Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Harry Potter was seven-years-old. He still slept in the cupboard under the stairs and he was starting to think that wasn't very good for him... Still, he was too scared to try getting out. Not that he could anyway. Uncle Vernon had put several locks and bolts on the door before he could walk or talk. Speaking of talking, he wasn't allowed to do much of that either. Anything he said was considered some sort of personal insult or backtalk. It was no surprise that Harry was extremely bored. He wished he could go outside and play, just one time.

Suddenly, Harry felt a strange sensation. Strange, but somehow familiar... like he had felt it before. His arms got goosebumps and his hair stood on end as the air around him felt all tingly, almost like an electric charge. There was a bright flash and Harry shielded his eyes, uncovering them slowly as his eyes adjusted. The dark, dusty closet probably wasn't very good on his eyes either. However, it didn't look like he was in the closet anymore. His mouth gaped open and he actually smiled as he looked around. There was his house- or rather, the Dursley's house- and he was sitting in the backyard. The grass was neatly trimmed, tickling his legs and hands. The sun was high overhead, clouds occasionally obscuring it and giving him a view of the expansive blue sky.

He could hear the sounds of birds chirping and squirrels chittering in the trees. He could even catch the faint smell of cinnamon coming from somewhere. Ah cinnamon... he loved that smell. His Aunt Petunia didn't cook with it often, probably because she knew he enjoyed it. So where could it be coming from? He followed his nose, standing up and making his way over to the white picket fence. He wasn't yet tall enough to look over it, so he peered through the cracks. It was an eerily similar backyard and house, the big differences being the freshly baked cinnamon rolls sitting on the windowsill to cool. Harry wondered if that was entirely safe. After all, any sort of animal could come over and snatch one... His mouth began to water. He wouldn't dare sneak into the neighbor's yard, but if he could just have one of those cinnamon rolls... Harry felt that electricity coursing through him again and before he even knew what happened, he held a cinnamon roll in his hands.

He expected it to burn him, but it seemed it had cooled enough. He gave the biggest grin in his young life and took a huge bite. It was the most amazing thing he had ever eaten. Then again, he only ever got to eat the scraps leftover by the Dursleys. He didn't know a lot about family, only that those people didn't treat him like Dudley... He got to eat whatever he wanted just by asking. Harry had to beg just to be given table scraps. It was enough to drive a person mad. But Harry wasn't mad. At least... he hoped he wasn't going mad. Strange things had been happening with him lately. Even he could see that. His short reverie was interrupted by a loud scream and he whipped around to see Aunt Petunia standing at the backdoor, gaping at him in disbelief and anger.

"You little pest! How did you get out?!" She hissed, not wanting to be overheard by the neighbors.

She stormed over to him, grabbing his arm and ripping the half-eaten cinnamon roll from his hand.

"Where did you get this?!" She gasped. "You STOLE it, didn't you?!"

Harry tried to object but she slapped him hard across the face, silencing him before he could even get a word out.

"Don't you talk back to me! I'm going to teach you a lesson in manners!" She huffed, tossing the perfectly good roll on the ground and dragging him back inside.

Harry didn't struggle. He knew that just made it worse. Crying would too, so he didn't do that either, but the pain usually broke him, which of course meant more punishment... A vicious cycle. Aunt Petunia dragged him to the downstairs bathroom, shoving him to his knees and forcing his head close to the water in the toilet.

"Spit it back up! NOW!" She demanded.

Harry was shaking as he pulled a familiar trick, sticking his finger into the back of his mouth, forcing himself to vomit into the toilet. The Dursley's often made him do this if they thought he ate too much... which was often. Salty tears ran down his face as he kept retching and vomiting until his stomach was completely empty. He couldn't throw up any more. Aunt Petunia wasn't convinced, shoving his head down into the now murky toilet water. Harry started flailing, trying to get a grip and pull himself out, but his arms were far too weak. He couldn't even hear what Aunt Petunia was saying, he just knew she was screaming at him.

It wasn't long before Harry ran out of air, taking in a lungful of toilet water and vomit, forcing him to retch again at the taste. Another vicious cycle as he continued flailing and kicking helplessly. A minute passed and he could feel himself getting weaker, more tired... If he just closed his eyes for a second, he was sure the pain would be over. His chest felt so heavy, the water in his lungs stopping his breath as he finally stopped moving. Petunia huffed, flushing the toilet and yanking the boy's body into the tub. It would have to stay there until she could clean it. She left the bathroom, shutting off the light and locking the door behind her, leaving the cold, dead body of Harry behind.

The golden sand in the hourglass faded to black, freezing in place. A moment passed before it turned itself over, black fading to gold as the sand began spilling again.

Harry Potter woke up with a gasp, immediately sitting up and coughing violently out of instinct. He stopped suddenly when he realized his lungs weren't filled with polluted water. He looked around the small, dark cupboard, confused. What just happened? Was it a dream? He fumbled for his glasses- the only things the Dursleys ever got him, if only to prevent him from breaking things. He blinked a few times as he turned on the light, sniffing the air carefully. He could faintly catch the scent of cinnamon. His eyes widened as he peeked out through the cupboard, looking left and right before testing it. It was locked tight. He sat back on the bed, running his fingers through his hair.

"It's exactly the same..." He whispered to himself, lips trembling.

Everything was exactly the same as when he woke up before... Before? How could this be possible? He pulled his hands away from his head and looked at them closely. Had he done this? He knew strange things were happening with him but... this felt different. Like it was something else entirely. He didn't understand what was going on. At any rate, he was thankful to be alive... though he wasn't happy at all about these recurring nightmares. He could only remember one other nightmare where it felt real... where it felt like he died. It's not like he could test it. And even if he could, he didn't want to.

"What's happening to me?" He whimpered, covering his eyes and laying back down with a whimper.

He just didn't understand.