"Muuuummmmmy!"

Little Harry wanted his mummy. Where was his mummy? She'd been standing right there a moment ago, kissing his forehead—and now she was gone.

"Muuuummmmmy!"

He wailed louder, ignoring the gentle shushing sound coming from across the room. It wasn't Mummy. Why wasn't she coming back? Had she been eaten up by the green light?

"Muuuummmmmy!"

He cried louder still, tears streaming down his face, in torrents. She always came back when he cried extra loud—almost always. Sometimes she sent daddy. Where was Daddy? Maybe Daddy would come.

"Daaaaadddddddy!"

He cried, batting his tiny fist ineffectually at the big arms that were trying to pick him up. He didn't want the strange grown-up that called himself Harry and looked a lot like Daddy but wasn't daddy. He wanted his real daddy. But, like Mummy, Daddy wasn't coming.

"Daaaaadddddddy!"

The older boy sunk down beside the distraught toddler, temporarily giving up on trying to calm him. Maybe if he let him cry long enough, he'd stop on his own? He was starting to think that he'd gotten the short end of the straw when he'd volunteered to babysit his younger self, to get out of shopping for textbooks.

When he'd returned from the Headmaster's office to find that Luna had convinced Lily to take them shopping for textbooks, immediately, he'd reacted on instinct. While resigned to the fact that he would have to study for and take his OWLS again, Lily and James were barely out of school and already had most, if not all, of the books they would need. So, his first thought, when faced with an unnecessary trip to the bookshop, was that he really didn't want to get stuck in a bookshop, with a former Head Girl and a Ravenclaw. Hermione alone had been bad enough, and she'd been a Gryffindor….

Instead, he'd offered to look after his younger self, suggesting that the two women should make an afternoon of it and have a, much deserved, girl's day out. After all, the best way to get a woman to do what you want was to let them think they were getting the longer end of the straw, and, really, how hard could it be to take care of a toddler?

How naïve he'd been. A few hours spent entertaining his younger self, in the presence of at least one of his parents and while he was already playing peacefully, was poor preparation for calming him down the moment he realized that neither of his parents were around. Mini-me had been crying since about ten seconds after Lily had stepped into the Floo, and he just wouldn't stop. Surely, no shopping trip could possibly be worse than this….

Listening as the screaming toddler continued his tantrum, Harry groaned in frustration, at a loss for what to do. "Come on, Harry, calm down, please," he implored, desperation starting to seep into his voice, "Your mum just went on a little shopping trip. She'll be back before—whoa!"

He was forced to duck as a Muggle Tonka truck came flying at him, with way more momentum than he would have expected from a fifteen-month-old. Could the little monster be using magic? Surely he wasn't that upset.

Or maybe he was, the teenage wizard was forced to concede as he threw himself in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding being hit by an animated plastic dragon which followed, with just as much force, in the wake of the truck.

"Want MUUUMMMMY!"

Well, that was that. If the little squirt was going to use magic on him, accidental or not, then surely he was justified in using magic to defuse the situation before it escalated any further.

A little voice at the back of his mind, one that sounded remarkably like Hermione, whispered that Lily was going to kill him if she found out that he'd used magic on her son—never mind that it was in self defence and that he was also her son—but he was running out of ideas and the objects flying in a magical whirlwind around the toddler were getting more numerous and bigger.

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the sofa beginning to rise. A split-second of pity for his Aunt Petunia crossed his mind—had she had to deal with him in a similar state without magic? Desperation won out.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The sudden silence as the young child stopped wailing and seized up, stiff as a board, before toppling over, lasted just long enough for the older boy to reflect that Petrificus hadn't been the brightest choice of spells, but not long enough for him to cast a cushioning charm before the toddler's head hit the floor, and the levitating objects began to drop with a series of resounding bangs, forming a near perfect circle around the child.

Harry took a moment to survey the disaster around him—Lily was totally going to kill him. The furniture was in disarray and the usually full toy trunk was empty, its contents scattered across the room. At the eye of the storm, her son lay motionless, and though no longer screaming, his eyes revealed his continued distress.

Allowing himself one final sigh Harry rushed to his counterpart's side and bundled his unyielding, but no longer resisting, form into his arms. Rocking gently, he whispered words of comfort, trying to reassure his captive audience that he was sorry about making him hit his head, that his mummy and daddy were coming back later and, most importantly, that he was safe.

How much of what he was saying got through, he had no way of knowing, but he couldn't leave the toddler frozen forever, and each minute that passed made it more likely that Lily would walk in on them, and overreact. So eventually, he found himself asking, though the toddler had no way of answering, "Promise not to start screaming again if I unfreeze you?"

As movement returned to his limbs and face, little Harry looked up at the grown-up Harry with his best pouty face, the one that always made Mummy forgive him after he'd made a mess, "Sowwy." Little Harry's eyes searched big Harry's expression. "Pway with me?"

Unprepared for the rush of emotions evoked by that statement, the foremost being relief, and lacking any resistance to his younger self's manipulation, Harry neglected to chasten him for throwing an epic tantrum. Instead, he loosened his grip, allowing a smile to creep onto his face and a small laugh to escape his mouth, "Of course we can play. What do you want to play?"

The little boy didn't answer, instead squirming to be released completely and wandering back over to the pile of blocks that he'd abandoned when he'd noticed his mum's departure, the reason for his tantrum seemingly forgotten.

Harry let him go, content to watch, and allowing himself a moment to relax after the stress of calming the child down. But little Harry, wasn't having it. He shook his head, still pouting. "Pway!" he repeated pointing at the older boy.

The older boy shook his head, reluctantly. Much as he would like to sit down and play with his younger self, soaking in the innocence and childish mirth, someone had to clean up the mess the toddler's tantrum had caused, if he wanted Lily to keep trusting him.

Sirius' story of why he was no longer allowed to babysit—Lily had walked in on him standing by the kitchen sink, thoroughly drenched and covered in suds, and holding a screeching baby Harry at arm's length during his first attempt at diaper changing—stood as a solid reminder of her standards in child care.

Thankfully, the child didn't insist. As long as Harry stayed within sight, he was content to play peacefully by himself, alternating building and destroying a wall of multicoloured interconnecting blocks.

If only it could have lasted….

Half an hour later, just as Harry was placing the last of his charge's errant toys back in his toy trunk, the toddler abruptly threw down one of his blocks, turned to his older counterpart and enunciated, "Fu!" rather emphatically.

Harry stood up in surprise, "Fu?"

"Fu!" the boy repeated, nodding to reinforce the point. When that didn't garner the desired response, he started jumping up and down, "Fu! Fu! Fu!"

The older boy stared at him blankly—his expression barely masking the tremulous thoughts beginning to rumble in mind at the thought of another tantrum, "Okay, calm down a minute, I'm trying to understand. What's 'fuh'?" he asked.

"Fu! Fu! Fu!" was the only response, the boy still jumping up and down.

Harry rubbed at his temple; pushing back his rising panic, he extended his hand towards the toddler, "Okay how about this? You can show me what 'fuh' is?"

A blessed moment of silence followed his question, while the younger wizard decided what to do. Finally he nodded and accepted the offered hand, dragging the older boy behind him in the direction of the kitchen.

He came to a halt—so abruptly that the older wizard narrowly avoided running to him—in front of the charmed cupboard that served as a magical refrigerator, and pointed, "Fu!"

Harry nodded, understanding dawning. "Food, you want food?" he asked, "You're hungry?"

"Unh-huh!" answered the younger boy, grinning enthusiastically, "Fu!"

"Okay," replied the older boy, smiling as his panic starting to recede. Food, he could handle food. He'd been helping his aunt in the kitchen since before he was old enough to reach the counter. Confidence returning to him, he kneeled down to pick the child up, "let's get you into your high chair then, and then I'll see what I can find for you to eat."

He met with no resistance, and the boy safely deposited in his seat, he turned his attention to the cold cupboard, in search of something to feed the boy. There was no obvious solution; no glass jars clearly marked 'Baby Food' or failing that 'Harry's Food,' like the older boy had been hoping for. Of course, the child had long progressed to solids so Harry shouldn't have been surprised.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out what to feed the toddler—overconfident in his child-minding skills, he hadn't really been paying attention to Lily's long list of instructions before she left. What was he supposed to feed a fifteen-month-old? Finally a half remembered conversation surfaced—fruit, Lily had commented that Harry liked fruit.

Which fruit was another question, Aunt Petunia hadn't given him very much fruit as a child, at least not that he remembered. So, what did he like as a child? Not coming up with a ready answer, he decided to let the child decide. Searching through the fruit drawer, he came up with several options, all fruits he liked now: apples, pears, plums, oranges, peaches….

He took out one of each and lay them on the tray of the high chair, "Which one do you want?"

When the boy grabbed at the plum—whether by choice or chance—Harry pulled it out of reach.

"Wait, I have to wash it first," he explained., hurriedly carrying the selected fruit over to the sink, rinsing it thoroughly, and plopping it back down in front of the toddler, just in time to pre-emptively cut off the child's wail of protest.

Another disaster averted, he turned away to return the other fruits to the cupboard, and selected a second plum for himself. His own plum washed, he sat down at the table, beside his younger self and checked on his progress.

There hadn't been any. The plum was just as whole as when he'd handed it to the boy, who was entertaining himself by rolling it back and forth on his tray. "I thought you were hungry," he commented, "Why aren't you eating? Here, like this." He demonstrated, taking a bite out of his own plum.

The young wizard brought his own plum to his mouth but didn't take a bite, sucking at it instead.

"No, not like that, like this," Harry took another bite of his plum.

His younger counterpart continued to suck on his own.

It was only after about a minute of staring at his younger self sucking on the plum that Harry's mind finally made the intuitive leap that although the young boy did have a few teeth he might not actually be able to bite into the plum. That conclusion reached, his mind began to fill in the reasons why. His mouth was too small, his baby teeth not strong enough…. Whatever the reason, the solution was pretty simple, smaller pieces.

He reached towards the high chair to take the plum back for cutting but the younger boy refused to surrender it a second time, taking it out of his mouth only long enough to claim it as his own, "Mine!"

"I just want to cut it up so you can eat it," the older boy explained.

The toddler shook his head, "Mine!"

The standstill lasted a good thirty seconds, before the older boy gave up, unwilling to risk another tantrum. He'd just have to use another plum.

Within seconds of an unbreakable bowl filled with freshly cut bite-sized pieces of plum being placed on his high chair's tray, the little imp cheerfully relinquished the plum he'd been sucking on, grabbing for the bowl instead. Before long, he was popping pieces into his mouth.

For a while the older wizard stood and watched him eat, smiling, his own half-eaten plum long forgotten. But eventually, he turned back to the counter and the task of tidying up. Though he hadn't created much of a mess—especially compared to the earlier state of the living room—years of being yelled at by his perfectionist aunt had instilled a compulsion for keeping the kitchen clean.

As he half-turned to close the knife drawer, he caught a glimpse of little Harry in his peripheral vision.

He jumped back, startled. Surely he'd imagined it….

Turning around fully to face his charge, he took in the full scene before him. Harry hadn't moved from his highchair at the centre of the room but, sure enough, the toddler was running his hands—his plum-juice-covered hands—through his raven hair, smearing it with a sticky mix of solid and liquid.

"Harry, no!" he exclaimed, pulling the bowl away, but it was too little too late. There was far more mashed plum on the tray than what was left on the plate. In the time his babysitter had had his back turned, the boy had managed to smear his entire tray with mashed up plum and mix a liberal amount into his hair.

As the boy reached down to transfer another handful of plum from the tray to his hair, Harry intercepted him, pulling him out of his chair in a single move and depositing him firmly on the kitchen counter.

"Oh no, you don't," he chastised. "Now why did you have to go and do that?" he asked.

The little troublemaker didn't deign to answer. Instead he smiled up at his babysitter, a look of complete innocence plastered on his face.

Harry wasn't buying it, convinced that at even at his current age the little monster knew perfectly well that plum—or any food for that matter—didn't belong in his hair.

He tried fruitlessly to pick the pieces of plum out of the younger boy's hair, but it was a wasted effort. The problem wasn't just the chunks of plum, the entire head of black hair was plastered in plum juice—just one sticky mess….

He briefly considered casting a cleaning charm, but that, and drying charms, had always had disastrous results when applied to his own mop of hair…. Maybe he could stick the kid's head in the sink, but no, he wasn't likely to cooperate, and it was a little too close to Sirius' story for comfort….

So that only left… a bath.

Considering the trouble he'd had so far with tasks that should have been simple, the idea of giving little Harry a bath didn't particularly fill him with confidence.

Sighing, he picked the boy up again, "Okay let's get you washed up, you little monster."

The responding giggle did nothing to help his apprehension.

He needn't have worried—much.

Little Harry loved bath-time. He co-operated fully as the older boy stripped him out of his dirty clothes and diaper. He sat quietly on the bathroom floor while his babysitter ran the bathwater, and checked its temperature. He didn't even object to being plopped unceremoniously into the tub.

No, the problem wasn't getting him into the tub. Little Harry really loved taking a bath, so much so that by the time grown Harry had finished washing the little boy's hair, he was just as drenched as his charge.

The first sign of trouble occurred just as the older boy was starting to feel relieved at how painless the process had been. As he announced the end of bath-time and reached down to pick the smaller boy up, the toddler's smile instantly transformed into a pout.

"No!" he intoned, dropping his rubber duck and crossing his arms for emphasis.

The response was so abrupt that the older boy sat back in surprise. Then bracing himself for the inevitable battle, he tried again.

Soaking wet and thoroughly slippery, little Harry objected vehemently to the end of bath-time. Squirming so much that the older boy almost dropped him more than once, he screamed his objection at the top of his little lungs.

By the time he'd finally finished towelling the boy off and dressing him in a clean set of clothes, Harry was considering the possible pros and cons of a Silencing Charm as, completely exhausted, he fought through a splitting headache, on par with some of his Voldemort-induced ones.

Still the little tyke continued to whimper and struggle, even as Harry carried him out of the bathroom and into the living room. The Silencing Charm was becoming more and more tempting.

Harry briefly considered trying to distract his charge with one of the many colourful games contained in his toy trunk, but echoes of Lily's pre-departure speech crept back into conscious thought, something about crankiness relating to nap-time….

So, instead of depositing the child in front of his pile of toys, he collapsed bonelessly into his mother's rocking chair, the toddler still ensconced in his arms, hoping desperately that he'd guessed right. The fact that the boy was likely running on adrenaline by then, added to the absence of his mother—an integral part of his naptime routine—made the task of getting him to sleep seem pretty close to impossible.

But slowly, his gentle rocking, and tuneless singing bore fruit. The child's whimpering and struggles slowly waned, then stopped. Finally overcome by exhaustion, little Harry's eyes slid shut. Less than a minute later his babysitter followed him into the land of nod.

That was how Lily found them, her two sons fast asleep in her rocking chair, an hour later, when she and Luna came through the Floo, laden with shopping bags.

They looked so peaceful that she was reluctant to wake them, or even move them—though she'd been trying to wean Harry off falling asleep in the rocking chair for a couple of months now. Just this once she decided, casting a localised one-way Silencing Charm around the chair so that they wouldn't be disturbed….

A/N: I would like to start by thanking everyone who helped make this story possible. Firstly, my many readers who reviewed, followed, and favorited HP&tRoMC, especially those who kept reviewing long after I'd gone silent, and reminded me that people still cared, after all this time. I apologize for making you all wait so long. Depending on response I hope to write several more one-shots in this universe. Feel free to drop me a line with scenes you'd like to see, though I offer no guarantees.

Secondly, thank you to Hippothestrowl, my pre-beta, and my beta, Arnel, both of whom took me back, without hesitation, after over a year of silence.