Title : „My Beloved World of Darkness"

Author : scorpionika

Rate : T (for now)

Warning : AU, mild swearing and future slash

Disclaimer : JK Rowling owns everything, I only mess up with her characters.

Summary : After the end of war Harry Potter decides to change the modern history – from the very beginning But he doesn't specify 'the beginning' and ends travelling to the day he was born. Now, stuck in the body of an infant, he begins preparation for the attack of the Dark Lord and works on saving people.

But, what to live for after the work is done?

AN : I'm not British, nor American. I'm from Poland. Every mistake belongs to me – I don't have a Beta.

Prologue – normal text

'Prologue' – thoughts

Prologue - highlights in the normal text

..: oOoOo :..

Harry looked at the landscape stretching before him. All around was blood and bodies – fallen to the ground, unmoving. There were no moans of pain, no tears, no life. The war was won, but there weren't any soldiers to celebrate the victory. He felt wetness in his bloodshot eyes.

No.

No one was by the side of very tired and very dirty Harry Potter – and it was his fault. As usual, he hadn't thought about consequences of his actions. And this time, he had no luck, and had to pay great price for his carelessness. Death of his entire existence – his friends, his teachers, his home - Hogwarts.

The war has been getting gradually worse from the time Dumbledore had been murdered at the end of Harry's sixth year – the Daily Prophet was suddenly and without the reason closed, Ministry was getting more and more corrupted, in the same time trying to cover mass attacks while all good wizards who were actively acting against that policy were quietly fired, and Voldemort raided Muggle world nightly.

It was a nightmare. Harry escaped from the Dursleys' household at midnight 31th of July – his birthday – and no one from Wizarding World heard from him ever since.

Half of the year that passed he searched the Horcruxes and managed to find the Slytherin's locket, the Hufflepuff's goblet and Ravenclaw's diadem. They, along with Riddle's diary and Gaunt's ring which had been got rid off earlier, created the list of items – five of the seven. Harry had no idea were to look at the last two – he didn't even know what they were. He had also no clues he didn't already use and no further trails. The Boy-Who-Lived was truly and utterly lost.

The school and the Order of the Phoenix fell when he was getting drunk on the outskirts of Hogsmead, in pub seedier than Hog's Head, with the help of refilling shot glass of magical vodka. It was a chilly December night. He was just getting dizzy when the amplified by the spell voice of the Dark Lord was heard in the village, shouting about the capture of the last remaining forces of the Light and making a public execution.

Harry knew he wasn't thinking straight. He knew he would regret it dearly. But alcohol in his bloodstream and suddenly awaken magic dulled the worry, and he run off in the direction of the voice, to the Hogwarts' grounds.

The Death Eaters were stunned into inaction, and Harry took advantage of that, quickly getting before Voldemort. The Dark Lord wasn't looking surprised and the teenager guessed that Riddle felt him coming through their weird bond.

Neither of them hesitated with firing the most lethal curses and soon the night was bright with green of Avada Kedavra Curse. Harry though, was quickly loosing control of his magic – he has been barely using it in the past six months for fear to be traced, and now – it was too much. Alcohol helped too to forget about limits and people around him, who were watching history being written by the two powerful man. Harry let his anger and hatred to take hold of his wand for just a few seconds – and in the next moment, the Dark Lord was dead – among with every other person within – it seemed – kilometers.

"Hello? Is somebody there?" he shouted weakly, still hoping for an answer.

He got none.

Harry Potter won the war – but still failed.

The Boy-Who-Lived stood in the middle of battlefield, which once was a school yard, dazed, his eyes gazing at the sight before him. His mind was catching up with the sight before him and soon he was filled with repulsion for himself, his world, his life... Hate was all he felt...

... and he couldn't stand it. But he was far too weak at the moment to attempt something as crazy and legendary as going into some another universe, somewhere where he didn't have blood on his hands and deeply scarred soul. He was too exhausted, magically and physically, he would probably die trying to breach unbreakable gates of his world. And to commit a suicide would be a cowardice, a slap in his mother's face. Also, deep down he knew that, despite everything, he didn't want to die.

So, after short deliberation and some small healing charms, he knelled down on the moist earth with pained grunt. 'Why not try? I have nothing to loose' he decided, small tear sliding down his cheek. Harry bowed his head and touched the mud below him with fingertips, feeling it going under his nails with desperation of a frightened animal, and then climbing higher, on his palms, wrists and arms. He closed his eyes and relaxed, mentally drawing power from his surroundings – cooling dead bodies, still warm blood and mutilated landscape. The more magic he felt, the shallower his breathe became, and more pain he experienced – mostly coming from within his soul, from his very core.

Finally, when he felt like he was going to burst from the energy accumulated somewhere inside his heart, he started preying to imaginary god he had created long before he knew about his magical heritage, in his dark cupboard under the stairs. He had named the god Lion King, after some silly Disney movie he had seen ages ago, probably in primary school. It was his protector – it was his guardian angel – majestic and prideful, invincible and merciful. Lion, the King of the jungle.

Painfully, agonizingly slowly, he heard in his mind the ticking of Time slowing down, and then entirely stopping. For few eternities he feared he wouldn't do it, so weak, so pathetic, his insecurities chanted gleefully, but after a moment the youth tensed, the power coiling like a serpent within his body, and he knew that he succeeded from the strong, chilling wind and some wailing noises of divine forces ringing in his ears.

He didn't dare to open eyes, feeling dizzy just of what other senses were telling him – that he indeed is travelling through the time and space, without his body, to the moment it all started.

He didn't know when this moment exactly was, only that something important was happening there, and therefore he had to be there. So he urged his magic, mental pleas getting louder, and everything around him rushed at great speed, only to completely halt seconds after.

For a few breathes all air that surrounded him was still, and he was warm and safe, in fact safer than he had ever felt in his life...

And then some weird force pushed him, head first, out, into the bright, loud, painful world, and he once again opened his baby blue eyes for the first time in his life. The light hit him in the full force and he felt cold hands grab his odd feeling body, which was convulsing on its own accord. The feeling of warmness was forever gone, and Harry Potter, newborn son of James and Lily Potter, wailed at its loss.

..: oOoOo :..

James Potter chocked the water he was drinking when he heard the first cries of his child, coming from behind the white painted doors. He twisted his face to look at his three mates who were watching the doors with wide eyes and giggled at their expressions.

„Guys! I'm a fucking father!"

Three pairs of eyes turned to him, each holding different emotions within. Brown eyes looked frightened, grey orbs – disbelieving, and golden – amused. The owner of the third pair answered with laugher.

„Gods, only you could said something so crude , listening to the first howls of your child. Insensitive prick..." he reproved, on behalf of Lily.

„Better to us than to his sweetheart, you know, Rem... she would have his head if she heard that," Sirius shuddered. No one mocked him – the woman was dangerous.

„When did ya get so wise, Blackie?" Peter pouted, still annoyed at his friend for his latest joke he pulled on him – glamouring his belly to look like he is pregnant and has tits. The charm still didn't wear off and Sirius didn't know how to spell it off him. 'Stupid bastard.'

„When you were out, dating that pathetic Slyth bitch who dumped you in front of the whole school." taunted Padfoot, getting a bit of sick pleasure from aggravating defenceless boy.

Peter's eyes narrowed, but their calmer werewolf friend put his hands on both their shoulders.

„Kids, play nice..." he murmured, earning himself whined „Muuuum!" from two other males. Remus chuckled. 'They are so infantile...'

And yet, one of their pack was now as adult in eyes of his wolf side.

'James has a cub. He'd have to grow up, and soon.'

'Poor man...' was Remus' last thought before the white door all of them were staring at swung open and the female Healer came in.

„Mr Potter?"

James stood up, anxiously writhing his hands.

„Wha-?"

The Healer cut him off with ease and patient smile.

„Congratulations. You have a son."