Beta: Cloudy

Cover drawn by Candy! You can check out her Instagram at ATSIGN Cantrona_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This was written purely for fun.

Warning: Morally dark / gray OC (will lie, steal, kill, etc). Additional warning I treat the characters like they have more than one dimension. The horror. So if you are coming in expecting me to bash over the same characters throughout the story, you'll be sorely disappointed. Story will include standard HP warnings.

(ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧ ✧゚・: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

Genres: Parody, satire, dark comedy, adventure, family, friendship, fwuff

(ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧ ✧゚・: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

Made that genre extra easy to see! If you don't like elements of those genres, I 100% assure you this story is not for you. This was written for fun and for my enjoyment during the lockdown.

This story is mildly AU. For the most part I use the world built from canon, but I've made some minor changes such as the Potters being under the Fidelius charm longer than a week.

We do not support Cursed Child as canon in this house. If you want those reasons, just google "fandom thoughts on Cursed Child."

I don't reference Hermione's skin color at all in this story so if y'all want her to be African-British or a perfect replica of Emma Watson go for it. I only call her bushy-haired and that she looks like her book counterpart. Interpret her as you want. But if I do accidentally leave in any kind of skin reference that was missed in the editing process please let me know so I can immediately fix it.


For the longest time, all I felt was the pain. There was no singular thought, no coherent feeling. Only pain. I felt it all throughout my body, and yet I felt like I had no body. I was flattened; spread out and steamrolled over repeatedly. The pain was unlike any I had ever experienced, and when I was finally given relief, all I wanted to do was sob gratefully.

The relief, unfortunately, was painfully brief.

And then the pain started again, but this time it was focused on my head. The worst possible migraine in history, I believed. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could be compared to that pain.

My body felt loose, wobbly, and utterly helpless. I had little to no motor control, and I could do nothing but cry and cry. At times, I felt a rush of cold and the pain vanished instantly, but it only lasted for a minute, or two.

And then, one day, the pain abruptly stopped.

I woke up.


My eyes stared at the painted ceiling of the night sky. Stars twinkled, and I saw a comet shoot across the sky. There was a single waning moon to the far right corner, and when I turned my head to look at it, I realized that I was surrounded by wooden bars on all sides of me. Confusion entered my mind, as I struggled to understand why I would be in a cage without a ceiling.

After another moment of staring at the bars, I began to look around and I realized how proportionately large all the furniture was around me.

I was inside a child's room.

A… a baby's room.

Fear, with more bewilderment, shot through me and adrenaline forced my body into action. I flailed around, unable to find the strength to do more than roll a little to the left and right. I looked down in horror at my tiny, chubby hands that I knew were not mine. The hands before me were pale and pink, and most certainly too tiny to belong to any adult. My arms were covered in fat, and stubby. I was wearing some kind of footie pajamas.



I tried to think back on my previous actions. I tried, desperately, to remember past the pain.

My head throbbed sharply for a second, causing my brow to furrow as I winced.

Then I remembered.

I died.

I died. I know I did. There was no possible way for me to have survived what had happened. I was in my third year of medical school, I knew it was impossible for me to have survived. It was perfect. It was a perfect death. I knew I died. I had to have died.

Then pain.

So how was I here?

I died—but now I'm alive?

I was—

I mean.

I was reborn?



I was no one special. I was a groomed child who did everything right. I wasn't mean to anyone. I had no grudges. I went to prep school, boarding school, absolutely everything my high-powered lawyer mother had me do. After graduating from high school with many university classes under my belt, I tested in early to medical school and did everything expected of me. I studied. I pulled all-nighters. I worked long shifts at a chance for more experience. I practiced my sutures religiously.

I did everything right, so why do I have to go through it all again?

I didn't want that. That would be a special kind of hell if I had to do it all again.

Wasn't death supposed to be the end?



My gaze turned to the front door of the room as the door slowly creaked open. A woman entered with startlingly bright green eyes and a halo of dark red hair. She approached me, her gaze warm and loving as she looked at me. There was a hopeful light in her eyes and her lips slowly upturned. "Rosie? Are you feeling better, sweetie?"

I didn't know what to say. Hesitantly, I reached towards her, stretching my tiny fingers up in the sky.

Her eyes watered, and she swooped down and picked me up with ease. "Oh. Oh, my sweet little flower. Is the pain gone? James! James!"

My vision is remarkably good for being a baby. How is it even physically possible to have all the memories in the brain of a baby?

Then a man appeared at the doorway as the woman held me close and began to kiss my forehead and cheek. James, I assumed, had shaggy dark hair and deep blue eyes behind round glasses. A strong sense of familiarity hit me upon seeing him.

In his arms was a baby—perhaps three weeks, I would guess—who was sound asleep. "Lily? What's—Rosie isn't crying anymore?"

Lily was crying quietly by that point, kissing me over and over. "She's safe now. She didn't hit the one-month mark. Her magic finally stopped building in her head."

Magic? Wait… Lily? James?

No way.

James choked back a sob as he stepped towards us and—and placed the baby in his arms in the middle of the air.

I stared in shock at the floating baby before James pulled us both into his arms and began to kiss Lily and I each on our cheeks. "I knew she would be okay. I knew it. Our little rose is as tough as they come."

"Yes, love. Oh, Rosaline Lily Potter you had us so worried."

Rosaline Lily Potter.


Lily and James Potter.

So, in addition to being reborn, I was reborn as the daughter of Lily and James Potter. Likely twin sister to Harry James Potter, the protagonist of Harry Potter.

Death is the next great adventure.


About a week later, I had mostly everything figured out. I had died and been reborn as the fraternal twin sister to Harry. I was (by that point) a month old.

Typically, a month-old child would not be able to remember sentences, let alone an entire past life.

It would appear that all that pain I had felt after Lily gave birth to me was my brain having repeated aneurysms and the magic inside the body constantly fixing it. My tiny brain was forced into rapid development to accommodate all the memories and knowledge I possessed. In a typical sense, that would be impossible.

But in a magical sense, it was apparently entirely possible. The doctors had told Lily and James that my magic was building up inside my head, and if it didn't relieve within a month, they would be forced to cripple my magical core and turn me near-squib, or I would become brain dead. The phenomenon was called Death's Kiss. It occurred in newborn magical infants, with a fatality rate of eighty percent, a squib rate of fifteen percent, and everything becoming a-okay of five percent.

The sheer luck I had was unprecedented. Not only was I reborn into my all-time favorite series, but I survived the process, and I got to be Harry's sister.

I could not have asked for a better "next adventure."

How many times had I dreamed about being able to affect the Potterverse? And here I was with the greatest opportunity of lifetimes.

I was not going to mess this up.

Lily was a wonderful mother. Although, she clearly was new and at times seemed at a loss with how to ease Harry's cries. My darling baby brother (even if he was born ahead of me, given my true age he would always be my baby brother now) cried easily, like all newborns. He couldn't yet sleep throughout the night and if for an instant he was left alone in the room, he would ball hysterically.

Lily did her best, and James tried valiantly to help. Lily would rock her son while murmuring sweet nothings, while James would do odd bits of tricks to coax a smile or laugh. It was endearing to watch, and I felt incredibly affectionate toward the duo.

While they loved Harry, they never ignored me or showed favorites between us two. The young couple showered us with love and attention in between every moment they could spare. When Lily wasn't attending to us, she was working on complex and alien-looking schematics. James, though, would try to fix nonexistent problems around the house.

It wasn't hard to surmise that we were already under the Fidelius with Peter as our secret keeper.

The thought made me sick. Peter was easily one of the most hated characters in the fandom. His slimy nature on top of his betrayal was simply unforgivable. I wished I could voice my thoughts, but what could I do? I barely had control over my own body, and there was simply no way they would believe me when I said that Peter would betray them. I could try to tell them I "dreamed" about Peter betraying us, but I knew in my heart that would never work.

Still, I would try. I had to at least try. When I was old enough to say words without drawing suspicion, I would tell them I dreamed of a "scary man" following "a rat" to us. That the rat opened the door to our home and the bad man came in. I couldn't get more obvious than that short of telling them all I read about everything to come from a book.

That could have dire consequences that I didn't understand.

But, that was still a solid four months (if I wanted to push it) to five months (to be safe) away. For now, it was watching the world around me, learning to control my body, and trying to get a hold of the magic inside me.

I always thought, you know, that it would be painfully obvious I had magic inside me if I was ever magical. Considering I had no magic in my first life, I thought for sure I would be able to notice the distinct difference between the bodies. Alas, the difference was not obvious enough that I could easily detect it right away. In fact, the magic in me was so "quiet" I had to strain and focus for nearly an hour before I could properly feel it. I hoped that in time that would be easier (both from practice, and that my magic would grow alongside my physical body).

Only time would tell.

There was a crackle of the fire, and whoosh of green flames before Sirius Black stepped into our living room. I raised my head up from where I sat in the playpen in the living room. Harry was snoring quietly on a pillow beside me, clutching onto a patchy stuffed deer. I had been playing with soft cubes for the past hour or so, attempting to force my fingers to pick them up and move them over, and over, in hopes of obtaining my previous life's dexterity as soon as possible.

Lily looked up from her pages of work—she nearly covered half the living room floor with her pages and floating books. A smile lit up her face. "Sirius!"

"The one and only," Sirius said with a grin and a gleam in his eyes. "How's my favorite new mother?"

Lily laughed. "I'm fine. James is upstairs if you want to see him."

I squealed out loud.

Sirius turned his head, and his gaze widened. "Little Rosie isn't crying anymore?"

Lily beamed, levitating herself up so she could stand up and hop over her papers. "No. Everything is fine now. She hasn't cried all week."

I squealed again, reaching my hands up, trying to grab the attention of one of my favorite—ah, can't really say character anymore, could I?—person ever. Sirius's smile stretched widely over his face and he hurried over to me to pick me up. Large hands grasped me and swung me up high. "Look at you, Rosie! You look like a little princess in that dress."

I giggled with delight, reaching out to his face and patting his cheek. Lily smiled at the two of us, reaching over and tucking behind a strand of dark red hair behind my ear.

"She looks exactly like you, Lily," Sirius said, readjusting me in his arms. "Got your hair, eye shape, nose, mouth—mirror image."

"She has James's curls and eye color," Lily corrected.

Sirius patted the top of my head, running his fingers through my unruly hair. "That she does. She'll be beautiful."

The thought made me laugh. Beauty was something I had never associated with myself. Scrubs and dark circles were all I could see myself with for the past three years of my life. Even with gorgeous parents such as Lily and James, I still couldn't imagine myself as one of the pretty girls in school. It would be neat if that happened, but I certainly wouldn't hold out hope.

"She'll be the most beautiful girl in the whole world," Lily bragged, kissing my forehead.

"James and I are going to have to beat the boys away, huh," Sirius joked.

"Or girls."

"Or girls," Sirius corrected himself.


James's voice drew our attention towards the stairs where he hopped off the last stepped and beamed at his best friend.

Sirius grinned. "Prongs! Been too long."

Sirius handed me to Lily in order to man-hug James, the two men laughing and already starting to whisper mischievously to each other. Lily rolled her eyes. "You'll have to help me keep them in line, Rosie."

I patted her cheek. That would be an impossibility.


At five months old I had finally achieved acceptable control over my body. I still lacked the strength and stamina to do many things, but I was greatly relieved that I wasn't quite so helpless. Since I had reached the standard age (albeit a month early) for most children to start speaking, I decided to begin talking.

It was getting dreadfully boring squealing, pointing, and crying to communicate. Although, I had to hand it to Lily, James, and Sirius for picking up on my cues relatively quickly. Sirius came by about once a week when he could. He only stayed a handful of hours—enough to play with Harry and me, and update the Potters on the war front. I had yet to see Peter, thankfully. I wasn't sure I would be able to not scream in rage at him for what he would do to this loving family.

And it was a loving family. It was absolutely nothing like my previous home life. I felt no obligation, or expectation placed upon me. Lily and James were doting parents, and tried their best to keep us happy in an obviously dark time. It was admirable, and it made my heart ache even more so at how Peter would betray them.

I would do my best, though. I had to let them know without letting them in on how much I knew. I had no idea what would happen if someone else got their hands on all of my knowledge, so I had to be absolutely careful to not overtly give anything away. Dumbledore himself insisted on playing with time with great care, and what I was about to do was… certainly going to require all the delicate handling of removing a ticking time bomb.

Oh, and of course study occlumency as soon as I was able. I was certain I would be able to have a quick grasp on it, since I already had the self-discipline from my past life instilled in me.

I played with Harry's hair in our playpen. Harry's bright green eyes lit up while he tried to fit a cube into a circle. His hair was soft, fluffy, and bounced back up when I patted it down. Harry enjoyed having his hair played with, and we quickly found that it soothed him when he cried.

Lily was preparing dinner for us (plus Sirius), with James's help. She waved her wand, and potatoes began to peel themselves before being placed into a boiling cauldron. James, meanwhile, was mixing a cake batter (who knew he loved to bake?) while telling Sirius to "watch his damn language".

My stomach rumbled, and I stood up from the playpen. I leaned heavily onto the red gate, watching the trio of adults. I cleared my throat and then said (squealed more like), "Mama!"

Everything froze. All adults turned towards the playpen, and Lily's face morphed into sheer excitement. "Rosie?!"


Lily screamed, leaping up into the air and then shooting across the room towards me. "Rosie! Did you say "Mama?""

"Mama! Papa!"

James dropped his bowl of the mix, his face bright as can be as he ran towards us. Lily picked me up into the air, twirling me around before James then picked both of us up. I repeated their titles in a chant, warm feeling of happiness bubbling inside me that I could make such wonderful people so happy. When the spinning was done, James picked up Harry and ruffled his hair. "We have the brightest kids."

"Papa hungry."

"Look at that," Lily exclaimed. "Her first words and sentence! She's so early—so bright!"

Pretty sure this constitutes as cheating, but the compliment is still appreciated.

"Let's feed the pups, then," Sirius said, giving me a wink. He had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during the commotion.

"Paddy!" I declared, pointing at Sirius.

Our godfather gave us a splitting grin and eagerly stole me from Lily's arms; she whipped out her wand and threatened to hex him into tomorrow if he didn't give me back, but he danced around the house and essentially played monkey in the middle (Lily in the middle, and I as the ball) with James. Harry squealed with delight, watching the game and sparks of magic around the house.

By the time it was done, dinner was well over burned, and they had to start again, but nothing was able to shake the smile on their faces for the rest of the evening.


The next night, when Harry woke up screaming, I screamed alongside him. It wasn't hard to coax tears out—the hormones in my body were as powerful as puberty—and when the parents came to the bedroom Lily picked up her son and began to rock and calm him while James picked me up and rubbed my back.

"Shh, shh," Lily soothed. "It's okay Harry, Mama's here."

James began to rock me in place. "It's okay now, Rosie. It's okay."

"Rat," I hiccuped. "Bad. Bad rat."

James kissed the top of my head. "Bad rat?"

"Bad rat. Bring bad man."

"The bad rat brings the bad man?" Lily murmured, taking Harry over to the changing table.

James kissed me again. "There, there, Rosie. There are no bad rats. You're safe."

"Bad rat brings bad man."

"Do you think—?"

"Of course not, Lily," James exclaimed. "It's simply a bad dream. The doctor told us she could have recurring bad dreams after recovering from Death's Kiss. They'll go away in a month, or so."

Wait, what?



Every night Harry woke up crying, I would cry alongside him and tell them about the bad dream. With stubbornness only a wizard could possess, James continuously dismissed the dream and reassured Lily it meant nothing. After a month passed and I continued to have the dream, James became a bit more hesitant.

The next time Sirius came by, he carried armfuls of books. I wasn't able to see the titles, but James and Lily became engrossed in them for three days.

Upon emerging from their readings, they both looked immensely relieved.

My next nightmare of Peter betraying them, and they had me drink an odd white potion that bubbled down my throat.

Again, and again it happened. They never mentioned thinking for an instant that they believed in my dreams. As time went on, I got a bit more elaborate in my dreams, describing Peter as best as I could, but they never faltered.

(Later on, I would learn they would discover that children affected by Death's Kiss were plagued by worst-case-scenario nightmares. They picked up on the worst possible outcome that could occur every night and for many years they would dream about it. It happened less than one percent of the time, but given that I was already in the five percent margin for surviving Death's Kiss without being turned squib, they figured I was in the one percent, too. Plus, you know, the power of Potter Plot is strong. So no matter what I said, what I described, they would only ever view it as a dream and force-feed me a dreamless draught.)

I was fearful of what was to come. I wished Dumbledore would come by, but he never did. I even tried to drop hints that I needed to see him (I dreamed about him coming by, and that it made me "very happy"), but nothing worked.

Short of telling them the absolute truth, I was running out of ideas.

As we neared our one-year birthday, my mind was becoming more, and more flustered. My magic lashed out accordingly, and Lily and James were forced to put me to sleep frequently, so I didn't accidentally hurt myself or Harry.

I feared I wouldn't be able to save them.

But, I had to keep trying.


On our one-year-old birthday, Harry woke up first with an excited squeal. He was levitating in his bed, slowly drifting up to the ceiling from a burst of accidental magic.

It brought a smile on my face to see my brother so happy in the morning. He didn't have a lot of accidents with magic, unlike me, but when he did it usually revolved around levitating or summoning items to him.

My bursts had died down the couple of weeks leading up to the birthday, as I was able to get a very vague hold on them. Thankfully, I could sense my magic a lot easier after months of practice, but it was far from perfect. I still couldn't command it to do as I wished, but that was to be expected. Apparently, witches and wizards developed their magic up until the age of ten rapidly. Their magic would steadily grow, along with spurts of significant growth spurts that caused the magic to lash out. It was why children did not attend magical school until ten, because their magic would be unreliable until it leveled out in its growth. There were instances where people had bursts throughout puberty, as well, but nowhere near as common as childhood.

Magic during childhood was unreliable. It struggled to fit inside the growing body and fought to stay calm. At times, it really seemed like it had a mind of its own. The only thing in tune with its and my desire was to keep the physical body safe and healthy.

But, I was stubborn.

If I wanted to do the things I wanted to do, I would need a hold on my magic sooner than ten years old.

So, every night after Lily and James tucked me in and fed me a dreamless potion, I laid in bed and tried to call forth my magic.

I tried to bring it towards my hand and push enough of it out of my body to see it. It took nearly an hour every night (sometimes two, if unlucky), but I had faith that dedicated practice would fruit success.

James was the first to enter our bedroom, laughing at seeing his son floating in the air.

Harry clapped his hands. "Papa!"

James reached up and plucked Harry from the air. "Morning, Harry. Happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday, Harry," I chirped.

James waved his right hand at me and I felt the tug of his magic. I floated out of my crib and into James's right arm. Harry, in his left, reached towards me and hugged me. I kissed his cheek.

"Happy birthday, Rosie," James told me.

"Happy birthday," I echoed, patting Harry's cheek. "Cake?"

"Later," James promised me. "How about we head downstairs? Paddy is here!"

"Paddy!" I squealed with delight.

James carried us downstairs, and we found the living room to be lovingly decorated with banners, posters, pictures, and presents. A shaggy black dog laid on the carpet in the middle, his belly up in the air. I screamed with joy, squirming to play with Sirius in his animagus form. James laughed and sat me down on the living room floor, and then headed to the kitchen with Harry to work on our birthday cake.

My tiny toddler legs moved as quickly as I could to the happy dog who playfully growled at me. I leapt onto his belly, hearing the soft umph from him before Sirius rolled over and grabbed the back of my shirt before tossing me up into the air. I felt his magic coil around me, levitating me in the air before gently lowering me down. I fell onto the soft carpet onto my bum before scrambling to stand back up and proceed to chase Sirius around the carpet.

He would playfully catch me again, and again, tossing me into the air and then levitating me down.

It was an absolute delight, and I relished it.


Now I'm sure…

I'm sure you would think that by the time that awful night came to be I would have had a solution prepared, right?

I had literally over a year to find one.

But I didn't.

Every maneuver, or plot I cooked up was batted away. My control over magic was barely good enough to levitate paper, let alone fortify my home against the Tom Riddle, all grown up and hopped up on dark magic.

The only card I hadn't pulled was being blatantly honest, and my gut was screaming at me that it would result in a worst-case scenario.

Such as being taken away from my parents and handed off to Unspeakables to be experimented on.

Not that Lily and James were malicious people, but think about it from their perspective: An adult is in the body of their child and has been pretending to be their baby for over a year.

Creepy would be an understatement.

(I'm a little creeped out myself when I think about it like that.)

When… when that night came it was… it was horrible.

I had seen people die before, seen them die from slowly devouring diseases, seen them bleed out on an operating table, seen them begged to be saved right before their heart stops working.

Death was not something one could ignore as a medical student.

I learned very early on, due to my mother, how to compartmentalize and "cope" with the stress of being a doctor—of inevitably losing patients.

But sweet mercy that did not help me that night.

What do you want me to say?

Do you want me to tell you the step by step gruesome detail of a kind man and woman who were murdered before me?

(It was heart wrenching)

Do you want me to tell you how fucking handsome that murderer was that killed them?

(Side note: he was. Very unfairly. Dark arts bastard.)

Do you want me to tell you how we screamed in our crib? How we cried, with every fiber of our being as Lily fell forward dead?

Do you want those details?


No, you don't.

Or rather, I won't give them.

That night was literal hell.

And it forever tilted my viewpoint on death.

On what line I was willing to cross.

Because I decided, as I stared over their corpses, and held Harry's hand, that I could not restrict myself to morality or legality.

Playing by the rules was not an option when my family's life was in danger.


And so

A checklist—


The Bucket List

—was made.


Question: What would be the first item on your Harry Potter Bucket List?

Reviews are love!