Author's Note:
This story contains mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation. If this will in any way trigger you, please do not read.
Prologue
Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes, critically eyeing the bubbling potion in front of him. Snape was surely rolling around in his grave thinking of how the son of his arch-nemesis was using his carefully edited potions text – yet again. He had been brewing this particular potion for the past fortnight after working tirelessly for the previous two years to straighten out wizarding Britain after the defeat of Voldemort.
Ginny had given him the idea for this potion, actually. He had reached a point in his life where he longed for either a death or a do-over in life. He had assumed that a do-over was impossible, so he had begun settling all his affairs and researching the most efficient, painless poisons in which to kill himself with. However, Ginny had suffered a bad injury in her first season of professional Quidditch, successfully destroying any future career options in that field. She had begun asking him when he wanted to settle down, get married, and have children. Harry truly considered himself too broken to successfully parent any child. He had had horrible experiences living with his relatives growing up, despite the love the Weasleys, Sirius, and Professor Lupin had shown him.
While he was still secretly researching poisons, he came across a de-aging potion in a text. Wanting to make sure it was perfect he planned a visit to Hogwarts and collected the Half-Blood Prince's potions text from the Room of Requirement. Ginny had mentioned wanting children, surely she wouldn't mind raising him a second time around? They both loved each other dearly, he would simply have to get her to love him maternally.
There, that was it. One clockwise stir, douse the flames, and allow the potion to cool. He would write out his letters explaining his actions in the meantime. Ginny was out looking for employment, so he was home alone for the time being.
The potion had finally reached room temperature as he finished addressing the last letter to Ginny. Squinting at the directions, he calculated his precise age and very carefully poured the proper dosage into a beaker, before vanishing the rest of the contents of the cauldron. A pop sounded from upstairs.
"Harry?" Ginny called out, sounding defeated.
He walked up the stairs, enveloping her in a hug and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Hey, Gin," he said softly, feeling light as air now that his plans were completed. "Any luck?" He secretly hoped she hadn't had any more luck than she had in previous days. In his plans, she would be a stay-at-home mother, giving him her undivided attention, living off a generous allowance from the Potter vaults at Gringotts. He had already made the arrangements with the goblins, who didn't even bat an eye at his request.
"No," she sighed, sinking into his embrace. "Flourish and Blotts said that I was too much of a liability since I have restrictions on how much I can lift. Apparently the books there have all been spelled to resist magic until a special counter charm is placed on them to reduce theft."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, giving her a gentle squeeze. "What do you say we go out to dinner tonight?"
"That sounds splendid, actually," Ginny admitted. "I'm too exhausted to cook much of anything and we know that you certainly can't cook to save your life."
"Hey!" Harry exclaimed in mock horror. "That's completely unfair! I can toast a mean English muffin over the fire!"
"I know, dear," Ginny smirked, patting his arm consolingly. "That's a mean English muffin alright… especially the charred bits on it, well, everywhere."
"Fine, you witch," Harry smiled at her. "What do you think you'll have for dinner?"
Several hours later, they left the Three Broomsticks, content with full bellies and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. Sitting on the sofa, Harry took a deep breath and put the next part of his plan in action.
"Nightcap?" he offered.
"Mmm, I'd love one," Ginny said, leaning against him, her eyes closed contentedly.
"Alright, you just wait here and I'll go get them," he said, smiling softly.
"Mmm, thank you," she said. They sat in silence, sipping their brandies, staring at the fire. Ginny fell asleep shortly after finishing her drink, and Harry carried her up to bed, before casting a spell on himself to wake at 4 AM and take his final potion that would be his final transformation.
Ginny groaned. Someone was calling her name and a baby was crying nearby. She thought that she had fallen asleep with Harry at Grimmauld Place last night, but right now she felt like she had been transported to the Burrow.
"I'm coming," she called out sleepily, carefully moving her bad shoulder while rubbing an eye with her good hand.
"Ginny!" Her mother burst into the room. "Have you seen – oh my heavens!"
The wailing grew louder. Her mother quickly crossed the room and scooped up a very small baby off the other side of the bed.
"What the –" Ginny gasped, startled.
"Given the article in the Daily Prophet this morning, I think this is Harry," Molly informed her shakily, plucking the baby off the bed and rocking him in her arms. "Yes, there's that scar, the poor dear."
"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked slowly, a sense of dread overcoming her.
"Here," Molly said, shifting the infant in her arms, fishing a scrap of parchment out of her apron pocket and handing it to Ginny.
ADIEU TO BOY-WHO-LIVED
Rita Skeeter
The esteemed boy-who-lived sought me out and told me of his woes today. "I've done what I can," the green-eyed young man stated firmly, referring to the number of government reforms, trials, and pardons handed out over the past two years since his defeat of You-Know-Who. "I'm simply too tired to continue on and must focus on fixing, well, me."
It's no secret that Potter has had a rough lot in life. His parents were killed when he was a baby, leaving him in the care of abusive Muggle relatives. He fought You-Know-Who several more times upon returning to Wizarding society, fighting slander and government incompetence all the while. Mentors died before his eyes numerous times.
"I wanted to kill myself," Potter confessed. "Finally, I found a better solution."
What is this solution, you may ask, dear readers. It's quite brilliant, actually. Potter plans on taking a de-aging potion early this morning, in the quiet of his own home, and will be raised by his longtime love and girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley.
"It's a do-over, basically," he explained to me. "I'll be an infant once more, no longer plagued by memories. I'll be raised in a loving home this time around and hopefully I'll be better adjusted to facing the public."
Potter stated that he had a few final requests. "I'd very much like for Ginny Weasley to raise me," he began. "I really don't care if she begins seeing other men, I would like a father too at some point. I'd also like for people not to fawn over me this time around. I can't even guarantee that I'll be the same way, this time round. Nature vs. nurture and all that."
Surprisingly, at the end of what was a very emotional interview, Potter hugged me, before bidding me farewell. Let us all respect the wishes of this poor young man.
Ginny looked up at her mother, startled. "I wish he had told me something was wrong," she said, tears leaking out of her eyes.
"Shh, shh, there's more, I found this on the night table," Molly told her, rocking the still sobbing baby. "But first, let's feed this little one, alright?"
After depositing a very hungry little Harry in Ginny's arms, Molly went off to the store to purchase a few baby supplies to tide them over and more permanent arrangements were made. Ginny opened the envelope addressed to her that Molly had found on the night table.
Ginny,
I hope you have found me by now (as I should be in bed with you). I can't say that I'm sorry to be doing this to you. I simply couldn't live with the consequences of my life any longer. There was so much that was simply out of control, starting with the night my parents died and I was sent to live with the Dursleys. Voldemort actively trying to kill me for seven years certainly didn't help matters. I still feel immense guilt that I was the one who killed him. I may not have cast the spell, but it was never my intent for him to come out alive. I was cursed, in a way. Not a physical curse (although I did bear the brunt of many of those, as you well know) but I was cursed by Trelawney's prophesy. "Neither can live while the other survives." How cheery is that? Well, I suppose it is Trelawney, after all.
Anyways, I decided to de-age myself back to infancy. According to the description I will have no memories of my previous life and will re-age accordingly, living a long, full life, if all goes well. Please do not attempt to re-age me – this is my chance to start over healed. Please do this for me, Gin.
In the hopes of making this easier for you, I've spent the past several weeks preparing the outside world. I have letters at the Ministry that were spelled not to be read until this morning and I did an interview with Skeeter at the Daily Prophet last week, making her swear an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal my story until this morning. The wizarding world, although they might be in shock, should at least understand that this is my choice, not something you did to me. I'm sorry to be putting you at the center of all this.
Please raise me as your own son. I've already arranged with the goblins for you to have a 2,500 galleon allowance every month until my 21st birthday, with the stipulation that you can remove more in extenuating circumstances. I will have access to my vault upon my 17th birthday, so please remember to give me an allowance until then as well. Grimmauld Place is yours now, keep it, sell it, do whatever you want with it. I won't be expecting it back when I grow up. Kreacher is now your elf as well.
I love you, Gin, or should I say, Mum. Thank you so much for doing this for me.
Love,
Harry
"He left me Grimmauld," Ginny remarked absentmindedly, when Molly popped back in with supplies, setting the letter down and stroking Harry's hair. "And I suppose I don't need to keep looking for a job now, I have him to raise and he's left me quite a lot of money."
"He seems to have put quite a bit of thought into this," Molly remarked softly, handing her daughter a warm bottle. "I just wish there was something we could've done to help the poor boy. It appears he helped himself, just in a rather drastic manner."
"I think I'll call him James," Ginny said suddenly. "I know, it's his middle name, but if I'm to raise him, I want to be his mum, not raising some idol."
"He'll have to know who he is at some point," Molly reminded her softly.
Ginny sighed. "I know. Legally he'll still be Harry Potter. But otherwise, I want to call him James Weasley. He'll be my little boy, not the Boy-Who-Lived. And I think I will sell this place. If he was that bound and determined to have a clean start, then I'll give him a clean start."
Molly looked at her daughter with tears in her eyes. "My baby girl is all grown up," she said, fishing a tissue out of her pocket to wipe at her eyes. "I'm so very proud of you."
Author's Note:
Ok, I swear this will get better! The next chapter is being written. Please don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts on it. I did get the inspiration for this story from some other story I read awhile back and am unable to find, but Harry deaging back to infancy is the only part of the plot that will be the same. Thank you so much for reading!