Summary: Harry Potter died in 1986 at five years old, which wasn't supposed to happen. Then his soul somehow ended up in the wrong Heaven which really, really wasn't supposed to happen. Then suddenly Harry awoke, alive, with the weirdest group of babysitters ever. Now Dumbledore and the rest of the magical world are in quite a lot of trouble.
Note: This is a crossover idea that kind of just popped up in my head, and I will be posting it in short updates. I'm trying to keep each chapter about a thousand words.
Disclaimer and warnings: This is a crossover and I hold no right to either products. There is also BASHING! of some of the Weasleys & and a manipulative Dumbledore. And others of both series. Harry is NOT a BAMF version, and the Archangels are not overly good or bad, or are they the solutions for every problem. Major Character death.
Chapter one: Harry Meets a Nice Man
It was the twenty third of July, 1986, and the day had not been good for one little boy named Harry.
That day, which started as just another Tuesday, had the sun out shining and the sky clear. It had looked nice through a window- from inside the house- but it was actually hot. Really really hot. So very hot that everyone with common sense stayed inside, with the fans pointed directly at their faces and the air conditioning dialed as low as possible. It wasn't even mid day yet, only about ten, but the roads were already rolling with heat. Eggs could be cooked on the sidewalks, and people were reminding each other to drink water and stay in the shade, and if they didn't need to go out- they didn't. It was just another stifling hot summer mornings.
But for five year old Harry Potter, who didn't have any other choice but to go outside and pull weeds in the back garden, it was not just hot.
It happened rather quickly really. One moment he was leaning over aunt Petunia's daffodils, tugging and pulling out some sticklers when his ears started buzzing, his head flopped to the side and his body went too hot. Too too hot. And Harry had tried to rub it away, he did, but the little boy's vision spun like a top as he made a audible thump when he fell over. He blinked back up at the sky in surprise as his limbs tingled terribly, and he could remember gasping for air, from relief from the heat.
He even remembered the tugging sensation in his head, like someone had pulled him in two direction. There had been this loud screaming... thing, that had violently shrieked and thrown a terrible tantrum as a tall man in a black suit dragged it far away, grumbling about mortal men and fools errands, and as Harry groggily curled in a ball on the ground another man rushed forward. As Harry was picked up gently by another man, who somehow looked annoyed and relieved at the same time, he sighed.
That had been the best part.
He even remembered the man's face, even though he had been very sleepy. He had been so nice and his arms felt really comfortable around him. The man just being there was nice, and as he tucked little Harry into his lap the little boy giggled, trying to hug him back. Harry remembered how worried he looked, how he had patted him down nervously and checked every finger and toe like a concerned mommy with a new baby. Harry even remembered how his eyes were so nice as he brushed back Harry's hair, before kissing his forehead. That had felt wonderful.
"What are you doing here?" Harry even remembered what he said. It was amazing! His voice had been so amazing sounding too, like all the best things put together, and he sighed, very sadly.
"Oh, child."
His voice was better than any singing he ever heard, even when aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon made him go to church. Or when people talked or sang on the radio. And it made him feel happy and warm and just so so, so nice. And, even though the man spoke very fast and looked mad about something- or worried, Harry wasn't good at telling when adults thought things- he wasn't mad at Harry. Which was good. Because Harry never wanted to make him mad at him.
The man blew out some air through his clenched teeth, and his forehead wrinkled in that way adult did when they were upset. He tucked Harry under his chin as he gently patted his back, and Harry didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around his neck, sighing at the contact. He never got hugs, unlike Dudley, and it was so so wonderful.
The man then scratched his bristled jaw and, with a frown, called out rather annoyed for his kids apparently.
And then Harry opened his eyes.
He was back in aunt Petunia's garden.
Harry blinked sleepily up at the sky like before, but this time he wasn't hot or felt sick. Or in pain. Or anything unpleasant. Instead his skin was chilled like he was inside a refrigerator, with his clothes clean instead of covered in sweat or dirt like before. And it was the exact opposite of how he felt before he met the nice man.
He blinked owlishly up at the blue sky before rubbing his eyes, a gently breeze ruffling his hair as he slowly sat up. He slowly brought his hand up to see he was still holding the same bunch of weeds, and as he wrinkled his nose and sat up his head felt somehow better, lighter, than before. Harry looked around in confusion, looking for the nice man as he rubbed his forehead, where his nasty scar was.
He was surprise to find that the skin wasn't raised like normal at all. Or that it didn't hurt. If he couldn't still trance the outline of the cracked skin, he couldn't tell it was there anymore.
"Boy!" Harry jerked and turned around to see his uncle poking his head out of the door. Vernon's face was already glowing red from the heat as he scowled down at the boy, tugging on his tight collar on his too small suit, which was already covered in sweat stains.
"You better not be slacking off!" his uncle snapped, "Finish up or no dinner!"
Harry's eyes went wide and he nodded, "Yes sir." He didn't get lunch today because he messed up breakfast, so he was already going to be really really hungry.
Harry hurriedly back to the daffodils, quick to start again so he wouldn't go another night hungry in his cupboard. Vernon huffed before snapping the door closed behind him and he wheezed loudly as he waddled over to the fan in his living room. Dudley was moaning dramatically in front of the television, his fifth red Popsicle dripping messily on the carpet as his father pointed the biggest fan at his face.
The little boy continued to do yard work throughout the entire day, but he stayed happy. Even as he pulled weed after weed his mood stayed the same, even starting to hum under his breath a little song he heard somewhere as the hours ticked back. Harry stayed in his comfortably chilled bubble the entire time, during one of the worst heat wave of the year and not even the sticklers, which usually left his hands covered in cuts and pricks, seemed able to hurt him.
When his uncle didn't give him dinner anyways that night, his stomach didn't hurt like it normally did either. Neither did his body ache from all the yard work, and he sighed contently into his blankets. Snuggling into a comfortable little ball under the stairs, he quickly fell asleep. Even his cupboard somehow felt better than normal.
It wasn't a surprise that he dreamed of that wonderfully nice man giving him a hug again, and Harry smiled even in his sleep.
