EDIT #2 :)

Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss. He stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other's faces. – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Harry sighed, realizing it was time for him to go back where he was needed. He was about to ask how he was supposed to get back down there when something glowing and silver caught Harry's eye over Dumbledore's shoulder. It seemed to be a very large stone pensieve, and there was a memory already swirling around inside of it.

"Well that's random." Harry stated, and he walked over to the large glowing basin marked with ancient ruin symbols that even Hermione probably wouldn't understand. "Is this going to take me back, then?" He asked Dumbledore, who raised a bushy gray eyebrow.

"You see something, Harry? Rather odd that it should only be visible to you…" Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully, and Harry looked up from the silver swirls in surprise.

"So you can't see the pensieve?" He asked the old Headmaster in confusion. "Why not?" The last time he could see something others could not had been the situation with the thestrals. Of course Luna had been able to see them too, which hadn't been exactly comforting considering the many rumors questioning her sanity.

"I haven't the slightest idea, Harry." Dumbledore said peacefully, looking like he had no need for an explanation of any kind as to the reason for the pensieve being there. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes at the carefree old codger behind him. Then again, why should Dumbledore care? He was already dead, what did he have to lose?

"I wonder whose memory is in here…" Harry wondered aloud, and the second he felt the need for one Harry found a thin wooden stick in his hand. Harry began to stir the liquid silver around in circles until something similar to steam rose up and shaped itself into what looked like a frightened primary schooler running. There was something oddly familiar about the tiny child, who was extremely thin but wore clothes that hung off his body like elephants skin. Round glasses bounced around on the boy's nose as he ran, and Harry leaned in to get a closer look at the boys face. The realization of who the boy was hit him about the same time as the person behind him in the hooded black cloak did, and Harry did a nose dive into the memory.

Harry landed flat on his face, hitting the pavement much harder that he would have liked. Well, he would have much preferred not to have hit it at all actually. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees slowly and was struck by how ridiculously tiny he was, finding himself in an oversized shirt that fluttered around his thin torso in the wind, and baggy jeans that were rolled up about six times.

"There he is, get him!" He heard a high pitched voice shout from behind him. He turned and saw a small gang of children, who looked even younger than the first years at Hogwarts were racing towards him at full speed. Harry immediately recognized the heaviest one as his elder cousin, Dudley Dursley. He then decided that it was probably in his best interest to haul ass out of there before the little kids decided to get violent, so he quickly jumped to his feet and ran as fast as his little feet would carry him. He sprinted down the sidewalk and turned a corner, racing onto a primary school playground full of small children. He had faced Voldemort for Merlin's sake! Why should he run from a gang of midgets?

Harry sighed in annoyance, realizing he had no right to call anyone a midget now. He shot a look back over his shoulder, which caused him to nearly run over a small girl with blonde pig tails and a pink chalk in her hand. She squealed as he brushed past her, gravel flying in his wake.

"Sorry!" Harry called without even a backwards glance. He began to tire out, feeling his legs rapidly turning to jelly beneath him and rough breaths escaped his throat. Suddenly Harry remembered his old technique from back when Dudley would try and beat him up in a burst of last minute survival instincts; If you can't outrun him, find a place to hide. His salvation around Private Drive had always been the tall trees that were scattered across the whole neighborhood because he was able to nimbly scramble up onto the utmost top branches, while fat little Dudley would be stuck at the base.

Harry quickly scanned the area, and though he found no climbable trees he did spot a cluster of dumpster's right around the corner. He dashed behind one of the smelly monstrosities and crouched down, listening for approaching footsteps. There was a shuffle of gravel a few feet from his hiding place and a grunt of annoyance from what Harry suspected was Dudley.

"Where'd you think he went?" Wondered a high-pitched voice, and he couldn't contain a small snicker at the prepubescent squeak. Harry immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, but the gang had already begun to run towards him.

"He's over there!" the squeaky boy cried, and Harry darted out from his hiding spot and looped around to head back towards the playground, still partly unsure of why he felt the need to run at all. Dudley and his band of future criminals finally caught on and began to tail him, their round childish faces leering at him from behind. As a last attempt to lose them, Harry plunged straight into the mob of children at play and tried to keep from stepping on anyone. Just when he had thought he was home free, Harry felt something grab him by the collar of his shirt and was held back in a suffocating grip.

"What on Earth do you think you are doing, child? You can't just go plowing into every one; somebody is going to get hurt! Explain yourself!" a stern looking woman shrieked in his ear, glaring down at him. Harry opened his mouth to answer, but his tongue was like sandpaper in his mouth and he felt his throat closing up from apprehension. Dudley marched towards them from the crowd looking vindictive, and Harry grimaced.

"Excuse me Mrs. Rodney," said Dudley in an annoyingly posh voice. "He's running away from me because he stole my… my…" Dudley's beady eyes landed on a pen tucked in the front pocket of Harry's shirt. "My pen! He stole my pen."

The overweight woman reached into Harry's pocket and plucked the pen out, handing it to Dudley while Harry openly gaped at her. Where was the justice in this situation? The old bat hadn't even asked his side of the story, she'd just taken what was his and fed it to mini Moby Dick over there with no proof at all!

"That was my pen! You're just going to believe him?" Harry cried out angrily. The woman looked down her nose at him, her eyes narrowed.

"Well, you're the one with the record, Mister. I think we'll just have to call in your Aunt and Uncle to see what they think about your outrageous behavior!" Harry, despite not being afraid of the Dursleys in the least, felt an odd nervous sensation in the pit of his stomach, and his face burned with humiliation. He threw a heated glare at Dudley, who just smirked as he was dragged away to have a chat with the Principal.

When they entered the office, Harry vaguely recognized the Principal as Mr. Thomas. He was a short, balding man who always wore strange and mismatched outfits that annoyed Uncle Vernon to no end, which was always the upside to him getting in trouble. Mr. Thomas stared at Harry with a smile that seemed more like a grimace pasted on his round little face in a failing attempt to seem nice.

Harry sat in the chair across from his principal, looking all the little delinquent they thought him to be. He slouched in his chair and arms crossed while glaring at the wall and pretending to pout, when he was really just trying to figure out what the hell was going on. How had he gotten here, so far back in time? And was it going to be permanent, or was he just dillusional? Maybe he'd finally cracked, gone over the deep end. What if he was dead? Harry felt this must surely be hell, to be stuck back in the days of Dudleys favorite game "Lets beat Harry until he bleeds". A sharp rap on the door brought him back to reality, and a pretty woman in a gray suit poked her head into the room.

"Mr. Thomas, the Dursley's are here."Mr. Thomas smiled at her a bit too friendly, flashing a small wink that made Harry cringe.

"Thank you Laura, send them in." He called in a superior voice, to which she simply nodded. The door opened wider and Uncle Vernon stormed into the room in all his red faced, temple throbbing glory. Aunt Petunia who was looking very annoyed followed him in, and Harry suspected he had interrupted her cleaning the already spotless house that he so hated. She spotted him and wrinkled her nose in distaste, her beady eyes conveying how much trouble he was in.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. Please, take a seat." Mr. Thomas offered and they did, but Harry could have sworn he saw his Uncles eye twitch as he surveyed Mr. Thomas' unordinary wardrobe. "I assume you both know why you're here?"

At that, the Dursleys eyes flickered to him, and Harry sunk a few inches into his chair.

"What did he do?" Aunt Petunia asked sharply, turning back to Mr. Thomas. Uncle Vernon turned back to him as well but a bit reluctantly, as if his outrageous outfit was physically hurting him to look at. Mr. Thomas cleared his throat, and steepled his fingers in a Dumbledore-ish fashion, which made Harry ache for Hogwarts.

"Apparently he was running amuck outside on the playground, after stealing your son Dudley's pen, and nearly injured quite a few children in the process. If it wasn't the last day of school, I'd probably already written him up for it. We all know this isn't the first time something like this has happened." He turned his stern gaze onto Harry, who hardly noticed.

The last day of school? Harry thought back to what Dudley had looked like, and determined that he wasn't quite too wide for a doorway yet, but he was getting close. Harry guessed Dudley was about 12 give or take a few months, which meant Harry himself was almost 11. If this was the last day of school, then he'd just have to survive the summer with the Dursleys and he could go to Hogwarts and explain what happened to Dumbledore. Surely Dumbledore could find a way to get him back home. Home… where many of his friends had died at the hand of Voldemort. Home, where he was in the middle of a war. Home, where everything was screwed up and so many families had been destroyed. Fred's empty eyes flashed before him and Harry felt an idea beginning to form. Maybe…

Right then and there, he made up his mind. Harry wasn't sure how long he was going to be here, but no matter how painful or difficult it would be he would save as many innocent lives that he possibly could. Hermione's voice echoed in his head. "… you can't save everyone, Harry…"

Well he'd be damned if he couldn't try.

"Get in the car, boy. Come on, be quick about it!" Mr. Dursley snarled, and Harry snatched his foot out of the way a second before it slammed shut. Dudley chortled next to him, waiting excitedly for more of his father's blatant abuse towards Harry. The young wizard smiled grimly to himself, mentally noting not to save him from the Dementors.

"Boy," his Uncle started with a shaking voice. "When we get back home, you are to go to your cupboard. You will not be leaving it for the next week. No dinner, one bathroom break a day, and NO funny business." Dudley smirked at him from his seat, his beady eyes glowing with happiness as he played with Harry's pen. At that moment, something in Harry cracked. He had already gone through 16 years of Hell with those damn Dursleys, and there was no way he was going to do it all over again. Harry wouldn't be going to the cupboard, not today and not EVER. He cleared his throat loudly as his Uncle crossed over onto the highway.

"No." The car swerved, and Harry clutched his seat before going on. "I've had enough Dursley, I'm done with living in a cupboard. I'm done being beat up by your morbidly obese son, and I'm done with you. I won't be sticking around for much longer, so no need to tell me about Hogwarts. Oh and thanks, by the way, for lying about how my Parents died. That was pretty cool of you guys." Aunt Petunia gasped loudly, her horse like face going white as she stared at him accusingly.

"How… who told… about-" Harry smirked at her.

"How do I know I'm a wizard?" The knuckles of the bony hand clutching Aunt Petunia's seat belt turned white, and Dudley looked at Harry confusedly, probably thinking he'd gone completely bonkers.

"I WILL NOT HAVE TALK OF THOSE FREAKS IN MY CAR!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, his whole face turning an ugly shade of purple. They skidded into the driveway of number four Private Drive, and Uncle Vernon told Aunt Petunia and Dudley to stay in the car, his voice shaking with rage. He got out, opened Harry's door and hauled him off his seat.

"You'd thought you would get away with this, didn't you? Not on MY watch." His Uncle sneered at him, and Harry's heart leaped up into his throat as he struggled to get away. Was Uncle Vernon going to beat him? Harry knew that his Uncle had no problem breaking the law when it came to Harry, for he had proven it time and time again, but this was a little extreme! Had Harry truly pushed Vernon Dursley over the limit this time? Uncle Vernon flung the front door open so hard that one of the panels of glass at the top fell out and shattered, which only seemed to fuel his Uncles anger. He lobbed his tiny nephew down the hall, where Harry slammed his head on a side table and nearly blacked out from the sudden sharp pain.

"Think you can come into MY house, and infect MY family with all your freakiness, eh?" If there was anything Harry had learned from all his battles with Voldemort, it was how to be sarcastic at all the wrong times.

"You realize you're the one who just forced me into your house, don't you? Or is your pea sized brain having trouble comprehending that?" Uncle Vernon's face contorted with rage, and he picked up the extremely underweight Harry with ease, holding him up by the front of his shirt. Harry stared him down, looking much braver than he felt as he dangled there in his Psycho Uncles meaty hand.

"Don't insult me, boy. I can snap your neck right now if I want to." Dursley said menacingly. his angry spittle flying into Harry's sneering face. Harry could easily see through the threat, knowing there was no way his Uncle would do something so radical. Normal people didn't snap their orphan Nephews neck. Of course, they didn't lock their Nephews in cupboards, either.

"I know you won't though. You know you won't, no matter how much you want to. You're too scared to kill me Dursley. Too scared that 'My Lot' will come back for you, huh?" Uncle Vernon's hand tightened and he drew the other one back, preparing to strike. The first punch landed hard into Harry's stomach, and pain shot up his spine but he restrained from crying out in pain. His resistance against admitting he was in pain ended as the first hit was followed by another, and another, some landing on his face and others in the stomach or other parts of his body; Everything his Uncle could reach was pounded into.

Harry was once again flung across the room like a rag doll, and he cried out as his frail body slammed into the opposite wall. His vision was blurry and everything ached, but Harry swore he would never again give in to Vernon Dursley. He stood slowly, taking deep painful breaths that echoed through his ribs, his clothes stained a frightful red.

"I hope you enjoyed this," Harry slurred vindictively. "Because as soon as they find out, you're done for. Think about that while you wait like a frightened little girl in your bed." He stretched his mouth into a bloody smile, then the broken child then used every bit of magic in his body and focused on his favorite place in the world.