A crowd of people swarmed around him, obscuring his vision. Why had he
wondered off to look at the train sets anyway? Aunt Petunia would be
furious. Actually, knowing Aunt Petunia, she probably wouldn't care, but
that thought didn't comfort Harry at all.
Harry wandered out of the store and stood by the entrance, hoping to catch his aunt and cousin as they exited the store. He waited. And he waited. Soon the shop owner came to shoo Harry away, as he was locking up for the night and there was a sign hanging by the window which apparently read "NO LOITERING." Not that Harry could tell. He couldn't read, after all.
Harry trudged down the steps of the shop miserably. Of course. Aunt Petunia had left him there.
As he reached the bottom of the steps, Harry looked around and started to cry. He knew he was in London, but he also knew that London was far away from home. After all, they had rode in a taxicab to shop for Dudley's new toys, on account that he was starting kindergarten next week. So was Harry. Not that Aunt Petunia cared.
Tears started pouring down his cheeks. He was scared, lost, alone, and cold. It was late August, but the winds were often very chilly at nighttime. Rivulets of warm salty liquid continued to slide down his cheeks and soak into his thin, oversized t-shirt as he held his arms tightly around his body and walked down the deserted street. He hadn't brought a jacket, as it had been fairly warm that day.
No one had ever told him what to do when you were lost, but he figured he should tell someone who would be able to get you home again, like a policeman. Never strangers. He knew he should never talk to strangers; he'd overheard his aunt telling Dudley that once. She doesn't bother with any precautions with Harry. Either she forgot, she thought that Harry could take care of himself, or she simply just didn't care for his safety.
Harry shivered as he passed the dark and gloomy shops lining the sidewalk. A car drove past every now and then, the lights blinding Harry, but he didn't shield his eyes with his arms as not to deprive him of the warmth that they gave him. He kept walking.
He almost walked right past it. Harry did a double take when he looked over his shoulder and a shop, which he didn't remember passing, had somehow reappeared. He *knew* he hadn't seen it, as he checked every shop for any lights as he trudged down the street. He couldn't read, so he wouldn't know what building would be a police station, but he knew that police are able to help people at any time, right? So their lights would be on, because the policemen would be awake, right?
He slowly turned and walked towards the shabby-looking old place quickly. Maybe it was a police station. If not . . . well, maybe he'd talk to strangers just this once and ask if they could direct him to one. Just once wouldn't do any harm.
He had to use his entire body weight to open the front door, and once he'd stumbled inside, he knew at once that it wasn't a police station. It was a pub. He knew because his uncle always went to pubs, and his Aunt Petunia once picked him up on the way to his other Aunt Marge's house once. Aunt Petunia had to drive because Uncle Vernon was acting strangely. Dudley had said that he was drunk. He'd said that's what happened to people when they drank a lot of alcohol. Harry knew what alcohol was too because his uncle would frequently ask him to go fetch him some at home. Home.
The pub was full of strangely dressed people, wearing funny pointed hats and long, long cloaks in every color you could possibly think of. The door shut behind him quietly and he cautiously walked in further, hands jammed in his pockets. All of the sudden, he felt extremely small. Not only was he young, but he was also a bit short for his age. He could just barely see the hands resting on the table tops as he passed them, clasped around the handles of mugs or delicately holding crystal sherry glasses. People conversed and laughed around him loudly, making the entire aura of the place rather surreal.
Suddenly, someone, or something, which seemed to be traveling at a fast speed, crashed into his right side, making him trip over his feet and fall painfully on his elbow, the other person landing on top of him. It didn't hurt *that* much, but maybe it was supposed to have. Harry was used to Dudley falling on top of him on *purpose*, and that hurt a *lot*. So this was nothing compared to what he got at home. This person was a lot lighter. Speakin gof which, he opened his eyes to come face-to-face with another pair.
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry. Here, let me help you up," the person spoke, the weight immediately lifting off his middle. Harry sat up, readjusted his glasses, and looked up at the pale hand extended out towards him.
He was right. A boy, who looked about his own age, was peering down at Harry. The boy had very, very light blonde hair with a sort of pointed face and grey eyes. He was wearing a cloak like everyone else in the pub. Harry took his offered hand gratefully and got up.
"Thanks," he told the boy. The boy blushed a little and looked down.
"Sorry about that, I was running, and . . ."
"It's alright," Harry said. "Er . . . where am I?" he asked, looking around.
"Er, I think this place is called the Leaking Cauldron, or something. Why, are you a muggle?" the boy asked suddenly.
"What? No," Harry said indignantly, not knowing what a muggle was but not liking being called one either. "Are you?" he asked, almost shooting back at him.
The boy laughed. "Oh, no. My family is all pure-blood. I'm Draco, by the way."
"I'm Harry," Harry said, again, not understanding the 'pure-blood' part, but smiling a little. "Er . . . is there anyone here that could help me? I'm kind of, er, lost."
"Really?" Draco face seemed to light up. "Well, you could talk to my father, see, he's right over there talking to some important people, I'm sure he could – "
"Is someone lost?" a soft voice spoke up from behind them.
Draco was in the process of pulling Harry toward his father when the voice spoke, making them both jump. They turned around, facing the knees of an old man sitting on a stool at the bar. Harry looked up at the man. He had an extremely long white beard, a long crooked nose, and sparkling blue eyes that peered at them from beneath half-moon glasses kindly. "Run along, now, Draco, I can handle it," the old man said.
Frowning, Draco did so, giving Harry one last smile and a small wave before disappearing into the crowd. Nervous, Harry turned back the old man.
"So, you are lost, hm?" Harry nodded. "What's your name?"
"Er, my aunt told me I shouldn't tell my name to strangers, sir," he lied, fumbling with his thumb inside his pocket. His aunt hadn't told *him*, but he knew all the same. The old man noticed Harry's state and chuckled.
"No need to be so nervous. Not to worry, I'm no criminal. I can help you find your way home, if you like."
"Are you a policeman?" asked Harry hopefully. The man frowned.
"A policeman? No, I am not . . . but how did you get in here then?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind . . . so, yes, what is your name, child?"
Harry fidgeted. "Harry Potter, sir. But my aunt and uncle's last name is Dursley, sir." He did not know this old man, but he was taught early in life to be polite to you elders.
The old man seemed to stare at him for a few moments, and when he spoke, his deep voice sounded slightly strained. "Oh, I see . . ." He stared at the wall, seemingly deep in thought. Then he turned back to Harry with the same kind expression he had used before. "Ah, are aunt and uncle's names Vernon and Petunia Dursley, by any chance?"
Harry eyes widened. "Yes!" he said. "Do you know them sir?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, actually I do," the man said, his eyebrows furrowed as if remembering them. "I met them a few years ago. Would you like me to take you home?"
"Er . . . could you, sir?"
"Of course I could," he smiled, and Harry suddenly felt much better. This man was a very kind and generous person. He took Harry by his small hand and led him out of the pub. Harry's had barely wrapped around the man's thumb. Just as they stepped outside, a cab turned the corner and stopped right in front of them. 'Coincidence,' Harry thought.
The man helped Harry inside and asked him if the Dursleys still lived in Surrey. Harry nodded, and the driver started, well, driving.
Somehow, the car ride seemed an awful lot shorter than the car ride with Aunt Petunia and Dudley that morning. And there wasn't any traffic, or anything. Harry didn't feel much like thinking about it though, because his eyelids were starting to feel heavier, and heavier . . .
"Harry . . . Harry, wake up, we're here . . ."
Harry opened his eyes groggily. The door of the cab opened and Harry walked out in a daze, dragging his feet with fatigue as the elderly man took him by the hand again and walked him to the front step of number 4 Privet Drive. Harry strained to keep his eyes open, but failed and settled for just standing there, holding on to the man's hand for support with his eyes closed. He heard the man ring the doorbell, and soon hurried steps could be heard.
"Who would be going door-to-door at this hour . . . Can I help you?" said what Harry recognized to be his Aunt Petunia's irritated voice.
There was a pause. "Yes, hello, Petunia. I've got your nephew here. I do hope that you will not leave him alone in London again?"
Silence. "How did you – "
"I am Albus Dumbledore," the man said simply. "Just because he is Lily's son does not mean you can leave him, alone and cold in London. Remember your promise. Please take greater caution in future, Petunia."
Harry opened his eyes just a little, as that was all he could manage. He saw Petunia nod. "Of course," she said, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him inside, speaking with a frightened voice. 'Why is she frightened?' Harry thought. 'This Dumbledore is really nice.' Petunia was now gripping Harry's hand rather hard. "Of course, never again."
"Good," spoke Dumbledore, shortly. He turned to Harry and, with some difficulty, crouched down to his level. He spoke with a calm, gentle voice. "And you keep yourself out of trouble, hm?" he smiled, and Harry nodded sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "Alright then," he said, straightening up again. "Good night." And with a swish of his cloak, he turned and walked briskly down the driveway. Harry blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he was gone.
Petunia quickly shut the door and led Harry to his cupboard, where he slept. Once he was inside, she kneeled before him, and did something Harry had never seen her do.
She kissed his forehead.
Harry stared. She stared back.
Then she broke the silence with a sigh. "I'm very sorry, Harry, for what happened today."
Harry kept staring, wide-eyed, but nodded all the same. The apology had been tight-lipped and her expression was bitter, but it was an apology nonetheless. Harry nodded. "It's okay," he said sleepily.
Petunia smiled, just a little. She had never smiled at Harry before. Her smile made her overall expression soften. She took a deep breath. "I am also sorry for the way I've treated you as long as we've kept you, but you must understand, Vernon does not like you at all. You know this." Harry nodded sadly. "Well, he would be furious if I was kind to you. You understand?" Harry looked straight at his aunt. She looked slightly nervous to talk about this to Harry, but the insistent look in her eyes said otherwise. Harry brightened, just a little. Was she finally, *finally*, going to be nice to him? Harry nodded again. Petunia took a deep breath again.
"Then you understand I cannot act kind with you when he or Dudley are about, you know how violent Vernon gets. So please do not mention this in the future, okay?"
Harry's heart sank. He should've known. "Okay."
"I will try to be a bit more fair, though," continued Petunia quietly. Harry looked up.
"Really?" he whispered.
Petunia looked at her hands. "Please forgive me, Harry, I know your mother would have wanted at least for me to try." Her voice shook a little at that last part. Harry's head shot up at the mention of his mother. Aunt Petunia *never* talked about her sister.
"It's okay," Harry said. Petunia smiled this time, a full smile that showed all her teeth.
"Okay," she whispered, and she stood up and left. Harry stretched and flumped onto his small bed, shivering under his thin blanket. He heard sudden footsteps go up the stairs, then back down again. Harry expected her to go right past his cupboard door, but she opened it and spread another blanket on top of Harry's old worn out one. "Thanks," he mumbled sleepily. He felt Petunia stroke his hair, just once, then close the cupboard door.
That night, Harry dreamed of a wonderful life. He'd had this dream many times before; it had a man with messy black hair and a woman with long red hair, which he assumed were his parents, as the man had hair just like his. But this time, his Aunt Petunia was in it too.
Maybe living here won't be so bad.
Harry wandered out of the store and stood by the entrance, hoping to catch his aunt and cousin as they exited the store. He waited. And he waited. Soon the shop owner came to shoo Harry away, as he was locking up for the night and there was a sign hanging by the window which apparently read "NO LOITERING." Not that Harry could tell. He couldn't read, after all.
Harry trudged down the steps of the shop miserably. Of course. Aunt Petunia had left him there.
As he reached the bottom of the steps, Harry looked around and started to cry. He knew he was in London, but he also knew that London was far away from home. After all, they had rode in a taxicab to shop for Dudley's new toys, on account that he was starting kindergarten next week. So was Harry. Not that Aunt Petunia cared.
Tears started pouring down his cheeks. He was scared, lost, alone, and cold. It was late August, but the winds were often very chilly at nighttime. Rivulets of warm salty liquid continued to slide down his cheeks and soak into his thin, oversized t-shirt as he held his arms tightly around his body and walked down the deserted street. He hadn't brought a jacket, as it had been fairly warm that day.
No one had ever told him what to do when you were lost, but he figured he should tell someone who would be able to get you home again, like a policeman. Never strangers. He knew he should never talk to strangers; he'd overheard his aunt telling Dudley that once. She doesn't bother with any precautions with Harry. Either she forgot, she thought that Harry could take care of himself, or she simply just didn't care for his safety.
Harry shivered as he passed the dark and gloomy shops lining the sidewalk. A car drove past every now and then, the lights blinding Harry, but he didn't shield his eyes with his arms as not to deprive him of the warmth that they gave him. He kept walking.
He almost walked right past it. Harry did a double take when he looked over his shoulder and a shop, which he didn't remember passing, had somehow reappeared. He *knew* he hadn't seen it, as he checked every shop for any lights as he trudged down the street. He couldn't read, so he wouldn't know what building would be a police station, but he knew that police are able to help people at any time, right? So their lights would be on, because the policemen would be awake, right?
He slowly turned and walked towards the shabby-looking old place quickly. Maybe it was a police station. If not . . . well, maybe he'd talk to strangers just this once and ask if they could direct him to one. Just once wouldn't do any harm.
He had to use his entire body weight to open the front door, and once he'd stumbled inside, he knew at once that it wasn't a police station. It was a pub. He knew because his uncle always went to pubs, and his Aunt Petunia once picked him up on the way to his other Aunt Marge's house once. Aunt Petunia had to drive because Uncle Vernon was acting strangely. Dudley had said that he was drunk. He'd said that's what happened to people when they drank a lot of alcohol. Harry knew what alcohol was too because his uncle would frequently ask him to go fetch him some at home. Home.
The pub was full of strangely dressed people, wearing funny pointed hats and long, long cloaks in every color you could possibly think of. The door shut behind him quietly and he cautiously walked in further, hands jammed in his pockets. All of the sudden, he felt extremely small. Not only was he young, but he was also a bit short for his age. He could just barely see the hands resting on the table tops as he passed them, clasped around the handles of mugs or delicately holding crystal sherry glasses. People conversed and laughed around him loudly, making the entire aura of the place rather surreal.
Suddenly, someone, or something, which seemed to be traveling at a fast speed, crashed into his right side, making him trip over his feet and fall painfully on his elbow, the other person landing on top of him. It didn't hurt *that* much, but maybe it was supposed to have. Harry was used to Dudley falling on top of him on *purpose*, and that hurt a *lot*. So this was nothing compared to what he got at home. This person was a lot lighter. Speakin gof which, he opened his eyes to come face-to-face with another pair.
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry. Here, let me help you up," the person spoke, the weight immediately lifting off his middle. Harry sat up, readjusted his glasses, and looked up at the pale hand extended out towards him.
He was right. A boy, who looked about his own age, was peering down at Harry. The boy had very, very light blonde hair with a sort of pointed face and grey eyes. He was wearing a cloak like everyone else in the pub. Harry took his offered hand gratefully and got up.
"Thanks," he told the boy. The boy blushed a little and looked down.
"Sorry about that, I was running, and . . ."
"It's alright," Harry said. "Er . . . where am I?" he asked, looking around.
"Er, I think this place is called the Leaking Cauldron, or something. Why, are you a muggle?" the boy asked suddenly.
"What? No," Harry said indignantly, not knowing what a muggle was but not liking being called one either. "Are you?" he asked, almost shooting back at him.
The boy laughed. "Oh, no. My family is all pure-blood. I'm Draco, by the way."
"I'm Harry," Harry said, again, not understanding the 'pure-blood' part, but smiling a little. "Er . . . is there anyone here that could help me? I'm kind of, er, lost."
"Really?" Draco face seemed to light up. "Well, you could talk to my father, see, he's right over there talking to some important people, I'm sure he could – "
"Is someone lost?" a soft voice spoke up from behind them.
Draco was in the process of pulling Harry toward his father when the voice spoke, making them both jump. They turned around, facing the knees of an old man sitting on a stool at the bar. Harry looked up at the man. He had an extremely long white beard, a long crooked nose, and sparkling blue eyes that peered at them from beneath half-moon glasses kindly. "Run along, now, Draco, I can handle it," the old man said.
Frowning, Draco did so, giving Harry one last smile and a small wave before disappearing into the crowd. Nervous, Harry turned back the old man.
"So, you are lost, hm?" Harry nodded. "What's your name?"
"Er, my aunt told me I shouldn't tell my name to strangers, sir," he lied, fumbling with his thumb inside his pocket. His aunt hadn't told *him*, but he knew all the same. The old man noticed Harry's state and chuckled.
"No need to be so nervous. Not to worry, I'm no criminal. I can help you find your way home, if you like."
"Are you a policeman?" asked Harry hopefully. The man frowned.
"A policeman? No, I am not . . . but how did you get in here then?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind . . . so, yes, what is your name, child?"
Harry fidgeted. "Harry Potter, sir. But my aunt and uncle's last name is Dursley, sir." He did not know this old man, but he was taught early in life to be polite to you elders.
The old man seemed to stare at him for a few moments, and when he spoke, his deep voice sounded slightly strained. "Oh, I see . . ." He stared at the wall, seemingly deep in thought. Then he turned back to Harry with the same kind expression he had used before. "Ah, are aunt and uncle's names Vernon and Petunia Dursley, by any chance?"
Harry eyes widened. "Yes!" he said. "Do you know them sir?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, actually I do," the man said, his eyebrows furrowed as if remembering them. "I met them a few years ago. Would you like me to take you home?"
"Er . . . could you, sir?"
"Of course I could," he smiled, and Harry suddenly felt much better. This man was a very kind and generous person. He took Harry by his small hand and led him out of the pub. Harry's had barely wrapped around the man's thumb. Just as they stepped outside, a cab turned the corner and stopped right in front of them. 'Coincidence,' Harry thought.
The man helped Harry inside and asked him if the Dursleys still lived in Surrey. Harry nodded, and the driver started, well, driving.
Somehow, the car ride seemed an awful lot shorter than the car ride with Aunt Petunia and Dudley that morning. And there wasn't any traffic, or anything. Harry didn't feel much like thinking about it though, because his eyelids were starting to feel heavier, and heavier . . .
"Harry . . . Harry, wake up, we're here . . ."
Harry opened his eyes groggily. The door of the cab opened and Harry walked out in a daze, dragging his feet with fatigue as the elderly man took him by the hand again and walked him to the front step of number 4 Privet Drive. Harry strained to keep his eyes open, but failed and settled for just standing there, holding on to the man's hand for support with his eyes closed. He heard the man ring the doorbell, and soon hurried steps could be heard.
"Who would be going door-to-door at this hour . . . Can I help you?" said what Harry recognized to be his Aunt Petunia's irritated voice.
There was a pause. "Yes, hello, Petunia. I've got your nephew here. I do hope that you will not leave him alone in London again?"
Silence. "How did you – "
"I am Albus Dumbledore," the man said simply. "Just because he is Lily's son does not mean you can leave him, alone and cold in London. Remember your promise. Please take greater caution in future, Petunia."
Harry opened his eyes just a little, as that was all he could manage. He saw Petunia nod. "Of course," she said, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him inside, speaking with a frightened voice. 'Why is she frightened?' Harry thought. 'This Dumbledore is really nice.' Petunia was now gripping Harry's hand rather hard. "Of course, never again."
"Good," spoke Dumbledore, shortly. He turned to Harry and, with some difficulty, crouched down to his level. He spoke with a calm, gentle voice. "And you keep yourself out of trouble, hm?" he smiled, and Harry nodded sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "Alright then," he said, straightening up again. "Good night." And with a swish of his cloak, he turned and walked briskly down the driveway. Harry blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he was gone.
Petunia quickly shut the door and led Harry to his cupboard, where he slept. Once he was inside, she kneeled before him, and did something Harry had never seen her do.
She kissed his forehead.
Harry stared. She stared back.
Then she broke the silence with a sigh. "I'm very sorry, Harry, for what happened today."
Harry kept staring, wide-eyed, but nodded all the same. The apology had been tight-lipped and her expression was bitter, but it was an apology nonetheless. Harry nodded. "It's okay," he said sleepily.
Petunia smiled, just a little. She had never smiled at Harry before. Her smile made her overall expression soften. She took a deep breath. "I am also sorry for the way I've treated you as long as we've kept you, but you must understand, Vernon does not like you at all. You know this." Harry nodded sadly. "Well, he would be furious if I was kind to you. You understand?" Harry looked straight at his aunt. She looked slightly nervous to talk about this to Harry, but the insistent look in her eyes said otherwise. Harry brightened, just a little. Was she finally, *finally*, going to be nice to him? Harry nodded again. Petunia took a deep breath again.
"Then you understand I cannot act kind with you when he or Dudley are about, you know how violent Vernon gets. So please do not mention this in the future, okay?"
Harry's heart sank. He should've known. "Okay."
"I will try to be a bit more fair, though," continued Petunia quietly. Harry looked up.
"Really?" he whispered.
Petunia looked at her hands. "Please forgive me, Harry, I know your mother would have wanted at least for me to try." Her voice shook a little at that last part. Harry's head shot up at the mention of his mother. Aunt Petunia *never* talked about her sister.
"It's okay," Harry said. Petunia smiled this time, a full smile that showed all her teeth.
"Okay," she whispered, and she stood up and left. Harry stretched and flumped onto his small bed, shivering under his thin blanket. He heard sudden footsteps go up the stairs, then back down again. Harry expected her to go right past his cupboard door, but she opened it and spread another blanket on top of Harry's old worn out one. "Thanks," he mumbled sleepily. He felt Petunia stroke his hair, just once, then close the cupboard door.
That night, Harry dreamed of a wonderful life. He'd had this dream many times before; it had a man with messy black hair and a woman with long red hair, which he assumed were his parents, as the man had hair just like his. But this time, his Aunt Petunia was in it too.
Maybe living here won't be so bad.