Summary: Sometimes the first playtime isn't enough, and sometimes you miss things until you repeat it over. The second time through, Harry discovers what he missed the first time around. Suddenly the second playtime is looking a whole lot like a whole new song. Now if only the new listeners would go with it.

Pairings: Tom/Harry

Warnings: Male/Male relationship and language.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all copyrighted material that fall under this category belong to J.K. Rowling.

Author Note: Apologies for any grammatical errors.

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Stop and Rewind
Chapter One: Upturned

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He felt like throwing up. His head felt heavy, clouded, and for all his effort, he couldn't seem to grasp a single understandable thought. Arms and legs felt like they weighed a ton, and worse of all, his stomach felt like it was turning inside out. He groaned, whimpering as tears started to form. His eyes were clenched tight while his arms wrapped themselves around his middle, and already his body was instinctively curling up into a fetal position.

"Horace! Quickly! Quickly!"

At the shrill voice, the shaking body violently flinched. Through his hazy mind, he recognized the hurried footsteps, the heavy panting and the panicked atmosphere. And then, hands were forcing his arms away, moving his head upwards, and forcing his mouth open despite his protests. A nasty flavour invaded his taste buds, and about a minute after the potion's administration, the sleeping draught took effect. Just before losing consciousness, the boy's cloudy mind wondered briefly when it was that Snape's potions had started to lose its potency.

The nurse sagged in relief when the child stopped struggling and fell into the induced sleep due to the potion. She sank into the chair that had been positioned next to the bed ever since her newest patient had arrived. Taking out her wand, she ignored her fatigue due to the late hour, and waved it over her patient muttering spells to check her young charge's status.

"Matilda?" a deep voice spoke lightly, momentarily diverting the woman's attention.

She flushed in embarrassment having forgotten his presence, "My apologies Horace." Her blond hair was in disarray, and she tucked a stray strand away behind her ear. "The poor child," she murmured, waving her wand again to check her patient's temperature.

Horace chuckled, though it lacked its usual easiness, "nothing to apologize for my dear. How is our patient tonight?"

She gave a weak smile, one eye still surveying the bedridden boy, "better, I suppose." The spell revealed that temperature wise, the unconscious body was just slightly above average. She sighed in relief, "better than when he had arrived." She pointed to her chart where the a quill had automatically been recording the results from her spells earlier, "his fever has gone down drastically these past few days which is a great relief."

"But?" Horace asked, sensing that there was more. She gave him a grim smile, "but I still can't discover the source of his fever. His bloodstream is clear of poisons or of any potions that we haven't administered."

The head of Slytherin nodded solemnly, scanning the boy from where he was, "his injuries perhaps?"

"Were already closed," she said shaking her head. Her lips pursed, fingers tightening around her wand, "though how he could have acquired such wounds." Horace silently agreed with her.

When the boy had been discovered on the school grounds, a two weeks before the new school year was to start, the staff had been in a panic. The raven haired child, for he looked undoubtedly young, had been unconscious, but despite that fact, he had been whimpering and writhing in pain. The old groundskeeper had been stricken with alarm, shouting for the staff present. Armando Dippet had been quick to suggest St. Mungo's but Matilda would have none of that. The child was already in such a state, and while she was there, she wouldn't see to the child being moved. It was already risky in physically moving the boy from the grounds into the school, Merlin knows how much damage the child would have undergone through magical transportation.

"Have the scars faded at all?"

Matilda blinked, abruptly turning away from her thoughts. She bit her lip nervously, "no, for some reason, the balms and creams aren't responding the way they're supposed to."

Horace's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, "what do you mean?"

She heaved a sigh, "it's as if he's immune to it." She pointed to the empty phial, "we have to use the most potent of potions or else there's no result. The weakest sleeping draughts and calming potions have no effect on him whatsoever!" She waved her arms up in exasperation, "it's as if his immune system is resistant to all alien substances and rejects them. And," she paused, "it seems as if his body is adapting to the potent potions we're administering and is actually starting to resist its effects."

The potion master's eyes widened in disbelief, "that's impossible!" he sputtered.

She nodded, "that's what I said too when it came to me, but," she groaned tiredly, "it's the only conclusion that I can draw up with at the moment."

Silence stretched throughout the dim room as Horace Slughorn let the new piece of information sink in. And then all too suddenly, he felt the late hour weighing him down. The sun wasn't even up yet, and the room was cast in darkness, the only light sources coming from the small oil-lamp on the bedside table and from the fire where he had flooed in from after Matilda's panicked summons.

"Have you-"

"No," she shook her head, "this rationalization is just too illogical, it's simply a conjecture."

He sat back, eyes looking over the sleeping boy. "Well, have we a name for the boy?"

"No. The blood sample I received back from St. Mungo's came up with no match or identity. Although," her eyes scrunched up in confusion, "it was closely tied to the Potter's bloodline, but not quite."

"Oh?" Horace's curiously piqued in interest, "do tell."

"Well," the woman began, "the physical resemblance to the family is there, but in the blood sample there were only traces here and there of Potter origin and ancestry. Not strong enough for the family head to step in." The Slytherin head nodded, urging the nurse to continue. "From the rest of his blood sample, St. Mungo's couldn't bring up any conclusions as to the child's identity. There are no records of his blood sample stored." Horace blinked in surprise. "It's as if he were a muggleborn. And they would've labelled him as such if not for the strong magical residue."

"Strong you say?"

"Yes," the nurse answered, getting up from her seat after her patient had yet to stir. "And you know," she shot him a pointed look, "only the old magical bloodlines develop the tendency to give off magical residue in blood."

"So, we have ourselves a mystery then," he chuckled. She rolled her eyes in good humour, humming in response as she blew the lamp out. "When will he wake?"

Looking to where Horace was positioned in front of the fire, one hand full of floo powder, Matilda answered, "Tomorrow at the earliest, I suppose." He nodded, a smile coming to his face. Perhaps once the child awoke, some of their questions would be answered.

"Good night Horace."

"G'night to you as well my dear Matilda," he saw her lips twitch just before the floo whisked him away.

Matilda glanced one last time at the small frail child before shutting the door. She waved her wand to monitor the child; alerting her at any time should the boy's status changed.

I open at the close.

Death: that had been his fate. It was his life in exchange for all of theirs. Dumbledore had known and Harry felt his heart throb painfully from the known fact. From the moment Voldemort's stray soul piece had latched itself to him he had been condemned to die.

"…pity the living."

He had boarded the train.

"…say goodbye for the present."

Goodbye for the present?

It was the voices that Harry first heard. It penetrated through the hazy mist of his mind, slowing prodding him to consciousness.

"…Armando!"

"…age…St…go's…orphanage…"

He felt numb all over, his eyelids heavy. Stirring slightly, Harry opened his eyes, only to regret the action when bright lights overwhelmed his vision.

"Oh my!" an arm came to assist him in sitting him up. Harry wanted to thank the woman, but all that came out was a gasp. Her worried face flooded his vision, eyes crinkled in concern, her wand already out and waving over his head.

He cleared his throat, "t-thank you." He winced at the hoarse sound.

"If you please, what's your name child?"

Child? Harry swerved his attention away from the unfamiliar nurse only to gasp. Armando Dippet blinked in confusion at the boy's reaction. Harry simply gawked, recognizing the face from the Horcruxe-Diary in his second year.

"Take this," a potion was shoved into Harry's hands from the nurse.

"Matilda?" Dippet's brow lifted. She scowled at him, "he needs a calming draught. The child's been in enough pain and stress as it is without you needing to put him under the Spanish Acquisition." He flushed at the reprimand, clearing his throat nervously.

"Ah hem, I simply wanted a name. After all, we can't call him 'child' or 'boy' for the rest of his stay here."

Neither noticed Harry's recoil at the word 'boy.' He swallowed the potion when the nurse Matilda looked sternly over at him a moment later, "Er…my name's Harry," he whispered.

"Harry…" Dippet urged the boy to continue.

Warily watching the man step closer to his bed now, Harry handed the nurse back the empty phial. "Potter," he said shortly. The man stopped where he was, face perplexed.

"He has the resemblance," Matilda murmured, stirring Armando from his stupor.

Harry fidgeted, mind still hazy, but all too aware of the past Hogwart's headmaster and his intense stare. What exactly was going on? Perhaps he was still in some limbo phase?

"Where am I?"

"Why, Hogwarts my dear," the nurse said, watching him carefully.

"Oh."

Harry didn't say anything else, only blinking blankly, absently noting he was missing his glasses. Dippet cleared his throat from where he was standing at the foot of Harry's bed. "Well now, Harry," and said boy noticed with a small amount of amusement that the man didn't address him by his surname, "do you know how you ended up in Hogwarts?"

"Headmaster! He isn't up to any questions!" Matilda raged, and Harry was absently reminded of his own school nurse.

"Um…" both adults snapped their attention to him. And though the nurse Matilda had defended him, Harry sensed that she too was curious as to his origins as well. Not quite understanding his situation or what his happening, he decided to just go with the truth. "Well, I got a piece of someone's else's soul removed from mine," he ignored the baffled faces. Absently, he wondered how dead people could be surprised, surely they were all-seeing, "ended up in limbo," their faces distorted to pure disbelief now, "boarded the limbo-land's Hogwart's Express…and here I am." He even raised both arms, waving them in an exaggerated motion, to emphasize the point. Here he was, and most likely in another limbo-phase, maybe he was here to 'accept' all that had happened to him or something? After all, he was in the hospital wing, a place for healing.

"Here you are," the headmaster repeated flatly, "the truth this time young man."

Harry blinked owlishly. "I'm dead," he simply said, completely solemn and honest.

Matilda stared in disbelief, "you, are not dead young man!" Harry shifted at the sharp tone. "Don't you dare joke about dying!" He stared at her, "but I am dead…got hit by an Avada Kedavra curse."

Both adults paled at hearing the incantation. "W-where did you learn the name of that curse?" Dippet whispered in distress. Harry leaned back, still puzzled from where he was.

"Hard not to know it, it was what killed my mom and dad. What killed my friends and family," he thought back to parents, "and what killed me too." He stretched his arms over his head, still feeling sleepy.

"Grindlewald," Matilda whispered horrified.

"Course not," Harry said, dropping his arms and startling the two other occupants of the room. He waved his hand at them flippantly, "Grindlewald was defeated decades ago. My life would've been easier if it were him around instead of old Snake face."

"D-defeated?" Matilda gawked in disbelief. Dippet though, caught the key words, "decades ago?" He questioned in a hushed voice.

Absently, Harry nodded, eyes closed. "Course, back before my parents were even born. I think…about forty or so years back? I'm not quite sure though, I'm rubbish with history."

Matilda's breath caught, finally understanding. "A-and," she cleared her throat, "w-what year is it?"

The boy opened is eyes, staring at her mystified, but answered nonetheless, "1998 of course."

The resulting happenings due to Harry's answer were first responded to by the sharp intakes of breath by both Matilda and Armando. "Did I say something wrong?" the boy bit his lip nervously watching the two's reaction. Again, dead people do not do surprise.

"The blood sample," Matilda said breathlessly, "oh course!"

Harry looked at her owlishly. Dippet eyed her, looking away from the boy hurriedly, "Matilda?"

"The diluted Potter blood," she pointed at a wide-eyed Harry, "it would make sense that, generations later, his blood wouldn't match up perfectly with the present Potter bloodline!" She looked at the boy in awe, "a time traveller, my word, I've seen it all now."

"Time traveller?" Dippet and Harry both spoke simultaneously.

Harry froze from where he was. Flashes of memory rapidly swamped him. The clouded place, Dumbledore, the Hogwart's Express, Horcruxes, Voldemort. Harry's eyes widened in horror, his mouth open in shock. "No," was his strangled whisper. "No, no, no, no," the boy continued to chant, his hands clenching the sheets tightly.

"Matilda!" Dippet whispered sharply.

The nurse sat down heavily, watching the child. Dippet groaned, wondering why again he had accepted the position as headmaster, a position where he would have to deal with children. He did not handle children very well.

"Merlin, what a mess," he mumbled.

Harry shot him an icy glare, "it's not as if I asked for this to happen to me!"

The man ignored him, "the Unspeakables will have to be contacted, and oh Merlin, the thought of the paperwork is enough to give me a headache." He started pacing, one hand covering his eyes as though hoping Harry would disappear, "and he's already been seen by the staff!" The man moaned in self distress.

"Well pardon me for being visible! The next time I die, I'll make sure to request the ability to make myself transparent!" the green-eyed boy snapped. After his shock, it was understandable that the occurrence should irk him more than the old headmaster, and the fact that it was the opposite annoyed him.

At the word 'die,' the nurse snapped back to attention, frowning at the child in disapproval. "Now Mr. Potter, what did I say about joking around with death?"

The boy scowled, making his pale face look even more sickly, "I'm not joking around."

Dippet ignored him again, "I'll be heading off to the Ministry now, I suppose." He eyed Harry warily, as though the child would leap from the bed to strangle him, "time-traveller…" He flooed out of the room in a hurry as if the very words burned him.

Harry snorted, eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I don't like him."

A small sound escaped Matilda as she moved across the room with the empty phial. It sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter.

"When can I leave?"

The nurse stopped abruptly, turning with a raised brow, "when you are completely healed."

Harry scowled again, he hated the hospital wing. It seemed as though half his time spent in Hogwarts was spent in this very room. "There's nothing wrong with me," aside from the mental trauma, he mused. He sensed more than saw the woman rolling her eyes at him from where her back was facing him.

"I'll see to that."

"Do tell," he drawled, "what is it exactly that's wrong with me." Of course his past year hunting death eaters would install in him with an appreciation for sarcasm and cynicism.

He had to grin when she stopped from where she was, rummaging through potions, to stutter. And of course, the woman had nothing to say other than, "you just woke up after five days of being unconscious!"

He merely blinked, "I've been knocked out for much longer periods of time, and each time I've been perfectly alright." He lifted the sheet covering him, frowning at the hospital gown, "I've been worse, this is nothing."

"Stop!" she called, already heading to where he was.

Harry looked around and growled in frustration when his wand was nowhere in sight. "The bloody hell," he muttered. He expertly dodged the nurses' spells, jumping over the bed to lift the pillow over, "not there." He ducked again, opening the drawer on the bedside table.

"Hey," he called over, stopping the nurse momentarily, "where's my wand?"

"There was no wand found with you," her eye twitched, "will you get on the bed now? I don't want to stun a patient so young just so he can rest."

"I'm seventeen!" he shouted over, then frowned. "No wand?" he muttered in confusion.

The woman gawked in disbelief, "s-seventeen?" He nodded absently at her, walking around to check under the pillow again. She stared at the boy's short stature, "but, but you can't be any older than twelve!"

Harry froze, a tick developing on his eyebrow. "I'm bloody seventeen years old." He knew he was short, but try living ten years in a cupboard along with going through the dismal diet that he had, and see if they came any taller. And if they did, then they could tell him he looked bloody twelve.

"Mr. Harrison James Potter. Born on the thirty-first day of the month July?"

Both Harry and Matilda jumped.

Next to the fire ahead of the flustered headmaster was a hooded man, and what Harry recognized instantly as an Unspeakable. The boy nodded, lips closed tightly as the man lowered his clipboard.

"Come with me, young savoir."

While Matilda's and Dippet's eyes were scrunched up in confusion, Harry's were narrowed in suspicion.

"How'd you know that?"

The man paused, seemingly to look over at the two other adults in the room before addressing the little brunette, "here is not the place. There is much to talk about, please come with me."

After a moment's deliberation, the boy nodded, though he was still gazing suspiciously over at the hooded man. He looked like a damn death eater in that robe, and if memories served correctly, death eaters didn't make the best of the emotion trust.

"W-wait!" Matilda startled, "he needs to rest!"

Harry wondered if all nurses came with some installed setting to stop all patients from leaving, no matter the circumstances. Or was it just the nurses that he knew, after all, the ones with Lockheart never seemed that determined or stubborn.

The hooded man turned to the two, "do not alert any to our presence here." And before the two could answer, the man pulled a startled and disgruntled green-eyed boy along with him through the floo.

About a minute after the green flames had disappeared, Dippet groaned in distress, "but the staff has already seen him!"

Matilda simply gaped, mind still grasping the fact that her patient was seventeen and that he had disappeared not five minutes later. And Dippet continued to moan over the fact that children were nothing but trouble. Why had he allowed his wife to convince him to take the position of school headmaster?

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