Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Harry Potter was ten-years old. He physically couldn't fit in the cupboard under the stairs anymore, thank goodness, so the Dursleys were forced to let him sleep elsewhere. He thought they would have made him sleep on the floor in the kitchen or on the couch in the living room. To his surprise, they let him sleep in Dudley's old room. He soon found out why. The place was a downright mess! No, it was more than that... it was a pig stye. There was trash everywhere, old clothes scattered about- some of which he doubted Dudley ever washed- and he thought he saw a few bugs skitter away when he opened the door.

He sighed. It was better than nothing. One thing he had gotten good at over the years was cleaning. The Dursleys basically used him as their personal slave, so he also got good at cooking, gardening, and other laborious jobs. At first they didn't trust him with any of it, but once they realized they could use him to lessen their own workload, the decision was almost immediate. He did almost all the yard work aside from tending the gardens, which Petunia still insisted he stay far away from. He mowed the lawn, trimmed the hedges, swept the driveway, cleaned the gutters, and on and on and on. This disaster of a room was just another job to him and he got right to work.

He quickly grabbed a trash bag from downstairs, one of the few things he wouldn't get yelled at or beaten for doing without asking. He first picked up all the trash in the room, along with any un-salvageable clothing. The rest he separated into a 'wash' pile. He went downstairs, tossing out the garbage and starting up a load of laundry before heading back upstairs with cleaning supplies. Lord knows that room needed it. He started with cleaning the floors, running a wet mop over the area and drying it a few minutes later. After that, he swept and dusted every corner of the room. He pulled the blinds, letting the sun shine into the room as he worked. He actually felt a little happy with his progress.

He didn't linger too long, though, quickly taking it all back downstairs once he was finished. By then the wash cycle had been finished, so he moved the waterlogged clothes over to the dryer and started a load. That wouldn't be done for a while, so he decided to head outside and see if there was anything else Petunia wanted him to do. To his surprise, he didn't immediately see her when he went outside. Odd, she was almost always in the garden on sunny days like this. However, he did see Dudley coming up the road with a few friends of his. Oh no... was it that time already? He quickly ducked back inside, but it was too late. They had seen him. 'Harry Hunting' had begun.

For Dudley, it was his favorite pass time. Like a national sport or a drinking contest. For Harry, it was a race against time until his daily beating or worse. He had a bad feeling about this particular session of Harry Hunting... He had been doing a lot of thinking these past few years. He had even taken to keeping a secret journal, writing all his thoughts and theories into it. He didn't have any proof, of course, but he suspected the nightmares he'd had... The nightmares of his own death... Were premonitions of what COULD happen, not what WILL happen. Another theory was that these events did happen and then, somehow, Harry traveled back in time earlier the same day or even the same week, at which point he would avoid the circumstances that led up to it. How was this possible? He still didn't know.

He hid in the closet of Dudley's old, freshly cleaned room. The cupboard under the stairs was too obvious and this was the only spot Harry could think of on short notice. He listened silently, holding his breath as he heard the troublesome trio burst in through the front door, fanning out through the house. They were searching every room. Eventually they all plodded upstairs, shouting and hollering to each other. Finally, Harry heard the door to his new room open and he froze. He couldn't hear them cheering or caterwauling anymore. Instead they were laughing and snickering, a very bad sign for him.

"We know you're in here, Hawwy Hawwy Hawwy." Dudley called out teasingly, his thick, booted feet clomping across the floor.

Harry tried not to hyperventilate as he heard them getting closer to the closet door.

"We checked every other room in the house... There's just one place left."

Harry covered his mouth, trying to stifle his whimper as the footsteps stopped just outside the door.

"GOTCHA!" Dudley opened the door swiftly and suddenly, reaching in and tossing Harry out of the closet.

He landed on the hard, wooden floor with a cry of pain, feeling bruises already forming on his frail body. He looked up shakily to see Dudley's two hooligan friends, both rearing back and kicking him as hard as they could. Harry cried out in pain again, feeling one of his ribs break as the boys mercilessly stomped him into the ground. He couldn't hear Dudley approach over the sounds of his own suffering, only crying out louder as Dudley pulled his arm behind his back and broke it like a twig.

"What's the matter Potter?! Can't handle the pain?" Dudley jeered, using Harry's now broken arm to choke the young boy.

A sudden clarity shot through Harry's mind despite the pain. He had experienced this twice before. He had choked to death... or rather, been strangled and drowned by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. And he was about to be asphyxiated by Dudley as well. What was it with these people and choking their victims? Harry didn't know. But that's all he could think about as he felt his bones breaking, his consciousness fading, the blood seeping from his body and staining the once clean floor. He was a bloody pulp by the time Dudley and his friends were finished. They spit on the broken, mangled corpse before laughing and snickering, leaving the room and locking it behind them.

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 gasping for breath once again, but dared not move for fear of further damaging his mangled body. To his surprise, he was completely fine. Or rather, he was just passed out on the floor of Dudley's old room. He sat up slowly and looked around, noticing that the cleaning supplies were still there... It all came flooding back to him. He raced downstairs, though was still careful not to be too loud. He put the supplies back where they belonged and tossed the load of laundry over to the dryer. Then he went and peaked out the front window, watching as Dudley and his gang sauntered down the street. He waited until they were out of sight before breathing a sigh of relief.

He trudged back upstairs slowly, his mind working a mile a minute. He was finally starting to understand. Of course, it was only the basics, but now he was starting to make a connection... Whenever he died, it was like time would reverse and give him a second chance. Or third chance... how many times had he done this? And how many times would he be able to do it? Questions for later. He ran back to his new room and locked the door, sliding to the floor with his back to the door. He wasn't sure if he should feel happy or sad... scared or relieved. This ability... this power... Was it a blessing or a curse?

He didn't know.