Yes, it's a Harry goes back in time story. But, its kind of different. Also, Harry is much more sarcastic and "glass half -empty" sort of person

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me...except, well... this story...

Chapter 1

Harry Potter was a normal person in every sense. He was healthy, wealthy and was loved by all. Yet, he still was unhappy. He hated his job, the people at work, the weather, the news, literally anything that came to mind. His friends had already broken ties with him because of his attitude. He was turning into a grumpy man who hated life.

After the end of the wizarding war, instead of everything coming together at last, it had all fallen apart. Harry left his girlfriend because he felt suffocated by her. He left the Weasleys because after dumping their sister, he was Undesirable Number 1 in their house. Probably. He never could go there or to the Grangers because they reminded him too much of the past; a past that he was trying to forget. He was sick of wars and battles. He was sick of all the lives lost because of one man's idiotic, bloody egotistical, cruel, prejudiced notions. He was sick of all the barbarians that had followed him for blood, or glory or power.

To forget, he immersed himself into his work, doing his duty as an Auror, but a few years later, when all the Death Eaters were behind bars, the Ministry set him up again as their poster boy. He did not get any useful cases, and by the end of it, he was forced to work behind a desk, like a secretary. The new Minister had the audacity to claim that they couldn't risk the Wizarding World's Savior's life everyday on the field because he was too precious. Harry had felt like socking that man in the face. But he didn't. Just satisfied himself with muttering curses against the Minister and the rest of the Ministry, under his breath.

It all changed one stormy night in October. It was late Friday evening when he came back from work. He went over to the counter where he kept his stash of firewhisky and generously poured himself a glass. Lightning and thunder crashed overhead. It looked like one the worst storms in a decade. He could hear the screaming wind from inside his house. It sounded like someone was being tortured. The rain pelted harshly against the window panes as the lightning flashed over and over again.

He rubbed his hand over his neck, feeling tired. Hours of poring over the tedious paperwork had given him a stiff neck. He felt quite like an old man, even though he was only twenty-five. After finishing his drink, he draped himself over his couch, not bothering to change or even take off his shoes and he laid his head back on the arm of the couch to rest. For five minutes, he thought to himself. I will wake up in five minutes.

And he fell deeply asleep.

He was pleasantly floating about in the darkness, feeling very nice and cozy. Suddenly he could hear a voice intruding on his peaceful dreams.

"Get...late….breakfast…."

He furrowed his brow, trying to tell the annoying voice to stop disturbing him. He just wanted to go back to that pleasant darkness once more. But the voice was relentless. It shook him by the shoulder, jerking his thoughts towards the present.

"Get up! Do you want Ms. Cole to refuse you breakfast?" it shouted, grating on his nerves.

He blinked his eyes blearily, trying to open his dry mouth to give the annoying voice a piece of his mind. As his eyes focused on the image in front of him, he realized that it vaguely resembled a child. A house-elf perhaps? He blinked his eyes again, trying to dispel his sleepiness. The annoying voice intruded his thoughts again.

"At last! I thought that you were never getting up."

The voice came from the small being. He looked at it again in annoyance and nearly gasped out loud. Maybe he did gasp out loud. His brain was too fuzzy to care.

It was a child. He did not have any children the last time he checked, right? Unless he had a child in the last ten minutes, he was pretty sure that this one was not his. Hopefully. But that brought him to the troubling fact. Where was he? He looked around himself. Wasn't he sleeping on his couch in his room? How was he suddenly here, on a cot-like bed, covered with old cotton sheets that looked like it hadn't been washed in the last decade? The child chose that moment to give him a poke on his shoulder.

"Hey, if you are not coming down for breakfast, then I am going. You can just sit there and starve." He then ambled out the door. Harry just sat on the bed, thinking over everything. Were children always this rude? Especially to someone who was clearly a decade older than them? And did that kid actually say something about Ms. Cole? That name sounded extremely familiar for some reason, like someone he remembered but couldn't recall from his childhood.

He sighed out loud and looked around his "room". It wasn't very impressive, with a drab curtain covering the window and a wardrobe at one end. Another cot was right beside his. It was very small. Probably the child's, he thought to himself. He slowly eased himself out of his bed, and was surprised when the floor looked so near. Did he grow shorter while he was sleeping? And why were his feet so small? And his hands? And why was he wearing striped pajamas? He suddenly had a nauseous feeling. He ran towards the mirror on the wardrobe. Yes, he was right to feel nauseous, because staring right back was a boy, no older than 9 years old. He was a child!

Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and the room began to spin when the floor loomed lazily towards him as he succumbed to the welcoming darkness.