Harry Potter has a Whole Buch of Issues

One Little Doll

Eighteen.

Eighteen times had Harry watched the death of his parents as a two year old. The first time he was too young to know what was going on. The second and third times he tried to stop it. By the fifth time he had let go of the sorrow of their bodies falling dead to the floor, and taken instead to antagonizing their murderer as much as he could. On the twelveth life that go boring, so instead he just slept though the ordeal.

Eighteen times Harry had been left on the doorstep of number four, private drive. The first time he hadn't understood what was happening. The second time he had fought as hard as he could not to go there in the first place. The third, fourth, fifth and sixth times were all him failing to run away. He had given up till his fifteenth life, when he off'ed himself to get away from them. All the subsequent lives he either killed or enslaved them.

Lord Voldemort didn't know any of this however. He just knew that the little child who's parent he had just slaughtered was sleeping peacefully. Lord Voldemort had never seen a child like that before. So unfazed by his dark aura was the child that it was not awake and screaming like all the others. Lord Voldemort had blessed many children in his years, all of the purest blood, but none were like the Potter boy. Not one was as beautiful or calm or delicate, and none had the sense of calm strength he somehow had.

It was disgusting.

He raised his wand without any hesitation. The two words that could end almost any life left his lips with practiced ease.

And then he was propelled backwards by a green explosion. His head slammed into one of the exposed frames that decorated the room, and his skull cracked open upon impact. His body crumped and life left Lord Voldemort.

Harry Potter was still asleep.

•

Eighteen times had Harry Potter been raised by the Dursleys.

But just like everyone else, Petunia Dursley didn't know this. All she knew was her sister and her sister's husband were dead, and that a vaguely threatening letter from the wizards was having her take care of her nephew. It was terrifying.

She did take the child inside, and she did show it to her husband. And he set up the crib they had decided wasn't good enough for their baby for little Harry. And they took care of the child enough for him to make it to four years old. At that point... He became strange.

•

To be fair to him, Harry Potter had a fully mature psyche since the moment his father hit the floor. But it would be dangerous to show it when he was too young to fend for himself in any way. It was a lesson he learned the hard way in his second life. In the subsequent lives, he bided his time until he was four or five. This time they had chosen to start giving him chores when he was four, so he started to cause trouble when he was four.

It was always simple things. Saying whatever he could to freak them out. Saying terribly incriminating things in public. Unlocking the cupboard and leaving it open while staying inside just to tell them he was only playing by their rules because he wanted to. Dudley thought it was hilarious. He was too young to realize the favoritism that his parents showed him and thought that Harry had superpower that Petunia and Vernon were trying to train. The adults in the house didn't think his game was entertaining at all. A local police man was definitely keeping a close watch on them because of Harry hinting at having bruises, all the neighbors avoid them because of all the yelling Vernon did at Harry's comments, and Petunia was constantly crying from all the judgmental looks.

The Dursleys were as stubborn as always. They couldn't remember all the torture that Harry had put them through, so they had no real reason to be afraid of him. Harry knew this. It was his eighteenth time dealing with them, after all. So Harry made no drastic move to change their behavior. Yet.

Folding clothes was one of the first chores he had been given. It was easy enough, and he could occupy his mind with daydreams and thoughts while he did it. His thoughts were drifting off to his past lives while he folded clothes one summer morning when he was five. Harry still hadn't made the big decision for this life.

How was he going to defeat Voldemort?

There were two strategies he had used in the past, and both of them had practically become sciences. Nine times he had killed or imprisoned Voldemort, and the other eight he had joined the man. Harry wanted to try something new. He could try to beat his record for killing the dark lord again, but eight years was a hard time to beat, and it really wouldn't be that interesting. He could resurrect Voldemort, which would be fun, and he hadn't done that as a child yet, but he had just gotten through all the tedious pretending to be a normal baby stuff and wasn't looking to start it again.

Life for Harry was so boring without Tom Riddle.

"You really are the only constant in my life, Sir Hissalot." Harry muttered. A frown pulled at his lips at the thought. It was true, but Harry didn't have to like it.

•

Harry Potter was sitting on a chair in the front office of his school. His legs were too short to reach the floor, so the swung aimlessly below him. He refused to lower himself to sit in a children's chair.

It was his refusal that had him waiting for the headmaster.

Not his refusal to sit in a child's chair specifically. Instead it was his refusal to pay attention during class. When you've lived the same basic life eighteen times, you stop needing to listen in class. All he had done was asked for the question to be repeated. A boy in his class had taken the chance to claim that Harry had spend the lesson kicking the back of his chair. Harry hadn't, and told the teacher so.

His reputation hadn't been ruined yet by the Dursleys. But the kid had a fine reputation too. The teacher had sent them both to the main office to have their guardians called. The boy had never made it to the office, veering off to hide from a punishment in the restroom. Harry was too old to be worried about what his temporary guardians would do to him.

The principal was busy in a meeting, and her secretary had nothing to do at the moment. With an awkward smile, the secretary turned to him.

"Sorry kiddo. The headmistress might be a while. Can I give you something to do while you wait?"

Harry paused for a moment, then looked at her hands, which were busy knitting, and told her, "Can I have some yarn? I wanna try to make a doll."

"Aren't you just precious? Here, you can pick some from my bin. If you have time, I'll even sew on some button eyes for you."

After that, Harry had a new friend and a little yarn doll that looked suspiciously like Lord Voldemort.

•

Harry-Hunting was a very fun game. For Harry. It hadn't been at first, but now it was a seasonal sport he could enjoy. In his first and second lives, his cousin had invented it to torment him. Now he was the hunter, and he had the power to torment them.

Harry whistled as he walked slowly down the street. He could feel the tension in the air. He could taste it. They were scared. Too big to properly hide, too stupid to leave entirely. Harry Hunting was fun, and Harry had just spotted his dear cousin Dudley.

•

Harry laid on his bed. His little Voldemort doll laid next to him.

"Oh darling..." called Harry dramatically, "I miss you so. Why must you run from me so?"

The doll stayed silent.

"Baby... You don't need to be afraid of me. Tell me how you feel. Tell me how much you love me, and how you miss me too."

Sure, Harry could have resurrected the man at any time, but he'd rather surprise Voldemort. Besides, he wouldn't want to invalidate the man's accomplishments.

"I have to go to school soon. Hogwarts. Then we can see each other in person. But don't worry, I won't forget you, Little Voldemort. You've been with me for so long, after all."

The doll stayed silent.