Disclaimer: first chapter

Chapters 1-3 has already been written, as this has been in my drafts since 2017. I'm uploading the first three chapters to see if you all will like it, so please comment.

Henry was an odd baby. In the first few months of life, he cried almost constantly. Irene was worried that her baby might be sick, or something, because all the books and pamphlets she read never said that a baby cried as much as Henry was crying.

Needless to say, she was worried.

She was worried that she might not be parenting material, that her friends were right and that she was too young to take care of a child by herself. Irene was also worried that her child just did not like her. She sighed, running her hands through her hair, glancing at the dozing baby on the floor mat in the living room.

Maybe the baby knew that he was without a father?

It was a silly thought, but Irene couldn't dismiss it. Maybe babies had some sort of instinctual thing that she didn't know about? She was in over her head with this whole parenting thing, she was, and she honestly didn't know one thing about babies other than the books she managed to snag up while carrying him to term.

"Ahhhh," she bit her lip, sending a quick glance towards her baby. Her baby. She couldn't believe that she had a child, she, Irene, the girl with too big of a dream and no ways of achieving it. A woman who worked her way out of the gutter with her head held high. She had a child.

Irene sighed again, wondering if this whole thing would be better if the child had a father.

The father of her baby was charming, but Irene wasn't all that concerned with that. He was charming in some odd way, with a bitter smile, which curled his lips, that made Irene's breath catch. He was seemingly untouchable, roaming the halls of the ancient building that housed the party Irene was attending.

It was a one night stand, another thing that Irene never thought she'd do.

A one night stand that left Irene with a baby, and no one to help raise him.

And said baby seemingly didn't even like her.

As if he realized that he was being thought about, Henry shifted, and Irene stilled. Henry let out a low whine that sounded like a yawn, and Irene had a rare moment to see a peaceful Henry come to, his green eyes so pretty, that she practically cooed. Of course, the moment didn't last, and Henry noticed her watching rather instantly.

There was a tense moment of silence between them, Henry blinking at her and Irene praying to whoever would help her to actually help her. It was like a silent conversation passed between them.

"Please don't cry, please don't cry, please don't cry-"

He's going to cry. Loud.

Henry sucked in a deep breath, and let out a loud wail. Irene watched, her whole posture wilting slightly, before a steel determination made her rush forward, snatching up the flailing Henry and holding him close. She cooed and murmured into his ear, already heading towards the kitchen to make him a bottle.

It didn't matter if Henry liked her or not. As a mother, she loved him, and she was going to do her damn best to raise him the best she could. Without a father, it was going to be doubly hard, she realized lamely.

How hard could it be, to be both a mother and a father?

Irene wanted to cry along with Hadrian.

-.-.-.-

Henry, nay Harry, on the other hand, had a whole slew of problems.

Being reborn as a baby was the cause of them all, surprisingly. Who would have guessed? Henry sniffed at his reflection, his 6 month old body finally being able to drag his weight up and sit. A baby, him, stared sulkily back.

His memories were hazy, at best, but they were there. They settled in his chest, anchoring him down, keeping him from reacting in his suddenly primal instincts. They reminded him that he was somebody else, though there was nothing absolute in his mind. Everything was relative, a sick sense of déjà vu running rampant every time he tried to recall exact memories.

It was frustrating.

It was even more frustrating when his new baby body, his body, reacted to his frustration. Tears and loud angry wailing usually brought his new mother running to him faster than a bat out of hell. The deep bags that looked painted on her delicate face brought only a smidgen of guilt, and a whole lot of vindictive satisfaction to know that he wasn't the only one suffering because of...this.

This, of course, being reborn.

"Henry, sweetie," a voice cooed, and before he knew it, he was scooped up off the floor. Henry tensed, ready to scream and yell if needed, before he realized it was his new mother. A sense of relief surged through him, though he made sure to sniff at her moodily. "Are you hungry? It's almost lunch time," she asked.

Henry caught only a few words, the most said to him was his name. Another one he recognized was hungry. Being reborn, Henry recognized the language as French, instead of the English he thought in. It was a relief that he wasn't born in some otherworldly world where English was obsolete or was nonexistent.

But on the other hand, trying to keep up with the confusing French was frustrating.

Henry sniffed again, burying his face into his mother's shoulder. He felt tired all the time, though that could be accounted for the fact that he cried almost all the time. It wasn't like he wanted to cry intentionally, but it was nice to let off steam. He could cry, cry, and cry, and his mother would keep coming to comfort him, cooing words of affection.

It felt nice to be coddled like that.

Henry knew it wouldn't last forever, though. After all, patience has an end, and Henry could see that he was wearing his mother thin. It was too bad that he didn't have a father to help her shoulder the burden of him, but it couldn't be helped. Henry made a babbled noise, as he was set in a high chair.

"Which one would you like, Henry?" His mother asked, her voice small as she yawned. She held out a few tins of baby food, Henry examined them curiously. He couldn't read it, of course, but one of the cans looked like something pumpkin related. It was a safe guess to make, as he reached for that one. "Pumpkin? You want this one?" His mother smiled, setting all the others aside and settled for opening the tin.

As they settled in the rhythm of her feeding him, Henry decided to try and stop crying so much. His mother had to have some type of job, didn't she? The size of the house they lived in was huge, so she had to have some wealth to her name. Then again, the house could seem huge to Henry simply because he was small. It wouldn't do if he somehow got his mother fired from whatever job she must have because he was being a brat.

Which meant that he had to repress his longing to find out exactly what was so hazy in his mind until later. He was a 6 month old baby, whatever reason for his rebirth and hazy memories will have to wait until he could actually talk, or maybe even crawl. It would all have to wait until his body caught up with his mind, and stop getting too emotional over the simplest things.

With a new sense of purpose, no matter how small it was, Henry turned his attention back to his mother. Now that he was looking past the tiredness, she looked young, probably around her early twenties. Of course, she looked like she was older than what she probably was due to him and his crying.

"You made such a mess," his mother sighed, smiling as she grabbed a nearby washcloth and wiped at his mouth. "How do you even make a mess? You're not the one holding the spoon. Ah, so it must be my fault..."

Henry wondered what she was saying. By how she was sighing, it must be something serious, right? He leaned away from the cloth, eying her warily. She paused in her movements, before smiling at him and moving forward with the washcloth again. That thing wasn't exactly soft, didn't she know that? His baby cheeks were sensitive.

He made his displeasure known by pushing her hand away, surprising a laugh out of his mom.

"Feisty today?" She grinned at him tossing the rag aside and finally picking him up, holding him to her chest. "First time you haven't cried at me doing that, so surprising." For some reason, she sounded awed. Henry sniffed at her, not really knowing whether what she was saying was important or not

Probably not. After all, who would tell a 6 month old important things?

"Baby! I got life changing news just for your baby ears! Listen closely."

"Goo?"

Pft. As if a baby, a normal one at least, could understand something like that. They barely had any control over their basic body functions. Henry yawned, as his mom began to hum to him, swaying him gently as she walked around the living room. A nap sounded good at the moment.

His last thought before succumbing to sleep was that anybody who took what they were saying to a baby seriously had to be a complete and utter weirdo.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Being woken up in the middle of his sleeping was not something Henry had planned. But he couldn't ignore the way the presence in the room felt. Something that made Henry's skin feel goosebumps, something heavy and dark weighing the room down, sagging the shadows with it. In one word, it was terrifying.

It was even more terrifying realizing the cause of the room feeling such a way was literally standing above his crib.

A tall and gloomy man was the cause of discomfort, his face scarily impassive. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark personality; what a ball of sunshine he was. Henry squirmed under his gaze, realizing that it was in the middle of the night, and what the hell is this stranger doing here? His mom was not going to be happy- she didn't even tell him the do and don'ts of strangers yet! She was so not going to be happy if Henry entertained this man at all. Not that he wanted to entertain this man in the slightest; Henry geared himself up for a tantrum worthy of the world's worst brat.

The dark man hummed absently, "Rest my child," he said, making Henry pause. He could understand the man; which shouldn't be natural because what he said didn't sound even remotely English. Henry felt close to panicking, even in this life, he couldn't get a moment's rest, could he? "You have such a fate ahead of you." Fate? Henry had dealings with fate before, being born to defeat someone bad in his last life, fate played a big deal in that.

Henry sniffed, feeling strangely affronted with the idea of fate playing around in this life as well. It was bad enough that he was reborn with hardly any clear memories of his past life; being shoved into another fate produced destiny was out of the question. Henry sniffed, feeling the now familiar hot tingling in his eyes that promised tears, the heavy and hot feeling in his chest and gut giving him the motivation to start fully crying.

The man didn't even have the audacity to deal with him, simply looked him over once more before stepping back into the shadows and seemingly disappearing. Which also wasn't natural; last he heard, normal humans with normal lives should not have the power to make themselves appear and disappear at random. So either this man was something unnatural, or what; Henry didn't want to deal with it.

His mother rushed into the room, looking half dead from lack of sleep, "Henry, darling," his mother yawned, reaching his crib and that's when Henry noticed that all the gloom and heaviness of the room disappeared with the man. It was just his mom and him, his mom picking him up and cooing to him. "It's okay, mommy's here. Don't cry, please, don't cry," she murmured, rubbing his back.

Her words were nice, reassuring even if he couldn't really understand what she was saying to him. The fact that he couldn't understand her was what made it reassuring, actually. Unlike the words of the man who spoke to him, with the seriousness of a doctor just told their patient about how many months they had left, and 'Oh well, what can one do?' expression. What language was he even speaking? It sounded familiar and the fact that he could understand it was worrying.

His mother jostled him, jerking him out of his thoughts, and Henry realized that she was taking him towards her room. He gnawed on his fist, letting his eyes close slightly, only the occasional sniffle escaping him; his mom came rather quickly, though not quick enough to notice that there was a strange man and presence in the room.

Henry yawned, the crying fit he threw after being woken up in the middle of the night catching up with him rather quickly. His mother settled him down next to her, leaving him closest to the wall so he had no fear of rolling off. She carefully placed herself next to him, petting his hair as she began to hum to him.

Maybe this whole thing was a dream? It didn't feel like one, but dreams usually don't feel like dreams. Henry drifted off uneasily, his thoughts barely shutting down as he fell asleep. His mom fell asleep with him, head propped up on one hand, lolling to one side a little as soft breaths began to deepen with sleep.

In the morning, Henry couldn't help but feel as if he was missing something important. Though, he felt like that often enough with his previous memories of another life hazy at best, so Henry shrugged off the feeling easily enough.

Just because he accepted it, doesn't mean he liked it.

Though he stopped crying as much as he used to. His mother looked oddly relieved at that.