Title: Morsmordre
Subgenre: Harry Potter
Summary: Harry Potter did not expect to wake up in a baby's body.
Nor did he plan to be reborn in the year 1926.
But he knew that he was in deep trouble the moment he heard himself being christened 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' by his dying mother.
Rated: T
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter franchise and characters belong entirely to J.K. Rowling and she takes entire credit for the Harry Potter world. This fanfic is based entirely off her series and my imagination so do not copy/ steal.Cover credit goes to ArtiePants on Wattpad 3
A.N: Thank you for reading this fanfiction; I hope you enjoy it 3 Please remember to follow/ comment and let me know what you think as this story progresses ^-^
- Hollie (ophidiae)
Chapter One
Harry clenched his hand round his wand as he stood before his greatest foe, emerald eyes staring defiantly into scarlet. It took all his willpower to not raise his arm and defend himself; he knew that for Voldemort to be vanquished, his sacrifice was necessary.
His other hand gripped the resurrection stone, one finger caught in the hem of the invisibility cloak slung over his shoulder. He had no need for either object, but had saved them so that he might have a piece of his family and Dumbledore in his greatest hour of need.
Sensing no resistance, his adversary's slitted eyes narrowed further, and Harry found himself facing the tip of the most powerful wand known to wizarding kind. His eyes closed in defeat and he felt a traitorous tear trickle down his cheek as he thought about his friends, and hoped that they were safe.
As his thoughts turned to Ginny and their impossible future, Voldemort made his move.
"Avada Kedavra" he cried.
A flash of green light, then nothingness.
Disorientation.
Confusion.
Strange Lights and blurred movements.
He took one breath, then another, gulping down oxygen as if it was an entirely foreign substance to him. It took a few seconds for Harry to remember his name, yet when he did something in a deep corner of his brain nagged him, as if he'd forgotten some other part of his identity. Harry dismissed it almost instantly, confident in his knowledge that he was Harry James Potter - yet the persistent feeling of 'forgetting' irritated him constantly.
His mind was in turmoil. It flickered from one thought to another before settling on the disturbing realisation that he should be dead. Voldemort had sent the deadliest of the Unforgivables at him; he shouldn't have survived.
As his senses became attuned to his new surroundings, Harry's eyes flickered round, taking in the new sights with heightened curiosity. It seemed that he couldn't move his head, yet from what he could gather he was in a sterile room, if the pristine white ceiling and overhanging shelves were anything to go by.
The shelves contained a manner of different items, ranging from books and stationary to syringes and dressings. Harry was curious as to the origin of the medical equipment, as the Magical world did not have use for such items.
Scanning the limited view again, he figured he was most likely in a Muggle hospital. He struggled to remember the last thing he had been doing prior to waking up – his mind seemed torn between either 'dying', or 'killing an enemy', and frankly it was making his head spin trying to differentiate between the two. Realistically, Harry knew that he had been on the receiving end of the curse, but as with the discrepancy over his name, there was a similar feeling of unease, as his mind seemed to not be entirely his own.
He became aware that he was lying on something squishy and warm just as a face swam into view in front of him. He attempted to jerk back, failing as his worrying inability to move took its toll once again. His eyes wide he gazed at the person before him, his glazed mind noting that the face was far larger than it should be, given that he should have been the same size as the person looking down on him. She prodded him and turned him from side to side – ignoring his squeal of protest – before her face broke into a huge smile, and she murmured "it's a boy".
If Harry's mouth had been about to function normally, he was sure that it would have dropped open there and then. As it was, he could only stare gormlessly up at the lady as he added up the facts and realised that she was taking about him. Horror dawned as he figured out what her words, his strange distorted vison and the weird events of the past five minutes meant.
Somehow, he was stuck in the body of a newborn baby.
The woman was now muttering to herself as she wrote something down on a Muggle piece of paper. Harry wrinkled his nose as he heard the scratching of her pen. 'Muggle filth' he sneered in his mind, before catching himself, feeling disgust at his thought - he'd never said that before in his entire life. Something was wrong with him, and he didn't know what, a fact that seriously worried him as it seemed he wouldn't be able to check with anyone he knew anytime soon.
Deciding to resolve matters one step at a time, he turned his attention back to the woman in front of him just in time to hear "year of birth: 1926. Expected placement: Wool's Orphanage, London".
'Wool's Orphanage' seemed familiar, and Harry wracked his brain as to where he'd heard it before, coming up with a blank. The proclamation of the year was not lost on him though, and he began to hyperventilate as he realised that as a matter of speaking his true self hadn't been born yet – his parents hadn't been born yet.
Before he could freak out any more than his underdeveloped brain would allow him to, a hoarse voice whispered from beneath him, "Tom Riddle".
Harry was shocked to hear the name that had plagued him for seven years spoken with affection. and was even more surprised that it had come from the person that seemed to be his new mother. A niggling 'what if?' doubt began to invade his train of thought, but he pushed it aside. The fates wouldn't – couldn't – be so cruel.
His mother's breathing was uneven, and despite himself, Harry hoped deep in his heart that maybe he'd been reborn into a better life; the good life that he should have had with his original parents.
He could tell it wasn't to be though – his new mother's breathing grew increasingly laboured as she struggled to cling to life.
A wet cough, and then with a final rattling breath: "his name…
"…is Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Her final words bought Harry James Potter's world crashing down around his ears.
As silence fell across the room, he knew that his life would never be the same again.
Chapter Two (Excerpt)
That night, Harry dreamed.
He dreamed that he was standing on platform nine and three-quarters of King's Cross Station, waiting for the Hogwarts express to arrive. Instead, out of the fog-covered tracks a figure emerged, chuckling jovially as he levitated a manky old hat in front of him.
"Dumbledore?" Harry called out in surprise, reaching towards the old Headmaster, only to draw back his hand as it passed through thin air. He frowned taking a few steps backwards as he assumed a defensive pose.
"What are you?"