Harry knew where he was the moment he regained consciousness, the very air itself felt different, the lack of magic was apparent. He was back in his cupboard, he knew he was coming here, but that didn't change the intense mix of emotions being back here brought up.

If Death was to be believed though, he wouldn't be in the Dursley's care long enough for it to matter; For today was the day he was to receive his Hogwarts letter, only a week before his birthday.

Leaving his cupboard, a strong horrible smell coming from the kitchen caught his attention. He walked into the kitchen to investigate and saw his Aunt Petunia soaking clothes in a tub.

Right, he had forgotten she had dyed some of Dudley's old things for him to have a 'uniform' to wear for middle school.

He looked over at her and noticed her pinched and closed off expression, as if she couldn't bear to look at him. That made a sad sort of sense, and he was disheartened to learn that he hadn't caught it the first time.

The next moment Vernon and Dudley came into the kitchen, nose equally scrunched due to the smell and took their respective seats at the table.

There was an overwhelming sense of deja vu as Vernon opened his news paper and Dudley banged his 'new' smelting stick.

He hopes the time between now and going to Diagon Alley, and then and him leaving to Hogwarts passes quickly. He doesn't like reliving the horrible moments in his 'Family's' custody. Even if he has grown more detached from it in recent years.

The click of the mail slot and flop of letters falling onto the doormat rang loud in the near silent home, it would feel foreboding if he didn't know exactly what was coming.

"Get the mail, Dudley." Vernon said from behind his newspaper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry demurred for show.

Walking over to the doormat he saw the same three pieces of mail as his first life, the post card from that bitch Marge; (hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with her.) The brown envelope he knew this time was a bill, and his Hogwarts letter.

Seeing it brought both a sense of nostalgia, but also a sense of anger.

***

Mr. H Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

***

He supposed the letter could have been auto-generated using some sort of magic system. The bitter taste in his mouth told him he didn't really care if it had been or not, someone should have noticed, someone should have cared.

Carefully he pushed down the swell of feelings rising in him, he didn't have time for this and it wouldn't matter soon anyways. He would be out of the house and this time, he would get the help he wanted. He wouldn't beg but he would make them listen. Dumbledore didn't but he wasn't the only option, and Harry now knew that he wasn't all knowing or all powerful. He was a manipulative bastard that 'raised him like a pig for slaughter' as Severus had said.

He carefully slipped his Hogwarts letter into his cupboard as quietly as he could, before making his way back to the kitchen, he would come back to write a reply later in the day.

Harry brought back the brown envelope containing the bill and the Postcard from Marge and handed them both over to Vernon. Without the Hogwarts letter in plain sight he hoped that meant there would be no spontaneous trip out to the middle of no where. Unless Fate truly hated him or simply wanted to fuck with him that should be avoidable.

He watched as Vernon sneered at the bill he no doubt hated that he had to pay, and then turn over to read his sister's Postcard.

"Marge's ill, Pet." Vernon said to Petunia, "Ate a funny whelk, we may need to pop over to check on her."

Petunia didn't seem particularly happy to hear that but acquiesced nonetheless. Dudley on the other hand seemed ecstatic. No doubt because he knew Marge would be over the moon about his admission to Smelting Academy, and would spoil him accordingly.

He watched as after a quick breakfast they packed up the car. Petunia hadn't originally wanted to leave him in her home, but he told her if she locked him in the cupboard, he would be fine. The only reason he allowed himself to be put back and locked in was because he now knew he could get himself out if he needed to. Well, and if he didn't his eternal servant would do it for him.

An hour later they were finally gone and Harry could look over his Hogwarts letter in the way he wasn't able to in his first life. 

__________________

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

__________________

Harry's eyes narrow as he reads over the Headmasters many titles, too many titles actually.

Surely that was too many jobs for only one wizard to do, not just do but do properly. That would explain why he dedicated so little time to his school. He was spread thin and always keeping secrets, which didn't bode well for their magical communities future.

Now older in mind, he realizes that he could get Dumbledore in trouble for negligence if he plays his cards right.

Using his status as boy-who-lived was not his favorite thing to do, but he wasn't about to come back to the Dursley's home; And while he wants to free Sirius from Azkaban, he refuses to have him try to act as some sort of parental figure to him. It would never work, Sirius sees his father not him.

He remembers how in his first life Neville had told him, in the cover of the darkness that they should have been raised as godbrothers. How Nev had wished he had a brother to spend time with in his youth when he had felt so isolated.

He remembers, and he wonders.