Hello! Some of you may recognize this story from AO3! That is me. I am cross-uploading. There might be a few small changes here and there, but they will all be superficial.

Thank you and I hope you enjoy! Be sure to leave a review if you feel like it! (Do people still say "no flames" here?)

I don't remember how exactly I died.

I couldn't tell you where I was or who I was with. I couldn't tell you if I went silent or screaming. Was I in pain in my final moments? I'd like to hope I wasn't. But I know I was young and fresh out of high school. I was American. I put marmalade on my toast. But who was I? Who were my parents? What were my friends like? Where exactly in America was I from? What was my name? I think…

"Aurelia, her name is Aurelia. Aurelia Eileen Prince," said a masculine English voice.

Well, it wasn't that. I knew that much.

I couldn't see the source of the voices chattering around me very well. It was all rather blurry. I guess that makes sense, seeing as I was born no more than thirty minutes ago.

"Lucky for you that I think Aurelia is pretty. But seeing as you won't be a part of her life after today, I think she should have my surname and a middle name of my choosing."

"Prince is a respected name. She'll be treated better with it."

"She's a half-blood. She'll be fine. Besides, I'll be taking her back with me. America is far more progressive than Britain these days."

Ah. I was a half-er again. I remember being one last time too. Nice to see some things stay the same. Although calling me a "half-blood" felt a little archaic, I did have to agree with my mother. If this guy— my father, apparently— wasn't going to be in my life, what right did he have when I came to my name? Although there was something familiar about the latter part of the name he chose. Eileen Prince. Why did that sound so familiar? Was it someone I knew in my previous life? A celebrity, perhaps?

"I'm leaving her for her own safety. This is… certainly not what I expected, but she's still of my blood and flesh," the man's voice was monotonous, but I could hear a twisted pride in those last words. And what did he mean by my own safety? Was he a wanted criminal or something? In that case, why should I take his last name?

My mother held me tighter, although still gently. "It's always about blood with you people. If you were really leaving her for her safety, you wouldn't want her to have your mother's name. If it were really about protecting her you wouldn't be leaving at all. You're a coward, Severus. Just admit it."

Wait.

What did she just call him?

"I am NOT a coward!" He roared, his voice quickly going from detached and steady to a thunderous rage.

Seeing as I was a baby, I should think it's quite alright that his little flip-out startled me to tears.

"Shh, niña, it's alright. You're okay, Mama's got you. Shh, shh. That's it. There, there." She placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and patted my back before her own voice turned venomous.

"Do you feel like a man, Severus? Did yelling at a woman holding her newborn child make you feel big and important? Do you feel like you proved something? Her name is Aurelia Rosita Rodriguez. She is my daughter. You forfeit your claim to her the moment she had a heartbeat. And she will be more than you ever were. Leave now, Severus Snape. And never come near us again."

Severus… Snape?

I was reborn as the unwanted bastard daughter of Severus Snape? Presumably during the First Wizarding War?

I could practically hear Snape's scowl as he loudly exited the room.

My mother leaned down to place another kiss on my face, "My sweet girl... What a life you will lead..."

"Oh Mija, you look so pretty with your hair braided like that. I can't believe my pretty baby is growing up so fast. Mi Chiquitita Bonita," Margarita cooed as she finished putting white bows in my ebony black hair.

It was September 23, 1988. My ninth birthday in this life. A life that, really, made no sense. One of the few things I remember about my past life was that I read the Harry Potter series religiously. Like, I was OBSESSED. We're talking cosplay during the school day levels of absolute nerd here. And in all my reading and scrolling through J. K. Rowling's problematic Twitter feed, not once was an Aurelia Rodriguez mentioned. Let alone that Snape was ever physically able to look at any woman who wasn't Lily Evans.

Oh god, was I reborn into someone's OC fanfiction? Christ on a stick, I hated OCs. They lacked any real originality and more often than not they were just wish-fulfillment self-inserts. Worse yet, my existence meant I could trust nothing of my previous knowledge to be true. For all I knew, in this timeline Dumbledore was evil, Draco wore leather pants, and Umbridge was married to Hagrid.

That last theoretical caused an internal shudder, but that wasn't the point. I had spent the past seven years tormented with knowledge that could save this world, along with the possibility that it was all completely useless. Why me? Why am I here with my knowledge if not to change things? Why was I only able to clearly remember things related to HP in the first place? How could I even change things when I was in another country, thousands of miles away from the original plot? Why Severus Snape's daughter? Why not a canon character, like Harry or Hermione? Or even a background character? I'm sure being Daphne Greengrass couldn't be too terrible. I could've kicked ass as Dean Thomas. Just... why?

I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.

"Niña, are you okay? You're spacing out again. What's the matter?"

One of the few good things about this life was my mother. Margarita Rosita Rodriguez was too good to be someone's OC. If there was a God out there, I knew he took the time to craft her himself. Brains, bravery, and beauty. She had it all. Knowing I was with her and not Snape was a huge comfort.

I smiled and grabbed her hand, "I'm okay, Mamá. I'm thinking about what I wanna be when I'm old like you."

Margarita rolled her brilliant hazel eyes that I was oh so jealous of. "You little…"

But instead of scolding me, she let out a laugh. She had always been very lax with me.

"You might want to put a pin in that. You're like me, Mija. You're special. You have more options than you think."

I knew what she was alluding to. I knew I was a witch in this life— something I had extensively wished for and dreamed about in my previous one— but it hasn't quite hit me. Like, I knew what I was, but my brain refused to process it.

"How am I special?"

I could never get sick of Margarita's smile. If I could only see one thing for the rest of my life, my mother's loving face would be it.

She led me to the couch and held me in her warm embrace. I leaned into her, inhaling the scent of her amber and spice perfume. The scent of home.

"You have a very special gift, Aurelia. You just don't know it yet."

"Can you tell me?"

A mischievous grin took hold of her timeless face, "No. If I had to wait, so do you. Trust me, it's more fun that way."

"What do you mean? That's not fair. I wanna know!" I really did want to hear her say it. I figured if I heard her say it out loud to me it might finally become real.

An eyebrow was raised at my attitude, but Margarita didn't chastise me. "Well, I suppose I could tell you a little bit. You do have to wait just a bit longer than I did."

"What?" Please for the love of all things holy, continue.

"I was eleven when I got my acceptance letter from a very special school all the way on the East Coast. It was a boarding school— meaning I lived there during the school year— and only certain people got to attend. I'll never forget your Abuelita's face when they told me I was accepted into Ilvermorny. They didn't think the place was real. Tio Luis almost beat the professor who told us. Thought the whole thing was a ploy to kidnap gullible children."

Ilvermorny. The Hogwarts of America. Which really made no sense. I mean, it's supposed to take students from all over North America. The entire continent. There are twenty-three countries in North America. And that's not including territories. I'm calling bull. There's no way.

Why could I remember that but not what color my eyes used to be?

"Can you tell me about Ilvermorny? And why did they want you? Why did Tio get angry?"

Margarita's grin widened, thinking she knew something I didn't.

"They wanted me for the same reason they will want you. You and I are different from a lot of people, and that's okay. But you'll have to wait your turn to find out why. As for Ilvermorny…"

I could see the wave of nostalgia wash over her face. She toyed with the ends of her deep chestnut curls and closed her eyes. "Some of the best years of my life were at Ilvermorny. They've got houses there— they're like groups that students are sorted into for all seven years— like at English schools. There's Wampus, a house for warriors. Pukwudgie for healers. Horned Serpent for scholars. And the best house of all: Thunderbird, for adventures. That's the house I was in."

My brows furrowed. I already knew this, but I still kind of hated it. I ignored the problematic naming in favor of asking her what house she thought I would excel in.

She paused and gazed at me thoughtfully. A flash of disdain coated her eyes but was quickly gone. "You know, I'm not entirely sure. If I had to… no. No, that would never happen. No point in entertaining it."

I suddenly got very worried. Did she think I was a squib or something? I might not have remembered ever performing accidental magic, but there's no way I didn't have—

Oh.

But what if that was the point? What if I was like, teen Hitler in my past life? What if this was a punishment? I was reborn into my dream world, but I couldn't do magic. I was reborn into my dream world but I was the unwanted illegitimate child of Severus god damn Snape. Oh my god. It all made sense now—

"Don't worry, Mija. I can see your head spinning. You're definitely qualified. Thunderbird. You'll be a Thunderbird, just like your mama."

I whipped my head up to look at her from my place in her arms, "How do you know?"

Her warm hazel eyes twinkled, "Trust me. Everything will work out."

Oh well, that was reassuring.

My mother leaned down to kiss my forehead, "De la Sierra Morena, Cielito lindo, vienen bajando," she sang and held my small cheek in her hand, "Un par de ojitos negros, Cielito lindo, de contrabando."

I relaxed back into her chest as she sang and rubbed my back.

"Ay, ay, ay, ay, Canta y no llores, Porque cantando se alegran, Cielito lindo, los corazones."

Perhaps everything would be alright.

As long as I had Margarita by my side.

A sobbing Tia Esperanza clung to me as a frighteningly silent Abuelita filled my plate.

"Lo Lamento, Aurelia," she whispered into my ear before excusing herself to pray some more.

For a Mexican funeral, the mood was rather depressing. Nothing like the one for Tia Lupe or Abuelito. Those ones were filled with laughs of good times and sweet memories. We felt sad, yes, but it was first and foremost a celebration of their lives.

It made sense, I guess, why her wake would be like this. Margarita was only twenty-nine. Young and beloved by everyone who knew her. A car accident. What a way for a witch to go.

Tia Adriana glared at Tia Esperanza, "Cálmate."

"It's fine. She was her best friend, after all."

Tia Adriana's eyes softened, "And she was your mother. You should eat, flaca. There's some chocolate para mesa, if you want…"

I shook my head at the elderly woman, "I want to see her. One last time. Before they…"

I was cut off by the sound of a door opening.

My throat dried and my blood ran cold as ice at the words spoken by the intruder. I could hear my heart stop and in that moment I had wished I'd never woken up in this life.

"I'm looking for my daughter, Aurelia. I'm here to take her with me."

Chaos erupted.

The real Severus Snape was nothing like handsome, sympathetic Alan Rickman.

No, he was gangly and greasy, with crooked yellow stained teeth. His skin was a sickening sallow hue with beady black eyes (that latter of which I unfortunately inherited) and an obtrusive hooked nose. A sneer seemed to be the only expression he was capable of and the lower half of his face was covered in stubble. Not the five o'clock shadow kind, more like it was the only hair he was able to grow and he just left it there. It seemed as though he was unbothered to even make an attempt to look presentable at my mother's funeral. You know, the woman he hit and quit all those years ago.

It hurt my soul to think about how much more I physically resembled him than Margarita.

At the thought of my mother, my blood suddenly went from ice to lava.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he come here, not even bother to offer his condolences, then demand that I be released into his charge? He was a man who, for all intents and purposes, I, nor anyone else, never even met and he expected my family to willingly hand me over, no questions asked?

The sentiment seemed to be shared by the entirety of the Rodriguez clan. Tio Luis and Tia Adriana looked particularly murderous.

Snape took a step back as the hall filled with the sound of a family protecting one of their children. Lots of Spanish phrases were shouted that mostly meant things like "Go to hell, Englishman" and "come anywhere near her and we'll kill you."

I was rather touched.

But it was short-lived as Abuelita stepped through and walked up to Snape with her head held high and a glare that could bring the armada to their knees.

"You come here to my daughter's funeral, don't pay respects to her or us, and just demand we let you have my granddaughter? I know you are who you say you are, Severus Snape. But I will not let you Margarita Rosita's child. I will not hand her over to a pinche estúpido like you. Margarita would never want that."

Snape, to his credit, didn't seem much affected by the foreign swears or glares of everyone in the room, "If that were the case, madam, then why am I here?"

He had the nerve to sneer at Abuelita and he showed a piece of paper.

Abuelita's eyes widened, "No..."

The bastard grinned, "Yes,"

A single tear ran down my grandmother's face as she turned towards me, "Lo Lamento, niña."

Turns out there's a law in America that a magical child must be placed in the custody of the closest wizard relative until they come of age.

So much for "progressive".

"It should have been you instead of her."

Snape glared at me through the corner of his eye as he led me through an English neighborhood full of derelict cottages. I had been dragged to Spinner's End. I glared back but took time to stare at his bruised eye. He had to drag me kicking and screaming. Wasn't gonna let him take me that easily.

He ignored my imprudence, "You are remarkably calm for a muggle-raised child learning about magic. You handled the port key a little too well."

I didn't have a real explanation for that, so I improvised, "Mom wasn't the best at hiding magic from me. I've known for years. I didn't say anything because nobody ever brought it up."

Nailed it.

We stopped at a small, rundown two-story cottage covered in ivy. Hidden behind a large iron gate, the house was made of chipped grey brick and I was fully convinced it might be haunted.

I turned to Snape as he unlocked the door and raised his eyebrow.

I fell to my knees as the reality of the situation hit me for the first time.

Margarita was dead.

My mom was dead.

I couldn't breathe. Why can't I breathe? Why is it so hard to breathe?

Why am I here? Why was I put here if not to be with Mom? Why? Why? Why?

Why a car accident? Why wasn't it me? I had already died once. She had so much to do. Why not me? She'd never done anything wrong. Why someone as kind and loving as her? Why did it have to be my mom? The person who kept me grounded since my rebirth. She was a witch, she should have lived to two hundred. Why twenty-nine? Why?

Oh, Christ, I can't breathe. I clutched my chest with one hand and wrapped it around my knees with the other arm.

I began to cry for the first time since Mom passed four days ago. Just one week before summer break was to start. She was going to work. Why did she work a muggle job? Why was she in a car in the first place? Why? Why?

It got hotter and hotter around me as I got lost in my own despair.

"Why… why…"

Why was I crying like this? I might have been physically eleven, but mentally I was technically twenty-eight. Only a year younger than her. Why did this burn so much?

Just as it got so hot it hurt I felt as if a bucket of water was poured on me.

My inner turmoil was put on pause as I looked up to see Snape holding his wand at me.

It was then I realized I actually was covered in water.

I suddenly grew very angry. He couldn't handle a child grieving over the loss of their mother so he pour water on me? Before I could scream at him he locked eyes with me.

"Look around."

I glared, shaking from the chill of the breeze, before glancing at my surroundings.

All the ivy near the door was burnt off. Smoke and ash lingered in the air.

My black eyes widened as I realized what I had done. What I was able to do.

I did magic.

My first time doing accidental magic.

"Congratulations," said Snape sarcastically. But there was something else hidden in his eyes. That same twisted pride in his voice from all those years ago. "As expected of my progeny. You'll be the most powerful witch of your generation."

Was he enjoying my pain?

"Please let me go home," I croaked out. This was too much. I couldn't. I wanted Abuelita. I wanted my aunts and uncles and cousins. I wanted Mom. I couldn't do this here with him. I couldn't live thousands of miles away from home with this man. I wanted my family.

I looked at him begging silently, hoping he'd have some semblance of sympathy or compassion. His expression was blank for a few seconds before a cruel smirk appeared on his rough features.

He opened the door and gestured to the inside, "By all means."

Severus Snape was a heinous excuse of a human being.

I sipped on my bowl of canned chicken soup before turning to Snape, "Am I legally even allowed to be living here? Won't my citizenship be a problem for when you enroll me in school before Ilvermorny?"

Snape rolled his eyes before setting his tea down, "The muggle government has no authority over either of us. You will no longer be attending muggle primary school, nor going to Ilvermorny for that matter."

My breath hitched in my throat, "But… that's where Mom—"

"—I'm quite aware of where Margarita was educated. Ilvermorny is not the only school of magic in the world. You will instead be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this September. The place of my work and the Prince family Alma Mater of generations."

I stood up abruptly, the table shaking slightly, "What does that have to do with me? I'm not even a Prince, I'm a Rodriguez. Wait, you're not even a Prince. Either way, I'm going to Ilvermorny like Mom and I'm going to be out in Thunderbird like Mom."

It was a childish tantrum, especially when I potentially had the knowledge to make the Wizarding World a better place for everyone, but I couldn't help it. For damn near the entirety of my past life, all I ever wanted was to go to Hogwarts. But I needed some connection to my mother. I needed a way to be close to her now that she was…

Snape's beady black eyes twitched in annoyance, "You'll be attending Hogwarts under the name Aurelia Prince. This is final."

"I'm an American! I have rights!"

"You're a child. You have no rights."

I could have killed him and made myself an orphan in that moment. And I would have felt no guilt. But this was fine. If he wanted to play that game, I could play too.

The greasy bat of a man let out a sigh at the look on my face, "You've inherited my spite, it would seem. You will attend Hogwarts and be the picture of an excellent student. And in return…" he looked physically pained, "You may spend three weeks of your summers with Margarita's family in America. And once you turn seventeen I will not be able to stop you from leaving permanently."

Was… was this his attempt at being kind? Or, more likely than the former, was this his attempt at a bribe to keep me well-behaved?

"…I want to be able to spend as much of my summer as I want with them. Be that three weeks or the entirety of it. Only then will I be civil. My mother is gone. You'd keep me from my family just to make a point anyway. I have nothing to lose from making your life hell."

Snape sneered at me, "You have quite the mouth for an eleven-year-old."

"You have quite the petty streak for a fifty-year-old."

"I am not fif— fine. Just… behave," he hissed.

I sat back down and continued to eat my soup, which was now cold, but I didn't mind. Snape was being surprisingly lenient with me. Maybe deep down he had some sort of soft sport for me as his own flesh and blood, but I doubted it. I knew once school came around he'd be harder on me than other students. He was being amicable now so I didn't burn down his house, most likely. Be it on accident or otherwise. That was fine, though. I just had to be sorted into literally any other house than Slytherin. Then we'd only have to interact for one class. Maybe I could go to Gryffindor just to get under his skin. Then I could completely ignore him for the rest of my Hogwarts career.

Wow. Hogwarts.

I excused myself from the table to go to the back garden. It was full of surprisingly well-tended plants of all colors and sizes. There were plenty I'd recognized and others I had a feeling were unknown to the muggle world. They must have been for potions.

Wow. Potions.

I was a witch. I could make potions. I could do magic.

I stared at a brilliant purple flower—aconite, I believe— before I ran back inside without thinking.

Snape slightly jumped, startled by my abrupt entrance, "What?"

I looked at him, my eyes wide, "Can I have a wand?"

One month later, Snape took me to Diagon Alley about a week before everyone else would be getting their Hogwarts letters. In that time I had done nothing but lock myself in my room with the books Snape had given me. As horrible of a daughter this made me, thinking about Mom made everything hurt and when everything hurt things tended to accidentally get set on fire. Thus, I had been practicing the art of ignoring my trauma and throwing myself into getting a head start on my magic studies.

"No, no, not that one…"

Snape sighed as Ollivander rummaged through the back for another wand for me to try after another vase exploded. Specifically, the thirteenth wand for me to try.

"Had it not been for all the things I've had to repair…" he grumbled. I could tell he was about two more wands away from calling me some kind of anti-squib/muggle slur.

Ollivander popped back in, "Ah, here this is the one! I'm sure of it. Here you are."

He opened the long box to reveal a black wand with what appeared to be carvings of the moon and constellations down to the tip.

As soon as it was in my hand I felt calmer than I had in weeks. I felt warm, but not hot. I gave it a wave and Golden sparks emerged from the tip. This was it. This was my wand.

"Excellent! Thirteen and a quarter inches, Ebony wood, unicorn hair core, rather unyielding. A loyal wand, perfect for transfiguration and for those who hold fast and firm to their principles."

"Finally," grumbled The Bat as he handed seven galleons over to Ollivander.

I ignored his grumpiness as I thanked the wandmaker and marveled over my wand. It was perfect. I wonder what Mom's wand was made out…

No. No, don't think about it.

Oh God, it's hot again.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't—

I felt a thwack at the back of my head.

"Ow!" I turned to glare at Snape, something I'd been doing a lot lately.

He sneered, another common occurrence, "I will not allow you set Diagon Alley ablaze and have you rotting in Azkaban before you even begin school."

I stuck my tongue out at him, but deep down I was grateful. I needed to get better at repressing my more unpleasant emotions.

Eyeing me from the side, my guardian handed me a small vial.

My eyebrow raised in suspicion, "And here I thought you were sly. Are you really already trying to poison me? In public, of all places?

"Not yet, no."

Why that bas—

"It's Calming Draught, you absolute dunderhead."

Oh. Distinctly not poison. "Thanks?" I knew it didn't come from the kindness of his heart. I knew it was just to keep me from getting lost in my head and accidentally destroying something, but it was still appreciated.

Snape cleared his throat, "There's a box of vials on your nightstand. Take no more than once per day. As you get older your control over your emotions will be vastly improved and you'll stop… burning everything in sight. Until then, one a day and no more than that."

I raised my eyebrow even higher.

His face suddenly became lightly dusted with pink, but it was gone faster than it came. "While you were at Madam Malkin's, I considered other means of keeping you as staid as possible. As such, there is a… creature waiting for you at home. You will feed, clean, and look after it on your own. I will not become responsible for—" he rattled on.

Wait… is he basically saying he got me an emotional support animal? I stopped walking and dragged him into the nearby alleyway.

"What in Merlin's name are you—"

"—Shh."

I studied my guardian through narrow eyes. He looked back, his annoyance growing rapidly.

…Nah. He hadn't been body-snatched. Nobody else could pull off that level of pure sourness. But I didn't want to admit to him that I thought he'd been invaded by an alien capable of human consideration.

"…Can I wash your hair when we get back to Cokeworth? It's embarrassing being in public with you like this. My hair is naturally just as greasy too— thanks for that, by the way— but you don't see me looking like I'm the lone scion of an oil rig."

"Why, you little—"

He yelled at me and we apparated back.

He did let me have at it after I pestered, though. It was still a bit oily afterward, but it was noticeably better and now smelt like wild berries and mint instead of potion fumes and pettiness.

I had a feeling Mom would be very proud of the both of us, I thought as I lied in bed, black oriental short-hair curled at my feet.