Disclaimer: This goes for the whole fic, future chapters included. I Don't own any of the things (characters, world, etc) from this story that actually belong to someone else, be it J. K. Rowling, Warner Borthers or any other entity who has legal rights over something related to this fiction. I also Don't intend to get profit from the story, which is only written for fun and gaining experience.
Summary: Do-Over fic. Harry Potter was born again in 1980 with sixty years worth of memories. It is a chance to save the world, to change the path wizards had taken in the future and finally find the balance Magic has been craving for centuries. Grey/Dark!Harry with some Dumbledore!Bashing.
Warnings: Rating may change later on, going from T to M. May be slash, but the pairing is yet unknown.
Also possible grammar/spelling mistakes: I am not a native english speaker and I haven't found a Beta yet. If someone is actually interested, please contact me.
*I am a slow kind of writer. It may take some time for me to update the story.
Individual warnings will be posted at the begining of the chapters if there is actually something to warn you against.
The muscles around me started to push and I knew the time had come for me to be born. Again.
To be honest, it was a good thing that no one was capable of remembering their own births, because it was disconcerting, messy and a kind of traumatic event. Especially if one was an actual newborn, which I fortunately was not.
While I waited for the moment I could take my first breath, I couldn't help but think of how absurd the situation actually was. Me being born again, despite all odds. But I was kind of grateful, really. I didn't think I would have been able to rest in peace knowing how things could have ended for the wizarding world. Knowing that I had failed my self imposed mission.
The mere thought of it brought me a sense of despair for all the work that still had to be done, for all the things I had lost and the fear of those I could lose once again. Yet there also was a strange feeling of excitement at the prospect of starting all over and changing the future. Oh Merlin, how I wanted to laugh, yet I couldn't stop the hysterical edge to it. The feelings were too strong and I was too tired, and despite the new hope I had found I just wanted to curl myself somewhere warm and sleep till the end of time.
The emotions were too conflicting and the desperation wouldn't leave me, so when I took my first breath, I cried.
It wasn't until this second childhood that I got to know what it was like to be loved by a mother. What a wonderful experience it was. A bit disconcerting though, specially for someone whose mind was that of a sixty year old man. A war weary, sixty year old man.
With that kind of mindset, it was terribly difficult not to doubt her love for me, to stop wondering about the source of such soul deep devotion. I couldn't keep myself from questioning it again and again.
Would she still love me if she knew about my real age, or about the things I had done while still living my first life? Would she still want to keep me in her arms and kiss my cheek if she came to realise that I wasn't an innocent baby, that I wasn't this brand new soul whose personality and dreams she could help to mould?
But those questions were irrelevant. Or more like it was irrelevant to pose myself those questions, since I would never get the answers I sought. As much as it pained me, she would die in just a few months and I would be incapable of putting a stop to her demise.
After all, there was a limit to what a year and a half old infant could do, and stopping a Dark Lord went way beyond those abilities.
All I could do for now was enjoy the time I had left with her, play with her red hair to make her laugh and keep silent at nights to not disturb her sleep. My only hope was that this new set of memories could replace, or at least balance up the one of the night she died. I really didn't want her pleas for my life as the only reminder of my mother.
The weeks passed and I allowed myself to behave like any child would. Naturally, I couldn't act as my old, war hardened self while in this tiny and ridiculously young body. It would have seemed unnatural to those around me, and drawing that kind of attention was the last thing on my list.
That's the reason I was riding Padfoot's back and laughing as if my life depended on it. Me, who had once commanded the remainders of the Dark army in the last Wizarding War of all. Me, who hadn't hesitated to kill who had once been my best friend, my first friend. Here I was, riding on the animagus form of my godfather. And I loved it.
The sad truth was that I couldn't remember a single time in all my sixty years of life when I could just enjoy the moment. No expectations, no need for pretending and, for now, no obligations nor impossible missions to save the world.
For the first time in my life, I was just Harry.
I couldn't recall a happier time in all my existence.
At least, that was truth until He came through the floo. The old goat with the need to save the world from his own mistakes, the same mistakes he hadn't learned nothing from. The fool who thought himself some kind of messiah with the right answers to solve all evils, as if Truth was eternally running through his veins. The righteous idiot who condemned us all.
Merlin, how I had come to hate that man.
And that same man was talking to my parents while glancing at me with his twinkling blue eyes. How I hated those eyes, too. Now the man was coming in my direction, and he seemed to want to pick me up. I didn't know if this had happened my first time around, but it sure as hell was not going to happen if I could stop it.
I took a deep breath and filled my little lungs with all the air I could muster right before I started to cry. Loudly. I let my eyes fill with tears and tried to hide behind Padfoot, who couldn't transform back and reveal his animagus status to Dumbledore.
The look of uncertainty that graced the goat's eyes was a beautiful sight to me. I loved to witness those times when the fool didn't know what to do. They were so few yet so satisfying, but it soon came to an end, the goat recomposing his expression while my mother apologised for my behaviour, not knowing what had happened to me as I usually was such a sweet and silent child.
Poor woman. She had such faith in the old man. If she just knew the grief his actions would bring to our world she would have cried too, just as I was doing. Or maybe not. She was, after all, an incredibly kind and forgiving person, traits that I had inherited from her but had lost as I grew older, more realistic. Cynical.
But I didn't want to keep on with that line of thoughts. I just hoped the goat would leave my house soon, so I could enjoy the little time I had left with my family. Afterwards there would be so much to do, enough to keep my mind entertained.
When Samhain came, I had to gather all my self control to stop myself from crying.
That was it, I would never see my parents again after that night. One would say that an old man, and a warrior such as myself would be above, or at least used to the feeling of loss. And to a certain extent I was, but I couldn't help but grieve these two people who loved me unconditionally and would gladly give their life to save mine. I couldn't help but mourn the family I could have had and the sense of peace I had found in my parents, something I doubted I would feel ever again.
Yet I knew there was no other way at the moment. I wasn't able to talk yet, let alone stop a powerful Dark Lord in a strange fit of accidental magic. That night was simply bound to happen, and I found some comfort in the knowledge that they would have fast and painless deaths.
And then he came. I felt the exact moment he stepped into Godric Hollow. His magic may have been concealed as to not warn about his presence, but I could have recognised it anywhere. It had been part of me during seventeen years of my life, after all.
When the door flew open and the Dark Lord came through, it all started to play out just as I remembered. My father battling Him to give my mother time to flee, then her pleas for the Dark Lord to spare me and take her instead. The green light.
And then he stood in front of me. He certainly wasn't as I expected, for there was a lack of madness in his eyes. They were just as red as I remembered, and looked at me as if weighing his options, as if he wasn't sure if he should spare my life or stick to his plan.
Not even a minute later he raised his wand and pointed it to my face, disgust clear in his eyes. If the disgust was directed at me for being the child of the Prophecy or at himself for wanting to kill a one year old infant, I didn't know. And as soon as he opened his mouth, I stopped wondering either way, for he finally uttered the words I had been waiting for.
It was but a mere whisper, yet it felt painfully loud in the stillness of my nursery.
The next thing I knew was pain and I couldn't stop a cry that mixed with the one from the Dark Lord. Yet there was something strange, for the wand had not been directed to my forehead, where my scar had been, nor was my pain located there. At least not exclusively. I could feel it coursing through my whole body, deep in my bones and right into my soul.
With my last forces I looked up to see the Dark Lord disappear into thin air and then everything turned black.
Irritation. That was all I was aware of through the pain I was feeling. The old goat's big nose was mere inches from my face, his eyes finally without that damned twinkle. What did he think he was looking at? I didn't have a damned scar in my forehead, of that I was sure, yet I could see him touching it, looking thoughtful, concentrated.
That was the moment I finally felt pain where my mark should be. I saw the old man waving his wand over my head as if drawing something. And then I realized. He was actually drawing something, specifically the shape of my old scar, the one that I didn't have yet. And as he did so he started to sing softly under his breath, an incantation I could not understand and whose existence I didn't know of.
The pain that had left me while I was unconscious returned with renewed force and I couldn't help but cry, wishing for it to stop, for the old man to shut up and stop whatever ritual it was he was performing.
But he didn't, and as kept on singing I could feel as if something inside of me was being sealed away, leaving me with a deep ache in my very soul and a hole where part of me should be, a part I could not feel anymore. It was the most awful feeling I had had in my entire life, and I instinctively knew that part of my magical core had been sealed away. How that affected me, I didn't know at the time and I certainly wasn't able to discover it. I had only enough consciousness left to keep on breathing through the pain, trying not to black out so I could get as much information as possible.
"You are a strong young wizard, my boy". The old goat said, once he finished his demonic song. "Others in your stead would have fallen unconscious halfway through the ritual".
Bastard. I would kill him in the future. He, unlike my parents, would not be graced with a painless death. No, he would suffer and beg for me to let him embark in the 'next big adventure'. But not before I had destroyed his reputation, his life and all that was dear to him.
"I am certainly sorry, young Harry, but this had to be done", Dumbledore said with a sigh. "There are certain things that I cannot risk. My only hope is that you will understand in the future, and maybe then you will find in your heart the will to forgive this old man". And that did it. I started to cry again out of frustration and hate. How dare he, how dare he do this to me and look me in the eyes with such a fake apologetic smile. The worst was that I couldn't stop it from happening. The feeling of hopeless resentment made my cries louder than before, and with a last smile the goat talked again, "Sleep for now, my boy. All will be better in the morning".
A wandless sleeping spell later, I was left in the arms of Morpheus.
And that's it. My first fanfiction chapter in the history of fanfiction. It would be lovely if you could tell me if the horizontal lines separating scenes can actually be seen, because I have been having problems with them while editing the chapter.