I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, J.K ROWLING DOES. OBVIOUSLY.

The first part is copied directly from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Any kind of feedback, positive and negative, is highly appreciated! This is my first fanfic, so criticism is very welcome! Also, if you have any ideas for how the story should go, just say something. Thanks! Enjoy!

On the last day of August, Harry thought he'd better speak to his aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so he went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and Dudley screamed and ran from the room.

"Er – Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted to show that he was listening.

"Er – I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to – to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be alright if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you."

He was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizard's school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Harry didn't say anything.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Harry, realizing this for the first time. He pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," he read.

His aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three quarters."

"It's on my ticket."

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

That night, Harry checked off the last box on the piece of paper he had hung on the wall counting the days until September the first. His excitement was practically radiating off of him; and it took all the self control he could muster not to jump up and down yelling. He thought that his aunt and uncle wouldn't like the noise. I doubt Hedwig would approve either, he thought.

He packed and re-packed his trunk at least seven times, just to make sure he had absolutely everything. He finally got into bed and thought about how he was leaving the Dursleys for an entire school year. He slowly drifted to sleep with a smile on his face. Soon a dream would wipe the smile off.

And what a dream it would be.

Harry woke up with a yell. Hedwig screeched. His head hurt. His head was split open... He couldn't breathe... There wasn't enough air in the room... He was shaking all over...

As he vomited over his blanket, he realized that he was in his room, on his bed. With a quick glance at the clock, he saw that it was 4:53 AM.

Feeling like he was going to throw up again, he exited his room and dashed down the hall toward the bathroom. He made it to the toilet just in time for his stomach to lurch. He heard his uncle growl and saw the hall lights turn on.

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon yelled. "It's FIVE IN THE MORNING! What are you –" the door to the bathroom slammed open. Vernon took one look at Harry and had the decency to stop yelling and paused in the doorway. Harry took the moment to sick up in the toilet again.

"What are you doing?" growled Uncle Vernon. He wasn't yelling anymore, though he could hear his voice shake with annoyance.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" said Harry.

Vernon muttered something about "ungrateful, sarcastic and nasty children" before saying, "Ah. I see. Scared about going to that school of yours? Finally coming to your senses and realizing the truth?"

"No. I have a bad headache."

"Well, why were you yelling?"

"Because I have a bad headache."

"Why you little –!"

"Why didn't you go get some medicine from the cabinet then? There's no need to wake the whole neighborhood!" screeched Aunt Petunia. She was standing near the doorway to the bathroom, slightly behind Vernon. Dudley was behind her, hands over his bottom, attempting to hide behind his mother, but failing miserably due to the fact that he was three times as wide as her.

"I didn't have time! I'm fine now!" said Harry, starting to raise his voice. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"Fine! But if you aren't fine in the morning then we aren't taking you to the station. Don't want you making a mess in our new car... No..." snarled Uncle Vernon. He grunted and left.

"Oh, and clean up after yourself," said Petunia, nose crinkled at the smell. She left with Dudley.

Harry just sat there on the bathroom floor, leaning on the toilet for a few minutes. He flushed it and got up to rinse out his mouth. When he reached the bathroom sink and looked at his reflection in the mirror, he flinched.

He knew he felt horribly sick, but he wasn't expecting to look so bad. His lips and face looked almost grey, his eyes bloodshot, and cold sweat was dripping from his forehead. And were those dried tears on his cheeks?

He then found the source of the headache. The scar on his forehead was bright red and slightly inflamed, especially standing out on his pale skin. What could have caused...?

And then he remembered. He remembered the dream he woke up from. The dream with everything.

He didn't even make it to the toilet this time, vomit came out of his mouth and nose and straight into the sink.

Harry didn't sleep the rest of the night. He cleaned up the mess he made in the bathroom and in his bed and went to lay back down, but found that he couldn't lay still. He couldn't calm down. He paced all around his room, thinking about what he saw. And as the minutes wore on, more memories came flooding toward him. But they couldn't be memories, could they? No, they can't be memories if they hadn't happened yet. If they weren't his.

But they were his. But he didn't know anyone in them, except for Hagrid, of course. Everything was so vivid, his brain couldn't have made it all up. He couldn't have made it all up... His brain couldn't have made up seven years of life...

He must have seen into the future! But that couldn't be right either, because if it was really the future, he would do anything to stop those horrible things from happening, therefore changing it and making it not the real future...

He must have been thinking for a long time, because his Uncle shouted for him to come downstairs so they could leave. When Harry showed up at the bottom of the stairs Uncle Vernon grunted as a way of saying that he saw him.

They got in the car (it took a lot of coaxing on Petunia's part to get Dudley to sit next to Harry) and started to drive toward London. Dudley was shaking the entire time and squealed every time Harry so much as moved his foot, but Harry wasn't feeling any better than Dudley at this point.

Harry's head was, although better than it was at 5 AM, still pounding. It felt like 7 years worth of life was violently shoved into his head. And those seven years were not normal seven years. No they were not...

He watched as he met new friends, saved his godfather. He watched himself witness Voldemort's return and as he received ridicule and hate from the Ministry of Magic. He watched Dumbledore fall from the tower, watched himself hunt for horcruxes, walk to his death, meet Dumbledore in the afterlife and then come back to kill Voldemort...

He felt like he was going to vomit again. Luckily, he was able to hold it in.

He didn't know what to do... He didn't even know if it was real. Was he going insane? If it was real, he couldn't deal with it by himself. No way could he handle that. He could barely handle thinking about the dream, and it hadn't even really happened. No, he would have to go to Dumbledore. Dumbledore could keep the secret... Dumbledore would surely know what to do, if Dumbledore was anything like he was in the "memories". But he didn't even know the man yet! How could he have this conversation if he hadn't even met the man? What would Dumbledore think of an eleven year old who claimed to know him for seven years but hadn't even met him yet?

The problem was that he didn't know any of the people in the dream, he hadn't met any of them, but he had so many memories of them, it's like he had known them forever. It was going to be extremely difficult not to let anything slip.

He supposed that the only thing he could do was just wait until he arrived at the station. If everything was the same as he remembers it in the dream, then he would just have to play along with it until he gets to Hogwarts and can find Dumbledore. Blimey, he thought, I better not mess anything up...