Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter. Wait what?! What did you say? I don't own Harry Potter! Gosh, darn it! All things in bold are taken from the book. I'll be using a lot from the book in the first few chapters, but I'll be using less and less towards the end of the book.

"Speech"

'Thoughts'

Chapter One: Damn it! I'm in the Past!

"Up! Get up! Now!" Harry heard a voice, which sounded an awful lot like Aunt Petunia, screeched He felt different, he knew something was wrong. Where was Ginny? Why was that that voice screeching at him to get up. He guessed he was dreaming, so he opened his eyes and sat up and realized he wasn't in his room, so he started to panic. He heard someone rapping on the door.

"Up!" the voice screeched again. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was back in his cupboard.

"Are you up yet?" the voice asked.

"Nearly," he replied even though he hadn't even started to get ready.

"Well get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything to be perfect on Duddey's birthday.

Harry froze. Dudley. Crap, he was really in the past. Harry groaned.

'Why do I always have the worst luck?' he thought. 'How did I even get here in the first place?'

It couldn't have been Voldemort— he had killed him and all of his horcruxes— it must've been a death eater. But what would've been the point of that? It would only giving him an advantage— he'd have all his memories and he'd defeat Voldemort much faster.

What if it was someone who lost someone and hoped he would defeat Voldemort faster. That Voldemort would die before the person they lost died.

'It makes a bit of sense,' he tried to convince himself, but it wasn't working. He knew it couldn't be it that simple. Nothing in his like was that simple.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped.

"Nothing, nothing..." This might not be so bad, he realized. He'd be able to save people; Cedric, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Sirius. Sirius. Go he missed him so much. He was still in Azkaban. He's have to find a way to get him out. He tried to reassure himself, but it wasn't working.

He got out of his cupboard and looked at the pile of presents and got disgusted. They were completely ruining their son by spoiling him so much. Didn't they realize they were slowly killing their son by feeding him so much? The Dursleys would alway repulse him. He'd have to live through the torture of the Dursley's again.

'Oh, great!' he thought. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it. He'd tell Dumbledore, he'd get him out.

He thought about it. Dumbledore would've easily seen the signs of abusive, even if he couldn't Madam Pomfrey or Mrs. Figg would've reported it to him, right? So, why didn't he do anything about it. Just because of the blood wards? No, the blood wards would've disappeared as soon as Voldemort took his blood, so why?

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was putting the bacon on the pan.

"Comb your hair!" he barked. "And cook that bacon faster." Harry turned up the heat on the stove hoping the bacon would burn.

Harry was frying the eggs by the time Dudley had arrived in the kitchen with his mother.

Harry put the plates of egg and slightly-burnt bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley meanwhile was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year." Thirty-six more than he got last year— he didn't count Uncle Vernon's used socks as presents.

"Darling you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right that's thirty-seven then," said Dudley going red in the face. Harry couldn't remember if Aunt Petunia stopped Dudley from throwing a tantrum and flipping over the table, so he began wolfing down his bacon as fast a possible to stay on the safe side.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you two presents while we're out today. How's that popkin? Two more presents. Is that alright?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty … thirty…"

Harry was trying to stop himself from snorting when he wondered how it was possible that Dudley ever made it past Primary School. Uncle Vernon probably bribed the teachers.

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley?" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

Harry often hated being Harry Potter, he hated how the Dursley's treated him, he hated his fame, he hated how the Wizarding World would only think of him as the Boy-Who-Lived and not Harry Potter, he hated that so many people he loved had died— almost everything about it, but in this moment, he was so glad he was so glad he wasn't Dudley— an idiot who will die young and loves torturing children weaker than him.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control plane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping off the paper of a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head towards Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror; Harry was tempted to smirk.

"Now what?" asked Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested. Harry smiled at the memory of blowing Marge up— too bad she couldn't remember it. He quickly turned his smile into a frown so the Dursley's wouldn't get suspicious.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

"What about what's her name, your friend — Yvonne?" They thought Yvonne was her friend?! Did they not noticed how uncomfortable they made her with all their racist jokes and stupidity? Harry was surprised he hadn't noticed this in the past reality.

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Harry put in, knowing they wouldn't do anything they thought wouldn't do anything they thought would make him happy. He'd be fine as long as he didn't talk to the snake— the trip to the zoo was the best day he'd before he went to Hogwart, or at least before Piers told the Dursleys he was talking to the snake.

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, knowing they had no other options but bringing him to the zoo if they didn't want a happy Harry— which seemed to be their worst nightmare. If he was back in this hellhole after he thought he was finally rid of them for good, he was going to make the most of.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly. There it was! Now all Uncle Vernon would have to do was agree. ". . . and leave him in the car. . ."

'Merlin!' he thought. What was he going to do? How was he going to convince them that he'd rather stay in the car than go to the zoo? Something must've happened last time!

"The car's new, he's not sitting in it alone. . ."

'Ah, there it is,' he thought. Now they had no other option but to take him to the zoo— well unless one of them was going to sit in the car with him, which was never going to happen.

Dudley began to fake cry loudly.

'This must be a first. Dudley won't get want he wants,' Harry thought.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special!" she cried flinging her arms around him. If only setting that snake on Dudley wouldn't get him punished. He'd have to find a way to torture them a later day— once he got out of the hellhole that was the Dursleys.

"I. . . don't. . . want. . . him. . . t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms, to which Harry just smirked back. Dudley looked confused, a look that suited him perfectly, though he quickly plasterested a frown back on his face.

Just then, the doorbell rang — "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Piers Polkiss walked in with his mother. He looked too much like Pettigrew for his liking, but then again, he always thought he looked like a rat anyway, so this just added to his disgust. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry was on his way to the zoo. Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside, though.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly. . ."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him, but that didn't matter, he wasn't going to do anything anyway if he could help it, but even if he did, they'd let him out before his Hogwarts letter came, he remembered that, so as soon as he got it, he'd hide it up his shirt, take the few things he had and a bit of cash he was planning on stealing from the Dursleys, and he'd take a cab to the Leaky Cauldron. He'd make to cover his hair though, he wouldn't want a repeat of last time.

While he drove Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia about motorcycles.

" . . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said as a motorcycle overtook them.

Harry smartly kept his mouth shut, even though he would have liked to have told his opinion on motorcycles. Sirius loved motorcycles. Sirius.

It was a very sunny Sunday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon pop. It tasted fine, but he remembered how good it tasted last time., as it as the sweetest thing Harry had tasted in years.

Harry spotted a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

Harry was careful to walk away a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him. They ate at the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finished the first.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, llit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Harry had to remind himself not to talk to the snake.

'Just don't say anything,' he thought, 'It's not like he's expecting a Parselmouth to be visiting anytime soon.'

Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

'How rude,' Harry thought. 'Do they care about anything but themselves?'

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. If only he could talk to it.

It winked. Wait, how did the snake know he was a Parselmouth; in fact, was he even a Parselmouth anymore? The horcrux in his head was destroyed after all.

Harry stared at it trying to solve this puzzle. He couldn't test it here, no, he didn't want a repeat of last time. No; he'd just conjure up a snake once he got a wand to see if he could talk to it. Then he started panicking— if he wasn't a Parselmouth he couldn't destroy Voldemort's diary, nor could he save Ginny. Ginny. He loved her last time he saw her, but when he said her name he felt nothingness. That spark he felt when he saw her last, but it was gone. Ginny seemed like just an ordinary name— not even carrying as much emotion as he felt when he thought of Neville. Indifference.

Harry said, "Sorry, I have to go," to the snake, making sure no one else could hear him and that he didn't speak in Parseltongue, which was easy since he wasn't even sure he could do it and because he always had to put in effort and in order to do it before, so he turned and walked away.

On the car ride back Harry could only wonder why'd he'd been so selfish. Was not getting put in the cupboard worth the snake's freedom?

A/N: Feedback is always welcome. Next chapter should be posted between 9/15 to 9/30.