2 To remember or not

Life was a difficult thing to adjust to, if you were to ask Harry Potter. Sometimes, he forgot what sort of substance humans have breathe and ended up holding his breath. 'Ahh, I don't have gills!' He had lamented, much to the torment of his poor mother.

"But why does he hold his breath?" Lily had demanded, looking haggard and weary.

James, her husband and Harry's father, shrugged. Throwing his hands up, he shook his head. "I don't know, Lil, it's probably just some baby thing." He paused to look at his son, who was currently blowing spit bubbles. "He always gives up when it gets unbearable, so there's that."

Lily gave him a cold stare. "Before or after he turns blue? James, do you know the rate of brain cells that could die?! Perfectly healthy --"

The redhead had continued on, ranting and venting to her partner. In truth, she was a highly intelligent woman, but all the men around her were quite convinced that motherhood turns the best of women daft.

Harry, who had been a female in over two hundred lives, didn't know what to say. Hormones were a powerful and strange thing that could entirely control your outlook and ability to function. Having been male for over five hundred lives, he partially sided with James and the Marauders. But, he definitely thought they ought to loosen up.

Besides his difficulty with transcendence into this reality, or rather--becoming a human boy wizard once more, Harry wasn't entirely sure which memories were useful.

His attempt at speech resulted in the infant sputtering out a few words of Icelandic poetry. The lengthy quote ended up garbled and nonsensical, so his startled parents had laughed it off.

"So eager to talk, haha!"

'Racists! Soggy cabbage worms!' Harry's heart inwardly rebuked them, telling them off for failing to realize his genius. But his angry babbling was dubbed 'cute', and the incident was brushed aside.

'Still no sign of Dumbledore, but my sense of time is far too difficult to tell. He's definitely going to come on my first birthday, and then 'that' Halloween...' He mused, teething on a block, messily stuffing the toy against his gums with his chubby fist. A sharp edge rubbed a tender spot and he began to sniffle. 'Ahh, damn you dexterity!'

His wails brought Lily to his side, who cooed, pet, burped, and cheered him before she returned him to the playpen and his blocks.

'I hate waiting,' Harry sighed, dropping to the side from his seated position, his small body collapsing onto a stuffed doe the size of a large house cat. He could now sit up for several hours and had minor control of his limbs and head. 'Growing up as a human is slow,' he inwardly complained. 'But not as slow as a dragon, or even high elves.'

Harry had once been reborn as a dragon, learning that Norbert and even the Triwizard Ridgeback were both much younger than he had anticipated. As far as dragons came and went, those were both examples of teens when it came to the age of Dragons.

'I kind of miss having scales,' he thought to himself, batting at his image in the mirror in his playpen and kicking his legs.

The sounds of laughter filtered into the nursery, filled with upraised voices in mid-tale. Harry liked how lively things were and often closed his eyes to accurately picture the scene. Sirius was usually leaning against the fireplace, gesticulating wildly as he laughed and barked. Remus was chuckling from an armchair, an open book in his hand to hide most of his grins and sly looks, chewing the nails of his left hand in tandem to his reading.

James was sitting on the arm of the family loveseat, twisting his upper body between his wife beside him, and his friends as he told the story with Sirius. Lily had a dry sense of humor and sharp wit, and easily grounded her husband and the tempestuous Marauders. Often, she was quick to quell their ego and stop their more dangerous plans.

The rat was standing in a doorway, shivering and twittering along, like a scared and timid creature, he swayed and fed on their energy and exuberance.

'Parasitic vermin,' Harry inwardly snarled. Once, he had peed on Poor Peter and since then the nickname had stuck. 'Poor, parasitic Peter indeed.'

There was no one he could confide in, infant as he was, and he wanted to rush through childhood. 'Saving them has never been something I could do,' Harry mused. 'Would I actually be able to accomplish this now?'

He honestly didn't know. There were too many questions, and not enough time. Harry inwardly snorted at his inner Gryffindor. Since his first life, he had been in each house at least once. However, Slytherin and Ravenclaw suited him best in his later lives.

'Suppose I'll have to figure out what sort of personality I have, and what my real goal is,' He mused, cooing and making repetitive sounds to express his thoughts. His vocal cords weren't very developed, after all. Noises and humming were easy, but words were difficult, especially multiple syllables.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what his personality was, especially in this body. In his opinion, personalities were formed through experiences and growth. Most people developed their personal ticks and belief systems after examining the world. An eight year old was massively more developed than a five year old, and even had a basic understanding of right and wrong. 'I guess I'm probably pro-nurture on the debate of nature vs. nurture. Which means I will have to be careful, seeing as after Halloween there won't be much nurturing in my life.'

Sighing, he fought off sleep as his brain tried to plan ahead. However, it was a losing battle, since this was his usual nap time.

"I can't believe it's only two months from summer. Time is going fast," Lily's voice drifted to him, melancholy and good humor warping her voice as she began to sniffle.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed, laughing. "Prongslet will be a year! To the Potter heir!" He raised his cup in a toast.

"A year!" Lily repeated, her voice cracking with emotion. A slim hand flew to her chest, clutching her blouse.

"A wonderful year," James amended, soothing his sensitive wife.

"A truly wonderful year," Remus agreed, his voice filled with the sort of contentment and sleepiness that Harry associated with large meals.

As the conversation devolved into memories of many of Harry's 'firsts', Harry himself was left with his thoughts. 'A year old, huh?' he thought. 'And then just three months to the big showdown.'

This was an unsettling thought that filled him with dread and anxiety, but sleep, and the comforting sound of his family, soon claimed him. With no plans and a ticking clock, Harry drifted timidly into the sweet world of nod.