Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters.

"Harry Potter," he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "The Boy Who Lived."

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting. Everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his –

Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear –

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

XXX

He lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.

Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he wasn't really alone. Something not too far away was beeping.

It was beeping quite loudly actually.

Cracking one eye open, he blearily saw a digital alarm clock on a wooden nightstand. Confused, he flopped onto his back and looked around. He was in a room that looked oddly familiar, and yet different.

It was his room back at the Dursleys, and yet it wasn't at the same time. The bed, desk, nightstand, window, bookcase, and cabinet were the same. Yet what was on and inside of these items was different.

The room was painted a calming shade of green and the window was hung with royal blue curtains. Lining the bookshelf were books on sports, mixed in were a few fantasy novels. Mixed in among the books were soccer trophies. Sitting on his desk was a computer like Dudley had. Hanging from the desk chair was a schoolbag loaded with textbooks.

There was no trunk or birdcage anywhere to be seen.

Slowly sitting up, he looked around the room once more, only then coming to another realization.

He was seeing just fine, without any glasses on. His eyes were oddly dry though. Wondering what was going on he stumbled out of bed and yanked open his cabinet door. He peered at himself in the mirror.

There, faintly, he could see a contact in his eye. When had he gotten contacts?

Forget the contacts. What was he doing at the Dursleys? Why wasn't he dead? Or was he dead? Was this heaven? If so, he could think of much better places to be than the Dursleys.

Harry was interrupted from his musings by Aunt Petunia yelling up the stairs. "Harry! Dudley! Hurry up! You're going to be late for school!"

Now Harry was really confused. He and Dudley both went to boarding schools. What were they doing here? Why wasn't he at Hogwarts? Or dead? Why wasn't Dudley at Smeltings? Or in hiding?

Blindly Harry grabbed one of the rather nice grey uniforms from the closet and put it on. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he would play along. Maybe it was something that Voldemort had done to him or maybe he really was dead.

Harry ran into Dudley in the hallway. He almost yelled in shock. Dudley smiled cheerfully at him and said, "Mornin, Harry!" Before practically leaping down the stairs, his movements fluid and graceful, like a dancers.

That couldn't really be Dudley, Harry thought, it had to be someone using Polyjuice Potion.

Unsure of what was awaiting him downstairs. Harry immediately reached in his pocket for his wand, only to realize that he didn't seem to have a wand here, wherever 'here' was.

After going down the stairs he stood next to the cupboard under the stairs, wondering if that was different also. He took a deep breath and then pulled open the cabinet door.

The cabinet was stuffed with boxes. They were all labeled. One near the top was labeled 'Pictures'. Harry pulled it out and looked inside. Lying on the top was a picture of him and Dudley riding their bikes down the street.

Harry had never learned how to ride a bike.

What was going on?

Flipping through the rest of the box quickly Harry realized it contained more pictures of him and Dudley growing up – pictures of events that Harry had no memory of.

Panic began rising in Harry's chest. Who was the person in those pictures? He couldn't be dead, if he was dead there wouldn't be pictures of things he had no memory of.

He also couldn't be using a pensive somehow. Dudley had spoken to him and this didn't feel like Slughorn's warped memory had felt.

Could he have gone insane? Was that it? Had Voldemort's curse caused him to go insane instead of killing him?

Completely unsure of what was going on and wishing that Hermione was here to explain things Harry put the box away. At the thought of Hermione another pain went through Harry's chest.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny….

Were they gone? Were they here, wherever 'here' was, but changed? Like Dudley?

"Harry? You need to eat; you're too thin as it is."

Harry glanced up to see his Aunt Petunia standing in the doorway to the kitchen. A pleasant smile was on her face and a greasy spatula was in her hand.

Harry nodded and shut the door to the cabinet. She didn't ask him why he had been looking in the cabinet, which struck Harry as extremely odd. The Aunt Petunia he knew would've been on him in an instant for poking his nose in places he shouldn't have.

Harry sat through the oddest breakfast at the Dursleys in his life. Uncle Vernon chatted about what he read in the paper. Not once did he act like he was better than anyone in there. Aunt Petunia and Dudley responded back with pointed and intuitive questions about what was going on in the world. For the first time Harry felt like the idiot at the table.

Once breakfast was over it was time to go to school.

Harry grabbed the bag he had seen slung over his desk chair and followed Dudley outside.

"Harry, you want to drive?" Dudley asked as they approached a small green car parked behind Uncle Vernon's company car.

Harry did NOT want to drive. He had never sat behind a wheel in his life. Apparently though, the Harry that this Dudley knew had. "Ah, no thanks, you can drive." Harry managed to get out before getting in the passenger seat as Dudley walked around to the driver's side.

As they got on the road Dudley asked, "Hey Harry, you alright? You seem a little off this morning. Have another dream about your parents?"

"Huh, what?" Harry said in confusion. He had been thinking about Voldemort and what was happening at Hogwarts. Was the war still going on? Was he just trapped in his own mind, unable to do a thing?

"You know those dreams. Where you're trapped inside the burning building and your parents are screaming. The dreams about the night your parents died and you got that scar." He pointed at Harry's forehead.

"Um, I'm feeling out of it. How'd I get the scar again?" Harry hoped that excuse was good enough. He wanted to know what everyone in this place thought his scar was from.

"Duh, from that necklace you're wearing. The house caught on fire and you and your parents were trapped. Your mom threw herself on top of you, but the necklace your father gave her burned into your forehead when it melted. You were only a year old; I don't know how you dream about it. Have I ever told you that you're weird?"

"Um, sure you have." Harry said distractedly as he pulled a necklace out from under his shirt. He hadn't noticed it before. Was that because he had been distracted? Or had it not been there until Dudley mentioned it?

Harry was so confused.

Sure enough, he had thin gold necklace with a lightning bolt charm on it. The charm was slightly melted, but it still looked like a lightning bolt. Reaching out, gently, Harry touched the charm.

Instantly he felt a shock run through him, like the lightning bolt had been real.

Memories washed over him. Memories that conflicted with the ones he already had.

When he asked how he got his scar he wasn't snapped at and told not to ask questions, instead he was pulled into Aunt Petunia's arms and told the story Dudley just told him.

When Aunt Marge came to visit he was given presents, just like Dudley.

When they were picked for sports Harry was either first or second, depending on the sport. He even got onto a soccer team when he entered Stonewall High with Dudley.

These new memories included shopping trips, during which he got clothes of his own. Including a trip when he was eleven to proudly get school uniforms with Dudley.

So many memories came that Harry felt overwhelmed. How could he have two different memories of his eleventh birthday? One involving Hagrid and Diagon Alley and the other involving lots of friends and a trip to the bowling alley.

Which was the real memory?

What was going on?

Was he a wizard or wasn't he?

Author's Note: This chapter went from idea to complete in about an hour and during that time I planned out the rest. I scare myself sometimes... So I've never really wanted to write a HP fanfic with Harry Potter as the main because I love the stories too much to change them. That's why the only one I have is "The Journal of Lisa Turpin". Until this story, I was reading an Ouran/HP crossover by kage-no-tenshi16 (who has now changed their name to knight-0f-d00m) when this idea just came upon me. I really hope you enjoy this. Please let me know if Harry is in character. I know the Dursleys aren't. But they really aren't supposed to be, as Harry is noticing.

Enjoy! Read! Review!