Chapter Text
Neville introduced Harry to this, to age regression.
It was three years ago when Harry cried into his arms one day in the school bathroom, scared and tired and impatient for the tall, posh twit that attacked him to be arrested.
Therapy, and police reassurances that they were watching Hogwarts and Harry’s house in case the man came back, didn’t do all that much. It didn’t matter how many different therapists his parents brought him to, or the books they bought on the subject of trauma, or the punching bag they gave Harry specifically to release his fear and anger about the situation on; Harry couldn’t get rid of his stress or anxiety. For a long time, they only kept building, and consuming his life.
The club was the first thing that helped him forget about everything for a while, and knocked down his stress to a more manageable level for a while after each meeting.
Harry was hesitant at the beginning, not fully understanding age regression even with the blogs and articles Neville sent him to look through, but willing to try almost anything at that point. If Neville revealed he was a secret drug lord, Harry might have accepted that solution too, despite the many talks his parents have given him against using them, his dad being a police officer and his mum a pediatrician.
Instead, Neville patiently answered all his questions, showed him what he called his little gear, and introduced Harry to his group before he even managed to regress on his own.
The meetings are held every other Saturday, in the house of the woman who started the group. Her entire house is painted in pastels, and because more than half of the members just leave their little gear with her, things like baby blankets and pacifiers are found in almost every corner. The roads around her house are fairly quiet, and rarely do planes or ambulances travel near it, so the soft music she plays to help the little of the group regress is easily heard.
It’s close enough for Harry to walk to, though Neville’s parents came to drive him there until his attacker was caught, and the first time Harry joined a meeting, he was surprised to see two more of his peers from Hogwarts there. Seeing Draco Malfoy pretending to be a toddler – age dreaming, Neville told him – was the prompt Harry didn’t know he needed to be comfortable to take age regression seriously, and he was able to sink a little bit into it the same day.
It ended up taking a year for Tom Riddle to be arrested. He was sentenced to enough years in prison for his body to rot before it can be buried, when evidence for over 2 dozen other murders or attempted ones was brought before the judge. Harry slowly started to feel safe outside of his age regression meetings, though he didn’t stop going.
In fact, he introduced one of his own closest friends to the group. He figured Hermione, who lives in the optional dorms because of how far her parents are, could use the occasional break from the school building, since she almost never leaves unless to visit a public library. She still comes in as a caretaker a couple times a year, when her own stress builds up enough for frustration to take over her emotions.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to swing by and get you?” Harry speaks softly into his phone, trying to convince Hermione to come to today’s meeting. She’s been studying like a woman possessed the past two months, and Harry worries she’ll snap soon, if she doesn’t take a break first.
“Thank you Harry, but you know I’m busy.” Hermione talks, almost too fast for Harry to understand her.
“I do know, that’s why–”
“Goodbye, Harry,” Hermione cuts him off, knowing exactly where Harry was going with that. Harry really should try to be more subtle in trying to get her to put down her notes. “Text me when you’re there, will you?” Harry agrees, and sighs heavily when she hangs up.
He’s only five minutes away, but like Harry wants to watch out for Hermione’s health, she wants to do the same for him. He wasn’t the only one affected by his near-murder, though Hermione is the only one who still constantly asks where he is if she doesn’t know.
As always, Harry has no problem getting to the house, and he lets Hermione know. She reacts to the message with a thumbs up, and Harry turns his phone off.
He crouches low to the ground and slips off his mini green backpack so he can put his phone away. It’s just big enough to hold his favorite lion stuffed animal, his pacifier and sippy cup, and a change of clothes; everything else he may want to play with can be found in one of the many baskets and shelves dedicated to age regression inside. Most of the toys and activities were donated by the littles and caregivers themselves, Harry included, so he feels no guilt packing lightly.
Harry rings the doorbell, happily listening to the pleasant, custom-made music that it plays, and starts to sink into his regression. He sways side to side as he waits for the door to open, grabbing the straps to his backpack when it starts feeling heavier.
He can hear several excited screeches from inside, and just as many pairs of footsteps running over. Harry’s shoulders shake. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s come here, or how often the doorbell is rung, but the rush of littles to greet a friend at the door will never not happen, to the exasperation of the caregivers.
“Hey, Pup,” Harry jumps, and spins around, eyes bugging out of his head.
“Sirius?” Harry gasps. His heart rate picks up uncomfortably at the sight of his godfather. “What are you doing here?” Sirius laughs, and Harry begins shaking.
Out of all his parents and their friends, Sirius is in the top 3 of “adults he never wants to know about his age regression.” He’s too immature, as hypocritical that feels to think about, and Harry is scared he’ll take the whole thing as another joke, which is only a slightly better outcome than if Severus “Strict” Snape was to find out.
“Someone’s been tight-lipped about what he gets up to on the weekends, and the lovebirds weren’t spilling.” Harry hunches into himself a little, wishing he had more than the straps of his backpack to hold onto.
“Sirius–” Harry wants him to leave, now, before it’s too–
Late.
The door opens slowly, and the bright blue eyes of the house’s owner greets them. Several impatient whines sound off behind her, the other little already here held back so they can’t run out. Harry whimpers when she blinks in surprise as she sees his godfather.
“Celine,” he pleads quietly. Even quieter, “Hewp.”
Sirius snickers. “Is this a girlfriend, Pup?” Harry’s eyes burn. Little days aren’t supposed to be this mortifying. Not even in his worst moods has Harry ever felt this ashamed of his favorite way to relax. “She’s a little old for you, isn’t–”
Celine puts her hands over Harry’s ears, and gently pulls him inside. She transfers him into the arms of another caregiver, and the other littles overpower the hands keeping them from throwing themselves at Harry just in time for him to watch Celine’s hands come up to rest on her hip angrily as the front door swings shut behind her.
The caregiver slips his backpack off his shoulders, and hangs it on the hook under Harry’s name, proudly scribbled in red crayon, as the other littles clamber over to him.
Harry’s bottom lip trembles. The other littles bounce around him, offloading some of their weight on his shoulders and greeting him with soft, wet kisses on his cheek. One of them is unlucky enough for a tear to spill where they kiss him.
“Haww?” Harry lets out a soft cry, and hugs the little in front of him desperately. It doesn’t take long for them to be caught in Harry’s emotions, and both of their wailing picks up quickly, ensnaring most of the others.
“Oh, baby,” Someone picks Harry up off the ground before he can fall over, and he buries his face into their shoulder and grabs onto their shirt with both hands. “Get me his paci, will you?”
Harry gasps, trying to catch his breath to make his own request. “Awek.” The caregiver bounces him in their arms.
“Your lion? Alex?” Harry nods, hard enough to make his head hurt, and his crying picks right back up. “Shhh, baby, I’ve got you. Ah, thank you, Alissa.”
Harry’s pacifier is pressed against his lips, and Harry turns away from it. He doesn’t want it yet, but it follows him until he has no choice but to accept it. Alex is pushed between him and the caregiver’s chest, and Harry takes a hand away from their shirt to hold onto him.
“Come on, little guy.” The caregiver walks them away from the entrance. “Nap time’s gonna start early today.” Harry whines, and a series of similar frustrated noises are made around him.
Harry wriggles to be set down, but their hold of him is steadfast, and Harry doesn’t get his wish until he’s put down on a square futon with two other littles in the living room. Harry sits up, and goes to crawl away, but he’s pushed back down by a hand on his chest. “No, baby, it’s nap time.” Harry sucks on his pacifier furiously, and furrows his eyebrows dramatically to let them know he is Not Pleased. He’s mollified when the curtains are pulled over the windows, turning the room dark enough for the star stickers stuck to all of the ceilings to glow, though he still tries to escape when the caregivers go back for the rest of the littles.
“Harry,” he pouts when he realizes Draco is one of the littles lying next to him. Draco never lets him get away with anything. “Nap now, p’ease.”
Powite as ever. Harry mocks in his head, since he can’t say it outloud without spitting out his pacifier.
Fine, Harry will nap tw whole hours early, but only because Alex yawns, And Harry isn’t mean enough to drag him around while he escapes if Alex wants to sleep.
By the time he wakes up, Harry’s vision eyes are wet and crusty, and he’s forgotten where he is. He turns a little on his side so he can push his torso up with both of his arms, closes his eyes against the sunlight coming in from the now-open curtain, and whines for someone to come get him.
A hand cups his cheek, and Harry leans his head into it gratefully, glad he doesn’t have to put as much effort into holding it up anymore. Another hand wipes away the gunk in the corner of his eyes with a tissue, and then there’s a pair of lips being pressed onto his forehead. Harry yawns, and nuzzles his entire body forward to demand a wake-up hug.
“Hey, Pup,” Harry freezes at the familiar voice. Too familiar, like he hears it almost every day, and not just once every couple of weeks if he’s lucky. Harry takes a big sniff of the shirt his face is pressed into, and becomes all too aware of the pacifier he’s still suckling on. Harry recoils, and his eyes fly open.
“Siwi?” The pacifier falls out of his mouth. Harry’s head starts spinning, his bigger self fighting to be let out, and his little one struggling to stay in charge, hoping to get any sort of comfort before it’s forced down.
“Pup, Harry, no,” Sirius looks heartbroken, kneeling in front of him with his arms still out for Harry to fall back into if he wants. “I’m sorry, Pup, I promise I am. I love you, all of you. I’m happy you have this, I’m not mad or disgusted. You’re perfect, Pup, nothing can change that…”
Harry stares at Sirius as he continues to spill apologies and reassurance, for following him and making him uncomfortable, to tell him this changes nothing if Harry doesn’t want it to.
Draco wakes up next to him before Sirius is done, and Harry looks over to him with wide eyes, hoping maybe he’ll have a solution. Draco blinks, visibly ages, and looks around the futon until he finds Alex still on the mattress. He retrieves him for Harry, deposits the stuffed toy in his arms, and ruffles Harry’s hair before scooting onto the floor and standing up. He mouths “good luck,” before walking away.
“Harry, please.” Harry turns back to his godfather, and startles at the tears and snot dripping out of his face. He gasps, and very quickly crawls to the TV stand for the box of tissues that lives there. He yanks out a couple handfuls, and makes his way back to Sirius to press them against his face without any sort of coordination. Sirius chuckles wetly, and thanks him. “You always were such a sweet toddler.”
Sirius finishes wiping his own face, and crumples the used tissues in his left hand. He holds out his right one to Harry, who takes the invitation to fall forward face-first into his lap. “Lub you, Siwi.” He mumbles.
Sirius pets Harry’s head, and his big self retreats into the back of his mind. They can have a real talk about this later, but for now, Harry feels safe with his godfather again, and he’s going to take advantage of Siri-snuggles while he’s still little.