Wrong Sky to Ground the Flighty

Summary: Harry died a peaceful death only to be born again. He found himself as an orphan, but he couldn't liken it to his former life. He didn't get any Dursley this time. A violent, carnivorous, and troublesome older brother figure filled up the Dursley-Space instead—in whom Harry finally found the bane of his carefree existence.

Warning(s): OOC, non-canon, unlikely but possible slash later, violence, language, un-be-ta-ed, slow-paced, rating is a precaution for future chapters. Want to add more but this warning is far too long already, so please read at your own risks.

Pairing(s): None yet.

Disclaimer: I do not own the things you recognize, with the assumption that you have very good memory.

It was warm. Harry didn't know that the afterlife was supposed to be warm. He had already felt so much biting coldness in his life, so he appreciated it. It was just that this warmth felt too alive to be right. But whatever. He should just enjoy it while it lasted, because who knew when things would turn sour… His Potter luck played too much part in his past life to just be ignored now.

When the Light side had won the war, Harry was immediately sent into hiding by the most heavy peer pressure ever existed. The young man was tired and no one seemed to understand it save his best friend duo, Ron and Hermione. It was natural. They went through many things together. However, he could only hope for everyone else to be as considerate as them—the Magical Britain put him on a brand new pedestal and they hero-worshipped him until all he could thought of was what their reaction would be if he denied their expectations. It was pure hell on earth for Harry.

So with the Hermione's help and a little bit of Ron's, he managed to escape Britain and avoid the general Magical world. Magically forged documents and his family's monumental inheritance allowed him to travel to various places in the world. He enjoyed the hard-earned freedom, and didn't even mind the fact that he had to put on a disguise at all times. Nothing beats the freedom gained after seven grueling years of moving under the thumb of an old twinkly-eyed manipulative man and constant annoyance of an undying, prophecy-obsessed self-proclaimed Dark Lord trying to kill him.

He died of old age in an unknown wilderness in Africa, when his old wounds finally made his weary lungs and heart surrender and he succumbed to this possibly not-eternal peaceful state.

Right when he was contemplating the possibilities of the worsts happening and reminiscing, the dark world around him turned bright, and he was abruptly put off by a sudden blow of cold air replacing the snug warmth enveloping him before.

That wasn't nice. Merlin damn it, being dead without losing the conscious mind sucks already, and now this! Why wouldn't they just let him die? Put an end to his existence, make him no more? At least let him meet his family if he couldn't be left dead, then!

But when Harry opened his mouth to protest, what really came out of it was a wail.

What. The. Hell. Was. That?!

That was not him. Could have fooled Harry, because it fitted perfectly with what he was feeling… Uh… his own skin felt squishy and soft… And he felt cold… Which made perfect sense to his boggled mind now that he connected the dots: someone freaking gave birth to him!

He felt a piece of soft fabric covering his body immediately after and a hand caressed him softly on the head. When Harry finally recovered from the shock of being born—and what a shock that was!—he shut his mouth in fear of hearing his own inability to relay coherent words and his ridiculous voice, because they would just stress the fact that he's now a baby. Instead, he opened his eyes and stared to the faces before him.

He marveled at the clarity and sharpness of his new body's sense of sight. He had always wore glasses, and the new sensation almost made him not wanting to blink. He could see the creases and wrinkles and every little details in those unfamiliar faces. There were three people: two adults, one male with long raven hair, narrow slate-grey eyes and one sweaty and kind-looking brunette (he figured that this woman was his new mother) and the last was a boy who looked like a mini version of the man and was watching him with blatant interest.

"It's a boy," Harry heard someone. Maybe it was the nurse. Well thank Merlin he wasn't reincarnated as a girl… Hermione and Ginny had made him learn that most of the female human species had crazy mood swings and that to incite their wrath was as good as digging your own grave. Harry had nothing against them but he'd rather be a man, thank you very much.

Something was off, though. It was the way the nurse spoke. Harry could understand it, but it certainly wasn't English. Now, what language was that? Harry was fluent in many languages as a result from his world-wide travelling, but he still had troubles figuring out the name of the languages. Well screw that. He could find out later, and the advantage of having learned the language beforehand was there so he wouldn't complain.

The brunette lady that was his mother nodded, her smile brightened her face as she said, "I've always wanted a girl, but that's okay, I guess!" She patted the short-haired raven beside her (could be his brother, but Harry wasn't sure yet). "This way, Kyoya, you can have a playmate worthy of your presence! You said you didn't like the herbivores at the kindergarten, right?"

What?! Herbivores? Why would anyone label kids as herbivores? What kind of twisted universe is this?!

"Now, now. Dear, don't add to his ideas of urban-life food chain…" Finally! Someone with common sense. That would be his father, Harry guessed. He looked and found the man smiling softly at him. Somehow that made him feel all tingly and warm. Not bad. He could get used to this, Harry thought.

"He looked like a girl." The boy said, and those five words reached Harry's ears… to be translated in his brain as a declaration of war. No one had ever said that to him. Even in his past life where he was shorter than most teenage male. No-one dared, and this brat did! Harry narrowed his eyes and glared at the grey-eyed boy.

"Kyoya, that's because he takes after your mother, but all babies look weak and small. You can't judge him now." His father reasoned. Harry continued to glare.

The boy—Kyoya—noticed his glare. He smirked, and his eyes lit with amusement as he held infant-Harry's gaze.

"I like him."

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