Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Are these things necessary?

Harry Potter woke up rather quickly. He tried to recall what had caused him to pass out in the first place, and a haze of memories went through his head; dying by the hand of Voldemort, talking to Dumbledore, and once more being alive were clear as day. After that, there was a whirlwind of action. He seemed to recall Voldemort sending a Death Eater to confirm his death, and then a painful cut at his throat.

Harry comprehended. He was dead once more, his chance to right everything ruined by rotten fortune. However, Harry had been dead once; this didn't seem like death. He suddenly realized his eyes were closed, so he opened them.

He looked up to see his mother, with her auburn hair and bright green eyes. I must be dead, thought Harry. There's my mum, after all. He tried to move his head to look around the room but found he was limited in movement. All he could really see was his Mum's face and the wall behind her. There seemed to be bars behind her as well, but it wasn't quite distinct. Harry had the sudden feeling that he had been here before.

"Oh James! A son, our son!" Lily Evans Potter cried joyously. There wasn't much that could have made her happier at that moment. Harry was glad; he desperately wanted his mother to be happy, at least. Ron, Hermione, and most of all Ginny were not going to be happy with his death. Having resigned to die once already meant he had accepted that, but it hurt a bit more after being given a second chance.

But something still seemed odd. If Harry was dead and in the afterlife with his parents, why did his body feel like it had atrophied? Surely he wouldn't be subdued to being paralyzed in his reunion, and judging from his experience with Dumbledore, he should be able to control his own maneuverability. Then he was moved rapidly around to face his father.

James Potter looked just like he had in all the photos Harry had ever seen of him. His untidy black hair stuck up everywhere, and the grin on his face was one Harry had worn himself after any happy event, such as winning the House Quidditch Cup. After drinking in his father's appearance, he noticed that there were several people around his father. They had robes that reminded him of the Healers at St. Mungos. Were they angels? Harry didn't think angels wore lime green, somehow.

"A healthy son, at that. Look, Lily, he's got your eyes! I wonder if he'll grow up with his mother's brains as well?" said James excitedly. This thoroughly confused Harry. Hadn't his parents been watching his progress throughout the wizarding world this entire time? Why did they suddenly act as if this is the first time they've seen him?

A hurricane of understanding hit Harry's mind within seconds, blowing away most of his contentment to reveal a large bed of shock. The only conclusion he could come to was that this was the first time they had seen him. Harry had not died, not completely; he was in his old body, and he had just been born again.

As if to explain to his parents his situation, Harry tried to make a noise, but only succeeded in making a loud wail; babies couldn't talk. Harry didn't spend much time studying human development in his Muggle schooling, but he remembered something about the vocal chords being undeveloped, as the rest of his muscles were. Reteaching his body to walk and talk will be his job for the next year and a half, it seemed.

Thinking of the future made Harry realize an important fact. I'm back here, and I remember what happened... what will happen? I think I can help things, then. I'll do it better this time. Sooner! The thought of making sure the wizarding world was safe before it had to deal with Voldemort's second war made the looming year of frustration bearable. Harry stopped screaming and started smiling. His father smiled back.

The next year of Harry's life was one of the happiest he'd ever experienced. His mother and father were more caring parents than he could have ever imagined. James held him while Quidditch matches played over the radio, and cheered with Harry when Puddlemere United scored a win. Lily entertained her son for hours with her miniature fireworks charms.

Harry did his best to keep an ear out for news of how long he had with his parents, however. On July 31st he tried his absolute best to enjoy the quiet birthday. He remembered just after crashing into a table with his new toy broom that his mother wrote of an awful vase she received from her sister in a letter Harry had read long ago. He giggled while looking upon the broken pieces of the gift, and had the inclination to keep giggling even after his mother had scolded him.

After his birthday Harry did the best he could to enjoy his life while he still had access to the magic world. It would only be a few months until he lost his family once more. When not playing on the broom, Harry spent his time trying to re-obtain his voice. The most he could do by his birthday was say mum and dad. His goal had been to say "Dudley, be quiet" by Halloween, but he never quite got there.

Halloween arrived fast. On the 31st, he clung to his parents as much as possible. His father didn't seem to notice anything, but his mother commented on his tenseness.

"Harry seems a bit needy today, don't you think dear?" Lily said, sounding concerned.

"He's only a year old, Lily. I think he just-- what was that?" Harry looked up; there was a distinct sound of movement, and it was definitely hostile.

"He's here! Lily, take Harry upstairs, run! I'll hold him off as long as I can." Harry thought for a moment that he himself must have sounded like his father at times, wildly rushing to save someone at what seemed like impossible odds. Harry wasn't sure that he could be as rash as to forget his wand, like his father did, but similarities were there.

Harry was ripped from his thoughts by a large thump from downstairs. Lily was breathing very quickly now, and someone was walking up the stairs. A high-pitched, icy voice screamed, "Reducto!" and the door to the stairwell crumbled. Voldemort stood in front of Harry and Lily, much liker a tower in the dark. Maybe it was because of Harry's relative height, but Voldemort seemed so much taller than he remembered. His face lacked the serpentine quality it had the last time Harry saw him, as well. Lily quickly put Harry in the crib behind her.

"No! Don't hurt him! Take me instead!"

"Foolish girl, move out of the way."

"NO! I won't let you kill Harry! Kill me instead!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Green light flooded the room, and his mother crumpled to the floor. Harry was about to burst into tears; he might have known it was coming, but seeing his mother just fall so limp right in front of him...

"Nothing will stop me, especially not you. Avada Kedavra!" Green light filled the room once more, but this time it was followed by a loud explosion. Harry had felt a light tap on his forehead and nothing more, but when the dust cleared he could see that the entire room was covered in debris; the wall beside Harry had collapsed, and the right side of his vision was full of twinkling stars.

In front of him, a battered Voldemort looked like he had all the blood forcibly sucked from his veins. The shell of a man looked more frightened than Harry had ever seen him in his previous life; Harry didn't think anyone's eyes could become that wide.

As Voldemort slithered away, the Boy Who Lived felt the emotional weight of the night take hold of him, and he began to cry like the baby he was. It was all he could think to do until he closed his eyes and fell asleep.