Disclaimer: It's Fan Fiction. I do not own the characters in this story, J.K. Rowling does.

AN: My first fan fiction. Please review and constructively criticise.

Running

His feet pounded the ground. His breathing was laboured. Sweat made the shirt he had donned earlier cling to his torso. The world flew by him in flashes of colour, but went unnoticed by him. The only thing he saw were memories from his past, the one he ignored, the one he tried to forget, as they flashed past his minds eye.

Running he had always been running. From the screaming, crashing, confusion, pain. His past, present and future. His dark thoughts and actions. The blood and dirt always on his hands. Rules he was painfully forced to uphold. The expectations he couldn't live up to. The truth of his existence.

Running he had always been running. When his mother would order him to run and hide, trying to protect him from his enraged father. Not that it ever worked. At first he had been to slow. So, he started practicing his escapes. Even after he managed to get away and hide, his father would find him, beat into him what he was supposed to be, how he was supposed to act, how he was to respect and obey his father. He always tried to run though.

Running he had always been running. As he got older the situation changed. It was no longer physical, but mental and emotional abuse. It was brought on to him by his father's stupid rules. He would always run though. It, by now, had become his natural response anytime the situation would get over his head. It was his damned fathers fault.

Running he had always been running. The Golden Trio would outsmart his nasty comments, his father's voice flowing through him. He would run. The creature in the forest advancing on him, similar to his father when mad. He ran.

Running he had always been running. Even when the physical abuse would start anew. He continued to run. Physical became emotional and mental, before returning to physical. A never-ending abuse cycle. Brought on and continued by his father. He continued to run.

Running he had always been running. The pressure to win the upcoming quidditch match. He found a way to run. Finally had someone other then his father hit him. He ran.

Running he had always been running. Expectations weren't being met. He was defeated and a disgrace to his family, his father. He continued to run. He was slowly being worn out by always running. He was tired and lonely. He was full of hate and embarrassment. He had to take a stand soon. Until then he kept running.

Running he had always been running. Finally, something came up he knew he couldn't run from. Death Eaterhood was fast approaching. It was finally time to face his problems. Pride and dignity weren't the only things on the line this time. No matter how this turned out, he would try not to run. His plan failed however. This time, when he finally stood up for himself and accepted life, he failed. He didn't want to run anymore, he wanted to accept whatever punishment would be coming his way. He was forced to run. He was forced to revert to his instincts and run.

Running he had always been running. He ran from his family, his problems, his world, the Great War. He moved, got a new name and now lived as a muggle. Ironic he found safety in a life he had always been forced to hate. He decided to try standing up once again, and this time didn't fail. He got a good job, started a half-blood family. He put his past behind him. He stopped running from his problems. Now he ran for sport, to keep fit and reflect on the past he had left behind. It was the only time he allowed himself to run.

His vision slowly cleared, he caught sight of well known landmarks and realized he was almost home. He saw them pass from his eyesight as his feet slowed their pounding, moving, escaping. His pace slowed to a walk. He approached the front door. His hand on the knob he stopped and forced away his thoughts, past and memories. He and finished his running and was once again ready to face the world.