with my first word. I wonder if all babies do this?

"Did you hear that?" My dad turns to my mom, and they both look at me like I had sprouted a second head. Uh oh. Is this too soon? I really should have read more child development books in my last life. Oh well, I'm in too deep now. Maybe if I really push myself I can just be considered a child wizard genius and avoid the insane lab tests?

"Dada," I try again. My dad bursts into tears. I laugh. Maybe this is just how all parents react.

…...

The year is 1980 and I have no idea what this means for me. Ugh, why am I always so forgetful?! Wait, didn't the series end in 1990? No, if Harry is born in '80 that would only make him 10 in 1990. Maybe that's when the series starts? It doesn't go into the 2000's, right? I'm almost sure of that. Damn, why is everything so jumbled in my head? Well, I'm sure I'm not with the marauders. But am I older or younger than Harry? Wait, do I get my Hogwarts letter when I'm 10 or 11?

…..

I'm finally walking and talking- months before I'm supposed to, I might add- and things are starting to get more interesting. I've convinced my parents of my love of books, though pretending to stare at the pages of children's books is already starting to get on my nerves. Fortunately for me, I think I'm finally coordinated enough to start pulling books off their shelves by myself. Though I admit it feels so, so sad that this is what I've been working up to for the last few months.

Now that I've been reincarnated, all my past knowledge of heredity has been thrown out the window, but I can tentatively say that I got my love of books from my grandmother. If she's not a Ravenclaw, I really want to know what her house is. Grandma's house is filled to the brim with books on magic, so much so that her bookshelves go all the way to the floor. It's my dream house and I love it. Grandma is my only relative that lives close by, so I get dropped off a lot with her when my parents are working. After my parents say goodbye, I decide that today I am finally going to try to read something of my own choosing.

"What are you up to, sweetheart?" Grandma says, startling me as I pulling a book off the shelf. I knew she wouldn't leave me out of her sight long, but I was hoping it would be longer than that! I try not to flinch as I turn around to show her the book. There are baby toys littered all over the floor, but all I want is to read and I'm not going to give up now! The book I chose is Hogwarts: A History. I didn't think I would be lucky enough to find a textbook here. I'm ecstatic! Now I just have to make sure that she won't take it away from me.

"'Dis one!" I shout happily as I show her the book. This is my first time trying to take a real book, so I am nervous as to how it will play out. I plop myself down on the living room floor and open it. I would have liked to start from the beginning, but I feel I should be more subtle than that, so I open it to a random page. Then I looked up at my grandma and waited for her response.

"Are you sure you want that one, sweetie? It seems a bit big for you." She leans down to take the book from me, but I expected this.

"No! 'Dis one!" I shout again, defensively throwing myself over the book. Grandma laughs.

"Ok, ok. Just be careful, alright? Let's move to the kitchen so I can start on dinner."

Perfect. Grandma is going to be distracted with food prep, so I won't have to worry as often about her watching me. I need to be careful that she doesn't look too closely though. If she catches my eyes tracking, I don't know what she'll think.

…..

I'm almost two, which means I have boundless energy. I just wish I had something meaningful to do with it. Having an adults brain in a child's body, I thought I'd be able to do amazing things, but instead I just use all my excess energy to stay up late and worry. I liked it better when I didn't have to worry.

I was hoping that when I learned the date, I'd remember the timeline of events and when Tom fell from power (yes, I'm referring to "Voldemort". I'll show him the proper respect...never. Screw that guy.), but instead I remembered absolutely nothing. I am playing this game only knowing half the information and some of that might not even be right! Stupid memory!

Unfortunately for me, my parents are the type to never talk about anything negative in front of their child; they would always either whisper while shooting me concerned glances or walk away. This happens often enough that I have suspicions that Tom is still around, but I can't know for sure. That is, not until Halloween of 1981. When I learn the date, I worry a bit, since I am pretty sure I am probably going to school around the same time as Harry. I'm proven right when I hear my parent's cheers this fateful night. This is the worst case scenario, as far as I'm concerned. Now I have a few key facts that I know for certain: Harry and I are about the same age (I'm 6 months older, since for some reason I can remember that his birthday is in July), we'll be going to school together, and Harry's parents are dead.

After Halloween, I spend a lot more time worrying and wishing I could spend far more time studying. I need to prepare for the worst because it is coming. I didn't want to think about it before when I wasn't sure where I was in the timeline, but this is the worst outcome I could have imagined and I need to start planning.

My fear and the major issue at play here is that despite my shoddy memory, I know way too much. I know about (all?) of the horcruxes, I know Snape is a spy, and I know Dumbledore dies at the end of the sixth book. Just knowing about Snape could derail everything in an extremely negative way.

Now this is the point in the fanfiction where I'm supposed to say something heroic like, I'm going to change every bad thing that happened or I'm going to save my favorite character, but... I don't know. This isn't a sad story with a bad ending. The main characters live happily ever after, the bad guy is defeated. Sirius... Sirius keeps me awake at night, sometimes, but would he really have it any other way? He doesn't seem like the type to half heartedly throw himself in to anything. How could I guarantee that he wouldn't just die in the battle of Hogwarts later on? Or die an even worse death some other way? Maybe I would have tried if I had been born with the Marauders. Maybe I'd have done everyone a favor and ringed Peter's stupid, fat neck myself, but that ship has long sailed. Sirius was thrown into prison months ago, and Lily and James are dead. Maybe if I'm lucky I can manage to save Fred or Remus, but that's so many years from now and such a chaotic moment I can't really plan for it.

This leads me back to the real issue at hand- how to avoid being caught. In a normal situation, all I would have to do is not slip up that I know about future events and everything would be fine, but noooo every important person in Hogwarts has to be a legilimens, including Tom! Ironically, Dumbledore poses as much of a threat to me as Tom does; I've seen his games and the way he uses Harry. If he could know everything that I do- I have no idea what he would do to me or that information. Ironically, despite knowing so much about the man, I feel like I barely know him at all. I guess it makes sense since I got the story from Harry's point of view.

I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore did the same thing that Tom would do: take the message and kill the messenger. It would eliminate him having to deal with me as a liability. Tom is only slightly more up in the air as an immediate threat because I have no idea if Tom can still use occlumency when he's with Quarrel, but as far as I know all I need is to walk by that loser professor once and I am as good as dead. I've seen enough movie scenes of Tom torturing people to know that if he finds out what I know- well he probably won't have to torture me for long before he gets what he wants and kills me.

The worst part is that it's not even my own life that I'm concerned about- it's everyone else's. I've never even met these people before, but I would feel so guilty destroying their lives just by...being born. I close my eyes and try to sleep, forcibly pushing away the stressful thoughts. This is why two year olds aren't meant to be smart. I've been kicking around my bed for hours overthinking this stuff. I'm gonna be so exhausted tomorrow. I try harder to shut everything out but one tiny voice still lingers, the one that I haven't been able to quiet since Halloween, "Wouldn't it be better if you just died?"

…...

Fall turns to winter and Christmas is coming up fast. Christmas is my favourite holiday, and even though my presents from my first Christmas were a little young for my taste, I still enjoyed the season immensely. Unfortunately, I am really struggling to get into the holiday season this year. Knowing that Tom will be around in my future is leaving me stressed and anxious, and Tom doesn't even know that I exist yet! I'm suddenly became very envious of Harry's blasé attitude about having a mass murderer on his trail through much of the series. I should be enjoying myself and my new family- I'm technically only a child- but I can't get my mind off the fact that I am wasting so much precious time and not preparing myself so that I won't send everyone down a horrible path. My family is starting to notice that I'm not sleeping well, since I am napping longer and more frequently. Soon I might have to tell them about the nightmares, just so they won't worry that I'm sick or something. I could have told them sooner, but the idea of faking some childish story every night sounded like more effort than I was willing to put in for some hugs and warm milk. At least they aren't night terrors- those literally make you wake up screaming, no matter what they're about.

I've been getting a bit more brazen with my reading, just to alleviate a bit of my stress; I finally managed to sneak a readable book in to my room and have been reading late into the night. Lately I've found it easier to just read until I'm about to pass out so I don't have to think so much. I've thought myself in to oblivion over the past year and a half- now I just want a respite from it.

Christmas morning finds me fast asleep, having stayed up particularly late to avoid a nasty nightmare that had been recurring for a few days now. My family comes to wake me (Grandma had stayed the night) and despite how rough the last few months had felt, I can't keep away my excitement.

"It's Christmas, Charlotte! Wake up!" My parents call gently.

"Chwismas?" I ask blearily, rubbing at my eyes as the information slowly makes it to my brain. Chwismas!" I hurl myself out of bed and into their arms. Today I just want to be a child. A happy, normal child.

"Do you want to go see your presents?"

"Yeah!" I gleefully shoot down the hallway, all remnants of sleep vanishing in my wake. My uncertain walk is quickly upgrading to a run, and I will be eternally grateful for the day I can sprint. I am so, so tired of waddling like a duck.

My parents shower their only child with gifts, and despite my good mood, I can't help the guilty thoughts that sneak into my head. Would they still treat me this way if they knew the truth? Would they even consider me theirs? Have I robbed them of their only chance to raise a child?

I give my grandmother a guilty smile as she hands me her last gift, her expression soft and almost, sad? What would she say if she knew what you really are?

I let my parents help me unwrap it, as they have with all my gifts, but at least I get to tear some of the wrapping paper off, which is the best part anyway. We all laugh as I throw the paper high above my head, and I almost oust the intrusive thoughts until my eyes land on my grandma's gift.

"Oh mum, it's beautiful." My mum holds it out for her and dad to see, and I look at the back with tears in my eyes. It's a blanket.

"I knit it myself." It really is beautiful. It's a picture of the ocean at sunset, with a quote etched in to the middle of it. She had clearly used magic to help her in her work, as the picture moves slightly, as if blown by the sea breeze. Even from behind I am able to read it, and I can barely hold back the sob that tries to escape me as I do.

Family: An anchor during rough waters

I look at my grandmother in disbelief, but she is distracted by my parents ogling the gift. She can't know. Can she? I have never really mentioned my love of the sea to anyone. It has never come up as it wasn't important. It's normal to give a child a gift that says how much you love them. Why am I over analyzing this?

The tears that had started at seeing her gift are now turning into tears of frustration. I feel like all I ever do is over analyze everything. I'm tired and scared and lonely and not even two. It is clearly nap time. So I take all of my pent up frustrations and do what any one-and-a-half year old would do: I cry about it.

…...

One considerably long nap later with my brand new blanket (I refuse to go anywhere without it), I am back to my family with a huge grin on my face. Having had the chance to mull it over, I can't know if my grandma somehow knows the truth or if fate is just playing tricks on me, but I believe what my gift tells me: my family loves me no matter what. I am not going to tell them the truth today (or possibly ever), but for now, it doesn't make sense to worry about it. They love Charlotte, and that is me, so that's that.

"I know you love your new blanket, Charlotte, but will you leave it here so we can show you your last gift?" I am amenable to that, seeing as I'm not actually one-and-a-half, so I put my gift down and follow my parents outside. "Ta-da!" My dad shouts, the glee on his face mirroring mine when I get a look at my new toy.

A broomstick! No way!

I hear my mum sigh as I run up to my gift. "Are you sure it's safe?" she grumbles. "Men and their toys."

"You're the one who introduced me to quidditch, remember?"

"You asked about it! It's not like I actually care for the sport!"

"I swear you're the only witch who doesn't," he sighs. "Of all the rotten luck," he mutters to me.

"I heard that!" My mum laughs, coming over to playfully punch my dad in the arm. "You're awfully quiet about this, mum. I thought you would be on my side about not having our daughter flying around and getting herself hurt." My grandma looks at me with the same expression she had when she gave me her gift and it makes me wonder.

"I think she'll be all right." She never takes her eyes off me as she smiles and I am sure that she knows.

I try not to think about the fact that I suddenly feel exposed as I turn to listen to my dad's instructions on how to fly a broom. He is being extremely technical for a one year old, but I know that is just his enthusiasm talking. They don't all know, surely. I surreptitiously try to look over at my grandmother as she speaks to my mum, but it seems like her eyes are always on me. Why am I so afraid of her all of a sudden?

Because you don't know what she'll do with the information. My anxious brain immediately supplies the answer.

Will she tell my parents? How long has she known? Wait, she made the blanket for me, clearly she's known for a few days at least. But how does she know? Did I give it away? There's no way she could have pieced it all together from the few clues I may have left behind. Maybe she— the ocean! She knows I love the ocean! I have never told anyone that, it has only ever been in my mind, which means— she's a legilimens? I turn to look at her again, and I swear she gives an almost imperceptible nod, her eyes glueing to mine.

I wonder if she meant to give me the blanket to help me figure it out or just to make me feel better. Probably the latter. Though if she's been inside my head this whole time she probably knew I'd figure it out too. Two birds with one stone I guess.

My mind is swirling with new possibilities, hopes, and fears, and my dad has just finished his explanation of how to ride the tiny toy broom.

"Hop on, sweetie! You can do it!"

I guess now is as good a time as any to find out if I am a natural on a broom. I hop on and kick off, leaving all my fears behind me in the roaring wind.

…..

The week after Christmas could not have moved any more slowly if it tried. Both of my parents had another week off for the holidays, so they spent all their time with me, which meant I could not get a moment alone with my grandmother. I could barely contain my agitation at this turn of events, and spent as much time as possible on my broom to make up for it. Fortunately, I had been a natural. Apparently the books were quite good at explaining most of the intricacies of riding a broomstick, since it all felt oddly familiar somehow. In any case, my dad was ecstatic and my mum was disappointed. I couldn't wait to finally ride a real broom, since being a natural at riding a toy broom only meant so much. When I wasn't on my broom I agonized over what I would say to my grandmother when I finally got to speak to her. She had told me that she still loved me through the blanket, but... Ugh all this worrying about it is definitely going to make me grey really, really young!

Fortunately time has not been magically forced to a standstill, and eventually my parents go back to work and drop me off at my grandma's house. I gulp nervously as they say their goodbyes. Soon I will be alone with the only person in the world who knows who I really am. Suddenly being lonely doesn't seem that bad.

"We don't have to talk today if you don't want to," my grandmother starts, shocking me out of my reverie. I turn to face her guiltily, her blanket wrapped around my clenched fists. There are some childish tendencies I don't mind picking up again, like being allowed to carry a comforting blanket around with me at all times.

I think about taking her up on her offer and avoiding this talk. Pretending that nothing has changed, that I am just an almost two year old, but as soon as I imagine it I know I can't do it any longer.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to the floor. I yelp in surprise as I am snatched in to a hug, but I happily return it.

"Don't ever be sorry for being born, little girl."

"But I'm-"

"Still a lot younger than me, I'm sure." She smiles as she sets me down on the couch.

"I'm sorry for-"

"Shh, shh. No more sorries. I've heard enough of them in that pretty little head of yours. You've been apologizing for things outside of your control since the day you were born."

I stare at my hands, feeling defeated for some reason. I don't know what else to say. The moment has finally come and I completely blank except for apologizes.

"You're a legilimens?" I grasp at the first thought that pops into my head. My grandmother looks a little surprised for a moment.

"The voice in your head sounds so much older. It feels strange to hear such big words with that tiny voice of yours," she comments. I pretend to pout and she laughs.

"I'm a grown up, I swear!" We both laugh. It feels so absurd to be talking to someone like this in this child's body that I'm stuck in.

"To answer your question, I practice legilimency and occlumency. I was an auror back in the day, and I found it to be a lot easier to find the evidence of a crime when I already knew who had done it."

"Because occlumency by itself is inadmissible in court." I am rather impressed with myself for knowing that and judging by her expression, so is my grandma.

"You know some very interesting facts, Charlotte."

"Do you want to ask me anything? It only seems fair. And I'm not sure how much you know," I admit. She takes a long pause before answering.

"Do you remember what your name was?" she asks quietly. "You've never thought about it before."

"I..." I'm taken aback by her question and have to take a moment myself to figure out my answer. "I hadn't really thought about it, but no. I don't remember any personal details like that. I think I was relatively young though. Having children seems like a foreign concept and my thought processes don't really come across as someone older, but I could be wrong, of course. It definitely wasn't Charlotte though. I'm trying to get used to it, but that name feels foreign to me."

My grandmother and I blink at one another for a moment as we both realize something at the same time.

"That is the longest I've ever spoken in my entire life."

"You've been faking that baby talk?" She asks, aghast.

"Of course I have! You've been listening to me think, haven't you?"

"I thought you had a speech impediment!"

"Isn't that a mental thing? I know how to speak properly!"

"You barely ever spoke! I just assumed you thought a lot because you didn't speak well!"

"No, I barely spoke because I didn't want to give myself away. I figured it was better to just be a quiet child than use a word too big for my vocabulary and make my parents freak out."

"Oh, well, now I know," she says, matter-of-factly. I had a feeling it might have ticked her off a bit to already have to deal with a back talking granddaughter.

"You're not going to tell them, are you?" I ask nervously.

"They will still love you, even if I do."

"But you won't, right?" The rising panic is not doing anything kind to my already high pitched voice.

"No. While I don't agree with a lot of your reasoning, I do agree that telling them would bring undue stress. But please don't distance yourself from them, sweetie. They love all of you. Your soul may be older, but it's still shining through for all of us to see."

"Damnit! That is so beautiful!" I cry.

"Hey, no cursing in this house, young lady!" Grandma smacks me on the side of the head and I cry even harder. So far my dream of living the life of a happy witch is being fulfilled.

I would like to say that the rest of our talk is filled with nothing but laughter and joy but that would be a lie. Eventually we end up talking about the people who scare me the most.

"I had no idea Dumbledore is an occlumens," my grandmother muses.

"You didn't know?"

"I'd never really thought about it. I didn't know of the craft when I went to school and I didn't have a lot of personal contact with the man before or after I went there. You really don't think he will be able to help you?"

"No!" That is not a risk I will ever be willing to take. "I know what he's capable of doing for the sake of what he considers the greater good. He would probably end up killing us all by mistake."

My grandma grimaces. "That's a very frightening thing to hear coming out of a child's mouth."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. But what if you show him your memories? Then he will understand why you feel this way. Maybe he will leave things as they are if he sees how firmly you believe that they will work out."

"But I can't guarantee that they will. Just by existing I could be changing the way things turn out. What if I accidentally trip Harry down the stairs one day and he breaks his neck? The entire wizarding world would fall because I'm alive."

"Now Charlotte you might be being a little overdramatic-"

"Say it's a metaphor for something more complex," I deadpan.

"So you want to take multiple timelines into consideration? I worked on a group project in Arithmancy in my seventh year on multiple timelines. The math was ridiculous, and in the end we couldn't come up with anything conclusive. All we found was that there are more timelines than anyone can ever hope to analyze, and the changing of timelines is so frequent and subtle that it would take magic far stronger than we have to figure out the intricacies behind it all."

"In other words-"

"Trying to figure out if the timelines have changed is a fool's errand."

"But I remember the original timeline! I'll be able to compare them!" I argue.

"If they are even worth comparing. What if Harry ends up having Herbology on Tuesdays instead of Wednesdays? Are you going to assume that all has been for naught?"

"As if I would remember something so inconsequential," I mutter.

"How do you know it isn't important?"

I scratch my head and whine in frustration. "I don't know! What's your point?"

"That is my point. You don't know and you won't know. So there is no point in worrying about it."

"But I have to worry about it! If we're on a totally different timeline then my information is meaningless. I could possibly live a normal life without fearing anyone's wrath."

"You know that's not true," Grandma's eyes soften, despite her harsh words.

"I know," I sigh. "They will want the information, even if it's wrong. But then I might actually have to go around saving the world, and that sounds just as hard as trying not to wreck it. At least when I'm trying not to wreck it I know what's going to happen. In a bad timeline anything is fair game. Could you imagine if Snape is actually a bad guy? I'd be so fuc-"

"Watch your language!"

I cough. "Sowwy, grandma," I coo.

"Don't give me that crap!" We laugh. Being able to talk about this with someone felt so liberating, like I could finally figure all of this out, and I wouldn't have to do it all alone.

…...

After a few more days of talking and strategizing, we both agree that my best course of action is to learn occlumency. That will give me nine years to perfect it before starting school (after being reminded that I get my Hogwarts letter at eleven, not ten).

"But what if I'm not magical?" I finally get up the courage to ask. "Shouldn't I be using accidental magic by now?"

"Every child is different, sweetheart. And with an adult's mind, you may be inadvertently suppressing it. Just give it some time."

"But how will I be able to practice occlumency?"

"Well first, you need to learn some much-needed meditation. You have to be able to quiet your mind."

I look at my grandmother like she has grown two heads. "I am so fu-"

"Language!"