A While New World

AN-Bare with me, guys. MC will sound like she's gonna be OP from this chapter, but she really won't be. It will be cleared up in chapter 3. Anyway, thx for reading. please let me know what you think. This can be read as a stand alone or in conjunction with my other fics, but they are connected.

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"So," Papa states, "from what I can understand of your baby babble, you're telling me that because you impressed some primordial deities in a past life, you got sent to this one as a sort of second chance, but mostly because you think they were bored."

"Yup," I slurp my juice box obnoxiously, carefully getting ready to make a run for it if Papa takes this badly and tries to hurt me like all the others.

"And you are a witch with magic, but also able to see the future, and now you need my help to clear an innocent man's name and get him out of prison. A magic prison." I slurp some more, giving him jazz hands. "Yeah, okay, I'm bloody dreaming."

I reach out, summoning the swear jar from the counter over to my hands, and hold it out to him. He makes a choking noise, and flops onto his back with a groan. After a quick debate with myself, I crawl over to him and onto his torso, head resting on his chest. A large hand settles on my back, holding me in place, but he doesn't acknowledge me in any other way.

Unable to hold it in any longer, I tug on my fathers shirt. "Papa hate me? Leave me?" I start to cry, feeling like another person that should love me has decided I'm not worth anything.

"Wha- NO! No, no, no, Little Love, my Kamaria, you were born as my daughter, yes?" He asks, sitting up and cradling me to his chest, gently wiping at my tears. I nod, and he ducks down to kiss my forehead. "You have my blood, and my mannerisms, my hair texture and jaw, my mother's eye shape, and even a bit of her insanity. You are my child! Even if you are a bit special." I wail, burying myself in his neck and sobbing, overwhelmed. Is this what parental love is supposed to feel like? I can't-

"Oh, sweetheart. I don't know what you need, but I will give it to you. No more tears, Baby. Memories or not, you are just my little girl." He keeps cooing and rubbing my back, and eventually I calm down.

I huff, embarrassed and a bit peeved that I can't seem to keep it together in fetus form. He just smiles and pats my head, soft and warm. "Is your magic perhaps why you have this coloring, Dear?" I pause, turning to look at Papa, utterly confused.

"Whatcha mean?" I ask, tilting my head. Papa stares, and I stare back. Then he scoops me up and takes me to a mirror in the bathroom, holding me up to stand in front of it.

I gape, staring at my reflection. Wavy, light silver hair floats about a small head, with huge almost glowing silvery eyes. Olive skin a few shades lighter than Papa, but with a striking contrast to the hair and eyes. There are round features that remind me of my last life, but are easily seen in my new parents, and it makes a frankly startling image that looks slightly beyond natural. "What the hell?" I mutter.

Papa nods. "Yes, the doctors were a bit puzzled, since your skin is rather medium toned, but eventually wrote it off as a rare form of partial Albinism, or something, especially considering your poor vision. The thing is, your eyes and hair are closer to silver than white and darker at the roots." My dad shifts some at my scalp to show me.

"Dunno. Eyes bad because I See future and change it. Lady Fate no like, so she make eyes bad like last life." Talking is difficult and energy consuming, so my articulation isn't great, but skipping words and foregoing proper grammar is a good compromise.

My father scowls, "That's really petty." I nod emphatically. "Well, whatever, we'll figure it out. You're my beautiful baby. You look like a fairy princess or something." I giggle a bit hysterically. I don't dislike the way I look, but it is disconcerting. If you ignore the coloring I don't look that different, but it's really striking me that I have a new body, and it is wigging me out a bit. Whatever! I'm gonna accept this shit and roll with it! "Silver? Eyes and hair?" I ask to confirm, well aware of my own color blindness.

"Yes, love. But, your eyes sometimes turn more gold, especially in the morning."

"Weird," I mutter, reaching for my dad. He scoops me up and sets me down in front of him in the play pen again, knees crossed.

"So, Ria. What do we need to do first?" He asks, arms crossed.

Shaking my thoughts of appearance away, I throw my arms up, beaming. "We need Fiiiiigggs!"

XXXXXXXXXX

My dad, me resting on his hip, rings the doorbell. A few moments pass, and an old lady cracks the door open, peeking out cautiously. Seeing me, the woman seems to relax a bit, the door slipping open a bit more. "Hello?"

"Hello, Madam. My name is Darius, and this here is my daughter Kamaria. We live just up the street there," Papa points, "and we wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood." Dad goes with one of his best attacks; Charming Smile 2! The woman relaxes further, lips turning up in a smile. Oh, good. I was worried she would be too scared from the war to speak to us at all. This is going well. Go Dad!

"She is absolutely adorable!" She coos when I hand her a Tupperware container of fresh baked munchies. "My, how lovely! So much nicer than that family there." She jerks her head towards…the Dursley's. I giggle when I see what's probably Petunia diving to the ground as we turn to watch her watching us through the kitchen window. Fuck, that's funny. Guess Rowling was right about her being a Karen. I giggle louder.

"Why don't you two come inside?" Dad agrees easily, and we step in and are guided to her living room where we are swarmed with a shit ton of big ass cats. I might be small, but these cats weren't normal.

Dad warily sets me down, so I can pet their squished little faces. They aren't ugly, exactly, but I think their frankly hilarious faces were oddly charming. They were pretty sweet if a little needy, knocking me onto my butt for more cuddles.

"Oh, pardon my manners! I'm Arabella Figg, it's nice to meet you both." One of the greatest pluses of being a tiny child is that when you cackle, you don't get looked at strangely. Baby cackles are just cute. It's a hit to my intimidation skills, but a massive boon to my ability to get away with shit.

Dad and Mrs. Figg make polite small talk for several minutes while I get happily buried in fluff balls. Mrs. Figg also serves us some of the cookies we brought her, and I gleefully accept. Then, my sneaky, wonderful father starts to aim for the info we came here to swindle out of her. Sorry, Mrs. Figg! Kinda shitty to manipulate a lonely, persecuted, old, squib lady, but it's for Sirius and Harry. I frown. Wait, actually no, I don't feel bad. She was supposed to watch Harry. You can't convince me she never noticed the abuse. Either she reported it and Dumbledore did nothing, she didn't report it, or Dumbledore convinced her to let it happen with some kind of "greater good" bullshit. My stomach drops and I start feeling a bit ill, giving the rest of my cookie to Dad.

"So, Arabella, I hope you won't be alarmed, but I noticed an owl or two coming to your home." Mrs. Figg stops dead. Fear, alarm, panic. My head shoots up. What the… is that coming from her? Can I feel her? The fuck?

"I'm going to guess your part of the magical world? I happen to be a muggle myself, but I was hoping you might be able to answer some questions for me." I focus carefully. and I feel a wave of emotion, instinctually understanding it as overwhelming relief from Mrs. Figg. That little spark of magic in my chest seems to pulse and react to it. An echo? Can I just…sense emotions? What the-

"Ah. I'm not sure how I could help you, or what you would need as a muggle." Dad smiles, but seems…mildly irritated. Huh. I've always been in tune with Dad, but I thought that was just…knowing him. But, I wasn't even looking at him just now. Has that been happening the whole time and I just never noticed?

"My little girl here is a muggleborn. A few weeks ago she had a burst of, um, accidental magic, I believe it's called. There was a passing witch who told me about it, and explained that Kamaria is a witch. She was in a hurry, so I didn't get to speak to her much. I did find out that owls were used for communication, so I was much relieved to see some in the neighborhood."

"I see. But, dear, that was incredibly dangerous! Muggleborns and squibs are not accepted by Blood Purists! We only just ended a war over it. If one of You-Know-Who's followers had found you…Oh, I shudder to think what might have happened." Dad goes very still, before carefully lifting me into his lap.

"I hadn't realized. She didn't mention," he says finally, shooting me a look. I shrug. I coached him a bit, but again he only needed to know the bare minimum, and I physically don't have a solid contol on language, and the planning ability of a genius toddler. I'm doing the best I can here, Dad.

"Mrs. Figg, can you please tell me about this war? I need to protect my family." Mrs. Figg nods solemnly, and spills everything. She tells my father about the prejudice of wizarding kind, the blood supremacy, Voldemort, the war, The-Boy-Who-Lived, everything. It's nearly an hour later that my father speaks.

"Can you tell me where to find the entrance to Diagon Alley?" She does, and also hands my father a large dark cloak, belonging to her deceased husband.

"Your child won't be able to hide her magic, so it's best to be prepared. Keep that cloak on to hide your Muggle clothing, and hide her coloring and dress as well. Get some wizarding money from Gringotts, then go to thee bookstore and get the information you need. Don't stop and speak to anyone, even if they look friendly. The wizarding world celebrates, and the majority don't support the Blood Purists, but they are still on edge. They might even lash out accidentally. Merlin forbid you run into a Dark Wizard." Dad takes the paper she wrote all the information and names on, nodding grimly. Standing up, he picks me up from where I had been dozing with cats on the rug.

"Mrs. Figg, I can't thank you enough. Please, I beg you, tell no one about us, not a soul." Mrs. Figg hesitates, and I know, somehow with 100% confidence, she's thinking of Dumbledore. Moment of truth, Lady.

She suddenly feels…determined? Standing straight, she nods, "Not a soul, Dears, you have my word." Truth. I twitch. I'm a lie detector now? What the bloody fu-

Dad says his goodbyes and we go home. Papa puts me in my play pen while he makes dinner, utterly silent. "Papa?"

My father pauses, without turning around, before he continues making supper. "Little One, I don't like this at all."

"I know, Papa." I agree.

"My child, I don't think you do. Entering this world is going to put you in danger. There is no reason for you to be involved at all. We can move somewhere else, and you can go to magic school there. We need not stay in the UK, Love."

I blink, still surprised at good parenting aimed at me. I saw it occasionally from my friends' parents, but it was terribly rare outside of TV. I'm not really sure what to say, so I decide to just be honest.

"Papa," I say firmly, dragging myself to my feet and using the playpen walls to hold myself steady, I say in my strongest articulation, "There's people I wanna save. People to help."

Dad slowly turns around to look at me. I can't see his face, but I can feel the indecision waring in him. After a moment, he comes over to crouch in front of me. "Bloody hell, you're just like my mother. Just like me, really. Stubborn Brat." He sighs, pressing my head to his. "If we do this, we do it right. As safe as possible. The only reason I'm giving in is because I get the feeling you'll end up in the thick of things no matter what." I nod seriously. It would hurt, I would lose Papa, but I would leave before sitting by and letting the future happen. I would be guilty for standing by. I died once, I could do it again. Better me than real children.

"Alright. I'm getting your Aunt to make a small version of this for you, and then we are going to the alley. For now, practice your magic and tell me what you find. Let's go, it's time to eat."

XXXXXXXXXX

"You ready?" I nod sharply, head tucked against my fathers chest. With his hood pulled low, his back straight, and strides quick, Papa walks into the somewhat deserted Leaky Cauldron, which is as grubby as described, and straight to the bar keep. "Tom?"

Defensive, wary,…something else? Alert? "Who's asking?" Tom, I'm guessing, has his hand carefully under the bar. He has his wand ready…How do I keep doing that?

"I need help entering the alley. We have never been." Tom is still distrustful, but when I turn to peek out at him, he seems to relax a bit, even as Papa pulls my hood lower and turns my head away, shifting me to be better hidden. "Please."

Tom studies us, before slowly nodding. He makes Papa go first, which he reluctantly does, shielding me as much as possible. Tom explains to us which bricks to press, his back to the alley wall, before opening the way for us.

I pretend not to notice the emotions from the invisible person that followed us out.

My first look at the alley is…unexpected. The cobblestone streets are less empty then the Cauldron, and while it seems to have once been incredibly vibrant and colorful, something's off. Additionally, I can see some signs, like a few collapsed parts of buildings and some rubble piles, that indicates a battle or two took place here. The people roaming about are conflicted. Relieved and excited…but wary? Hopeful?

I was getting better at identifying emotions, and in the month since we went to Mrs. Figg's, Papa has been taking me places to practice around strangers, but sometimes they are too confusing, or I don't feel anything at all. Occasionally, I even get more information than just an emotion. I started knowing random things that I really shouldn't know, like a whisper on the air no one else can hear. It's rare and inconsistent, but getting more frequent by the day, and I'm not entirely comfortable with it.

"This way, Papa," I whisper, pointing in the direction my magic is telling me to, shaking my father from his own stupor as he, too, takes in the alley for the first time.

Papa walks along the cobblestone street following my instructions, and I pull the cloak my Aunt made for me tighter, hiding from the sharp chill. I haven't met her yet, but she made the cloak under the impression that it was just a costume piece. Apparently, she's in uni right now, but might come to live with us. Scary. What if she hates me?

Pretty soon we see a giant white, marble building that has to be Gringotts. It seems to be designed in Roman style architecture. Dad climbs the stairs, and I note his fascination with the goblin guards, although he is still wary, and I decide to test a Fanon theory. As we approach the entrance, I tell Papa to stop. When the goblins guarding the doors bow, Papa and I give shallow bows back. It's more of a deep nod really, but the response is instant.

Bored disdain turns into sharp interest and …pleased satisfaction, Huh. Guess that makes sense because we reciprocated respect first. Point to Fanon. Cool.

Gringotts is the busiest place so far, with wizards and witches standing around, waiting their turn in line. All seem to be clutching their wands, but far more relaxed than in the alley or Cauldron. No one risks a fight in the bank lest they piss off the goblins, who are a fierce and proud warrior race. I cringe slightly at the odd sensation of knowing, creeped out with myself.

We make it to a till, and we bow a small greeting, and this time I'm close enough to see the goblin's features react. They are exactly as described, humanoid but only about double my current height, with long fingers and ears. This one, at least, had tuffs of white hair and a hook like nose. At our greeting, their head snaps up, and a huge, frankly terrifying, smile spreads across its face. Poor dad is blank faced but lowkey horrified. I, on the other hand, am rather impressed, so I give my most unhinged grin back. The goblin barks a sharp laugh.

"How may I help you today, Sir, Little Miss?" Wizards are idiots if that's all it takes to win some respect and politeness from goblins.

"Is there an inheritance test that my child could take to see if she owns any vaults here?" Papa asks quietly.

The goblin is surprised, but not terribly so. He calls another goblin over, and introduces him, "This is Redclaw. He will take you to a private office." We bow goodbye to the goblin, hello to Redclaw, and follow him down a hallway. He leads us to a fancy door that reveals an even fancier, gold themed room. My father sits in front of a large, ornate desk of dark wood and gold accents, placing me in his lap, relaxing slowly now that we are out of the crowd. Redclaw settles into the desk chair, fingers crossed. "You will need to sign some magic contracts giving your permission for the child to be tested."

Papa nods, and the goblin pulls out a single sheet of parchment that Papa carefully reads, even asking questions for clarification, before signing. Rather than annoy Redclaw with his unwillingness to just sign and take the goblin at his word, he seems amused and even vaguely impressed with Papa's care. They value the careful and clever, the business savvy.

The goblin retrieves the contract, looking it over before putting it back in the desk. Then he pulls out a bowl, a knife, some parchment, an ink pot, and a potion vial. Ah shit, this isn't onna go over well.

"The child needs to add 12 drops of blood." Papa tenses up, arms tightening around me. I turn to give him a weak smile, holding out my hand. With a distressed look, my dad takes my hand and carefully pricks my fleshy pinky. I whine at the pain, unable to help it, and we watch the correct amount of drops get added, and when finished, I sniffle as my father stems the blood with a handkerchief.

Redclaw adds the whole, although admittedly small potion vial to the blood, and the weird looking ink, and sets the bowl on the top of the parchment roll. There is a feeling of magic suffusing the room and words begin to spill quickly across the page, as though an invisible pen is writing in fast forward.

After a moment, Redclaw lifts the parchment out and begins reading. He freezes, and I can feel astonishment as he seems to reread the paper in disbelief. Abruptly standing, he sets the parchememy down in front of my dad. "Apologies, please excuse me for a moment. Here are the items your child is eligible to inherit." Redclaw exits so quickly, I question if he might have apprerated.

At the top of the parchment was the names of my parents and grandparents, all of which are listed as alive and muggle. It took me exactly 2 seconds after that to realize why the goblin flipped his shit. Bloody hell, Lady Magic! You had no intention of letting me fly under the radar, did you?

HEIRSHIPS:

Most Ancient and Royal House of Emrys (UK),

Most Ancient and Noble House of LeFey (UK)

Noble Tribe of Baddur (Arabia)

VAULTS:

Emrys Main- 13459837 G, 8374929 S, 2984 K, 2561 Artifacts, 387492 Books, 295820 Miscellaneous.

Emrys Trust- 15000 G per year.

LeFey Main- 12245469 G, 36895 S, 357 K, 7341 Artifacts, 198215 Books, 3568418 Miscellaneous.

LeFey Trust- 15000 G per year.

Baddur Main-1278932 G, 294928 S, 29847 K, 17 Artifacts, 1962 Books, 39741 Miscellaneous.

PROPERTIES:

Emrys Castle (UK)

Nimue's Cottage (UK)

LeFey Castle (UK)

Mordrid's Manse (UK)

Baddur Palace (Morocco)

Vacation Condo (France)

Townhouse (New York, USA)

Log Cabin (Toronto, Canada)

INHERITED POSITIONS:

Kings Guide

Knight of the Round Table

Emrys Vote in Wizengamot (5)

LeFey Vote in Wizengamot (4)

STATUS:

Royal

I slam my face into the desk, making my dad yelp. I groan loudly, in more mental pain than physical. I'm getting played. They're making it impossible for me to lie low at all, and they are gonna use me to resurrect the 2 most important magical lines in, I think, European history, although I'm sure they are globally renowned. I'm gonna be a damn prized breeding mare if I'm not careful. Lost royalty is the most cliched bullshit, why the fuck-

"Emrys and LeFey Heir." I point to show my dad, "Means Merlin and Morgana LeFey." Dad starts swearing quietly, getting it real quick, and now anxious. "Also, royal. And rich. Very, very, rich."

Dad's head drops into his hands. I pat his shoulder, agreeing wholehearted. Yup, we're doomed.

Redclaw returns, this time with a broader, scarier looking goblins. He seems to be very important considering the fancy little suit and copious amounts of sparkly jewelry. The new goblin settles into the chair after we exchange bows, and introduces himself. "Greetings. I am Raguk the eighth, Chieftain of the British goblin tribe. It has been many centuries since a princess has walked these walls, let alone an Emrys.

I have come to make sure your needs are taken care of. I have also brought your heirship, Royal, and Ladyship rings, should you want them."

Deciding that I needed to get as much as possible from the goblins, I throw our carefully laid plans out the window because at this point, everything's changed. Enunciating as carefully as possible, I look at Ragnuk, "Chief! Ma-gic-al Guar-di-an!"

I'm not exactly sure what a magical guardian is, but I had a dream a few days ago that I can't quite remember. All that registered was having a bad feeling and those words coming up. I think that Dumbledore was Harry's magical guardian, as shitty a job as he might have done. That may mean he had some privileges that non magical guardians didn't. My father is definitely a muggle, so I need to know the implications.

The goblin chief is a bit confused by my outburst. "Magical guardians are assigned to muggleborn children when they enter school. They are there to represent the child's interests. They can stand proxy for the child, and even remove them from their homes if they are deemed unfit. They can also assess the child's assets to a degree." Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-

I whirl to look at my dad, eyes big and panicked. His grip on me tightens almost painfully, and he turns sharply to look at Ragnuk. "I'm not magical. Would I not have any say in this magical guardian?"

"You would not." The goblin admits very seriously. "So long as she is not an adult, a magical guardian will be assigned to assist her."

Dad's furious, but I'm terrified. I could end up litterally anywhere from Death Eaters to Dumbledore, and my names could easily tip the balance of power in the whole fucking country, especially with my votes. Wizards use Merlin instead of god when they swear. That level of respect is astronomical, and I just joined his family, being listed as royal. I don't know what exactly that's gonna mean, but it's gonna be big, and that's not even considering the other names, or the fact it is going to be very obvious I'm not a normal child. I whine, tucking my head into my father's clothes, starting to cry at the thought.

Suddenly, Dad's head whips up. "You said as long as she's an adult. What about emancipation?" I blink, not quite as quick on the uptake in toddler form.

Ragnuk, and Redclaw behind him are both …incredulous? Or perhaps surprised? Finally, after a long moment, Ragnuk speaks, "There is no minimum age for emancipation of wizards. If she were to be emancipated, she may choose her own proxy and Steward, should she desire to, but she will be required to have a proxy to represent her in the Wizengamot within a year, since only of age wizards or witches may take the seat independently." Merlin's fertility! That might just be our way out of this shit show! Go, Papa!

Dad looks at me, and I nod frantically. He grimaces, and I get the sneaking suspicion I'm about to be locked away because of my dad's protective instincts for a while after this debacle. "Let's emancipate her."

The goblins agree, curiosity growing stronger, but Ragnuk just pulls out several jewelry boxes, and Papa describes the rings for me. The Emrys ring was a thick band shaped like a curling black dragon with silver accents and silvery gems for eyes. I can feel the power on it, and as soon as I put it on my right ring finger, all the hair on my body stands up, tingle slipping down my spine. Magic, I think, awed and a bit freaked out, is weird shit.

The LeFey ring is next, and it's an ornate band that looks like knots and vines of gold with dark purple, gemmed flowers. I put it on my right middle finger next to the Emrys ring. It gives me the same sensation more or less, except there is something that's just a bit different that I can't put my finger on.

The Baddur ring is significantly different, both in magic and style. It has a thick band of gold with the faces of the moon carved into it. Between each carving was a dark blue or silvery gem. Maybe it feels different because it's a different magical culture? I guess each region would have different practices. That makes sense.

As soon as the emancipation paperwork is all signed and filed by both my father and I, and I'm done bumbling my way through a fucking magic oath, I feel another flare of magic, and then a rather odd feeling. Like I lost and found something at the same time. I don't dwell long as the goblins chief speaks again.

"Princess, do you wish to add your father to your House, name a steward and or proxy, or change your name?" I twitch, but don't bother addressing the title. I add dad to my House, and as my steward, which involves more blood and magic oaths, (Morganna's womb, they're gonna bleed me dry!), so he can take care of managing property and finances, but he can't participate in the Wizengamot as my proxy because he's a muggle. That gets put on the back burner.

The sensation of something missing is gone, and I have no idea why.

After a bit of private discussion, we decide that it's probably better to capitalize on the clout then try to hide from it, so we both change our last names to Emrys-LeFey. Our new plan, courtesy of my frankly brilliant father, is to find a place well-worded to move to, likely one of the properties I just inherited, and then use my title and money to become untouchable. His reasoning is that it is harder to harm someone who has all eyes on their every move. I'm a bit skeptical, but the logic seems sound to me, but then again, I'm aware that I have the reasoning of a toddler.

After that, there is just a bit more paperwork, and a few more signatures in blood, but mostly for my father, who also orders an audit and inspection of all properties. Before we move to leave, the goblins offer us another test to figure out what kind of magic gifts I might have inherited from my lines, but we decisively decline, more than a bit overwrought from …everything that just happened. We also decide not to do any exploring of the vaults or properties, and leave with a bottomless bag of 2000 galleons, dazed and emotionally drained.

Unfortunately, we still have one more stop.

XXXXXXXXXX

Flourish and Blotts is large and dusty. Besides the massive and numerous bookshelves that really shouldn't fit in a building this size, it was rather unremarkable. There were a few people lingering, but all looked just as wary of us as we were of them, so Papa decided it would be fine to set me down so long as I stayed close.

See, Papa is an intelligent man. He understands that knowledge is power. He's also a big nerd. The newly named Darius Emrys-LeFey is about to buy every book he can carry. When he starts getting conflicted on what to take, I tell him the cashier can shrink them for us, and that sets off another mad frenzy. Meanwhile, I grab a few beginner's books on magic theory, defense, charms, wards, runes, arthmacy, and spellcraft. I also remind my dad to grab a few wizarding law and political books, although he seemed to be on it anyway. As we are getting ready to leave, I get a strong tug on my magic. Grabbing Papa's hand, I lead him down a few isles. Making him lift me up, I end up reaching for a book and pulling it out without having a clue as to why.

It's…a beginners book on rituals? Mama Morganna, I'm getting the feeling I should take the book. I groan, but bring it along, and as we walk to the cashier my hand shoots out of its own volition and snatches another book, this time on wizarding customs and etiquette. I start to pout a bit, realizing I'm gonna have to learn a lot of boring shit before I can start chucking Death Eaters through walls.

As we leave the shop with our giant bag of shrunken books, I feel another tug on my magic. Papa, already used to my insanity by now, follows along. We end up in a pet shop, and Papa is somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Kamaria-"

"We need. For mail." I pout, displeased at the insinuation that I just want a pet. Well, I kinda do, but that's besides the point! My reasoning here is valid!

We look around, and I see the many different animals, some mundane, others obviously magical. I'm looking at some owls when there is a whoosh of air, and sharp talons clamp on my shoulder, uncomfortable but not painful. I turn to lock and see a wicked looking brid beak an inch from my face. The bird isn't an owl, but I know jack shit about birds, so besides that I got nothing. It seems pretty young, with glossy black feathers and hints of dark and light grey. The eyes are yellow I guess, after a bit of squinting. "Hello, pretty birdy."

The bird squawks, offended. Merlin's balls, birds take offense here. "Ah, Handsome Birdy?" The bird fucking nods. "Okay, my bad. You wanna be friends?" The bird carefully bumps its head with mine, and I feel something reach for my magic. Trying to reach back I feel a connection. A familiar.

"Huh. Okay. Papa!" I call out. He looks over, panicking at the bird who's in prime position to peck my eyes out, but I just put my hand up before he can piss it off. "This one." I point.

Incredulously, he approaches taking in the menacing looking bird. "…This one?" I nod, patting my chest to let him know I can feel it in my magic. Papa sighs, defeated, and with the help of the shocked store manager, we pick up a perch, treats, and a leather glove and shoulder pad for each of us that lets my new bird grip without injuring us.

According to the flabbergasted worker, he is an extremely aggressive eagle that they haven't been able to sell despite his beautiful plumage. I decide to name him Pluto in thanks to Lord Death for his second chance. Even if I feel like the newest Netflix hit.

After that, we go home and Papa literally only takes me out when he absolutely has to because we are running out of food. This goes on for the next 3 months until I finally convince him that I'm not about to be taken away the second he turns around. I make no mention of the gun I see him cleaning one night when I'm supposed to be asleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dad and I blast through the books. Not all of them, but the majority. It took a frankly outrageous amount of post it notes, ones that dad had to write for me, but we managed. We focused primarily on the most glaring issues: Politics, Law, and Defense.

The first two were for trying to figure out just what being an Emrys, and to a lesser extent, a LeFey means, and for freeing Sirius, who at this point has been in Azkaban for around half a year. It makes me unbelievably guilty, but we really are doing our best.

As for defense, I'm not going to be taking on any dark lords anytime soon, but dad is grimly determined to at least give me the best chance he can. It isn't something we discussed, but I can feel it every time he asks me how practice is going. We usually spend an hour a day on some kind of magic practice, like Papa throwing a ball while I try to shield, or Papa dancing about and me trying to trip him. Success has been varied, but we have a routine at least.

I'm starting to get a little suspicious of my father. it's not that I think he wishes me harm or anything, just that he might not be as normal as I suspected. I hadn't really thought about it, but he took my magic freakishly well. Add the shit about my reincarnation and my talk with gods, and it just doesn't seem reasonable. I can't have just gotten lucky, so where's the catch?

There is the gun, of course, that the average British citizen would not be able to get their hands on, but he also doesn't seem to work. We have money, and he's never seemed even slightly worried about finances since long before our trip to Gringotts. Our house isn't filled with antiques or anything, but once I started looking for it, it was obvious that our things were simple in that experience, but understated way. I can't tell if it's my magic instincts trying to warn me or paranoia from my last life, but I find myself more unsettled as the days pass.

It all comes to an abrupt head one morning after a particularly terrifying dream as I sit in my room petting Pluto who has settled himself on my shoulder. For some reason, I've found myself genuinely scared of my own father for the first time in a while, and I'm not even sure why. I flinch when my dad calls out to me, "Ria? Where are you, Dear?"

My father, appearing in my bedroom doorway, reaches for me. Seeing the hand coming towards me, my body moves on its own, making me stagger back. I don't know what's setting me off so abruptly and why now of all times, after so long of living here easily. The little puzzle pieces I hadn't realized I'd been finding don't create a picture that makes sense to me, and that seems to be enough to sow seeds of doubt I hadn't realized we're taking root. Ice trickles down my back, and the world around be starts to turn fuzzy and dark. I realize I have no idea who my father is.

"Kamaria? What's wrong, love?" Papa reaches out again, and I jerk away, panicking and banging into a dresser, flustering Pluto, who screeches at Papa in response to my fear. Papa recoils, raising his hands up in the universal position of meaning no harm. "Whoa, Little Love. What's wrong? Kamaria, my child, talk to me."

I press myself back into the wall, terrified and ashamed, and struggling to get air into my lungs. I've seemingly lost all contol of myself as I start to cry. The toys and books around the room start to float and shake. "Kamaria, please talk to me."

"Yo-you. Who-o are you?" I choke out, watching dad freeze in surprise. "You took everything too w-well. You don't make sense!" The lightbulb above me shatters and I start to wail. My knees buckle and I hit the ground, my ears starting to ring.

"Kamaria, sweetheart… What can you feel from me?" I sob, curling up on the ground, shaking, barely able to hear the words. "Come on, Baby. You can do it."

Weakly, I focus on him, and slowly his emotions filter in past my own. Affection, sadness, worry,…Ah, I know what that is. "Love," I breathe, my muscles starting to unclench.

"Yes, love. I love you, Kamaria, because you are my child." Slowly, he reaches out, and when I reach back, the flying objects around the room settling, he gently pulls me up before cradling me to his chest, relief flooding him.

I burry my face in his neck, crying exhaustedly as he rocks me and kisses my head. After a while, when my tears have slowed and my lungs are working correctly again, my father lifts me so that we can see each other face to face.

"Want to tell me what that was about, Ria?" I look away, the shame overwhelmingly. "None of that, now. I'm not angry, just worried."

Hesitantly, I start. "You're weird, Papa," he snorts. "You don't work. You stay with me. You have money. Shady."

Dad full blown laughs, his chest shaking underneath me, but the sound warm and amused. "My love, you should have just asked. I'll admit, it does sound shady when put like that, but there is an explanation. Firstly, I had known about the magical world before you, so I wasn't really astonished by that." I gape, flabbergasted by this new tidbit. "I was surprised by your reincarnation, but I knew magic was real from my work, and I just assumed it was possible, perhaps even a known phenomenon. I only realized how unique your situation was when we started reading the books we bought." I groan, hiding my face in my hands, embarrassed by my freak out when a perfectly logical explanation was completely available to me. "As for my job, I …work for the government. I took a hiatus to raise you. Additionally, your grandfather is in politics, which is why you have not met him yet. Both him and my mother are busy and traveling at the moment. Both are why we are quite well off."

I squint at him, "Still kinda shady." Papa gives me a sheepish look, but notably doesn't deny it.

Taking me downstairs, hee settles me in his lap on the plush couch. "Now, Ria, can you tell me what brought on that panic attack. You told me what it was about, but something triggered it. Have you had them before?" I cringe, ducking my head, but nodding. "Is it related to your past life?" I nod again. He sighs, brushing a hand over me again.

"Okay. I hope you can tell me about the things that hurt or are hurting you in the future. My precious Kamaria, I'll be here whenever you need me."

After that day, I decided to stop doubting my father. I never end up regretting it.

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