Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor Naruto.

"... green eyes, Mikoto! The doctors say... recessive genes... possible mutation... May never develop the Sharingan..."

She wanted to listen in, to blink and look, observe her surroundings, war-honed instincts demanding an explanation, knowledge of all the facts, but she couldn't concentrate. She barely felt her body, her muscles weak and feeble, and first stirrings of panic were beginning to cloud her mind. She was helpless, her senses poor, almost blind and deaf, like she was underwater, and she was in an unfamiliar territory, at the mercy of the people she couldn't see.

She tried to rationalize, tried to remember the last thing that happened before the endless darkness swallowed her. She was fighting, she knew, duelling for her life, alone against one of the last group of Death Eaters that managed to ambush her unaware. She could recall the almost blinding brightness of clashing spells, the familiar, coppery taste of blood on her tongue, the scream of a masked man as she ripped through his abdomen with a well-placed Severing Charm.

And then only agony and desperate will to live, to survive, a will that had helped her fight trough her adolescence, but abandoned her at the very end. She remembered her frantic casting, her holly wand almost dancing in the air as she weaved spell after deadly spell in a grim defiance.

She remembered the knowledge that she will die with the blood of her killer on her hands.

It had been strangely satisfying.

"... don't care... Fugaku..."

She recognized the language at least, even if she couldn't hear every word. Japanese. The long nights in the cold tent, huddled over Hermione's signature blue flames were seared into her memory. Su Li had always been talking about her mother's island homeland, about the legends and traditions and the rich history of the small country. She taught them the language too, because they were at war, and there was a terrible advantage in ability to communicate without your enemies understanding a word, an advantage that they used frequently and to a devastating success.

But why was she in Japan? For that matter, how was she even alive? Had someone managed to heal her and then kidnapped her? She doubted it. She had been in a very secluded area, and only people close by were either dead or doing the killing.

She was dead, she was sure of it. Or had been dead, maybe.

So what was happening?

"... can't have an heir without a doijutsu... the Elders..."

Two people were arguing, she realized, just outside the door. Their voices were hushed whispers, the kind that managed to carry only because the amount of feelings that saturated every word. The woman was angry, furious almost, and the man was clearly irritated by her disagreement.

She couldn't hear them, not clearly at least. Her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton and her hearing was suffering horribly. She didn't even have the strength to rotate her head and observe, not that it would be much help if she could. Her vision was blurry, only able to discern vague shapes and colours, nothing that would be even remotely helpful.

"Screw the Elders! This is our daughter we are talking about, Fugaku!" the woman suddenly shouted, her voice incredibly loud in the previous almost-silence.

She could almost feel the incredulous surprise that came from the man at the furious proclamation. There was a lengthy pause in the argument, clearly meant to help him gather his thoughts.

She wondered what were they arguing about? Or rather, why here? Why expose a prisoner, or maybe an unconscious guest to a loud disagreement about their child, only giving them information to use later. Maybe they were not a threat, if they didn't think to conceal something so important to them personally from her. Maybe they had really tried to help her.

The man finally spoke, and it was kind of voice that would have sent chills down her spine if she hadn't locked wands with Voldemort himself and lived to tell the tale. "You will obey me, Mikoto, especially concerning the matters of the Clan. I will not have an heir without the Sharingan," his tone was soft, deadly quiet, but it carried better than the woman's screams had. "My word is final."

"... Yes, Fugaku-sama," the woman said, soft and submissive, and she could just imagine her head bowed and eyes lowered.

The man left then, his footsteps loud and sure in the sudden silence. She could hear a soft sigh and a creak of the door as the woman entered. She tensed as she felt her approach, hating how weak, how utterly helpless she felt.

Then a giant loomed above her.

She stilled, unable to see clearly, nothing more than a moving blur of colour that was obviously meant to be a face and a mass of dark hair, but she could clearly recognize that the person was enormous. She felt the first stirrings of fear, a true and utter terror that hadn't gripped her for years now, not since her first true battle.

She was feeble and powerless and completely at mercy of an unseen giant, and she could barely think trough her panic.

Hands, soft and gentle, grasped her and hugged her to a warm chest. It startled her out of her frightened musings and she let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak that would have left Ron on the floor, convulsing from laughter. She could see the giant woman now, her face close enough for her poor eyesight to discern her features.

She was distinctly Asian and beautiful. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she had a pale skin and delicate face that spoke of generations of careful breeding, clearly a member of some kind of aristocracy. She had a kind smile, though, and it softened her face in something infinitely brighter.

"Don't worry, my love, Kaa-chan will take care of you," she cooed softly, voice warm and loving.

Her brain stopped.

Kaa-chan? Mother? She remembered the previous conversation, the reason for the argument. A daughter.

Something very much like dread curled in her stomach.

"Your Tou-san may not make you his heir, but I know that you will be strong."

A small, weak body. Poor senses. A giant woman that claimed to be her mother.

Her death.

She had died, she knew it, she remembered it with disturbing detail.

So she had died, and now she was alive and small and weak and in the arms of her 'kaa-chan'...

God-damned Dumbledore! If both of them weren't already dead, she would kill him herself, slowly and tortuously, and enjoy every fucking second of it! 'The next great adventure' indeed!

"You will be a splendid kunoichi, Uchiha Meika. I just know it!"

Reincarnation.

She had been reincarnated.

Uchiha Meika, the eldest child of the honorable Uchiha Fugaku and Uchiha Mikoto, formerly Harriet Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, the Woman-Who-Conquered, the Lady Potter-Black and the most powerful, dangerous witch of the century let out an ear-shattering wail in a futile attempt to demonstrate the depths of her displeasure with Fate, gods, or the fucking universe – whatever was up there, really.

God-damned Dumbledore.

Mikoto was furious.

Oh, she tried not to show it, she kept a smile on her face and tried to stay calm and collected if only for her newborn daughter's sake. Her child (and the endless love she felt every time she thought about it almost brought her to her knees) was cradled firmly, but gently in her hands, slumbering softly, completely exhausted from her earlier wailing, and Mikoto would rather stab herself with kunai than wake her with the killing intent.

But she was so, so furious.

Fugaku... She couldn't even think about her husband without her fists clenching and her doijutsu flaring enraged crimson. How dare he?! How dare he talk to her like that?! How dare he dismiss her like some helpless civilian girl when she had long since surpassed him in skill, when she was one of the best kunoichi in Konoha, only rivalled by Senju Tsunade-hime and Uzumaki Kushina?!

How dare he ignore their daughter?!

The last one stung the worst.

Meika was beautiful and perfect and Mikoto will cheerfully dismember anyone claiming differently, even her husband. Her eyes were nothing, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of and if she were any less well-mannered, if she had any less self-control, she would've strangled Fugaku for his comments.

No heir without the Sharingan?! A female one at that?!

She had never before felt so indignant, both for her gender and her abilities. She herself had activated her doijutsu fairly late, when she had already obtained the status of a jounin, and when he so callously implied that ninja without the Sharingan were worthless...

Well, she had a half a mind to show him exactly what she could do without the crimson-coloured eyes.

Mikoto remembered clearly the surprise she felt when she first saw her daughter, the almost numbing shock when the already emerald green eyes blinked at her sleepily. She remembered the awe that followed, because those were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, shining and gem-like, and far more stunning than Tsunade-hime's golden eyes, Kushina's purple orbs or even Minato's cerulean blue irises.

She also remembered Fugaku's anger and disgust when he learned that the possibility of developing Sharingan was almost nonexistent.

Mikoto knew that he loved their daughter. She had seen his tender side during her pregnancy, she had watched as he quietly worried over her every need. But she also knew that the Clan will disapprove of her child, and that, to Fugaku, the Clan was even more important than his own family.

So Meika will be hers to care for, hers to raise and hers to train.

And train her she will.

Uchiha Mikoto had not been one of the most powerful kunoichi of Konoha, the best Genjutsu Mistress of her generation and overall a better ninja than her husband because of nothing.

It was time that her Clan was reminded of that fact.