I'm really glad I remembered the memories of my past life over the course of eleven years. Can you imagine being born, with an entire adult personality crammed up in the undeveloped brain of a baby? In the off chance you didn't go in a coma, you'd essentially be tortured by pissing and crapping yourself, getting breastfed, and doing nothing but lying there. Oh god, imagine the boredom. Thankfully, my second experience as a baby had gone the same way as the first: Blissfully thoughtless.

  I don't have an exact moment when the first memory hit me, but I have an idea...

  ...

  I ran after Jake, grinning from ear to ear. The boys had found out how fast I was quick, and they loved to make me "it" whenever we played, thinking they can escape me!

  Some, like Jake, were smart. They'd figured staying at my right could get them that small window to dance away from my reach.

  Well, that only worked if they weren't slowpokes compared to me. I hadn't found anyone who could take advantage of that. I slammed my palm on Jake's back, and in moments he was the one chasing, I was the one speeding away.

  Ethan and Michael were snickering, thinking they were at a safe distance. I sprinted across the playground, leading Jake to them.

  He took the bait, and off they went, letting me slow down to take a breather, all the while not taking my eyes off them, laughing along.

  Then I crashed into someone.

  I didn't fall myself, of fricking course, as a practitioner of the swan technique, focused on balance. The stranger was on the ground. It was a girl, dirty blonde, freckles, with bottleneck green eyes looking up to me.

  I furrowed my brows.

  "Sorry, I wasn't looking ahead," I said. "Do I know you?"

  She took my hand, climbing to her feet. "It's okay. I don't think we've met. What is your name?"

  "I'm Taylor. You look reaal familiar. What's yours?"

  "It's-" someone interrupted, "Hey, Lise! Hurry up! This is no fun!"

  Lise. My heart dropped.

  The girl grinned, her face taking the shape of a fox's. She pulled her hand back swiftly before turning around and rushing away. "You're it!" she screamed as she ran.

  I went after her. This time, I didn't smile. I ran the girl down, cornered her, and kept her in place, not allowing her to create distance. All under a minute.

  "Your name is Lisa, huh?" I stated when close enough.

  "Huh? My name's Melissa, though?" she was frustrated at having gotten caught so soon.

  The energy went out of me, and I let her get away.

  I... I, why? Why had I thought her name was Lisa? Why was that important?

  I couldn't remember.

  ...

  "I wanna catch a squirrel."

  Those words, spoken by Johnny, sparked the new trend at the kindergarten.

  Everyone wanted to catch a squirrel, and he had been the trailblazer.

  Easier said than done, though. I tried to explain the lot of them how nimble the tree dwelling animal was, how it was next to impossible to catch them. They wouldn't listen, unfortunately.

  So I took the matter to my own hand.

  Our kindergarten had a nice, big garden with lots of trees and animal life. It wasn't rare to see birds perched up on the branches or squirrels hiding behind the leaves. Even some rabbits would venture in from time to time.

  Over the course of a week, whenever we saw a squirrel on the ground, as the fastest kid with the best reflexes, I was sent to be its hunter. I always approached from behind, the blind spot, sneaked with bare feet sometimes even as to not make a sound, and masked my scent with playground sand much to the dismay of our teacher and my mom.

  It never worked. The squirrels were always too quick. They retreated back up the safety of the heights of the trees, and I was left looking up to them while the other kids made sounds of disappointment.

  Well, until the end of the week, that is. By the time, I was sick and tired of this little game, but proud of having proven to my friends that the squirrels were uncatchable.

  One last attempt.

  It was lunch. We came eye to eye with a squirrel working on a pine cone. Kate gave me a shoulder.

  No disappointing the audience, absolutely not! I was going to put on a show even if I was going to fail at the end!

  Closing my eyes, I took three huge breathes.

  When I opened them, the squirrel was trapped in my sight. I felt like I could follow it with my eyes even at its fastest.

  I walked.

  The kids behind me cheered.

  Tense seconds passed as I approached the big-tailed creature.

  When I was close, I noticed the squirrel had stopped biting onto the pine cone. Heck, it'd stopped entirely. Unmoving. Weird.

  I resumed my approached, muscles coiling in preparation. Wherever it was going to escape, I was going to jump in its way before it could.

  Ten steps until squirrel.

  It didn't move.

  Five steps until squirrel.

  Still not.

  Three steps.

  It wasn't running away. I shot a look at the cheering squad, but they were similarly silent, in shock.

  I picked the squirrel up. It didn't move a muscle, head dropping down like a doll as I hoisted it up. And yet, its heart was beating like a drum. With how small it was, I could see its own heart beating it to death.

  It was clearly stressed out, but it wasn't moving. Why? Diseased? Problem in the nervous system?

  It... it seemed like.... like,

  Like Moord Nag, who had imploded from her own stress and fear due to being trapped under my power. The Scavenger had shifted its skull from crocodile to lion, from antelope to squirrel, but it couldn't aid its master.

  I shook my head as the memory moved to flee. The squirrel came to life in my grip, struggling like crazy. I let it go.

  "Taylor! Why did you do that?"

  I turned around, confused because of what had just happened. "What?"

  "We had finally did it! Caught a squirrel!"

  I stuided his face, staring, so intensely that he backed away. Chris was a pure brat, no questions asked.

  What about me? Was I one as well?

  I walked inside, my thoughts heavy with the memory that had flooded my mind, and the question I couldn't voice: Was I the one who had frozen the squirrel?

  ...

  I spent the next few years in a haze after that. You could say it was like having a growth spur, with all the associated pain and aches of it, only mental. A memory would hit, making me wobble where I stood, usually something important like memories of Lisa and Rachel, and they'd depart just as quick, making we wonder what had just happened. Over time, little by little, they started to stay where they landed, but their arrivals weren't chronological and the memories weren't full of context, so I had a mini-arc along the way where I was convinced I had gone insane. A few weeks to one or two months, tops.

  My accidental magic didn't help. The little things were often more proof of craziness than anything else, like healing the little cuts I got overnight, and some just spooked me because I mistook them for my power returning.

  It was only a little before I met Harry that I had accepted something other than passengers were going on with this world.

  That deduction? It set a moldy nervousness deep within my gut. The fear of the unknown was always the worst, and I had first-hand experience with how bad things above the natural order could be.

  But alongside those fears, I had something else. Hope. Parahuman powers had been limited. You could do one thing, and the stuff you could derive out of it. I could never heal people with bugs or punch out the bad guys.

  What I had, though? It could be utilized in any direction. For battle, for building, for healing, for innovation, for control... and more.

  So I walked around with anticipation in my gut, anticipation of both bad things and good things. The lack of knowledge about what I would come to learn was called magic drove me to a discomfort I'd felt never before.

  McGonagall's arrival worked to, ah, make me understand what was going on.

  ...

  "Taylor, see the door, dear!" my mom called out after the ring was heard across the house.

  I was sat in the living room, going through a book about UFO sightings. I had decided to look for answers in aliens, seeing as how they were the source of my previous troubles.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Waste of time.

  Clearly a hoax. I dropped it, going for the door. Who was it even, at this day of the week and at this hour?

  Opening the door, I was greeted by a old woman with suprising fashion sense. Who wore robes and pointy hats, especially in hot summer days? She must have been boiling in there.

  "How can I help you?" I asked.

  She took me in with eyes of an experienced elder. "Greetings to you too, dear."

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Hello, miss..."

  "McGonagall. Minevra McGonagall. And you must be Taylor Hebert, correct?"

  My eyes narrowed. "That's me."

  "Good. I've come here to officially invite you to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardy."

  My mouth assumed an "o" shape as her words registered. "What? Witchcraft and... wizardy?"

  "It would be the best to discuss this inside," she said, sneaking glances around.

  Had my mother not arrived to look for who the guest was, I might have put my foot down and assaulted the woman with questions right there. With mom in play though, she was welcomed inside the house.

  Sofa's assumed, tea served, we got to the meat of the matter. "I'm assuming you have awareness of the concept of magic, and that you have it, considering your relative lack of reaction at my mention of Hogwarts?" McGonagall said.

  Mom and I exchanged looks. We'd never sat down to talk about it, but she had seen me do "magic" enough times before I wisened up to know something was up. She could probably gave examples of times even I didn't remember. "I do." My mom nodded to my left.

  "Well then, this has gotten much easier," she said. "As you may infer, you are not the only magical person in the world. There are many, many more. Most are born to wizards and witches, part of our society since conception. Some, like you, are born to non-magical lineages, and need to be introduced to the world they belong. Hogwarts is the school the majority of British islander wizard children attend. You are free to refuse, though of course you are heavily encouraged to come, to control your magic which you don't understand yet, if nothing else. I'm a Professor at Hogwarts," she puffed her chest in pride as she said so.

  Okay. This was workable. Instead of anything immediately hostile, the explanation for my powers was magic. They had a entire secret society and a school to the boot.

  Mom and I exchanged looks for the second time of the day. We were on a roll. Honestly, I wanted to go. To unearth the mystery of the matter, and to take true control of what I was capable of.

  My mom put her hands on her waist. "I've seen Taylor do enough things logic couldn't explain to believe magic is real," she said, "but I haven't seen any proof from you, miss. Who is to say you aren't a pretender, someone tricking people who have magic like Taylor to take them away? The school's boarding from what I understand." She added, "No offense."

  McGonagall answered with a sigh. "I'm willing to go great lengths to prove I, no, Hogwarts is legitimate. I'll answer every question you may think of. I see we'll be here for a long time. At the very least, it's not hard to show you I am magical myself." With that, she produced a stick out of her robes.

  "May I?"

  Dumbfounded, mom said, "Go ahead."

  With a swish of her wand, the woman turned one of the flowers in the vase into a lizard.

  "Oh," mom said, "oh wow. That settles it, I guess. You're the real deal, Mrs. McGonagall."

  She was, but I wasn't thinking about that. I was laser-focused on the stick.

  "Thank you," said McGonagall as she turned to me, the point of the stick moving along the axis of her body as she did. Pointing at me.

  I fled.

  ...

  "Are you sure you don't want one?" McGonagall asked as we walked past the wand shop. "I'll say it again, they shouldn't be viewed as weapons first, everything else second, but getting one would calm your nerves, wouldn't it?"

  I shrugged. "I'm waiting as much as I can until you bring Harry back."

  She sighed. "Rest assured, you aren't the only one concerned about the safety of Harry Potter. I'll personally see to it that this matter's solved soon. And you'll be among the first to hear it."

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  I took in Diagon Alley as we walked. It was a bustling commercial center, full of shops and people shopping. There were goods and tools that took two, three looks for me to believe they were real.

  "Professor?"

  "What is it, Ms. Hebert?"

  "When I first realized I had magic," I started, "I was... terrified."

  "Oh?"

  "It was one thing until I figured it out it was me doing all of it. It became something else entirely after then."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because it meant there were others, too. People who I had no knowledge of their beliefs, motivations, values. People who, by all means, went unnoticed by the society at large. I expected the worst. People who used their gifts for the bad, people who were bullies, liars, stealers."

  She grimaced. "Most eleven year olds wouldn't concern themselves with such thoughts."

  I shrugged. "Maybe."

  "But your worries were found wrong, were they not?" she asked, sweeping a hand at the view. "There are bad wizards and witches, yes. I can't deny that. But we, you and I and everyone else here, are humans too, nothing more. Just going on with their lives."

  "That's true," I said. "But it's a... disappointment."

  She quirked up an eyebrow. "You'd prefer wizards to be evil?"

  I shook my head. "No, no. I'm glad they aren't, but..." I looked up to her. "When I was worried about it, I'd had hoped the opposite to be true, too. I had expected people who were bad, but I'd hoped for good people."

  "Are these people not good?"

  "Well, we could argue about the definitions, but that would be a waste of time. Think of it like this," I said, pointing my thumb at my back, "St. Mungo's. They couldn't give me a new arm."

  "Yet. There'll be future appointments."

  "I could tell from the tone of the guy. They want me back for the research rather than anything else. But that's besides the point." I wasn't said about it, really. Eleven years of living with a single arm had made me used to it. "My arm is a... special circumstance, they said so, right?"

  "They did."

  "I took a few good looks at the panels and directives, to figure out the services they provided, the type of stuff they could treat." I turned to her fully. "In the muggle world, it is impossible to regrow a lost arm. Impossible."

  She took on a knowing look.

  "If not for my 'special circumstance' they could give me a new arm. Easily so."

  "That is true," from her tone, it sounded like she knew where I was going with this.

  "Cancer," I said. "Bacteria with zero percent survival rate. Disabilities from birth, blindness, body parts lost in freak accidents. Genetic diseases. They, we, can fix it all, can't we? And yet nothing is done."

  "Such questions have been raised before... While I emphatize with where they are coming from, there is a reason wizardy has seperated its paths with the muggle world."

  Maybe she was right. I pressed on anyways, "It's not just for healthcare. All over the world, people are suffering, some unable to feed, some unable to clothe themselves, some lacking roofs to hide under, some fall victim to wars they didn't start." I steeled the look I was about to shoot her. "I hoped the magical world would have people who wouldn't stand by those."

  "Muggles can help themselves, can they not?"

  "Maybe. But there are a lot of evil people in the muggle world. Probably much worse than the worst the magical world has to offer."

  "..."

  "Magic is a blessing. The people who have the power should help people who don't. Otherwise, people who aren't suited to help, unqualified to help come out to fill the void." Like me, I didn't say.

  She shook her head. "Where have you been reading about stuff like this?"

  Right, from her perspective, I was just a kid.

  We walked the rest of the way with sour looks on our faces.

  Admittedly, I have been thinking about this ever since someone suggested it on AO3 after I mentioned "a fire has been lit under my ass" partially for economic reasons. I wanted to wait until the end of the first year arc though, a little because I wanted to have put in a meaty work first and a little because I'm insecure about the quality of the work (some have said I'm my own worst critic) but well, the fire has been fanned.

  The economy is pretty bad globally (but even worse where I live) and the apartment we have lived in for 30 years give or take is going to be demolished in a few months, so yeah. I get a lot of people don't like posters getting money from fanfiction, so I understand if this puts you off.

  So yeah, I'll drop it in the next chapter, or whenever I set it up with the bank accounts or something. If you are okay with this, if you would donate, or if you don't like this, I'd appreciate y'all sharing your thoughts about it below. Of course, everything else (commenting, liking, giving ideas etc) that helps the fic get popular are mucho appreciated. Someone on the weekly stats thread said too much author involvement in the thread kills the discussions, which made me feel really bad cuz that's exactly what I have been doing ??