Harry was falling through nothing. Emptiness, and then there was pressure all around him, pressing in on his face and ribs. Not letting him breath. The sensation kept on until Harry felt his heart stutter at the lack of oxygen. Pain prickled across his body, his ribs ached for a breath and then he could breath. His feet hitting the floor, Harry gulped in the crisp air of outside as fast as possible. His head swimming, He looked around. A tall house loomed up in front. It seemed to be leaning slightly to the side, with lots of windows and cherubs in front. It looked a little shabby and needed a little TLC. All at once, Harry recognized at and his heart fell to his stomach. The Burrow.

The Burrow was his best friend's house, Ron Weasly. With a family of red hair and pure blood linage all the way through. But he was dead. They were all dead. Tears once again prickled the back of Harry's eyes. Memories of all the times he stayed there flashed in the back of his mind, the ghoul in the attic, Ron's older brothers, Fred and George creating stuff in their room, Bill Weasly and his Wife, Fleur, at their wedding, Mrs. Weasly making him eat loads of delicious food because he looked to thin.

Harry stood in the tall grass for a while, remembering all the good times that had taken place at this house. When a sudden light popped on in the topmost window. To his surprise, another light came on as well. Staggering forward, Harry made his way to his house. The front window was open, and to Harry's surprise, Mrs. Weasly stood on the threshold, wiping his hands on a towel.

She looked the same as always, a little squat with loads of curly red hair falling around her kind face. The apron tied around her waist covered in food and flour. It was a sight that Harry thought he would never see again.

"Harry m'dear! Hurry hurry, come inside. You weren't supposed to get here for another few hours!"

She bustled him inside and Harry looked at her bewildered. You can't see people when they dropped into a pensieve.. They were merely invisible to the people in the memory, because it was just that- a memory. But Mrs. Weasly's hand hadn't went through him, but reached out to straighten his shirt.

"You're a bit thin, but you'll have to wait for dinner. Ron is upstairs. I'll call you down in a bit, dear."

Harry looked at her astounded as she ushered him to the stairs. His feet skipped over a step and he caught himself before he stumbled. Climbing up the stairs, Harry's heart pounded. Confusion swept through him, what was going on? What had happened? Why could Mrs. Weasly touch him? He didn't remember having this memory. Was it a pensieve that he had just been through, wasn't it?

As the many questions flashed through his mind, Harry kept trudging up the stairs. Looking down at his hands, he froze.

The thick fingers with scars and hair on his knuckles was gone, and in it's place there were long slender fingers. Pale and skinny, with no scars. Young hands took their place on his body. He touched his stomach, a scrawny little body held him at bay. No muscles bulged under his arms, his shirt was huge on him, and the jeans he wore hung on his hips. Breathing hard, Harry looked around and found the bathroom. Locking the door he looked in the mirror that hung over the small sink.

Large green eyes full of fear and confusion stared at him. Black hair stuck up at end on his head, and round glasses perched on his nose. But it wasn't himself. He was young, not older than 14. Harry ran his fingers down his cheek, feeling the smooth skin that covered his face.

"I'm dreaming.. Yeah, that's it. Must be a dream. Wake up, Harry. Wake up." He talked to himself, giving his cheek a smack. Nothing was going away. He continued to stare at himself in disbelief. This wasn't real, this couldn't be happening.

"Dinner! Fred, George, Ron, Ginny- GAH! Knock it off you two! "

Mrs. Weasly's loud voice boomed from downstairs, kicking Harry from his day dream. Harry shook his head, and headed out of the bathroom.

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