Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter universe. It is the property of Joanne Rowling. The only things that belong to me, are the original characters and stories that I have written.

Oliver Harris. That was his name. Though there had been three Olivers in his year group at school, so his friends had dubbed him Harry. Oliver's complaints that there already was another Harry in their class had fallen on deaf ears. Later, when his friends had started visiting his home, even his family had taken to using it.

He'd been a sickly child, and had spent his formative years in Croydon, southern London. In a house his family had owned since the time Edward VII had ruled, or so his grandparents liked to brag. By the time he was finished with sixth form, he felt himself finished with school, so he'd taken a job at a local factory. However, around the time he'd turned twenty one, somehow he'd gotten obsessed with the past of humanity. So he'd applied and been accepted to King's College London, to study ancient history.

While working towards his master's degree, he'd started feeling ill. He proclaimed that it was just the stress, but over time it got worse. So, despite his protestations, his brother had dragged him off to see the doctor. It had taken something like three months, of different blood test, biopsies x-rays, and whatever else test you could think up. Then one day he'd been called into his doctor's office. With a severe look, his doctor bid him to sit down, and calmly explained that it was terminal. Some kind of rare blood disease, the important thing, however, was that he had at most another year to live.

What do you do when you are given news like that?

His family had come together, they'd always been tight-knit, but this was something else. They'd sat with him, hugged him, and cried with him. Together they had written a list. A list of things they all wanted to do together, to create memories and experiences. So they could help him live the rest of his days to the fullest.

With family and friends, he'd travelled to some of his favourite places in the world. They'd been to what felt like half of Europe – Greece, Italy, and Spain, just to name a few. Together they walked the Valley of the Kings in Egypt, seen the remains of Luxor. Tanned themselves on the beaches of Corsica, hiked the Alps, eaten wondrous food, drank and been merry.

Then his body started failing him.

The merriment had come to an end, and for every day that passed he was confined to his bed, more and more. He'd moved back into his old room in Croydon, since he was no longer able to care for himself. It felt like everything hurt a little more with every breath he took. Almost a month ago, when he'd been asleep, he had some kind of fit. Luckily, his brother was visiting and had discovered him. They had rushed him to the emergency room, and he had never left.

Now I'm stuck in this stupid bed, in this awful hospital.

If anyone asked him what the worst part about dying was, his answer would be 'the fear'. The fear of the unknown, the fear that this life was the only thing we ever got to experience, the fear of missing out, and the fear of not being. Not that anyone had, they weren't that insensitive.

As he lay dying in his uncomfortable hospital bed, the only real feeling he felt – was fear. Perhaps there should have been other emotions, but he'd been in such pain, that they had filled him to the gills with medication for the pain. As it was, he was barely coherent. In his honest opinion, he preferred it that way, since his second-worst fear concerning death, was pain.

Over the last few days, all of his friends and family had been in and out of his hospital room. Nobody had said anything out loud, but he thought they all knew, on some subconscious level, that he didn't have long left.

Dying at the age of twenty-five really wasn't in his plans.

With a final, weak, struggling, breath – in a white, bland, and completely impersonal hospital room. Oliver Harris, surrounded by his loved ones, closed his eyes for the final time.

Or so everyone thought.

He came to awareness, however much later it was. Completely enveloped in darkness.

Duh, my eyes are closed.

As he slowly opened his eyes, he became more and more confused. Because he was staring up at an ugly, slanted, brownish yellow ceiling. Neither his dorm room at college, the room in his parent's house, or the hospital looked like that.

Where am I?

His eyes were itching, and as he raised his hands to rub them, he realized that his entire body felt wrong.

As he peered up at his hands, his mouth fell open in shock. His hands and fingers were tiny. The scars and calluses that he had gained during his, unfortunately short life, were all gone. His tiny hands and fingers looked pristine and chubby. From what he could feel and see, the rest of his body was likewise tiny. He could hardly lift his head enough to look around. His limbs felt weak and uncoordinated.

I am a baby again.

What the fuck?

His thoughts swirling, his heart racing, panic settling in. The tiny body, he now occupied, started to hyperventilate. He screamed and cried as he tried to grasp was happening to him. He had died and been reborn, how – he had no idea. Furthermore, he was both melancholic and ecstatic. Melancholic because, he would never get to see his mother and father again, never get to tease his siblings, or give any of them a hug. His friends that had been as close as his family, some of them he had known almost as long as his relatives.

All that he had ever known. Gone in the blink of an eye.

On the other hand, the fear that had utterly dominated his existence for the last year. It was lifted from his soul. He knew what came after now, and it truly was, the next great adventure.

He screamed and cried, exclaiming all his feelings for the world to hear. It felt cathartic, like nothing had before. Until he felt a sharp pain in his right arm, apparently the wailing had subconsciously made him move his arms and legs. The pain had come from him striking his arm on something hard. At least something good came with the pain, it brought him out of his panic.

Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

While focusing on his breathing over and over again, he felt a sense of calm settle over his mind. And a few minutes of focused breathing later, his thoughts started to return to some semblance of order.

First order of business. Where was he?

Once again, forcing his eyes open, he turned his head as far as he could to look for clues as to his current predicament. From what he could see, he was laying in a wooden crib. In a half destroyed room with a slanted roof, yellowish walls, a dead woman on the floor, a bl…

A dead woman on the floor?

Why was there a dead woman on the floor, what the heck was going on? From what he could see, there was no blood, and no visible wounds. She had red hair, completely normal clothes, and he couldn't get a good look at her face.

Second order of business. How was he going to get himself out of this situation?

Looking at the corners of the crib, and dearly hoping it had a latch, so he could let himself out. He came to the horrifying realization that it was an old school crib with solid wood all the way around. Which meant that he would need someone to lift him out of here. Because there was no way that his tiny little arms and legs, could ever get him out of the crib.

Crap.

He dropped his head back on the mattress, thinking of other ways he could get himself out of this situation. If no one came, he would starve quite quickly, and before that he would die of thirst. His thoughts went all over the place, and came up with the weirdest ideas. For example, how long it might take to chew through the bars. Well, that was just idiotic. They were solid wood, after all.

So deep in his ruminations was he, that he almost missed the sound of someone slowly creeping down the hallway outside his room. But the creaking of the floor was a bit too loud to ignore.

Someone is out there.

Are they here to help us? But if they are, why the sneaking around. Is it the killer returning, had they heard his cries? And come to finish the job. As panic once again began to encroach on his infant mind, he ruthlessly forced it down, and held onto the last shred of sanity he had left. He did not want to die again, who knew if he would get another chance at life.

Lay down and play dead.

It's truly terrifying being this vulnerable, I tell you.

He heard footsteps slowly draw closer, until they came to a stop outside the door. His face was down in the mattress so he couldn't see anything, but he heard. The hinges creaked as the door was slowly opened. A sharp intake of breath, followed by a gut wrenching scream of 'Lily'. Then the sound of someone sinking to the floor. The anguished cries that it echoed in the room, convinced him that this was someone genuinely grieving. So he turned his head to get a glimpse of what was going on.

On the floor next to the crib, was a pale black haired young man on his knees. He held the dead woman to his chest, he assumed her name was Lily, and he was crying his heart out.

Are they a couple? Husband and wife maybe?

And with that thought, he realized that the woman who lay dead in the man's arms might be his mother. His mother? The baby's mother? Had the baby also died? Had he stolen the baby's body?

This was not the time and place to have an existential crisis.

Was this man Oliver's new father?

And there his mind went again.

He needed to bring the young man's attention onto himself, this might be the only chance to get out of here, of survival. So, he forced himself up on his knees, and with the help of the bars on the crib, he stood up. He breathed in deeply, licked his lips, and screamed with every fibre of his being.

Here goes nothing.

"PAPAAAAA"

The man's face snapped to him in an instant. And Oliver's mind went blank. Because locking eyes with him was a young Alan Rickman.

Alan Rickman with a hooked nose, holding a red haired woman named Lily, dead in a half destroyed room. This was not happening, there was no way in the seven hells that this was real.

"H-Harry" He stuttered out, and that sealed the deal. Somehow, someway, he had been reborn in the body of young Harry Potter after the killing curse struck him and rebounded back at Voldemort. He guessed Harry had died then, and he had somehow replaced him?

The young Alan Rickman, or Severus Snape as he should probably call him. Took one last look at the face, of whom Oliver at this point was completely sure was Lily Evans. Kissed her on the brow of her face and gently laid her back on the floor. Then he looked at Oliver again – and rising to his feet, he moved towards the crib. Oliver reached his arms for him and gummed his mouth in that cute way only babies can.

Freedom, here I come.

A door downstairs was slammed open and they both froze. A voice from somewhere downstairs bellowed out a mournful 'James' and then Snape looked at me one last time with his eyes so full of sorrow that it was almost palpable. Turned on the spot and with a soft crack, disapparated away.

Guess I'm not getting out of here yet.

At least Sirius should be coming up here soon. And then he was going to get himself thrown in jail by chasing after Pettigrew. That could not be allowed to happen. He did not want to grow up with the Dursleys.

Depending on if this was the book version or the movie version of the Harry Potter world. The Dursleys could be anything from apathetic to abusive. He was really hoping it was going to be the book version, since that was the version he had better knowledge of. Oliver truly hoped it wasn't something else entirely, since then his knowledge would be completely useless. Horcruxes, Death Eaters, Quirrel, the Tri-Wizard, etc.

There were so many things coming his way that he somehow needed to deal with, and the only way Oliver could think of, was abusing his foreknowledge.

Sirius was storming up the stairwell shouting for Harry and Lily, it broke him out of his inner musings. Sirius was running full speed down the hallway and slamming doors open and screaming himself hoarse.

Three, two, one.

The first thing he saw of Sirius Black the third was a mane of black hair, thick and curly. Hair luscious enough to make anyone jealous. The second thing he saw was his distraught face. Tears were flowing out of his eyes, and snot was running out of his nose, as Sirius's eyes found Lily's body on the floor. The next moment, their eyes met, and Oliver saw those deep grey eyes fill with hope.

"Harry" Sirius's voice was hoarse as he called out for the baby in the crib.

I guess I'll have to respond.

"Pa'foo" I really tried to play up the cuteness.

A heartbeat later, with a cry of 'you're alive' he lifted me up by the arms and had me pressed against his chest. He was babbling incomprehensible words, hiccupping, and sobbing. All at the same time. It took several minutes for Sirius to get to the point where he was coherent, and I could understand what he was saying.

"Fucking rat, I'm going to kill him." He was muttering under his breath.

No, no, no, no. This has got to stop, he did not want to get stuck with the Dursleys for the next ten years.

Come on, brain, think of a solution, quickly.

Unfortunately, the only thing he could think of involved crying and grabbing Sirius, then trying to hold on for dear life.

I guess that is the best I can do.

"Pa'foo mama hurt" I tried to force his attention back on me and away from Wormtail.

"I know Prongslet, I'll kill the filthy rat and avenge your parents."

Well, that backfired spectacularly.

"We'll have to get out of here Prongslet, wait here while I get some of your things. I'll be right back, alright?" With those words, he gently placed me back in the crib and left the room, wand in hand. He was back less than two minutes later, a bag slung over his shoulder, packed full of diapers and clothes.

Once again, Oliver was lifted by his arms and pressed against Sirius's chest, with a mumbled "Let's get you out of here". We were out of the room and on our way down the hallway. He barely got a look at the rest of the house because of how fast Sirius was moving. A couple of seconds later we were on our way down the stairway, he could see sofas and tables overturned. Sirius suddenly came to a stop, took a deep rattling breath and forced Oliver's head to his chest with his hand.

"Don't look Prongslet." He whispered hoarsely.

That must mean James was laying dead in the room somewhere. Suddenly, Oliver was really happy that these weren't his real parents, or he would have probably been scarred for life.

His rough hand was gently stroking my small tuft of hair and walking us towards the wide open door at the other end of the room when we heard what sounded like an elephant stomping up to the house.

Sirius was instantly alert, drew his wand and turned his body so that he presented less of a target if spells were going to start flying.

Add that to the list of things to remember for the future.

"Ello, anyone in there?" A rough voice thundered from the outside of the house.

That has to be Hagrid.

"Hagrid, is that you?" Sirius yelled back.

"Tha' you Sirius? Dumbledore sent me, told me to check on the safe houses." Came the reply from outside.

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief and his wand disappeared up his sleeve. Giving me a tight smile, he relaxed and started walking towards the door again. As soon as we neared the door, all that was visible outside was the humongous figure of Rubeus Hagrid. How no one could have realized that he had Giant's blood before Rita's article, Oliver would never understand. Sirius gave a weak little wave, and Hagrid's meaty hand waved right back.

"Why didn't Albus come himself if he knew something was going on"

That's an excellent question.

"S'been attacks all over da' place" Hagrid started and was quickly interrupted by Sirius.

"Where?"

"Diagon an' St Mungos is wha' I know 'bout."

"Fucking Death Eaters." Sirius grumbled. "As if tonight couldn't get any worse."

Hagrid interrupted Sirius mutterings with the reason he was there.

"I see lil' Harry there with you, where are James an' Lily?"

I felt Sirius arms around me tighten the moment he was reminded about the fact that his best friends lay murdered in the house he had just left.

Sirius took a shuddering breath and answered with an almost whisper.

"Dead"

"D-dead? Are ya' sure?" Hagrid started tearing up, and his voice broke as he asked Sirius for confirmation.

"Y-yeah, they're inside, James is in the living room. Lily's upstairs in the nursery. There was an empty robe of some kind next to her, and Harry has this small cut on his forehead. But I don't really have any idea what happened in there."

At that point Hagrid truly started bawling, and he fumbled with his pockets for a while until he managed to extricate a giant handkerchief, and I really mean giant. Seriously, that thing was the size of a table cloth.

Sirius shifted me around in his arms uncomfortably while he tried his best not to start bawling himself. It took a few minutes for Hagrid to calm down enough for Sirius to hold a conversation with him.

"Hagrid." Sirius began solemnly.

"Y-yeh Sirius." Hagrid answered shakily.

"I need you to take Harry to Albus."

"Where yah goin?"

Hagrid sounded horribly confused by this point. Oliver, however, was not. He knew what was coming, and he was going to make his displeasure known as soon as Sirius tried to leave.

"I'm going to look for Peter."

An uncomfortable silenced hung in the air for a little while until Sirius started talking again.

"You should take my bike, it'll get you to Hogwarts and it's untraceable. This bag here's got all the necessities you'll need."

"A'right, I can do tha'."

It was at this point that Oliver decided he needed to put in his strongest objection to that plan. By doing the only thing he could realistically do. He grabbed Sirius shirt with all his insignificant strength, and he screamed.

"PA'FOO NO GOOOO!"

My non-existing strength was really frustrating at this point, when Sirius pried me off himself without any effort at all and handed me over to Hagrid.

"I'll come and get you tomorrow, Prongslet, I promise. Don't worry, everything will be alright."

"NO GOOO!" I tried desperately again.

Not the Dursleys, please.

Sirius really looked torn about leaving me, but Oliver saw the moment he decided to go after Wormtail. His countenance changed, he got sharper, more feral. He gave me a kiss on the top of the head.

"I love you, little Harry, never forget that."

"NOOO!" I was shaking from all the crying and screaming I was doing.

Sirius pointed his wand at me and said a quick incantation under his breath, Olivier realized pretty quickly that it was some kind of sleeping spell. He felt his eyelids start to droop against his wishes. He really, really, tried to fight against it, but he stood no chance. Sirius said a quick goodbye to Hagrid, turned on the spot and disapparated.

Stupid mutt, guess I'll have to be so adorable Petunia has no choice but to love me.

Those were his last thoughts as he felt his consciousness fade away.

Author's note:

Hello all. During the COVID-19 Pandemic, I've been spending an insane amount of time reading Fan Fiction. I truly love all the stories I've found on this site and I decided since I have so much free time that I might try my hand at writing a story of my own. To, I don't know. Maybe give back a bit to the community that has given me so much.

Please go easy on me, but I would love some constructive criticism. Since this is the first story I've ever written, I have a ton to learn. If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, please point them out. English is not my first language.

Also, since this is my first story. It is not going to be some super serious story, with extreme character development and things like that. That is beyond my ability as a writer at the moment. It won't be of monstrous length, either. Also, it will be humorous and light-hearted.

If you liked it, Review & Favourite.

Thank you for reading!

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