Prologue: The Wizarding World and the Muggle world has been in a hostile stand off for centuries. Blows coming to a heat with Muggleborns immigrating to the Wizarding World. Purity is of the essence. But the Wizarding World is plagued with an even darker secret.
As dimensions are flat planes, in-between the planes is space, Intergalactic Space. Here, it is like if your nervous system was extracted from your flesh and then exposed to the elements. Where Black Widow Spiders twist and churn the dimensions, turning a young father into a drug addict who does blow jobs to strangers for the next high. The liquidation of self-worth. And that is the tip of the ice berg. A Memorian is a person who has contact, through memories, to Intergalactic Space. And Harry is one of them.
The purity of the Wizarding World can be condensed into two perspectives. One perspective is that it is like a bottle of 95% NaCl versus a bottle of 99.9999% NaCl; the Margin of Error can determine which is useful. A multicultural Muggleborn Wizarding World could be possible with a high Margin of Error (so like 80% pure NaCl). The other perspective is that it is like heat transfer in thermodynamics. If the British Wizarding World has say 30 Black Widow Spiders surrounding it in Intergalactic Space per a square kilometer, if the Muggleborns migrate to it, and the Muggle world has say 10 Black Widow Spiders surrounding it in Intergalactic Space per a square kilometer; heat transfers from the Wizarding World to the Muggle world. This heat is consciousness. Thus Muggles and Muggleborns are sapping the Wizarding World.
The "starving angels", Black Widow Spiders, saw the birth of Harry coming. More specifically, the White Widow Spider Beatrice. Webbing time streams, she wrote canon, dictating Harry's life, and a bleak one it is. Harry would be killed the moment he was born. But the defenses of the Wizarding World kicked in. A prophecy was born. And like all prophecies, it created an escape route for the subjects from the canon that the Widow Spiders weaved.
Present:
The Holocaust, to the Inquisition; all were people following the Math of Intergalactic Space. Harry, ten years old sitting in his cupboard, found mercy. He found mercy for the concentration camp guards, mercy for the Zylon B distributers, mercy for the commandant of Aushwitz. For in Harry's memories, he had mercy for the spiders; the Math where it all began. In these comfort, secluded, childhood days, Harry's only friend were the spider in the cupboard under the stairs. And what a log of baggage it carried.
Harry found this normal; the correction of hysteria. As Harry lived his day to day life, hysteria would pop in every now and then. He would correct, finding a canon invented by him for himself and those around him, weaving his own fate, with the limitations imposed on him.
From a teacher later found out to be abusing children, to a car driving on the sidewalk, Harry never got tangled up in them. Walking the straight and narrow, well as straight and narrow as his self-made canon calculated. And his enemies, well more like foes, competitors; the Dursleys.
Vernon used to be large, yes, but muscular. Ever since they threw Harry into the cupboard, he lost that physique, turning fat and corpulent. Dudley was not better. While Aunt Petunia had the figure of an anorexiac. Like magic, those Harry contested with, went out of their way to take on unnecessary risk. They hurt themselves far before they can get to Harry. For that is another tool of a Memorian, besides writing their own canon, the immobilization of people into the time stream; the only physical marker is them taking on unnecessary risk after unnecessary risk. It is contestable whether the immobilization came from Harry directly, or his spider friend.
Harry looked at the spider dangling upside down. "Hello Spinefollow, how is your day?" Harry did not get, nor was he expecting, a response. But Harry then re-evaluated a memory he had. The perspective swiveling around. It was a fond memory. Then the memory of the American president played in his mind. "Ah, sorry, President Spinefollow". And Harry stuck to it, content, and turned around, looking through the cracks of the cupboard door.
As Harry approached the door, memories flashed in his mind. Of visiting the pet store and seeing spiders bred. Of a cartoon who summons a demon from another dimension. Harry was used to these memories. They occurred whenever he started to leave the cupboard. But a new memory emerged. Of Brazilians, on a nature show, clear cutting the Amazon jungle to make room for a new generation of farms. Harry looked back at the spider. He knew it was not President Spinefollow, but a node, as he has no presence in the physical world. Wariness overtook Harry. Pushing through this, he knocked on the cupboard door.
Aunt Petunia was close by, and started to mutter "time for chores it is." Unlocking the door, light filled the room, and Harry squinted to see Aunt Petunia looming over him, her shadow providing shelter from the light behind her. "Time to cook the bacon, iron tomorrow's clothes, clear the table, and sweep the floors. Quick, before they wake up."
Harry got up, and started the same dull routine. Starting with putting bacon on the fryer and then heating it up. Then he cleared the table, wiping it down. Before sweeping the floor for any cast offs. Smelling the bacon cook, he went back to the pan and flipped them over. Foot steps could be heard walking down the staircase. Harry had run out of time. He would need to do the ironing during brunch. Today was Saturday, and Harry would lose the chance to sneak a peek of Dudley's morning cartoons, instead he would be ironing out the house's underwear.
With a heavy sigh, Harry sat down for breakfast, after setting the bacon on the table. He would get none, rarely one. And so Harry sat, alone in his memories.