Inspired by: Black Phoneix by Sara Blake, and Again and Again by Athey

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR.

AN: This story often changes from being light-hearted to dark, and vice versa.

Impossible

Bloody Hell. I stared at the three people in front of me. I groaned and sank lower in my chair, while Dumbledore flashed me an amused smile. Voldemort simply glared at me.

"I am too old for this", I muttered into my hands, too tired to even shake my head in distress.

"Yes, yes Potter. You took 142 years to die, making the rest of us wait", he elegantly waved his hands towards Dumbledore and Death and continued, "while you lived your long life. But of course, it would be you complaining", he drawled. Dumbledore merely chuckled, while Death remained silent in his seat.

"Now, now Tom, nothing will be accomplished through arguing", Dumbledore said to Voldemort, and then turned to me. "It's nice to see you again, Harry." I wanted to reply my old Headmaster, but the twinkle in his eyes distracted me. Even his death wasn't able to diminish his twinkle eye power. Quite an amazing feat. I chuckled to myself, and merely nodded in reply.

After the initial shock was over, I took my time to look around our surrounding. We were in the Great Hall, sitting around a small wooden table, similar to the ones that were present during the Yule Ball in fourth year. Well, at least that's what I thought, but honestly it's been way too long ago.

As I looked up towards the clear blue sky through the enchanted ceiling, Death cleared its voice, bringing me back to reality? I frowned at Death, which looked more like a shadow dressed in a cloak, than anything else.

"The reason why you're all here is because the three of you are incapable of moving onto your 'next great adventure', so to speak. There were complications with the Deathly Hallows. Several events, such as Harry being a horcrux of Tom's at one point, and the destruction of the Elder Wand with Albus being the last true master, have caused the pact made between the Peverall brothers and myself to be broken. Though you may be familiar with the tale of the Three Brothers, the actual events have been greatly altered throughout time.

"Long ago, when wizards and witches were dying out, the three brothers begged me for help. Their pleas were sincere, so I granted them power, as well as small gifts, known as the Hallows. In exchange for the power and the Hallows, they promised to be the guardians of Magic, and ensure that the Hallows were passed down to the next generation of guardians.

"Unfortunately, the stone was abandoned and thrown away, while the wand was broken. I assure you, I am not pleased about this, mortals. For that, you three have been chosen to go back into the mortal realm, with one Hallow each. You will play your role as a guardian, and when the time is right, you'll pass it down. And, in order to guarantee success, one of you will have your memories intact when you three return."

I couldn't believe my ears. Perhaps I really have gone senile, which my great grandchildren always had the pleasure of reminding me. Despite the many years of exposure to magic, it was a lot for me to take in. I eyed the two other men in front of me. Surely, those power hungry men will want such a boon, when we, Merlin help us, return back to the realm of mortals. Death watched us closely, and continued his little speech.

"Since Harry had been able to 'master death' , at one point, by being in possession of all three Hallows, it shall be he who will return with his memory intact." At this statement, Voldemort narrowed his eyes at me, while Dumbledore put on a tight smile, with no visible twinkle in his eyes. Ah, so the old man's not happy with this arrangement. I let my immature side take over, and gave them both a haughty look. Death chose me, over the Dark Lord, and the once most powerful wizard alive. However, in all honestly I preferred to be on my merry way to My Next Great Adventure, so I merely shook my head, and addressed Death.

"I'm honored to be chosen as one of the guardians, but I rather move on-"

"You have no choice, mortal. Now, there's one last thing I should mention. Things will not be the same as it was in your previous life, so try not to heavily rely on your memories." I was about to ask for clarification, while Voldemort opened his mouth to, no doubt, complain, but without a warning, all was dark.

I opened my eyes, wondering what happened. I was just about to tell Death that he should really go look for another hero, when suddenly, colors started to flood my vision.

As I looked around, I noticed that I was in a very large room. The room was painted in light blue, while the ceiling was white. There was also a faint scent of vanilla. On one side of the room, there was a huge window, with dark green curtains swaying with the wind. On the other side of the room, there was a large painting of a family. A man and a woman, with two infants on the woman's lap. It took me a minute, but that was when I realized that I was the same infant in the photo. I allowed myself 2 seconds to freak out.

Then I slowly realized that I was in a crib, along with another baby sleeping next to me. I tried to crawl my way towards the other infant, but I couldn't even manage to do that. Merlin's beard, how old am I? I couldn't get my brain to properly form a word, disabling me from talking, as well. As I laid down, staring up at the ceiling, I was tempted to let my infant instinct take over, and cry. But of course, priding myself as a bloody great wizard, I couldn't let myself get emotional over how helpless I felt at the moment. Oh joy, how fun growing up will be.

As the years went by, things slightly became better. Death was right, this world I currently lived in was a lot different from my original world. For one thing, I was still Harry Potter. However, that was one of the only likeness I could find from the original world.

At the age of 5, I found myself sitting at the dining table, reading the Daily Prophet along with my father, Charlus Potter, while my mother, Dorea Potter was fussing over my twin brother, James Potter. Yeah I know. I didn't know whether I should laugh or cry about this whole situation. Since I never truly knew my father from my previous life, I became more used to the idea of James Potter being a brother now, rather than my previous father. As for my current parents, they were very caring and loving, but being passed the age of needing any sort of parental figure, I found it difficult to get attached or love them like the way James does. I was still glad that I had parents this time around, instead of relatives who hated me, though at times it was annoying when people who were younger than me bossed me around.

Ever since my body was capable of speech, I tried my best to act my age. However, acting like you're 5 years old, when you're actually 147 years old, got tiring. Really fast. After a couple of slips, I thought BLOODY HELL, I'm done acting like a child. I've always been viewed as different, all throughout my previous life. I'm pretty familiar with the he's not normal even by wizard's standard treatment. So this time around, I decided to let people think of me as a prodigy. It was a whole lot better than being called a freak, or being famous for a bloody lightning bolt scar.

Appearance wise, I looked pretty much the same as I did in my old life. However, I wasn't as scrawny, and hey! Perfect eyesight! James and I would look identical if it weren't for the different color of our eyes, or the glasses. Since Charlus has dark eyes, while Dorea has her famous grey eyes of the most ancient and noble House of Black, my vivid green eyes had always been a mystery.

As I was reading the Daily Prophet-my family has a habit of ordering two copies, since Charlus and I always used to fight over it- my dear five years old brother thought it would be funny to fling a piece of potato at me. Bloody fantastic. This was great, 'cause I've always wanted my past "father", who I used to view as a hero, throw potatoes at me. Of course, as usual, I gave my dear James a no-nonsense glare, and nonverbally and wandlessly banished the potato before it reached me. My family was used to such stunts by now. Banishing Charms were taught in my fourth year at Hogwarts, along with the Summoning Charm, but this was exactly why I named myself a "prodigy". Despite being able to take advantage of my prodigy status, I have always tried to keep my display of magic at a minimum. I mean, it wouldn't do to go around throwing Avada Kedavra wandlessly and nonverbally, now would it?

One thing that baffled me was why children weren't allowed to learn magic before the age of 11. Many seemed to believe that children lack control over their magic at this age. Nevertheless, I realized that it was easier to learn wandless magic while we're young. Of course, having previous knowledge did help, but during this stage when our mind and body develops rapidly, I couldn't help but notice that my magic seemed to be more strongly attached to my will. Nonverbal casting skill was from my previous life, but wandless magic had developed in me as a child in this life. By the time my brain decreased its rapid growth and development, I hoped to have truly mastered wandless magic, or I would lose it completely. Which is why I dedicated many hours a day, practicing.

When the potato hit James in the face, I couldn't help but smirk. Ah, it's great to be powerful. Not one to admit defeat, my brother picked up another piece of potato, but was stopped by Dorea's glare.

"James Charlus Potter, if I have to remind you about table manners one more time, you will not be allowed to attend the Quidditch match next week. Do you understand, young man?"

"Yes, mother", he replied quickly, and resumed eating his potatoes and eggs. Much to my displeasure, Dorea turned towards me.

"Harry Cygnus Potter, you have been warned not to use magic during meals, if I need to remind you once more, you will not be able to able to enter the library for one whole week." My brother decided to stick his tongue out at me, obviously pleased that I was being punished too.

"Of course mother dear. I shouldn't have responded to the antics of my brother. One could only hope and try to be mature at the age of 5. So I beg for your patience, and forgiveness concerning my childish behavior", I drawled. I never used to drawl, but while acting as a prodigy, it came to me naturally. I could somewhat understand why Lucius and Draco would go about and drawl, it was actually kind of fun. Usually, I wasn't one for pomposity, but ruffling Dorea's feathers, could be absolutely, maliciously delightful. Now, that's childish antics for you, dear mother.

Much to my displeasure, Dorea simply gave me a look of pity. Dorea and Charlus often believed that I grew up much too quickly. I was considering throwing my potatoes at her. Maybe that would would have gotten the annoying look of pity off her face. Charlus as well, looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet, and gave me a sad smile. Really, what's up with these people. Before I could lose my temper and throw around some Crucio, I decided to get up from the table. After excusing myself as politely as I could, I escaped to the library to practice -not the Unforgivables, sheesh- my wandless magic.

Once inside the library, I decided to finish reading the Daily Prophet. The date on top read May 2, 1961, while the front page reported another attack by Grindelwald, and his forces. It was really bizarre to hear about Dark Lord Grindelwald, instead of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Voldemort. In my original timeline, Grindelwald had been defeated by Albus Dumbledore in 1945. However in this world, his muggle partner in crime Adolf Hitler had been killed, but Grindelwald was still at large, more powerful than ever before.

I shook my head and read the date again. May 2, 1961. In a couple of weeks, our birthday would be coming up, which was neither the original birthday of James' nor mine from our previous life. As much as I wanted the time to pass by slowly, so I could develpe my wandless magic, I also couldn't wait till I grew up, gave away my Hallow to the next generation, and died. Not that I'm suicidal or anything.