It was early morning and Harry saw the sky was lightening.

A clean set of three raps at his door had him lose the satisfied smile. He hadn't seen the Dursleys since they'd fled Privet Drive, and later he went to their graves. He learned, after it was all said and done, that they had been caught up with by some Death Eaters. He didn't think much about it.

"Boy!" Came the nasal pitch of Petunia Dursley. A pause. "Are you up?"

"Yes," he called, still uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in. Harry was a living-in-the-moment type, it made him headstrong. But he hadn't really spared much thought for the Dursleys before coming back. That was a part of his life he didn't give much thought if he didn't have to.

"Well get breakfast on, just me and Dudders. Marge is on her way, Vernon's gone to get her." she grumbled through the door before shuffling off to the bath.

Around six years in the past. It seemed like an accurate estimate based on his surroundings and the thinner, weaker body. If it was possible he was shorter than he remembered. So around thirteen years old, right before Marge came to visit and he blew her up like a balloon. That memory brought the smile back to his face.

Stretching his arms still aching from some droll house chore or another, Harry eyed the beautiful, alive Hedwig. She offered him a soft, sleepy hoot. During the summers she did her best to sleep during the nights, as it was difficult to estimate when Harry could let her in and out.

"Hey Hedwig," he said cheerily. "How you do you feel about heading to the Weasleys? I'm sure they've got some proper nosh for you," he goaded. She tilted her head as if in comprehension. Harry dug open the floorboard that hid knick knacks like his wand, food stuffs, and pens and parchment. He didn't exactly have an inkwell for quills, so a thick pen would have to make do.

Ron, he wrote with thrumming enthusiasm. He knew they shouldn't outright say what they'd done, in case anyone read their mail. That was greatly unlikely, but possible. If that was the case Harry was going to put in some things to throw them off without explicitly saying the real reason he was writing.

Have you done the potions essay yet? 36 inches of absolute torture, that's what it is. Don't know how we ever managed this. What exactly has Snape taught us? Or have we been too busy throwing fireworks and brewing illicit Polyjuice...

How's the family (all of them)? Is Percy back to being a royal snob? Try and reach out but don't strain yourself. Some things just come with... time. Or so I'd wager.

Been feeling a bit dicky but otherwise I think everything's turned out all right. Got Marge on her way, though. Vernon's sister. Bound to be a nightmare.

And just to check, seven turns did it?

Harry

That had enough alluding to the altered Time Turner, and had enough other distracting material that if one of the other Weasleys read it, they wouldn't focus on the 'turns' bit. The talk about Snape is more in character to how they were as actually thirteen year olds, even as he felt some guilt over talking of the man so callously. Snape had lived a life of regret. He'd hardly lived at all.

Harry sent off a more alert Hedwig, and told her to spend as much time at the Weasleys as she liked. He would send a letter to Hermione once Hedwig felt well-rested and fed enough to come back.

There was more time now, after all.

The bath was still running, and Dudley was no where near awake yet, so Harry could take his sweet time down the stairs. He'd not cooked for the Dursleys in a good while, but he'd never forget the feel of the hot jumping grease or good smell that taunted him. He rarely could sit at the table with the others even though he'd cooked. Instead, like now, he'd sneak food while cooking. When Petunia had first caught wind of that, she'd started supervising his cooking.

Today she was unawares upstairs, and Harry hissed through a sizzling hot piece of bacon. He was making bangers and eggs primarily, and then would toast up some tomatoes and bread.

Dudley came down with a ruckus. Harry was surprised he'd got up before noon in the summer.

"What you cooking?" His cousin asked rapturously. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Breakfast," he said shortly.

"Brill," Dudley spoke with exultation. A tone certainly never before heard by Harry and very curious. Then he nearly smacked himself. Oh dear he'd forgotten- this was the summer with the dieting, wasn't it? "Did mum finally crack the diet then?"

"Er, no."

"Whatever," Dudley grunted and went to sit expectantly at the table. Harry felt an old anger rise up at his cousin waiting to be served by him. Who cares if he's dangerously obese? That's his problem frankly, Harry thought. If he wants to gorge on bangers, let him!

"Stupid!" Came the high tune of Petunia. "How hard is it to cut up fruit and honey? How hard is it, hm? I want my Dudley nice and healthy, and no nasty nurse getting on his case. Boy, are you even listening?" She marched over and gave Harry a thwap upside the head.

"It's so easy, then you can get it," he said under his breath.

"What was that?" She gave him a sharp look.

"Nothing."

Harry sighed. She didn't like that, it spoke of too much personality and free will, so she gave him an extra ugly glare down her nose.

"Mum it's already made." Dudley was objecting. "Mum can't we just eat it? Please, mum, please?" His eyes began to screw up and Petunia hastily complied. Also, Harry had seen her throw some longing looks of her own at the hot meal.

"Dudders dear, well... today only, I suppose you can have a treat! With your Aunt Marge coming and all, it's a special occasion," she cooed. Harry pretended to retch as he flipped the tomatoes.

Breakfast itself was a quiet affair as the youngest Dursley gobbled down his plate like a man starved. And as Harry could recall the grapefruit slices, he couldn't entirely disagree. Maybe that was a bonus of Marge's visit for the household: normal food would be cooked up. The downside for Harry is that he would be the one cooking and cleaning it up.

When Marge and Vernon arrived it was near to eleven or so, and Harry was outside weeding. Vernon ignored him entirely but Marge spent a good minute trying to convince her pitbull to give Harry a scare.

"Go on," she prodded. "Give a go at the runt!" The dog in question looked absolutely tuckered out and instead took a biggie on the lawn. Marge scowled at the lack of Harry-running-for-his-life.

"Clean that up," she barked at him, careful to avoid looking at him for too long before going in. Before the door swung shut he heard some exclamations of "Look how you've grown!" He was glad the dog went in before it decided Harry actually was a good target.

It was later that evening that Harry was bustling about with the dessert dishes that Marge started in on his parents.

"You shouldn't feel bad, Petunia," she was saying. "Every family has the chance to pop out a bad egg, shame it had to be your sister."

Petunia was holding her neck and nodding happily along. The brandy glasses were being as quickly refilled as they were being emptied. That was the only thing that upset Harry this time around. He could control himself better, mostly, but seeing his uncle drink was never good. Worse, it was stronger than beer, and Vernon was already puce in the face.

"Boy!" Marge barked. Harry rather thought she barked better than her dogs. "I suppose you've been eyeing the brandy, haven't you?" Harry looked up from the mostly empty decanter, that he had indeed been eyeing, with confusion. Where was she going with this? "Not surprising you'd be wanting to go down the same road as your parents, is it? Give this one a drinkie, and he'll be making off with your valuables and smashing your Vauxhall into a tree. Vernon mark my words! You can see the plotting in those beady little eyes."

"My eyes are neither beady or little," Harry said politely and went back to rubbing down the counter. Marge scoffed with indignation and he could see his uncle's face further purpling at the thought of Harry even breathing near his Vauxhall. Harry was a little amused by this, because Uncle Vernon knew damn well that Harry's parents were not alcoholics that died while drunk driving.

He supposed that Vernon just liked getting angry.

"We take him in hand," Vernon reassured his sister. "The boy's got to be kept in line. We don't let him run around willy-nilly, don't you worry! I don't stand with none of that namby-pamby free-will tosh they're spreading around these days." He raised his voice even more. "Isn't that right, boy?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon. No free will here," he repeated.

"Don't get shirty with me," he hissed. "Think you're so smart, do you?"

"No, sir," Harry said, very smartly. "I'm meant to be an alcoholic degenerate just like the Evans sister, and her good-for-nothing husband."

Marge gave her brother a disapproving look. "You have to keep them in place," she warned. "Look at the boy, he thinks he's clever. Smirking like that, ha!"

"What did you just say?" Petunia said faintly, her face was drained of blood as she clutched her glass. "How- dare you-"

"What?" Harry looked to her innocently. But it too late, Petunia caught the insinuation and Vernon was beginning to catch on. They weren't completely stupid, and Marge gasped with gleeful anticipation as her brother stood suddenly.

"We feed you," he began.

"Debatable."

"We give you shelter!" Vernon roared. "And you stand there, you little freak, and call us names! Vilify us! You ungrateful runt-" He staggered around the table and Harry really wished he knew how to shut his mouth.

"I'm sure Lily understands," Harry said instead. "Every family has the chance to pop out a bad egg, shame it had to be her sister." Petunia made a sound like that of a whistle, all speech stolen away.

"Pet," Vernon said in a low voice. "Take Marge to her guest room, why don't you? And ask Dudley to watch telly in his room tonight."

Aunt Petunia wouldn't even look at him as she ushered Marge upstairs and collected Dudley from the sitting room. Marge however, was shooting him gleeful smiles over the broad shoulders of Uncle Vernon, which blocked escape from the kitchen.

Well, Harry thought. No matter how painful this may be, I know the humiliation will be worse. If only I could use my wand Uncle Vernon, then we'd see who's the better man.

There really was no running this time, there was only the window over the sink behind him that led into the yard, but it was latched, and Harry didn't have that much time. When the first hit came, it was right to the face and Harry stumbled against the counter with a choked sound. Vernon grabbed his hair roughly and stood him upright before hitting him again in the same spot. He didn't hit the nose or eye, aiming only to leave a cheek bruise and a fucked up lip.

Harry's head was hurting enough for him to wonder if a punch could give you a concussion, even if it wasn't to the top of your head.

When Vernon let go of his hair, Harry shrunk down again, sliding to the floor and trying to fold in on himself as much as he could.

I fought a war. I watched people die. And I have to take this, just for existing?

Vernon gave him a right good kicking, all in silence. There were no words needed as Harry whimpered at the lash outs. He was done when he was breathing heavily and his face had changed from purple to a less threatening rosy pink.

"No belt today," he said conversationally. The only thing that gave him away was the shortness of breath. "Lucky you." The massive man went to the table again, and finished his brandy off with a sigh. Once it seemed Vernon was going to stay seated, Harry went out the backdoor, his Uncle's eyes on him all the while.

He was ashamed of it all, but even more so that he was nearly tearing up. He hadn't done that the first time around at thirteen. He'd outgrown the habit before Hogwarts. Now though, when he'd thought this all behind him...

It was more difficult.

As he flopped down near the hydrangeas at the furthest right corner, he hissed in pain. There would be bruising, certainly. He'd be sequestered away inside until they faded enough not to be startling to the point of asking questions. Petunia would need enough time to start whispering about his tendency to seek out fights, and the neighbours would commend her for taking in such a delinquent.

Harry sometimes felt crazy here growing up. Well, always. That hadn't changed even with extra years of experience and processing.

The Dursleys, like school exams, were just something you had to bear until it was over.

There was some rustling the bushes, some squirrel or chipmunk most likely, but otherwise Harry was blissfully alone. The air was cool and his face was still throbbing with heat so that felt nice.

"It'd be nice to be a squirrel," Harry considered aloud. "I would live a short, unbothered life. Maybe die by car, but otherwise it's pretty straightforward. Then again, I stay here much longer and Vernon may just run me over anyway. Surprised I made it the first time around," he mumbled.

The bushes gave a little rustle in response, and Harry laughed a little at himself for feeling shitty about life. Not too loud of course, in case the Dursleys, or God forbid the neighbours, heard him.

"Sometimes I feel mad, you know? Even a day in this house and..." He sighed, and silently watched the sky. There was a shooting star, or maybe it was aeroplane. Either way he didn't have a wish ready. Harry felt like he'd already asked everything of the universe. He was just a little frustrated to be back here, just as trapped and feeling useless like he did when he really was thirteen.

He didn't go back inside until all the lights in the house had been turned off, and as he crept back in he nearly went into his cupboard for the comforting darkness. But he pushed himself up the stairs. He wished Ron would write back soon. Harry felt terribly alone, and even though he was used to it, it didn't feel any better.

As it was, the very next morning Hedwig returned. Light taps at the window woke him, and he realised he'd not kept it open enough for her to fly in.

"Sorry!" He whispered, pushing the pane up. She flapped in and dropped a letter onto his bed before going for the water bowl that Harry kept fresh for her. He went to pick it up, and saw the From Ron Weasley of the best Burrow and To Harry Potter stuck in Surrey. Harry snorted.

"Ta," Harry said to Hedwig, giving her a hearty rub of the head. The owl ruffed up her feathers and settled down with pride.

It's been ages, hasn't it- Ron began the letter.

Harry I can't even tell you how much swotting Percy's been up to. That'd fill a hundred letters. Glad to see him and talk to him though, after all this time. Maybe he'll get his head out of his arse in time, you're right. Fred and George, the todgers, have already managed to sneak potions in the mash at supper. They still love a good wind up in the hols and Mum really let them have it this time. Think she's had it up to here with the jokes- she thinks they've been giving us ideas, what with the car last year.

Potions essay?! Cor Harry, I'd forgotten. I like to forget that Snape exists on a good day. That's what makes it a good day, see. You know, I'd like to sneak some potions into his mash...

So yeah, mum's applied for the Galleon draw in the Prophet. Don't know about you but I've got a good feeling this year. I keep thinking about Egypt... hm. Maybe it's all connected. Think I may take Divination this year, ha! Well, technically by the time you get this we'll have won the draw, cause Hedwig's sticking around for pampering today. We'll send her off tomorrow then sometime.

Yeah of course, seven turns did it. You too, I'd reckon? Haven't thought to ask Hermione about it, just wrote her back about a birthday present she's got you about a week ago. Before everything, you know. Errol's off then, and I guess you'll ask her, so send Hedwig back when you can with some news about Hermione. I know Errol'll need a good month anyways. Swear that bird is a million and one years old, poor thing.

But it'll take ages, you know, to get to me and back to you after... because of winning the draw and all. I swear, I'm a seer. I can see it clear as day.

And Harry, it's great to be back home.

Signed off with a narrow scribbled Ron.

Harry sighed in contentment, rubbing his sore, bruised cheek absentmindedly. Ron's consciousness made it back just fine. Of course it would, why wouldn't it?

"Hedwig, you've got one more letter, this time to Hermione, right?" A soft hoot.

Harry pried up the floorboard again and set aside his parchment and pen.

Hermione,

I hope your summer's going great, and that your parents are doing well around this time. I know you're close and all, and you haven't seen them in a while. This must be a great time to really connect. I can't say the same, but I guess it's good for the Dursleys that they're, er, alive? Yeah.

I saw a funny looking cat the other day, very ferocious looking but I swear it's half-kneazle. Looked at me like it knew what I was saying. I was thinking you haven't got a pet yet. Would you think of a cat? I think the wild temperament would be quite the fit, and they're intelligent pets. Reminds me of you. Also good at catching rats, you know...

By the way, Dudley's on a diet cause the school brought up health concerns. I thought it was a right laugh until I realised if he wasn't eating much, I wasn't going to be eating anything. Then I think my family had a right laugh about me. Makes them feel better, suppose.

Marge, my uncle's sister, is here. Right miserable. Keeps trying to set her pitbull on me, but the thing seems to prefer sleeping most the time. Lucky me!

Dreaming of Hogwarts. Dreaming of something scrummy from the welcome feast, mostly. Missing you lots. Ron too of course.

Just checking, seven turns should do it?

Harry

Hedwig was sent off into the dusk, and Harry's mind returned to the next problem. Scabbers and Snuffles, or rather Padfoot and Wormtail. When his owl came back he'd write Ron again, not only about Hermione but to remind him to be careful what he says around the rat when the Weasleys take the Daily Prophet Galleon draw and are enjoying that trip to Egypt. It was the least he could do for Sirius Black- make sure clearing his name was doable and provable. How to do that without messing up the timeline too extravagantly? That was going to be harder.

He was sure that once they were all together again and could talk freely, they would come up with something ace. He was excited to see Hermione's response as she was always the most organised of them three. She likely already had a color coded plan mapped out. With Hermione, everything felt safe.

Marge left without any further incidents like the first night. Sure, Uncle Vernon was drinking more than ever, and so he was more prone to get some hits in, but what's new? Harry knew what the Cruciatus felt like, so this should be nothing.

But somehow when it was his relatives... it hurt more than any villain ever did manage. It made him think of Professor Snape as well, and gave him an odd sense of camaraderie.

Hermione's letter took nearly a week to arrive. It came two days before his birthday, which meant that Ron's already in Egypt by now; he knew since his last letter said that the draw winners would be announced the day Harry got the letter. Or Ron at least insinuated that. So sometime around now Sirius Black would see them in the newspaper, Scabbers namely, and break out. Has that already happened or will it be soon?

Harry felt full with nervous energy thinking about it all, and was excited to read Hermione's letter on top of that.

It started with Dear Harry, already more formal than Ron's.

I am having a wonderful time in France, in fact I've added 'learn French' to my to-do list. That's likely why it'll take longer to get this to you. We've just come north, and we're going to take a ferry back to England tomorrow. Have you any clue when you'll be getting school supplies? Only just wondering, maybe you and Ron and me could go to Diagon together! Mum's got an idea in mind about visiting some cousins in Kent firstly, but let me know. I do feel great spending time with my family in the summer, but honestly I've had eleven years with them. I miss you and Ron and Hogwarts much more than my parents. It sometimes feels like Hogwarts will just vanish in a puff of smoke and I know my parents never would. I'm yakking, but do you know what I mean?

I hope you like your birthday present. I thought it was really very clever and Ron told me it was great when I asked a week ago. I want to send it now already, but we must wait! Tradition. I'll get an owl from Diagon to deliver, all proper-like. Also mum's meaning to send food along because I know you always mention that 'you'd die for a home cooked anything'. And she knows I'd like terribly if you didn't die, Harry.

What were you going on about, with the seven turns bit? I've been reading it over and over but I'm sorry, I don't quite catch what you mean. Is it something to do with our summer work? I've done that weeks ago, and I hardly remember. I'm sorry! Have you thought about what classes you'll be electing to take this year? And no, you can't drop potions (Ron's already asked me). If you haven't gotten your school letter yet, you should soon, and then you'll see what I mean.

Best,

Hermione

P.S. I gave Hedwig a boatload of treats, if she's looking a bit chubby! I'm thinking of getting an owl myself actually. I'd not really thought of cats.

Harry felt a pit open in his stomach at the cramped scrawl. It looked like... well.

Hermione didn't remember.

A/N: Harry's opinions and thoughts about the Dursleys' treatment of him are not my viewpoint. I think it's a fairly expected perspective from someone who's just had to make due with the worst situations. And besides Sirius making a break for it, and Professor Lupin being the Defence teacher, the plot will be different for this book :)