Author's Note: I was absolutely overwhelmed and flattered by the response I got for one chapter. Eighteen favorites, twenty-eight alerts and seven reviews. You guys rock. Forgive my mistakes, I've only read up to the fourth book. Also, I realize that the students at Hogwarts wear robes, but I prefer the movie adaption.

"Ouch," he whimpered. He shifted uneasily under the stranger's heavy head. Where was he? More importantly, how was he going to get this woman's head off his chest. He prodded her wild, curly hair with his finger. His touch was feather-light, hesitant. What if Uncle Vernon found him this way, poking a girl's head? Would he yell at him for being rude? He didn't want to find out. He poked again, his fingers being more forceful. When she still didn't wake up, he frowned and shifted on the bed again. "E-Excuse me, miss, could you please move your head? It's very heavy and it's starting to get uncomfortable."

She didn't answer, but snored softly.

"Miss?" Harry repeated. "Please, could you..." He sighed. She wasn't answering. What was he to do? He took his tiny hands and braced them against the crown of the stranger's head. Her hair was rather soft, he noticed, but didn't dwell on the thought, however, he made a mental note to ask what conditioner she used. He used all the force in his skinny arms and pushed her head away with all his might.

"Bloody hell!" She yelped as her neck hit roughly against the back of the chair. She rubbed the back of her neck and then scrubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Once her eyes dilated and she was thoroughly awake, she stared at Harry.

"Hello," Harry greeted. He adjusted the glasses on his nose when they slipped down the bridge. He blinked and took his glasses off, stared at them with blurry vision, and then put them back on. He put his finger to his glasses and held them there. "Did you do something to my glasses?"

Hermione leaned over the bed and stared into Harry's eyes. "Harry? Is that you?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How do you know my name?"

She blinked at him before leaning back and pushing her chair away from the bed. She stood up and ran out of the room, screaming: "Madame Pomfrey!"

Harry pushed himself up by his elbow and tried to watch her, but she was out of his line of sight. He crawled off the bed and fell on his face. He groaned and stood up. His glasses were spared, thank God. He looked down to see what caused his tripping and yelped: "My trousers!" His trousers were pooled at the bottom of his ankles. He looked around the room to make sure no one saw that, and hurriedly pulled his trousers up, only for them to fall to his feet again. That was when he noticed his blazer reaching his knees. How peculiar. He pulled his trousers up, and held them there, only for his glasses to slide down the bridge of his nose. He took his right hand away from his waist to hold his glasses to his face.

Once that predicament was solved, Harry walked out of the room into a strange hallway. Where was he? He inched his way across the floor, you see, his shoes were rather large and hard to walk in. Speaking of shoes, whose were these? They were many sizes too big, which wasn't that abnormal, but they were much too fine to be his. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always gave Harry his older cousin's clothes. His cousin, Dudley, was rather large. Well, that was an understatement. He was huge. Harry, on the other hand, had always been on the small side. The clothes he had always worn never fit him, but he could cut his shirts to size and he usually had a belt to hold his trousers to his waist. Dudley's shoes were usually a size larger, but never like this.

"Uncle Vernon?" Harry called. "Aunt Petunia?...Dudley?...Anybody?" Harry vaguely wondered if he should find the soft-haired stranger, but he was, frankly, quite scared of her. He wakes up to her crushing his chest with her ridiculously heavy head, then she stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time with the most peculiar expression (honestly, he was about to break into a sweat), then she abruptly runs from the room, screaming. Yes, perhaps he should forgo looking for her.

Harry walked down the hall and up a flight of stairs, and then another. Wondering aimlessly, honestly. Where was he to go? Just as he got off a staircase, the stairs started to shift until they swung around completely and connected with a different landing. Harry gaped for a few moments before firmly closing his jaw. Why did these things always happen to him? Strange things always happened around Harry and whenever they did, Uncle Vernon yelled at him, like it was his fault. Well, maybe he shouldn't be trying to find his uncle then. He would surely find out about the moving of the staircase and blame it all on him. It was unfair!

Harry sighed and shook it out of his head, then continued on his way. He stopped at a random door and stood on his tippy toes to look in the window. Harry hesitantly knocked on the heavy door, hurting his knuckles. The noise level didn't quiet down any inside the room, so Harry decided to open the door. He pushed with all his might and managed to open the door a smidge, but it quickly closed shut with a quiet wooshing noise. He pushed again, using all the muscles (which weren't many) in his skinny, gangly arms and the door opened wider. He quickly squeezed through the crack before it closed and observed the room.

It was a large room, but what was in the room was more important. To Harry it seemed, a million kids, all older than him, stood in the room, shouting a language that he didn't understand. Some words would meet his ears, familiar words, but most were just jibberish to him. All of the kids had sticks with them, as well. They were swinging the sticks in the air, shouting the words with no repercussions. Harry walked up the aisle unnoticed.

Harry stopped at a very tall figure. He looked up, stretching his neck. An elderly woman stood in front of him, dressed in robes (which Harry found curious) and a pointed hat (another thing Harry wondered about).

"Hello," Harry greeted nervously. She was very tall, towering over Harry's skinny form, and she seemed to radiate something...powerful, ancient, intelligent... "Do you know where I am?"

Professor McGonagall looked down at the boy, who was almost an exact copy of a boy she was (re)introduced to five years prior. This one was shorter, skinnier, younger. Perhaps more skitterish as well. She looked down at him, surely her old age wasn't affecting her now. "Harry?"

Harry blinked. "You know my name as well? Well, yes, I am Harry. Now, could you please tell me where I am?"

Professor McGonagall was suddenly aware of her students quieting down and unabashedly listening onto their conversation. She looked back at them, barking, "Back to work!" She looked back at Harry with a gentler face, offering her hand. "Come with me, Mr. Potter."

Harry took it, and she guided him out of the room and started down the hall.

"Harry!" a voice shouted. "Harry!"

The two stopped and looked ahead of them, where a curly-haired blur was running up the hall. "Harry!" She stopped next to them and knelt down next to Harry. "Harry, why did you leave the hospital wing? That was a very dangerous thing to do in a foreign place."

Harry stared back at her, a little surprised and slightly angry. Who was she to reprehend him? But, she had a point, he supposed. "I was looking for my uncle Vernon. He will be angry if he doesn't know where I am. He...worries about me." Harry almost snorted. More like worried about what people thought of him and how that reflected on himself.

Hermione didn't suppress her snort. "Trust me, Harry, you're fine just here. Your uncle isn't to worry, he knows exactly where you are. Now, come, we have to go to Madame Pomfrey." She stood up and took Harry's hand in hers, causing Harry to drop the professor's. "Excuse us, Professor McGonagall, but Madame Pomfrey should have this cured in a second flat!"

Professor McGonagall placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder to keep her from leaving. "Ms. Granger, I entrust that you have this handled," Hermione beamed as if it were a compliment, "but I feel as if I should report this to Professor Dumbledore, nonetheless."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, Professor."

McGonagall let go of her shoulder and bid them goodbye before briskly walking off.

Hermione smiled down at her best friend. "It'll be okay, Harry, we'll get you fixed up in no time. There's nothing Madame Pomfrey can't fix."

Harry's hand felt comfortable in her own, he noticed. Which was odd, didn't girl's have cooties? "Ms. Granger how come you know me, but I don't know you?"

Hermione giggled at her title. "You know me Harry, it's just that your memories...You know what? I'll explain all of this when we get to Madame Pomfrey's. Better yet, she should have the remedy done in no time, I won't even have to. Anyway, I'm your best friend, Harry."

Harry gazed at her in wonder. "Friend? I have a friend?"

Hermione looked at him sadly. "Yes, you do, Harry. You best remember that. I'm Hermione, by the way."

He squeezed her hand. "Harry."

Hermione smiled. When they arrived at the hospital wing, they found Madame Pomfrey holding Neville Longbottom by his collar and shaking him vigorously. Well, not quite. See, she was a witch, she used her wand to do it instead. And people think Americans are lazy. Jeesh! Can't even properly bully the answers out of a kid these days without using magic. Madame Pomfrey casually sipped some coffee while waving her wand back and forth, lazily.

"Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione shrieked. "Expelliarmus!" The wand flew out of the mediwitch's fingertips and landed across the floor. "Neville, are you all right?"

Neville nodded, smiling weakly. "M-Madame Pomfrey, as I was saying, I—I may have used a little too many yucca—I—I don't know! And I may have forgotten to put the pennyroyal in because it grossed me out too much, and I may have forgotten how many alder buckthorn went in there, so I may have possibly, maybe, I can't quite remember—"

"Spit it out!" Madame Pomfrey snapped, setting her mug down and standing up. "You incompetent, stupid, little—"

"Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione shouted. "Honestly, what is wrong with you? Can't you see he's upset?"

"Can't you see he's upset?" she mocked. "You were making an aging potion and because of Mr. Longbottom and his brilliant potion making, the effects reversed and made Mr. Potter younger."

"Oh no!" Hermione groaned. "What will we do?"

Harry looked at them. Obviously, they must be crazy. But, for some reason, he felt comfortable around this sort of talk. Crazy things had always happened around him, so how was this any different? If anything, sticks that made things knock out of other people's hands and potions should help explain things.

"Well, why don't you just make another aging potion, the right one, this time?" Harry suggested.

They all looked at Harry and he started to blush.

"You just got schooled by a seven-year-old," a voice coughed from another bed.

Madame Pomfrey scowled and ordered, "Shut up and be sick!" She cleared her throat. "Well, yes...Ms. Granger, could you please find the potion directions and get on with it!"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, no, I can't do that. I have to take care of Harry. He doesn't know anything about anything anymore!"

"Well I certainly can't," Madame Pomfrey said importantly. "I have work to do because I have a job and people rely on me."

"Who are you? Percy Weasley?" the voice from the bed questioned.

Pomfrey and Hermione looked over at Neville in unison, who gulped nervously.

"Longbottom."

Author's Note: I apologize for this going into crack territory. I haven't written Harry Potter before (One one-shot, but does that really count?) so I'm not accustomed on how to write humor for this fandom, so it's going to be a little hay-wire. Sorry. Hope you enjoyed it.