Disclaimer: Fortunately for us fans, Harry Potter and associates belong to JKR, or this universe may never have existed (what a horrible thought!).

Notes: The title is a translation of one of my favourite French quotes, which reads, "On a tous deux vies; le seconde commence quand on réalise qu'on en a seulement une." It roughly translates to, "We have but two lives; the second begins when we realise that we have only one."

This story will have both homosexual and heterosexual (and possibly other) relationships.

Chapter 1 - Prologue

Harry Potter had always been a precocious child.

At one, on the night before the infamous death of James and Lily Potter, he had bounced on his godfather's back and childishly demanded that 'Pa'foo ho'sie gogo!'—all four-legged creatures were apparently horses, thanks to the numerous repeated viewings of Sleeping Beauty.

(That 'dratted film', as the Marauder in question had grumbled about incessantly, was also to be blamed for Harry's first bout of accidental magic—turning his black fur alternately pink and blue, before fixing rather firmly to the baby's favourite shade of bubblegum pink.)

At three, he had gravely inquired whether Aunt 'Tunia's parents were giraffes, because her neck was 'reaaally long'.

At five, his kindergarten teacher had to hastily wipe her eyes when he had presented her with make a picture crafted from all of his preciously collected golden star stickers, because she was his most favouritest person in the whole world.

At seven, he had taken to surreptitiously rubbing every lamp in his vicinity, hoping that a genie would appear and whisk him away from the reluctantly shared roof of the Dursleys. Surprisingly, he'd been able to watch most of Aladdin through the tiny sliver of space of his cupboard door he'd kept open without getting caught, listening to the disparaging and scornful comments Uncle Vernon had made about how magic was all hogwash. Little Harry sympathised with the genie; locked away in his lamp for thousands of years like Harry himself had been banished into his cupboard—only for four days but it felt like at least a hundred years, and surely that had to count.

By the time he was eleven, he had learned that all hints of creativity and cheekiness were to be firmly tamped down lest he wanted to go days without meals. So when Hagrid, his very own giant of a genie, had rescued him and opened his eyes to the world of magic—a word that had been forbidden within the pristine walls of Number 4, Privet Drive—he'd been sent into transports of rapture and delight.

For two incredible, glorious years, he had the novel experience of being able to let himself be as mischievous, as curious, as happy as his heart desired.

He should have know it was too good to last.

As the basilisk's fang pierced his skin, Harry was struck by the unwavering certainty that things had irrevocably changed.

He felt Fawkes' tears drip over his wound and clutched the fang in his hand while listening to Tom—Voldemort —gloat from above. Surprisingly, the fuzzy edges of his vision were receding, and suddenly the diary was in his lap. He was barely able to hold onto the frayed threads of consciousness enough to impale it with the venomous fang before the Chamber slowly grew darker, and his head felt heavier, until he knew no more.

A/N: I've always wanted to write about a younger Harry, as well as explore the parallel-universe-with-alive-Potters cliché, so I've combined the two into one! It does have to be said that I have absolutely no idea where this story is headed, so don't expect updates with any sort of regularity. With that said, I hope you enjoy!

Reviews are loved! Interesting? Waste of time? Let me know! :)