Disclaimer: They are not mine, sadly, if they were they would have led happier, more naked lives. They belong to the beautiful blond who unfortunately chose children as her target audience, hence the lack of nakedness :'(

Title: If I Could Live That Time Again

Pairing: HP/SS eventually

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Aghast at the effects of war Harry passes out from exhaustion only to find himself awoken in a place he knows no longer stands, with people he knows no longer live and a destiny he though he no longer had. New chances, new choices and a new out look and attitude. Warnings; Slash, HPSS, Time Travel, Violence, Gore, Smut, Minor short term death.


Blood. So much blood, everywhere.

How did it come to this? Yesterday we were fine, Ron was joking through the somber mood, Hermione tsk'ed at each one with an affectionate look in her eyes and a smile tugging at her lips, Moody barking a laugh and making most people in his vicinity jump with each shout of 'constant vigillance'. Many more crowded into the study going over last minute plans, bringing in the latest information.

Now, all but a handful dead.

Sure, the enemy was too but... so was everyone else.

Harry could see Shacklebolt knelt over the form of his husband, tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked, most of the man's chest blown apart.

Ginny with her throat slashed from one side to the other lay prone three steps from him reaching towards the youngest of her elder brothers, who in turn was wrapped around his fiance, protecting her till his death. Both dead by the same Avada Kedavra, hit from behind as Ron helped Hermione to her feet.

Neville slumped over the last Dark Minion he killed before jumping in front of an Avada Kedavra to save Harry.

Luna, barely recognisable from the numerous curses it had taken to fell her.

Most who might have seen Harry at his point would probably have fainted from shock before he could have spoken a word, if he could have managed to, that is. He was covered in blood, his eyes still blazing from the magic swirling about him, knife clutched in one hand, wand in the other, still scanning for left over threats. His throat was tight and raw from screaming spells at the latest Dark Lord to arise. He had crawled out of the wood work only three months after the death of Voldemort. Same Pure-Blood bigotry, same speech's, same army of servants only named differently, same crimes. Surprisingly easy to kill, in comparison to the last Dark Lord that is. Two months, that's all the time it had taken to track him down and kill him.

Harry stood from his crouch pushing the shoulder length, blood soaked hair out of his eyes, thankful for the muggle contacts he wore, had he still been wearing glasses they too would have been covered in blood and impossible to see through.

Turns out that while most wizards are terrible at hand to hand combat, making it an easier triumph, its not the cleanest way to kill someone. Especially not when a lucky blow is administered to the jugular vain, blood literally squirts everywhere, muggle films will never be able to convey just how much blood the human body can hold.

The blood soaked battle robes and visage were nothing though in comparison with the killing curse green eyes that now gazed upon the lifeless bodies of all the people Harry had ever cared for.

It shouldn't be like this. Why? All for one man and his megalomaniac ideas? NO!

The scream of denial echoed in his mind, his magic rising up to wrap around him as his body and mind shut down from the limits it had been pushed to in the last six hours and all the death he had witnessed and caused.

The last thing he felt before the darkness swallowed him was a hugh burst of magic that reverberated from within him and swept away...



That was the first thing Harry noticed about his surroundings upon waking.

Dark and cramped was the second thought to sweep through his still groggy mind. Taking a deep breath to try and clear his mind, he choked on the dust he inhaled.

'What the hell?'

Sitting up gingerly, aware of the pain he was still in from his stretch, he blinked and felt around him, trying to work out where he was. On the floor beside the bare mattress he was now realised he was on, he found a pair of glasses, a pair he would recognise even without any light. His old ones, from before the contacts and rectangular new ones he had been persuaded by Hermione to get.

'Where did these come from? Ron destroyed them with a Reducto. Didn't he?'

Stretching around himself once more he realised he was in a narrow triangular space. A frown hidden by the darkness marred his face in confusion. He wished he wasn't feeling so groggy, it had been a long time since he woke up without an instantly clear mind, he must be in worse shape than he realised. If he didn't know the house had been destroyed by Voldemort (Harry wished he could have thanked him for that, can you imagine his expression? Thanked by The Boy Who Lived, Saviour of The Wizarding World, The Vanquisher and all his other ridiculous titles.) when he killed the Dursley's, Harry would have said he was back in his cupboard.

Thud thud thud thud thud.

'Bloody hell! That sounds like Duddykins!'

Thud thud thd thud thud.

'It can't be! He's dead!'

Thud thud thud thud thud.

"Wake up, Potter! I want bacon!" Dudley's voice was unmistakable but young sounding.

Harry's hand reached for his wand as he mentally slapped himself for not getting it sooner. Only to find not only his wand missing but also his wand holster, his clothes seemed to be eight sizes too big again, which they hadn't been since sixth year (Sirius had told Harry to look after himself in his Will. Harry had taken that to heart in everyway, including how he dressed.) and his wand was nowhere to be found.

Slapping himself again he non-verbally called it to him, only to feel nothing slip into his palm. Dread welled up inside him. What was going on?

The door suddenly burst open and a large hand reached inside to drag him out.

"Why isn't breakfast ready, boy? Still haven't learnt have you? Well you will." Vernon Dursley's fat red face shouted ominously into Harry's bewildered one.

The large neckless man threw Harry into the kitchen.

"If you burn anything, it will be worse for you later." The overly large man stormed out of the room to finish getting ready for work.

Harry fell into auto-pilot and made breakfast without thinking about it despite not having done it for more than two years now. He had moved out as soon as the clock struck midnight on his seventeenth birthday and the blood wards fell.

Catching sight of his reflection in the toaster Harry almost dropped the tray of eggs he had just picked up. He was a child! His mind quickly put all the pieces together; he was a child, still in the cupboard under the stairs, Dudley, Vernon and assumably Petunia were still alive.

'I've gone back in time? Merlin, no! Impossible! Perhaps I'm really under a curse and imaging it all... Can't be, Hermione researched all the mind affecting charms and curses she could find after Ron was hit by Lucius two battles before Voldemort's death. None of them would let me come to the conclusion that it wasn't reality without waking up... I'm really in the past, really... hmm, how old am I?'

Paying attention to what he was doing once more he realised he needed to learn the date. He had a couple of minutes before he needed to turn the sausages, so he quickly checked he was alone and snook into the hall to gather the post on the door mat.

As he picked it up he found a thick parchment letter.

Mr. H Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little whining


'Shit! Its my Hogwarts letter! I came back to the day I received my letter? Wait! How did I come back in time?'

Now his brain had caught up with the fact he was back, he couldn't work out how. He had never heard of a spell that could turn back time and the only object he had ever discovered was a time turner which worked in hours, a couple of days at most, not nine years!

'Well what do I do about this then? How do I act? If I do anything differently I'll muck up the time line... would that be such a bad thing? I could change a lot of bad stuff, Sirius, Malfoy, people who died, Snape. Snape... Yes I could have some fun there, won't be so easy for him to find faults with me now I have a potions mastery from the memorys he passed to me when he died.'

Harry felt a smirk curl his lips as he considered this.

It had taken months after Snapes death to work through all the memories he had pushed into Harry's mind, he hadn't had time to just give to relevant ones and had instead transferred all his memories. Starting from his abusive child hood and strict lessons pre-Hogwarts, his unhappy school life where he struggled to make friends and had ended up submerging himself in his only pleasure, potions, taking the Mark, becoming a spy, saving Harry over and over again, killing Dumbledore and all his anonymous help locating the Horcrux's till his death when Voldemort discovered him a traitor at the end of Harry's seventh year.

After working through them all he found endless quantities of information on spells, spell creation, wandless magic (despite not being able to do much himself as it took incredible amounts of raw power to master, before the control developed to the point of not needing pure strength only will power), potions and dark arts.

Most of the things he had learnt about the man he had never and would never impart to anyone else. The man was immensely private and would despise the information becoming public knowledge. He had used some of it though, to have the man's name cleared and to give a small speech at his memorial service extolling his virtues, much to Ron and Nevile's horror.

'Hmm, for now I'll let Vernon stew with the letters, looking back it was rather funny to see Vernon boarding up the windows and doors, he didn't beat me once during that time either since Petunia was always around and he made it quite clear she was never to know anything about what he did to me. That means today will be the last time he can beat me before I go to Hogwarts. Knowing when I am also explains why I hurt so much, strange to think it hurts less to be in a battle for six hours...'

Harry's thought trailed off as he started frying the eggs. Breakfast would be done in a few minutes.

Putting all the items together on the plates Harry quickly put the plates on the table as the Dursleys walked in.

Breakfast was quickly consumed by the Dursleys as Harry stood doing the washing up, apparently. In truth Harry was stood eating a breakfast of his own while he wandlessly set the dishes to washing them selves and erected a illusion of him washing up. Handy thing, illusions.

Vernon grumbled all the while about imagined infractions and problems with the meal.

Petunia stood up, flapping about Dudley and nattering on about how much they needed to do in town today to get Duddykins ready for Smeltings, while Dudley stamped his foot demanding one thing or another.

"Of course Duddykins! Anything you want! We'll get ice cream too!" Petunia replied absent mindedly as she turned down the collar of his polo shirt and wiped at a spot of grease on his cheek. Harry though he would be sick at the display, with his now rather more grown up insight and knowledge of how a child should be treated at eleven years old as Dudley was, he really should be able to dress and clean himself properly. With the way he was treated it was no wonder he was so messed up.

The sneer he could feel was obviously showing as Vernon was now turning purple while staring at him but obviously holding his tongue untill his wife and son left. Harry dragged in a sigh knowing what was coming from past experience.

Moments later the horsey woman and her obese son were leaving with a peck on the cheek to her enraged husband, whose frame of mind she hadn't noticed.

Vernon walked into the sitting room and watched them drive off before turning round and delivering a stinging slap to Harry's face.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice that look, boy? A freak like you doesn't even deserve to sleep under the same roof as normal people, let alone look at them with anything less than respect and gratitude. We, feed you, clothe you, give you a bed to sleep in and this is how you repay us, you filthy little freak?" Every third word or so was punctuated with a punch or kick, by the end of the rant Vernon was removing his belt.

Harry huddled down into a ball trying to protect his vital organs and head. He gasped for breath in the few seconds of break he had as Vernon finished removing his belt and ripped Harry's across his back to reveal the skin underneath, old and new scars criss-crossed from hips to shoulder blades from repeated whippings.

"How. Dare. You. Look. At. My. Wife. Or. Son. Like. That! Freak! Do. You. Like. This? Is. That. Why. You. Do. It. Does. Your. Freak. Nature. Get. Off. On. The. Pain? Is. That. It? Freak!" Each word was followed by a lash from the belt. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat on the first stroke, he could feel the lacerations from the last time split open again with a fire that shot all through him. It was nothing compared to the pain of the Cruciatus but to a ten year old body it was agony and he soon felt tears running down his cheeks, he had never realised that children feel pain more intensely than adults. Through the pain Harry wondered for a moment what the other noise in the back ground he could hear was and was surprised to realise it was his own voice begging Vernon to stop. It wasn't that much of a surprise that he was begging, just that he hadn't realised he was. Training made him beg more than anything, if you apease your tormentor and give them what they want, they might not hurt you so much, making escape easier, it aslo helped the mind to assimilate the sudden shock to the body and reduced the risk of insanity.

By the last strike Harry could feel his blood running down his back.

Vernon threw his belt aside and kicked Harry in the ribs once more, forcing Harry to uncurl and catch himself. He knew from past experiance that if he got blood on the carpet he would be beaten more and forced to scrub it clean, after receiving more punishment for creating the mess.

"Make sure you clean my belt before I get home, boy, or else." With that final parting shot Vernon stormed out the room.

Harry gasped at the pain as he slowly picked himself up. He stood shaking with one hand against the wall to hold himself up until Vernon left, slamming the door behind him. Harry released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and slowly made his painful way up stairs and into the bathroom, cursing harshly in parseltongue all the way. He turned the shower on cool, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stand the hot water at first, and stripped off waiting for it to warm up from freezing cold. As he stood waiting he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He ignored tempory effects of the abuse and looked at the body he now resided in. It was the same but not. He was extremely thin he noticed, he never had before, oh, he knew he was skinny but this thin? He could count each rib and clearly see his hip bones. Looking at his hips his eyes traveled further down.

'Damn! I haven't even hit puberty yet!'

AN: Hi, this is the first fic I have decided to try posting, I have dabbled a writing for a while but only just got up the nerve to actually post. I haven't completed this yet, I expect it to be a long story, going through all the years Harry will spend at Hogwarts, it will be Snarry slash, don't like, don't read. It's currently unbeta'd, due to the fact that I don't have a beta, know how to find a beta or how a beta actually works. Sorry, like I said, it's my first time.

Any reviews are welcome, praise, con crit, hell even flames cuz they still add to my review count and I'm not going to take them to heart :-P

But a few nice words would be appreciated ^_^

Duana xxx