AN: So this was originally posted on my AO3, and I completely forgot to cross-post in over here, so sorry? But, like, also you're welcome because ya'll are getting all four of the first chapters all at once without the usual wait lol

Chapter One: In Which Someone is Reborn, and They'd Like a Refund If You Please!

It was suicide. Nothing fancy, nothing sensational, just a belly full of sleeping pills and alcohol after their mother's cremation.

They planned it down to the finest details so that it was the least burdensome on their remaining relations. All their belongings and money were willed to their uncle with the three children; the money their third-eldest aunt still owed them was to be paid to their youngest aunt to boost her son's university fund; their body — should it be found — was to be cremated without a funeral nor wake; and, for the love of all the gods, someone take in second-cousin Leo — he's a useless asshole who doesn't have anyone else to take care of him.

With all these demands properly filed and a copy left on the table for anyone to find, they trekked into the woods, found themselves a decently deep cave, and went to sleep.

Dear reader, please don't feel uneasy taking in this information. Our main character had a pretty good life in the grand scheme of things, and they had suffered nothing no one else had not gone through and overcame. It was just an unfortunate turn of events that our main character was one of those unlucky few who had known the numbness of apathy since their baby days and also had the personal failing of being slothful to the point that they regarded even breathing as troublesome and not worth the effort. They had known happiness and several pleasures of living in their time, but when one is born feeling like human existence itself is a starkly incorrect state of being for them, is it any wonder they would slide back into the void as soon as they felt it would trouble no one for them to disappear?

That being said, let us look at the positives! They then enjoyed the most peaceful sleep they'd ever had.

In fact, it was such a peaceful sleep, they were cross to realise they were waking up, doubly cross that they were waking up at all, and triply so because they were rudely woken.

Glue-y eyes unpeeled just the barest millimetre to glare arctic death through their lashes at whatever bitch thought it was fine to screech like an in-season sloth when someone was obviously sleeping. If they didn't feel so warm and comfy at that moment, they might have tried to throw something at the person. Their sleep-sluggish brain registered dark blonde or light brown hair, pasty-pale skin, and — that's it.

They wriggled slightly in their blanket — (where the Hell did they get a blanket?) — shut that millimetre of open eye, and went right back to sleep.

In hindsight, they might have had a better understanding of what was going on if they had bothered to listen in on a conversation/reaction the fandom had speculated about for literal decades, but they were sleepy, okay? Not only were they back from the dead, but they were also still under the effects of Dumbledore's sleeping charm at the time. Cut a bro a break.

Anyway, in the long run, it didn't really matter that they were asleep during the 'first scene' considering they were wide awake during even more previously speculated sequences. In other words, they woke up again mid-afternoon with a full bladder and finally realised there was something terribly amiss with this afterlife.

They rubbed the sleep from their eyes and sat up, grouchy as Hell but not enough to spew it into the air. They glared blankly at the room in front of them, not really taking anything in besides that fact that there was something to take in at all.

A dimly-lit room, thin curtains were drawn up. Enclosing them were . . . bars? A cage? No, there was no top — a crib? They were in a crib?

Were they a freaking baby?

Gods dammit! They hadn't wanted reincarnation, damn it all! At the very least not a reincarnation that involved them still remembering who they had been!

They threw themselves back down and kicked the air with impotent frustration. Was non-existence too much to ask for?!

If the lack of shock on the main character's part concerning living once more is confusing to you, it might serve you to know that they had been born and raised as a Buddhist previously, so the concept of reincarnation was more or less commonplace — to be expected even. Still, they had hoped they would remain in the spirit plane considering they had been very finished with living. Even better would have been to lose all structure of singularity altogether and become one with the universe.

But this was not so.

Their fuming tapered off when they become increasingly aware of their bladder.

Sitting up again, they shifted uncomfortably. It felt like they were wearing a diaper . . . a quick pat-down confirmed it. But nothing, not even newfound babyhood was going to convince them to piss themselves. Their personal pride stung at the thought.

They hauled themselves to their feet unsteadily, using the bars to brace. A few tentative bounces and kicks proved they had better control of their limbs than they had feared. After a moment, they let go of the bars. They breathed in relief at discovering they could balance themselves just fine.

They waddled around the crib, smiling. Okay, they could do this.

The bars of the crib were not as high as they would have expected. Or maybe they were bigger than they estimated. It didn't take much effort to sling a leg over the side and pull themselves up. A little shimmy down had them securing their foothold on the edge between the bars, and the other leg followed.

They peered down at the floor below them. It wasn't far, but they'd been afraid of heights in their past life and the unease was still present. Truthfully, they could have jumped and been no worse for wear, but. . . .

They lowered themselves slowly, allowing their toe to brush the floor before they were willing to let go of the bars.

They landed with a little thud on their bum, the diaper lending extra cushioning.

Convenient, that.

Okay, toilet time.

They thanked whoever might have been listening that the door to the room they were in was not closed completely. They tugged it open further and teetered their way out.

A quick look around showed they were at least a floor up — there was a staircase off to their left. Perhaps there was a washroom up here? The place looked kind of upscale, there was bound to be something available for them without the need to risk the stairs.

They had their hands reached for the handle of the first door on their right of the one they came out of when footsteps clacked on the stairs, the sounds growing closer. They froze in alarm when a head became visible. A chubby fist came up and they found themselves with their thumb in their mouth before they knew what was happening.

It was a woman, gigantic by their current reckoning, slim, blonde — stereotypical suburban white woman, albeit dressed a bit old-fashioned. She caught sight of them standing there and gaped.

"W-wha—?" she sputtered, paused a step below the landing. She came to her sense quickly enough and pounced on them. She caught them by the arm that was still reaching for the door handle.

"What is—? How did you get out?" she demanded. She looked strangely cross and not a small bit scared.

They looked up at her warily, unsure how to answer, or if they should at all — they didn't know how old this body was yet. Was this their mother? She would know something was off about them, wouldn't she?

"Mmm. . . ." they hummed around the thumb in their mouth, stalling. Gingerly, they pulled it out and tried, "Potty?"

There — that was innocuous enough, right? If they were old enough to walk, surely they were old enough for a few words.

Thankfully, their answer calmed the woman down. Her shoulders visibly un-tensed and her grip on their wrist — uncomfortably tight — loosened.

"Toilet trained already, are you?" she muttered, tugging them along to another door. "At least there's that."

Alright, so she wasn't their mother. A babysitter then? A neighbour?

The woman led them into a remarkably clean washroom. (Like, wow, who was keeping up this place? The tub looked freshly scrubbed!) There was what appeared to be a toddler's step stool tucked next to a laundry basket which the woman promptly moved over for them, and then she . . . there was even child's toilet seat — she pulled it out from the cupboard under the sink.

Huh. This family sure was extra.

After taking care of their business (wherein they discovered they were in possession of male genitalia — but more on that later), they trotted back out to the woman, who'd been waiting on the other side of the door.

They hadn't had much interaction with babies in their past life, but they were pretty certain the look of strained revulsion being directed at them was not typically the expression one would have when voluntarily taking care of a child. And it had to be voluntarily, because why else would there be baby amenities present? There was a baby gate on the stairs as well.

They drew their face up in a way that had been cute on their old face. Their fist found its way back to their mouth, though they stopped themselves from actually sucking on the thumb again like their body apparently wanted to.

"Ma?" they said, noting that their voice was cute as fuck.

The woman flinched. She sucked in a breath. Her eyes watered as she looked off to the side.

"Your mother's not here," she told them, her voice thin, shaky.

Their gut felt like it landed in their toes and was leaking out of the nail beds. They didn't need to be a genius to know what that meant. They looked up at her blankly, not quite sure how to feel about losing a mother yet again — and already, despite being a literal baby.

Their body decided on crippling sorrow; tears were dribbling down their face before they realised it was happening.

Were they in foster care? Was this an orphanage? Wait — was their father alive? They couldn't keep their thoughts straight amidst their baby body being so utterly miserable.

The woman must have felt something like pity for them — her revulsion dimmed. She bent and scooped them off the floor, settling them to perch on her waist.

They instinctively tucked themselves against the side of her breast, pulling their arms up and into their chest. A quiver of a whimper escaped them. They curled up as best as they could, stupid tears now flowing in earnest.

She eyed them warily, reaching up with a hand to rub their back.

"Suppose you'll want something to eat — you slept right through breakfast and lunch," she mumbled, moving towards the stairs.

They were hardly listening, too caught up in the shocking amount of sorrow. Goodness, they had never felt such a tidal wave in their previous life! Was this just how babies felt things? Hell, was this how normal people felt things? They weren't sure they cared much for it, not at all.

The realisation that things were even more off than they originally thought came when the woman cooed out, "Dudley!" to the other baby in the house.

They told themselves they were just over-reacting, that this was obviously England and the English must have had stranger naming conventions than they knew about before, but that insistence on their part took a massive beating when the woman's husband came back from work and she greeted him with a loving, "Welcome home, Vernon!"

They yielded to acceptance when Vernon answered with, "Hello, Petunia, my dear," as he pecked her on the cheek. They were almost too aghast to notice when Vernon spotted them sitting on the floor with Dudley amongst the boy's numerous toys.

His face twisted up in a manner that was just as repulsed as Petunia's had been if not more so.

They disguised their mental crisis by cooing baby noises, petting the soft toy Dudley had thrown at them, and handing the boy another block for his primitive tower. They behaved as innocuously as they could, though Vernon's glower could have been a boulder for how heavy it felt.

They took care to be as accommodating to Dudley's whims as possible for the rest of the day and into the evening. Vernon looked like he wanted to throw his plate when Petunia fed them at the table at dinner, but it seemed even he had his limits for being hateful. Thank goodness the fanfictions were horribly exaggerated on this front.

When Petunia put Dudley and them to bed again that night (in the nursery still — the Dursleys weren't completely heartless in this universe it seemed), they lied awake, wide-eyed and lost, wondering how they landed in such a situation.

Was this some sort of alternate reality? Was this proof of a multiverse? Was this an insert fic? Did this make them this reality's equivalent of Deadpool? Why, out of all the characters, did they have to be this one? And was this the canon universe? Could this even be considered the canon universe any longer (if it had been originally) if they were now in this body?

Oh, gods, had they been born already in this body or had they taken over by accident? Was this some alternate universe where an OC took over after OG-Harry got nailed with the Killing Curse? Were they residing in the body of a dead baby?

Actually, were they even magical in this universe? The Dursleys' disdain pointed to that, but that could be because Petunia hated her sister still. . . .

Good Heavens, they were panicking — they did not do well under pressure!

They turned on their side towards the wall, huddling up in their blanket.

Maybe they were in an AU where Neville's the Boy Who Lived? Please, all the gods, let that be the case! They were as capable of defeating evil as a stalk of wheat was of fighting off a plague of locust!

They fell asleep wishing yet again that they wouldn't wake up again.

A childhood as a pariah amongst the Dursleys wasn't nearly as horrible as they would have thought. Granted, they'd imagined some sick shit after pouring through archives of dark fics, and they were actually very content being mostly alone, so being neglected didn't really bother them, but . . . maybe they weren't as provoking as canon Harry? No, that wasn't right — they got slapped around when Vernon and Petunia were in a bad mood, and both adults had no shortage of derogatory words for them for the pettiest 'faults'. . . it probably had to do with the fact they weren't actually a child.

It was hard to be phased by dehumanizing treatment when you were mentally a dead-inside Millennial that had already lived through the global nightmare that was the 2010-20s. They currently lived in a nice house — one they didn't have to pay rent for — they were guaranteed some variation of a meal at least twice a day, and they didn't have any real responsibilities — not yet at least. Being treated like hot garbage aside, it wasn't the worst gig they'd lived through; Hell, the toilet was always working and the weather never came close to flooding nor ripping the roof off — they had no real complaints on this front.

That was not to say they excused the ill-treatment though. No, if anything, they were even more outraged about it than they had been reading through the books the first time! This body they were in was a child! And they never once heard a kind word from either of the Dursleys that wasn't sarcastic or back-handed at best! The Dursleys were lucky Harry had been ignorant of his magic in the books and that this Harry wasn't susceptible to their suppression or they would've had an Obscurial on their hands before Dudley was old enough for primary school!

That being said, growing up as Harry Potter was actually pretty dull with all things considered. After Harry came to grips with being Harry (and their common-use name at the very least was definitely Harry in this universe; Aunt Petunia had introduced them by that name when the neighbours came snooping), they had to come to grips with how boring being a little kid was.

The days of toddlerhood passed in a haze. There was nothing to do, nothing that wouldn't draw suspicion to themselves. They had no interest in Dudley's toys (not that they were allowed to play with the toys without Dudley demanding a playmate), the picture books had been devoured all within the first day, drawing scribbles only went so far, and they were under near-constant surveillance, so they couldn't read whatever few proper books were in the house even if they could reach the shelves — toddlers did not read How to Win Friends and Influence People.

It was true that they were very purposefully being deprived of things in favour of Dudley in an aggressive show of neglect — but even if they hadn't, Harry would have been so bored all the same. Little kids played with blocks and watched baby shows all day long! It was sooooo boooooorrrring!

The only thing left for them was to disassociate, and disassociate hard. It disturbed Aunt Petunia when she caught them at it, but it was that or hibernate, so. . . .

Honestly, when chores were finally pinned on them at around four-years-old, Harry was almost thankful, if only because they could finally zone-out in peace without risking Aunt Petunia being creeped out by them staring into nothingness almost unblinkingly for hours on end.

This didn't mean they meant to be idle though.

Despite being the sort that would happily hibernate their life away, Harry did their best to do a better job of their life than they had before. Granted, there was the plot of the story they eventually had to contend with (that they didn't want to think about lest they throw themselves into traffic), but there was so many things they wished they had done in their past life, so many what-ifs that hinged on them just motivating themselves. They very firmly told themselves that they would 'cheat' their way into the things they wanted to accomplish by using the talents and skills of their former life.

Thinking of it as having already hacked the system made it easier for them to convince themselves to shake off some of the apathy and follow through.

For example, Harry thought it was hands-down a hack that they already knew how to cook. They'd always hated cooking, but Aunt Petunia put them on the stove as soon as they could reach it with a chair. They knew for a fact they avoided the frying pan to the back of the head OG-Harry received in canon because of the skill. It also got them on Vernon's good side as much as it was possible.

There weren't many opportunities to do anything really worthwhile within the setting — make that 'at all' — but Harry consoled themselves that they would be off to primary school in no time and thus finally old enough in Aunt Petunia's eyes to be without constant supervision. From there, it would just be a matter of some fast-talking to get themselves out into the neighbourhood on their own and into the library as well. Finally getting some proper entertainment aside, they would then have an excuse to know things they had no business knowing just yet.

In the meantime, they did their best to make friends with Dudley. He was a little snot, but Harry had always been good with kids, and Dudley was actually pretty cute if you looked beyond the bad parenting.

Harry just had to wait.

Ugh, they hated waiting.

AN: As I said, I'm on AO3. I'm also on Tumblr as hi-pot-and-news