He woke up in his cupboard under the stairs. He was automatically of the knowledge he was in his 11 year old's body due to how the cupboard fit in. It took him a few moments to confirm these memories were real - he had really been to Hogwarts, gone the seven years, was involved in a battle with Lord Voldemort and 'died' a few minutes prior, but yet he was also back at the time frame of his younger self, and judging from the kettle whistling in the distance or the banging of a wooden spatula against a pan, everything was going on as per usual.

"Harry! Breakfast is waiting!" Uncle Vernon rapped at the door.

Harry sprang up quickly, wanting to see if Uncle Vernon looked the same.

Harry also, had the strong feeling that he did not 'die'. No, it would be too much of a stretch of his imagination to call it death. He did not truly believe that he did. Harry thought of what happened to him with the blinding red flash, and the forest, and then falling through a silvery pool into this world...reality...like a 'event'. 'The Event', he begun to think of it in his mind.

There were no answers about the event he had. He had the feeling he would forever be consumed by a mix of curiosity and madness if he did not find out as much information about it as possible in his free time though...

"Yes Uncle Vernon!" he said, his 11 year old voice coming out.

Harry opened the door and felt his mouth drop. Instead of the very mundane hallway and the kitchen by the end, his cupboard under the stairs appeared to be situated under a grand staircase to what looked like the first room one might pass through when they first entered this residence. A very beautiful residence it was - high ceiling, 4 floors, marble with golden engravings, a three-tiered crystal chandelier at the centre...

The house, a little bit antique, even for the decade Harry grew up in, screamed wealthy at every corner. It was clear Uncle Vernon was a very rich man. He looked the same as he always did, however.

"What are you looking at m'boy? You've seen this scene about a million times before-" Uncle Vernon reached out to grab Harry by the shoulder and most likely - want to physically steer him somewhere.

Harry shut his mouth and tried to trot along in the general direction Uncle Vernon was going in without needing to sustain his grip on him. He was wearing the same hand-me-downs he always had. He sensed glasses atop his face and it wasn't before long until he found himself in the kitchen, with the same cozy decor style Aunt Petunia would've had, but bigger than the last. Except Aunt Petunia's chair was empty, and it was only Uncle Vernon and Dudley waiting to tuck into breakfast.

"What are you waiting for m'boy? You have your aunt to bring breakfast in bed to after this..." Uncle Vernon it appeared, did not seem amused by Harry's lack of action to usual events that day.

Harry said nothing as he cooked breakfast, listening to the radio in the kitchen as he did so. There was still one despite living in a place as large as this, and it had a frilly pink cover over it so Harry knew it must be Aunt Petunia's. Perhaps she loved to listen in on news or whatever channel she tweaked it to whilst she was cooking some mornings. The news on the radio told him it was indeed the year before his first year of Hogwarts, and that the muggle world had not changed much.

If he even went to Hogwarts at all?

Somehow, Harry did not quite think he was in an alternate reality and what he thought of as his life...one of them, did not happen yet. Instead he felt like there were many alternate realities and he existed and lived in all of them...they didn't feel more real, or less real, than the other.

Except there was only one question - why?

What powers there be had let him see the alternate realities of the universe? And why? Why him? What had he done to deserve it?

A part of him wanted to be happy, in a time before things were hard, but a part of him was screaming out loud that the universe offered no free lunch to anyone.

"I'll be 11 in a week's time," said Dudley, before loudly listing all that he'd expected to get.

Harry decided to turn that out, and by the time he was done being reminded of how tiresome it was to live with Dudley again, his Uncle's voice cut through his thoughts again.

"One Petunia for a lovely Petunia, just what she needs to cheer herself up when she's feeling one of her down days..." Uncle Vernon snipped a petunia from a large bouquet of flowers decorating the kitchen that looked freshly bought, and put it in a small vase, delicate and pretty, obviously to impress, that had already been filled with water, from a line of water-filled vases, and popped it on the breakfast tray Harry had prepared for Aunt Petunia.

"Thank you," said Harry, because if his aunt was the same he was sure she would appreciate little gestures like that. He struggled to not drop the tray, and found to his pleasant surprise that when he cast a non-verbal magic spell to keep it floating, he had the full ease that the spell came to him with as a Hogwarts student in his last year of school, and that he was able to cast other non-verbal spells (harmless and insignificant) rather easily the whole way he walked up. A path he felt like he knew how to take based on many years of living there.

A full 11 year's worth of memories of living here at the place came back. The most vivid memories, like getting bullied by Dudley, and Mr Smith, sticking out, but all the mundane memories there waiting to be browsed through at his wondering thought's content. It seemed Uncle Vernon was even richer in this world. His Aunt was the same. He went to a slightly better school but somehow Mr Smith still ended up being a drama teacher there. Though because Harry had also experienced a jump up in the clothes he wore, even his haircut (he remembered Dudley getting the best haircut at the salon and Harry getting the cheapest...but still a salon haircut...), when Mr Smith gave his speeches about fairness and integrity no matter their personal background, it was with other boys that he aimed his exclusive wink at, and not Harry this time around.

Mr Smith wasn't as dear to Harry as the one he remembered in 'The Introduction to the Magical World' reality, but he was still a person whom this Harry respected very much.

He was no less of an adult, and likely in no better of a situation than he was last, but it did appear that life had...whisked him away just when he was getting used to the old one, and there would be new challenges to face.

The journey to his aunt's room had been rather uncomfortable and a little sad. Harry walked past rows and rows of corridors before he got her, remembering that she could be quite reclusive and tucked away in her office in this world, and that whereas she thought Uncle Vernon or Dudley didn't pick it up, Harry had always picked up a vague, foggy sadness to her all these years. A little bit of mystery to her he could never solve.

He rapped on the door.

"8.01. Late," said his aunt.

He opened the door and saw what looked like a small office. Shelves upon shelves of books. Several desks. Maps spread about them, a globe. A telescope, some metal instruments, and a computer and many books of paper by them. Some of the books on the shelves appeared centuries old. The place had images of medieval villages and castles, the type of posh buildings his Aunt Petunia would always dream of living in but could never afford in the Introduction to the Magical World life reality, and a sense of being well-lived in.

'Breakfast on the table. Whatever is taking you so long," his Aunt looked and sounded the same. Except she was dressed in darker colours, sitting by a small table that was probably used for eating and drinking, taking a break from her main work, with the master bed nearby. There was a novel set in the ancient times on the bedside table besides the bed.

Harry quickly placed the tray down.

"Tell your Uncle that I'm just done with another paper. I've proved that magic doesn't exist..magic doesn't exist...despite the interest and long-term preoccupation with magic dating from the 1000s and reaching it's peak in the medieval period of human history, magic doesn't exist and never has. It is simply a human preoccupation with the supernatural, the abnormal, substituting a desire for certain elements of human society, that happened to align with skilled trickery and non-artists during that period. It does not exist and never has...the world may believe that nonsense, but I don't live in that world..." Aunt Petunia muttered, throwing a glare at Harry as if he dared disagree when all Harry remembered was frantically agreeing with his aunt everytime in the topic came up.

In fact, memories of his aunt being obsessed with proving magic was wrong, with being scared, utterly petrified of magic, ever since his earliest days came back. His aunt should've lived a happy and content life in this reality, she had every reason to, but yet she had always been considered a little too obsessed with proving magic didn't exist, something Harry didn't remember the other muggles caring so much about, as if her life depended on it, and within her, was the strongest sense of conviction that magic just simply couldn't and did not exist that Harry couldn't shake of.

He had never doubted the strength or intensity of his aunt's obsession...desire, whatever you call it, for magic to not exist.

"Yes Aunt Petunia," said Harry, dipping his head politely before heading back downstairs again.

It was true that his aunt was more crazy about magic not existing here, and she had the money to take it even further, even hiring a private detective at one point to prove magic did not exist that lead nowhere, but yet Harry was also struck by some deep sorrow that permeated throughout the house. It didn't matter which house it was, the feeling was the same.

His aunt would've truly been happier if magic never existed to her. If she got to live her chlidhood and adolescence normally. If she never felt so inferior to Lily or jealous all these years. If she could explain the magical reality Lily got to experience and she didn't in another way, or ignore it entirely.

Suddenly Harry was struck by another realisation, feeling like a cold stone plunging into his stomach as he walked down the steps.

Could he have been put in an alternate reality of sorts in order to right the wrongs? To solve what could be solved? He wasn't sure he would fix everyone's problems - there would be people whose stories, dreams and fears he would never know, not even in this reality, but with his foresight and wisdom, and knowledge of the pain and suffering everyone around him faced in the Introduction Reality...perhaps it would only be cruelty, or an unjust action in the future...if he did not take all steps to try and decrease as much of the issues as he could.

He would feel terrible if he didn't. He already had all the tools to change things for the better. It was just a matter of sticking to his desire to save things and ensure not as much pain befell on everyone in this reality than the other one...

Harry went down to breakfast and ate his meal.

"There's a letter for you m'boy. Two letters. Actually," Uncle Vernon's face began turning red. It often did when he was confused or angry, but often one lead to the other, so it was always rather unpleasant when the signs ere starting. "You don't get mail. You're a dependent. What crackpot tomfoolery addresses mail to the kid in the household?" He was sounding more and more angry by the minute.

He tore up the letter but when he went to take a sip of his tea, a rolled up parchment suddenly fell out of it. One which Harry knew was another letter addressed to him.

However...Harry was able to glimpse that one of the letters was an invitation to Hogwarts, and the other was a letter from the ministry about offenses against the statue of secrecy and accidental magic being cast.

So the trace was still on him...

"What are you staring at?" asked Dudley. Harry turned to look at him. He was much the same but yet his memories of him pulsed with something slightly different about the boy.