Summary: Harry suicides, only to find himself asked to do it all again. Not being Harry Potter helps - but that doesn't mean he won't protect the new Harry with everything he has available to him.

Rating: K+ - T

1

Harry Potter sat on the roof of Hogwarts, staring at the sky. Life had finally slowed down for him. He was finishing school. He wasn't fighting for his life. But no matter what he did, he was still on edge - like every moment something could kill him.

With a sigh, he hopped off and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, he was faced with something he expected, but didn't quite know how to describe.

His only logical conclusion was that this was Death.

"Hello?" he asked the being before him. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe - but he didn't need to. He felt his body relaxing, like succumbing to sleep.

A cold, spidery hand managed to touch him, despite his lack of body, and he felt a chill in his spine wake him up. Bothering to see again, he shuddered at the sight of a large, vaguely humanoid being - if a great black cloak, thrown over mismatched, crackling bones, could be called humanoid.

Something was being shown to him, so he paid attention and watched as concepts - ideas - flew through his mind. Death. Life. Prophecy. A story incomplete; an imbalance in the world. Life again. Death again. Prophecy once more.

"The prophecy?" Harry asked.

Confirmation. Agreement. A repeat of imbalance, and then a quick barrage of life-death-life-death… combined with himself and Voldemort.

He paused to remember the words of the Prophecy, and ones were placed in his thoughts for him - either must die at the hand of the other.

He felt a sickly feeling crawl into his chest, like a worm thrashing in his stomach, far more unpleasant than any butterfly could be.

A concern, a worry he hadn't dared acknowledge suddenly came easily. "Will I be able to die?"

Death, the being pushing ideas into his head, pulled away for a terrible moment, then returned.

Confirmation. Confusion… a strange idea which seemed, really, to fit the description of 'mistake'. It was strange having firm evidence that the gods were not perfect, that they could indeed make mistakes… but now wasn't really the time to ponder over that.

He thought for a moment. "I was supposed to die," he suggested. A strange yes and no which made barely any sense, but slowly organized itself.

The idea of soul. Then shackles, tying him to Earth - shackles which, for some reason, made him think of prophecy.

Then, rewind. Everything he'd seen - going backwards to his first moments. Then forward again - but the shackles fell away.

"I do it again," Harry repeated for clarity, "and I'll be able to die?"

A simple feeling which translated as 'yes'. Then another idea - the self.

Death took the idea and pulled it slowly apart, until the self was soul and body - and then placed the soul inside of another body.

"I'll be someone else," Harry offered.

Agreement.

Harry paused to think. "Will I have to kill Voldemort at the same time he kills me?"

A pause, then a feeling similar to rejection - a no, then. The separated self returned, and the body was animated, and held an item - an item which Harry observed looked like a bracelet with the Deathly Hallows on it.

The animated body pressed the bracelet to Voldemort's skin, and he heard the whistling screams of horcruxes, saw vague forms fly past.

"I get Harry Potter's body to touch the symbol to Voldemort's skin," Harry summarized, "And Voldemort dies?"

Agreement, and a twitch of amusement and a weird appeased-thankfulness mix. Harry found himself smiling.

"So I go back in time," he began, "as someone else."

A nod from the skeletal form, the first physical indication of understanding.

"I make sure my former body presses that symbol to Voldemort's skin, killing Voldemort."

Another nod. Harry smiled.

"Then I die naturally, and Harry's body dies naturally, and everything goes back to the way it's supposed to be."

He could almost hear a distant voice agreeing with him - but it was more a strange rattle than anything. He brushed it off without a thought and nodded. "I… will I remember this? Or my past life?"

A pulse of confirmation, a tinge of humour.

"Then I'm ready whenever you want to… send me, I suppose. I've waited long enough to die, so if this is what it takes…" Harry attempted to express himself, and found his emotion conveyed. This, more than anything, pleased Death.

Death's hand reached out, and Harry was suddenly physical again. He could feel himself being pulled in all directions, but stayed still as Death drew the hallows on Harry's wrist.

With a final scratch, Death sent Harry on his way.

Nicolas Flamel had lived a fulfilling life. Creating the Philosopher's Stone at forty, he'd proceeded to live through the ages with his wife, Perenelle, out in a small town called Devon. At six hundred and fifty four, he could definitely say that his life had been successful.

Rising for a new day, he dressed quickly and laid a kiss on his stirring wife's forehead, smiling gently at her. That he'd been able to bring his wife with him on his ageless journey was a gift he would never doubt.

Alas - the one thing he'd never had or done was raise a child of his own. With a gentle sigh, he began heading for the door out of their bedchambers when a sudden chill crept down his back, reminding him instantly of a memory from long ago.

It had been at the moment he had created the stone that he had first met Death, and made him a promise. He sighed and turned, expecting any moment for his debt to be forcefully paid. He had waited quite long, anyways.

Death stood over his wife, a looming creature of darkness and bones, which observed her carefully. Then, with a small gesture, it dragged him helplessly back onto his bed.

"Is it time for me to pay my debts to you?" Nicolas asked simply. His wife had woken, and she watched in mild fear and awe. Being old dulled your reactions to everything, and it seemed his wife was no exception.

Death seemed to pause entirely, then slowly dragged a limb over Nicolas's head. With a nod, a rattling, ominous voice filled the room.

"I have a favour to ask of you and your mate," Death announced. "And yes. Once this favour is done, I wish you to return, Nicolas, Perenelle."

Nicolas nodded. "Whatever I can do - consider it done."

"As with I," Perenelle said, finding her voice.

Death seemed to take on an eerie eagerness. "I have with me a soul with a duty to fulfill," he explained. "A strong soul. He will be born by you, Perenelle, and I ask this; guide him until he is ready to face his task. Nicolas, listen always to his words. Be the family Fate ripped from him when she decided to play with my souls," he hissed, "until the passing of the 21st season of his life. Then, and without delay, I will return you to myself."

The elderly pair glanced at each other momentarily, then bowed deeply in mutual appreciation. Death seemed confused, but nodded to each and stepped away slowly.

Nicolas found his voice. "Death - thank you. You have given us our one greatest wish - a child of our own. We will raise him as best we can." Perenelle nodded in teary-eyed agreement, and if one was able to perceive the complex and minute ways Death expressed itself, happiness would have been closest to Death's emotion.

With a final step back, Death faded, leaving Nicolas and Perenelle to prepare to raise a child.

2

Harry was born into the world, ironically, at the exact same moment as Harry James Potter, the boy-who-lived - late on July the 31st, in 1980. While Harry's new body, as well as his old one, had been born, he hadn't been able to take control of it yet. Natural order took over, and he was refused control for months.

Instead, he watched his new parents with adoration and deep love he never thought he'd feel. The kindness shown in each movement, the love in each glance at his cot - the love his two parents, Nicolas and Perenelle, showed each other - healed Harry's heart.

Here, he was named Nico - presumably after his father. He was showered with gifts from the small families' acquaintances and friends, and found himself, for once, with so many people caring about him that he didn't know what to do about it all. His being special didn't get him suspicious glances or awkward stares, but admiration, as they glanced at the hallows etched into his wrist, as if he were blessed instead of cursed.

However, the older he got, the more nervous he felt. He knew - he knew - what was to happen to Harry Potter. If he were just able to control his body, he could warn them somehow - save Harry's parents, his parents. As time went on, he came to accept it - but he had always wished someone was there to protect them, that someone cared…

But time marched on without pause, and the war continued to rage on - and with each passing day Nico felt certain that the news would soon arrive of the Potter's death.

Perenelle was a naturally gentle soul. With a loving husband and over six hundred years of life under her belt, she was a master of empathy and sympathy, and could tell at a glance when people were feeling sad or uncomfortable.

It was harder, however, to interpret complex emotions from a child - something that had always been kept from her. She treated her little Nico with great care, taking any advice she could get. So, it was with a shock that she woke to Nico wailing terribly.

Leaping out of bed, she snatched up a nightgown and threw it over herself, heading quickly towards her son's crib. He had always been a quiet and peaceful child, and such an outburst was unheard of from the baby. Reaching out, she peered into the crib and was met with a strange sight.

Somehow, her son had gotten his hands on a newspaper. He was staring at the front page in apparent horror, and he turned to look at her with soft, wet eyes.

"Harry," he said clearly - the first word he'd ever said - and with such mourning that Perenelle found herself reaching forward without a thought. She lifted him, newspaper and all, into her arms and cooed softly, letting him nuzzle into her shoulder in an attempt to dry his eyes.

"'Arry," he burbled again, in clear distress, as he pushed the newspaper towards her. She caught it and flipped it out to read, peering at the page.

There was a picture of a small house in a community Perenelle recalled as Godric's Hollow. The headline made her read it twice - POTTER SACRIFICE KILLS VOLDEMORT! - before she dared to believe it.

"Harry!" Nico slurred urgently, pointing at the house. Small, soft hands reached to the paper and gripped it, small sniffles emerging from his throat.

"Who is Harry?" Perenelle asked softly, though she knew Nico wouldn't be able to answer very clearly. She scanned the article until she reached what she needed.

Aurors on the scene reported only two dead - but the true miracle lies in one-year-old Harry Potter, who lost his parents this fateful night. Reports state that when Voldemort tried to kill Harry, Harry's magic bounced away the killing curse, reflecting it upon Voldemort himself.

You heard right - Harry Potter has done the impossible and survived the killing curse.

This reaction - the sharpness of the child's emotion - made her worry. She spent the night soothing the boy, tracing lines down his back and wiping away his copious tears, but there was nothing she could do. She supposed he was mourning for the Potter child's parents, but there was nothing she could say for sure. Regardless, she told her husband of the occurrence and continued on, raising her child with magic and love.

At four, Nico was a prodigy. Literate, intelligent, and highly empathetic, he simply refused to use a training wand - and with good reason. He quickly got a grip on wandless magic, with the assistance of his proud father, and began practicing whenever and however he could. Levitating things, changing the colours of his father's hair whenever he wasn't looking - any spell he could practice, he did.

It was his fourth birthday, when he was handed his father's wand to use for the day, that Nico gave his mother a mischievous smile and waved it gently.

Forth burst a phoenix, made of pure joy. It wove around the room and Nico cackled with joyous laughter at the flabbergasted expressions on the faces of his parents.

"Nico, how long have you been able to do that?" Perenelle asked, touching the phoenix to make sure that it truly was a patronus.

Nico grinned, bouncing on his feet. "Months!" he giggled, dashing towards her and gripping her leg in a hug. "'Cause you're really nice!"

"Hey, hey, what about me?" Nicolas complained, though he too was smiling to the edges of his face. Nico turned around and placed a finger on his chin, tapping it in a pondering way with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Mm, okay. You're nice too," he allowed, smirking. Nicolas rolled his eyes and pulled in his small family for a hug, a squealing child between them.

The moment was killed swiftly, however, when Nico's laughter suddenly ended. He twisted and struggled, forcing the pair to place him on the floor, and stared at his arm.

"What's that, Nico?" Nicolas asked gently, kneeling beside his prankster son, observing this rarely-shown serious side, so reminiscent of the war-torn adults he'd seen leaving the Death Eaters behind them.

On his son's wrist was a simple bracelet, with three strings connected to a symbol he recognized - something which sent chills down his spine. A black, wooden triangle - holding a circle and a straight line down the middle - held the bracelet together.

Just like the symbol etched in his son's wrist, which they had not mentioned since his birth, it seemed he was to be further marked by Death.

With a flash, a small pile of cloth wrapping a set of objects appeared. A letter floated down to land atop it, and Nico walked towards it with a determination Nicolas rarely saw in his precious child. The letter was picked up, and Nico turned around to read it.

"To the soul on a mission," he read, "congratulations on your fourth cycle alive, however contradictory it is of me to celebrate it. Congrats, as well, on your twenty-first year of existence."

Nicolas and Perenelle shared a glance. They rarely spoke of Nico's past, if at all, and even then it was an uncomfortable subject. They had never known quite how long he had lived.

"You have trained enough for me to return these to you," he continued, and glanced at the pile. "I assure you that Dumbledore is not short of a wand - however, I believe he is short of an invisibility cloak, which I trust you will return to Harry Potter once he enters Hogwarts."

"Nico?" Perenelle asked gently. "What are those?"

"The Deathly Hallows," Nico replied absently. "I had them before… I didn't think he'd give them to me, but that just goes to show how much I don't know yet." with a sigh, he continued, "The stone, thankfully, has been cleared of the cursed soul residing within it. Use it to summon me whenever you come across the other soul pieces that you have been asked to retrieve - while not necessary, it will make our task easier to complete. I will contact you once more when you enter Hogwarts… how I do that is yet to be seen.

"Be safe, soul, and good luck." Nico closed the letter and summoned the wand with a snap, watching it fly into his hand - and staring in solemn awe at the flash of power as it recognized him. Nico turned to his parents, who suddenly felt rather small.

"I think it's about time I told you about my past," he said quietly. "About what I remember."

The small family gathered on the floor, and summoning his suppressed memories forth, Nico began to expertly tell the story of a boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs.

A week later, Nico was gripping his mother's hand and scanning Privet Drive, his clear hatred for the place startling his parents - though, after all he'd told them about the people who lived here, it was clear that it was justified.

"Any moment now," he insisted again, bouncing on his heels. "Harry'll show up today, I'm sure."

"We know," Perenelle chuckled weakly.

Nicolas knelt down next to his son, sighing away his nerves. "Son, would you rather we weren't here for this?"

Nico raised an eyebrow. "Why?" Then he seemed to think. "Oh. Harry's not going to trust adults."

Nicolas nodded. "You'll have an easier time. We'll take a stroll around the block, yeah? You watch for Harry, and be careful about it."

"Of course," Nico replied, rolling his eyes. "Mentally damaged kid. I'm not going to be cruel to him, Pops."

Nicolas smirked. "Alright. Well, I'll just head off with Perenelle. You stay safe." He rose and offered Perenelle his arm, and together they walked down the muggle street, disillusioned so as not to attract attention to their unique attire.

Nico, of course, had conjured his own set of clothes for this occasion, and glanced each way before running over to the other side of the street. He sat on the curb and waited, humming an old tune to himself to pass the time.

It wasn't long before he felt a prickle on his spine, and a small voice said, "What's that song?"

Nico turned, and he felt his heart sink in deep sympathy. This Potter looked even worse than he had. The boy - who by now was sidestepping nervously and squeezing his eyes shut, waiting to be punished for asking questions - was wearing clear rags, and his arms were bony and thin. He stood up and pulled Harry down to sit next to him, the bony child shivering at even a brief touch.

"My friend wrote it for me," Nico told him honestly. "He made me a flute to play it on, but I lost it. So now I just sing."

Harry blinked at him in bewildered understanding and nodded. "Thank you," he managed, "for… for answering me."

Nico smiled sadly. "It's okay to ask me questions," he offered. "I promise. I won't hurt you just because you're curious."

Harry fell silent, and the two four-year-olds sat on the step.

"You mean it?" he asked shyly. Quickly, he added, "I don't doubt you, it's just that-"

"-nobody ever offered before," Nico finished for him. "I know. I know a lot of things."

"I don't know much," Harry admitted. "Uncle Vernon says freaks aren't supposed to know much."

Nico tilted his head, considering how to answer. "What is a freak?" he asked at last.

"I'm a freak," Harry admitted quietly.

"Then freaks must be very nice people," Nico concluded. "And a nice person is a very good thing to be."

Harry brightened. "You think I'm nice?"

"Of course you are," Nico replied. "If you weren't nice, you would have been rude or hurt me. But you said thank you and you're friendly. That makes you nice."

Harry frowned. Silence fell again, and Nico began to sing softly again, recalling the tune Hagrid had played on a whittled instrument, in a time forgotten by all but him.

"What's normal?" Harry inquired.

"Boring," Nico replied immediately, ending his song. "Boring and plain. I much prefer unique, myself. It makes people interesting."

"So the Dursleys want me to be… not interesting," Harry concluded.

"I suppose," Nico answered. "But really, that's self-contradictory."

"Self-contradictory?" Harry inquired, confused.

Nico backpedalled. "You can't be normal because you are special," Nico explained. "You are special because you are you. They can't ask someone unique and interesting to be normal. It's… like asking fire to be water. It doesn't work."

"Oh," Harry concluded sadly.

Nico patted Harry's shoulder. "Don't be sad," he requested softly. "I like you just the way you are. You're special, and nice - and those are really good things. Normal people aren't very much fun, so it's much better to be unique, like you," he rambled.

"Why am I unique?" Harry asked glumly, drawing on the granite with his feet. Nico grinned.

"Cause you're magic," he said happily. "And magic is super special. It can make things from thin air, and get you across the country in seconds! You can fly, and make paintings move, and make fireworks from the tip of your finger…"

"The Dursleys don't like magic," Harry realized. "And that's why they don't like me!"

"They don't like magic?" Nico inquired, even though he knew quite well that they despised it. "Well that's silly. Just 'cause they don't like magic they don't want you to have it? They sound really silly to me."

Harry nodded in agreement and stared into the distance.

"D'you think," Harry said, "if I show the Dursleys that magic can be good, that they'll like me?"

Nico shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted freely. "But whenever you did magic before, did they like it?"

"No," Harry realized sadly. "No, they didn't."

"Maybe don't do that, then," Nico offered, patting his shoulder. "Don't worry, Emeralds - when you go to Hogwarts, you'll be able to use your magic all the time!"

"Emeralds?" Harry asked, glancing around.

Nico laughed. "You, silly! Your eyes - they're green. So - Emeralds." he took a leap of faith and pulled the emaciated child into a hug. "It's a nickname!"

Harry smiled weakly, relaxing in the hold. "I've never had a nickname before."

"Me neither," Nico replied. Thinking quickly to have the conversation continue, he added, "I used to pretend I was somebody else though."

Harry shifted, and Nico let go. Stretching, Harry asked, "who?"

"My best friend," Nico replied, chuckling. "You'd like him - he was really good at chess. And my other best friend, she was super-smart! The three of us, we were inseparable."

Harry tilted his head. "Really?"

"Really," Nico confirmed. "Hey, maybe someday you'll have some best friends too. Then you can tell me about them!"

Harry drooped. "But Dudley'll scare them away."

"Not at Hogwarts," Nico replied reasonably. "Dudley can't go there. He'd fall in the lake, and the squid would kick him out," he announced confidently.

"At Hogwarts," Harry said quietly. "You think a place like that exists?"

"I don't think, Emeralds," Nico tutted, a mischievous grin on his face. "I know."

Nico insisted on visiting Harry as frequently as he could. Every day, Nico would manage to snatch up the floo powder from wherever it was hidden, use it to floo to the neighbourhood, and dash his way to the Dursley home to help Harry with his chores. Nicolas wanted to help him somehow, but he also knew that by interfering any more than Nico requested was not the best idea. Supportive as they were, however, they always remained by his side, offering him support - even when he sometimes came home exhausted from healing Harry's wounds.

Harry leaned on Nico like a crutch, borrowing his strength and relying on him for all his knowledge. Of course, Nico pushed him towards making his own good habits - studying, reading, learning, the good things - but it was still Nico who taught him the most important things.

On Nico's fifth birthday, he asked to have Harry join him.

"Last year," he said seriously, "I had you two. It was an awesome birthday. Harry's got the same birthday as me. I want him to have an awesome birthday too."

Nicolas could see nothing wrong with this. "Alright, Nico, you can ask him," he allowed. "Just make sure he won't be missed."

With a confident nod, Nico stepped into the floo's flames and vanished.

"...happy birthday, dear Nico," the group stretched out the note for far longer than they had to, "happy birthday to you."

Nico grinned and blew gently, each flame winking out easily. Harry sat at his side, bouncing eagerly in his seat and gripping Nico's hand tightly.

"How much cake would you like?" Nico inquired gently, gesturing minutely for his mother to hold off on cutting the delicacy.

Harry blushed. "A lot," he admitted. "I never get cake."

Another gesture, and Perenelle knew to cut large slices as she piled cake onto fancy plates, handing the first one to Harry.

"For me?" he inquired, bewildered.

"Well, it wouldn't be a proper Flamel birthday without it," Nicolas chimed in. "Dig in, Harry. You've earned it."

Nico, to demonstrate, took his own piece with a flick of the wrist and began to eat morsels he pulled off the edge, ignoring the fork entirely.

Perenelle rolled her eyes and watched as Harry finally decided to let go of his inhibitions and eat his fill, consuming a disastrous amount of cake. This was the exact reason she had bothered to stuff them with healthier foods first; after this, they would not eat anything put before them. It was enough that she'd had the foresight to realize Nico would attempt to spoil Harry, even on his own birthday - not that they didn't share it.

Cake polished off, the two of them settled into the couch to open presents. Every two or three obligation gifts, Nico insisted that Harry got to open one of the boxes, stating firmly that it was part of the experience. While Harry couldn't keep what he found, he was regardless overjoyed by the things he found and was able to pass on to Nico.

The final box suitably destroyed by eager youths, Harry pulled Nico into a hug and murmured, "Sorry I couldn't get you anything…"

"You're more important than a box, Emeralds," Nico huffed. He cast a serious look at his parents and plastered on a smile. "In fact, we haven't finished getting presents."

Harry pulled away and frowned. "We've opened all the boxes, though."

"Sure we have," Nico agreed. "But not all gifts are in boxes. Hold out your arm."

Harry watched as Nico pulled off the bracelet he'd never taken off since they'd met - a wooden triangle, holding a circle and a line, held on his arm by three leather strings. His eyes widened as the bracelet was pushed onto his own frail arm.

"For me?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Nico confirmed. "You'll never lose it." The sheer confidence in Nico's voice was enough to convince Harry of the same, and he pulled his arm back, admiring the simple object with childlike fascination.

Nico glanced at his father, sighed, and slung an arm around Harry's shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

Nico fought back tears - of sadness and of strain - as he poured pure magic into Harry's body. It was not easy, and definitely not efficient, but Nico didn't know enough about first aid to do much else.

Harry whimpered as his arms snapped back to where they were supposed to be, as his lung was mended, his broken foot rearranged. It only took a few minutes, but by the time Nico was finished, he was exhausted.

Harry opened his eyes, tested his body, and immediately went to Nico's side. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern leaking into his actions as he offered a shoulder for Nico to lean on.

"I should be asking you that," Nico huffed. "I hate those Dursleys. They shouldn't hurt you like this."

Harry nodded glumly in agreement, but said softly, "you know there isn't anything we can do, Nico."

Nico glanced again at Harry's scars. Far more scars than the original Harry - he - had ever had. He could feel himself grinding down his own teeth. "I should be able to protect you, Harry, and I can't even manage that..."

"It's okay, Nico," Harry insisted. "I'll survive…"

Nico screamed in frustration. "You shouldn't HAVE to survive, Harry!" he hissed. "You should be happy, and healthy, in a house with people who love you. This -" he gestured to the house with a grandiose disgust, "-is a mockery of what you should have. It is insulting."

There was a snap of apparition, and Nico got a sinking feeling in his gut. He quickly disillusioned Harry's bracelet and turned around to find a wand pointed at his head.

"I'm afraid this budding friendship must end," a benevolent voice, conflicting and confused in the original Harry's memories, snapped into a solid disgust which shocked even Nico. "To think a magical child lives in this neighbourhood… but no more. Harry must not know about magic…"

Harry shook in fear, and Nico turned away from the grandfatherly Dumbledore. "Go into the Dursley home, Harry," he said, with an eerie calm.

"Ni-" Harry began.

"Go in the house," Nico repeated. "Now. Please."

Harry paused, then turned to glare at the grandfatherly figure, whose eyes were twinkling-

A burst of sparks exploded in Dumbledore's face, and Nico hissed, "HARRY! GET IN THE HOUSE!"

Startled out of his wits, Harry raced away, stopping only on the doorstep to glance rapidly between his first friend and the strange wizard who had approached them.

Nico turned to Dumbledore and summoned forth the powerful, primal magic he'd been training since he'd been born in this world. "I believe only one of us will forget this meeting," Nico said calmly.

Harry dove into the house, confident that the magic was Nico's.

Dumbledore's shock was only matched by how unprepared he was to have his mind rearranged in a flash of light.

When he returned to full consciousness, he considered nothing suspicious, for he didn't remember Nico at all - nor falling unconscious in the first place. He glanced at the wards, tested their strength, nodded and apparated away.

A/N: I particularly like this one, I've managed to get down quite a bit. Merry Christmas, and hope you enjoy. As always, reviews are appreciated.

Got questions? Send me a message - I check every day.

-MDH

PS - This story is now joining the mass upload group. Link to the work is in my story list.