Ok so I don't own anything as I am not the Queen and Overlady Jo.
Anyway.
This story was first written in part in 2011 as part of nanowrimo. I hit the 50 thousand word mark and decided that because I did not edit as I went that it was clearly terrible and never looked at it for years. I also failed to write much fic for the next two years to burn out. This Autumn I stumbled across it on the old hard drive my friend had managed to free from my old laptop (with a nail file of all things). After reading it through I decided that I actually really love it and have spent the last couple of months dividing it up into chapters and cleaning it up. And writing new chapters. I have many to get me started but at some point I will end up having to write from scratch. This note also makes it clear, I hope, that while reviews and thoughts are welcome I am not going to alter my plot or add in x or y in major ways due to opinions because...literally been set in stone for 7 years. Interestingly for those who tell me 'when the walls came down (i was thinking about you)' should have plot points such as Harry storming off to the bank ect well this might be more your thing as this is the more stereotypical HP fanfic where he does more tropey stuff like that. I do hope that you enjoy. Despite my rumblings of things being set in stone, feedback is still welcome. And hey, this was nowhere near done at 50k so there are ways to influence it going forward.
Ayebydan
The pounding in his head is what Harry is first aware of, a constant throb that wakes him after he has clearly passed out and keeps him awake later when he tries to get some more sleep to escape the ache in his bones. Vernon had not paid any attention to the Order's warning and he certainly was not about to let Harry away with what happened to Dudley the previous summer whether it was actually Harry's fault or not. In a twisted way, Harry could understand his uncle's logic because at the end of the day if Harry did not live with them, or exist at all, there then Dudley would have been fine. Instead he had nearly had his soul sucked out.
The first day had been fine but Vernon had spent a lot of his time peering out from behind the net curtains and looking suspiciously down the street. Harry did not think anything of it until now, while he is lying on his own floor dreading trying to move because he knows how much it will hurt; now he can't breathe without his chest hurting and a searing pain going down his side. It might be a broken rib, and it might be something worse that Harry really does not want to think about. Something to do with his lungs. His Uncle had clearly been looking for Order members watching the house and when he was satisfied that no one was there to watch his nephew, he taught him a lesson.
It had started with Harry being dragged up the stairs by his ear and thrown into his bedroom before the beating started, Vernon's meaty fists pounding into Harry's ribs and back until he was on the floor and his uncle could kick at his exposed frame. As had always been Vernon's rule, he never touched Harry's face. If any of the Order actually tuned up and saw Harry, he would look fine, and he had been keeping secrets about his abuse long so long that Vernon knew that he would never talk.
"You think those freaks can intimidate me Potter? Not bloody likely!," is the last thing Harry remembers being said to him before his uncle had left with a slam of the door and he had passed out from the pain in his side. It might have been last night; it might have been several days. Harry has no idea how long he has been lying there. He guesses not three days because he is still lying there and no one from the Order has come crashing in during the night.
Harry groans and takes his glasses off and rubs his nose which is sore from having his glasses squashed into his face overnight, notices the sunlight creeping in his window, and turns onto his side before pushing himself up onto his knees and somehow getting to his feet. Crossing his bedroom, he winces as he falls onto his bed before glancing over at Hedwig's cage and cursing when he sees that it is empty. Scowling, he starts to slowly pull his t-shirt off, hoping she will come back soon so he can send a message to the Order and they can get him the hell out of his house and away from his so called family. This was just his house, not his home; it never had been his home and never would be. Familiar thoughts start to cross his mind as he looks at the ugly red and purple bruises forming down his ribcage, thoughts about what it would have been like if it was the other way around and his parents had lived while Dudley's had died. Would his mother have treated Dudley the way his Aunt Petunia treated him? He does not think so.
Everything he had ever heard about Lily Potter said no and Harry feels a flash of irritation as he reaches over the side of his bed and into his trunk for a clean t-shirt. It was not like he went out of his way to make them miserable or anything.
It is when he is lying on his back thinking that he hears the tapping at the window. Glancing over at the window, he sees a shiny new padlock and chain holding the windows together, locking him in and apparently more importantly locking Hedwig out as she pecks at the window again with her beak and squawks at him.
"Bastard," Harry mutters with a scowl, as he clambers to his feet, moving to inspect the lock, "I can't let you in Hedwig. He has put a ruddy lock on it."
Tilting her head, the owl just looks at him but somehow seems to understand that he can't let her back into the house and flies off. Harry hopes it is to Ron or Hermione and stares gloomily after her. Hedwig was one of the things that made his summers just that little bit more bearable and now she was gone after only a few days. As he thinks things over, a smile slowly crosses his face. If he does not have an owl, he can't send a letter to the Order and they will be forced to come and check on him and hopefully when they see he has been locked into his room they will take him away. He only has to last a few more days.
Returning to his bed, Harry can only hope.
HPHPHPHP
Three days pass and no one comes. In fact, nothing comes, not even a letter from his friends arrives and Harry wonders bitterly if they have been banned from writing again. Not that he particularly wants to hear from them. Their sympathy and condolences over Sirius do not make him feel better and he certainly does not want to get a lecture from Hermione about how he needs to talk about his feelings. No, what he needs to do is make sure nothing like that ever happens again simply because of Harry's own stupidity.
His aunt Petunia lets him out of his room during the day to do chores which he gets his breakfast and dinner for, pitiful as they are, but he is never allowed to leave the house. Dusting, hovering, window washing, and even ironing fill his days and Harry slowly starts to stew things over in his mind.
Why has no one come? Why had they put the three day rule in place and threatened his family, leading to Harry getting beaten black and blue, if they were not going to do anything? Why did Dumbledore let him live like this? His cupboard had been the address of his first letter to Hogwarts. Why had no one reacted to that? He thinks over the things he has been told, about the prophecy, about his supposed destiny and his mood darkens by the day. Spending his evening thinking over his time with Sirius and the life he might have had causes irritation and hurt turn to anger. Dumbledore could have got Sirius a fair trial. He was Albus Dumbledore of all people. Yet he had not. He had left Sirius to rot in Azkaban and even when he escaped and Dumbledore had seen evidence to confirm he was innocent he did nothing. Harry thinks over his life at Hogwarts, the danger he has been put in, the things he has faced and realises it has always been the same. Dumbledore never tells him anything that really matters until it is too late and it raises the question of what else is Dumbledore hiding from him.
In the middle of the night, six days and two missed letters after arriving at the Dursley's, Harry remembers his second encounter with Lord Voldemort with the Philosopher's Stone and the possessed Professor Quirrel that had been teaching with the Dark Lord coming out of his scull right under Dumbledore's crooked nose. He had asked Dumbledore then why Voldemort went after him and if he had been told then... maybe Sirius would be alive. Harry could have trained, worked harder in school, been prepared.
Instead Dumbledore had protected a childhood Harry had never really had in the first place and left him completely unprepared to face his future. Now he has topped it off by abandoning him.
Something has to change.
On the seventh day, Harry starts to plan his escape. If no one has bothered to check why he is not writing to them, Harry expects the Order is not bothering to keep an eye on the house either. They are probably doing something more useful with their time like chasing Death Eaters or at least Harry hopes that is what they are doing. Gringotts has to be one of his first stops because if there is one thing he is certain about it is that he needs to get out from under Dumbledore's thumb and for that he needs to be independent from his influence. It breaks his heart to realise it but that means no Weasleys and no Hermione, both too close to Dumbledore, and he needs money and somewhere else to stay. Diagon Alley is obviously not safe but if Harry can get to Gringotts he muses, he can change galleons into pounds and disappear into the muggle world for the summer until he figures out his next move.
When his Aunt Petunia unlocks his door on the eighth morning, Harry has his trunk packed and his jacket on, and she jumps at the site of her nephew who quickly snaps, "How would you like rid of me? Permanently."
Petunia screws up her horse like face and eyes him with suspicion, "We cannot get rid of you, however much we would like to. You have to stay until you are of age in your world," she replies before pressing her lips together and turning on her heel.
"Is that what Dumbledore told you?" Harry asks quickly, freezing his aunt in her tracks at the stop of the stairs. Gripping the banister tightly she turns and eyes him with suspicion before nodding, "Well I, for one, am done playing by his rules. I do nott want to be here. You do not want me here and I don't give a damn what Dumbledore wants anymore."
"You tried this before boy and we were forced to take you back," Petunia hisses, wearily looking downstairs where Harry can hear Vernon and Dudley having their breakfast, before she moves back towards his room.
Harry nods, looking a lot calmer than he feels before playing his trump card, "My godfather is dead. He is dead because Dumbledore failed to tell me what I needed to know. People I know seem to have a habit of dying. I reckon you would be safer if you helped me get away from here without Dumbledore knowing. I will sort the rest. You will not see me ever again."
"And just how am I meant to help you?" Petunia scoffs, "Can't you do anything you need to with your thing?"
This time Harry laughs, coldly, and stares at her with so much hate that she takes a step back from him, "If I could use my wand do you really think I would have let Uncle Vernon knock me out cold that night. I still have bruises and it still hurts when I move. You know I can't use it during the summer which means to disappear without them being able to trace me, I can't use magic."
"Don't use that word!" Petunia hisses, glancing over her shoulder at the stairs fearfully, "What do you need boy?"
Harry just rolls his eyes, "Money. Give me enough money to get a train to London and I promise you will never see me again."
"That is it?" Petunia asks, in a disbelieving tone.
"That is it," Harry confirms with a nod, "They - my people I mean- will not be able to trace me if I do not use anything magical to get away. Once I get to London, I can disappear like a normal teenager and stay away from Dumbledore until I get back to school."
"And next summer?" Petunia asks carefully.
"When I turn seventeen, I will be an adult in my world. I will find a way to avoid coming back between the end of school and before my birthday. I just need enough money to get away."
Petunia purses her lips and nods, "I will phone, and pay, you a taxi to the train station. I will not have you trundling down the streets with that trunk and a bird cage of all things. What would the neighbours think?! You have caused enough talk already over the years. Then...yes, I will give you money to get to London and then I never ever want to see you darkening my doorstep again."
Harry scowls, "Trust me, I won't."
"Good," Petunia states harshly with a nod before turning and scurrying off into her room before reappearing a few minutes later with a fistful of notes that she shoves into Harry's hands before heading off down the stairs. Unravelling them, Harry notes she has given him more than she really needs to for the fairs and smiles sadly. It might even get him his first night in London if he is lucky and it feels ironic that she has given him so much after giving him so little before yet if Harry has learned anything over the years it is to know better than to look a gift horse in the eye.
He certainly knows not to ask his aunt questions.
Anyway, it is probably the least he deserves.
HPHPHP
It is not until he reaches the train station that he starts to get twitchy and nervous. It would have been unlikely that he was just taking a taxi somewhere around town but still possible. However, a train to London is a lot more obvious. More than a few people lower their newspapers to raise an eyebrow at the boy wrestling a bird's cage onto the train with an old fashioned trunk but no one comments, especially as Harry decides it is easier to sit in a fold up chair by the door than try to get down into one of the carriages. A seat, after all, is still a seat. He cannot decide if it is more or less conspicuous that the bird cage is, for now, empty.
'What will Dumbledore do when he realises that I have gone?' Harry wonders, while glancing at the countryside that is flashing past him. He thinks he might like to see more of it one day. It is oddly and painfully ironic for him to realise this is probably the most of the countryside he has been in his entire life apart from his journeys to Hogwarts and back. He is destined to save a world he has barely even seen. Everything has been boxed in and protected, limited, or kept on a strict time limit with guards and warnings. The summer before his third year springs to mind when he thinks about it has one of the only times he was truly free to be a teenager. Free at all to be himself. Just Harry.
The thought just makes him angry so he tries to put it to the back of his mind and enjoy his journey. Strangely when he gets to London he finds his baggy clothes do not stand out as much as they would normally and he asses a group for teenagers that for reason he cannot fathom appear to be trying to look like him as he leaves the train station.
'I am not sure that I really understand people,' Harry thinks while heading for the taxis parked outside the station and grinning as he approaches one black cab with a friendly looking older driver while realising he can fit his trunk and Hedwig's cage into the back of it without too many problems. He had envisioned having to walk for miles but his aunt's sudden generosity, probably spurred by guilt, is giving him options and he feels oddly luxurious.
"Where to lad?" the driver asks as Harry slides in beside his trunk which is not even given a second glance by the driver because working in London he has probably seen stranger things.
"Leister Square, please," Harry responds with a grin, strangely excited about his first taxi ride in a proper black cab, and it hits him that it is the little things in life that spur a person on. For the first time since he left Privet Drive he does not feel overly anxious or fearful and is not overcome by a sense of determination to fix things or a need to simply survive. For once, Harry simply enjoys the ride.
"Strange cage you've got there innit lad?" the driver asks, while navigating the numerous one way streets and road works.
"I've got a pet uh parrot and I had to get her a new cage," Harry responds, thinking a pet parrot is probably slightly more socially acceptable than a pet owl.
"Kids these days," the driver chuckles, "I sure would not want to be lugging that around London at rush hour! A pet parrot of all things. Suppose you will be hoping it talks or something!"
"Nah, I am not bothered but I have a friend who I'm sure would love that," Harry replies enthusiastically, thinking of Hagrid and making a mental note to tell him what muggles have trained some birds to do. He had never heard of anyone in the magical world doing the same but as Harry is beginning to realise, that might because he hasn't paid all that much attention to the magical world outside Hogwarts and he might have missed something.
As the taxi driver focuses more on the road, Harry's mind wanders to what else he does not know about the wizarding world. Despite nearly being thrown out of it and having a full scale trial before the wizengamot, farce or not, Harry does not know much about how wizarding government works or much about the politics beyond the fact that they are horrendously corrupt and appear to be ridiculously backwards by muggle standards in many ways. It makes him realise that there is so much more that he needs to find out if he is to stand any chance of navigating the political side of things to escape Dumbledore's control, defeat Voldemort and most importantly, survive.
What else is out there that they do not teach at Hogwarts he wonders. His careers meeting with his head of house had been disappointing in many ways. Harry was not sure he wanted to be an Auror for a corrupt system or that if he did defeat Voldemort that he would even want to keep fighting yet he does not really know what else was out there. The meeting at school had sort of descended into a dick measuring contest between his Head of House and the Ministry stooge and did little to set him up for the future. It strikes him, as he is stuck in traffic in a taxi in muggle London on the run from those who say they have his best interests at heart, that he never had his world explained to him properly. Diagon Alley surely cannot be the only place people shop in Britain outside Hogsmeade and other countries must have similar places and it is high time that Harry finds out about them.
Knowledge of the legal system and other places to go and get what he needs shoot to the top of his mental to-do list, which he muses he should probably write down at some point. Maybe Hermione's ramblings were having an effect on him after all.
"Alright lad, that is us here. That will be fifteen pounds seventy please," the taxi driver states cheerfully, snapping Harry out of his musings and he is a little taken aback by the price.
'That is London for you' he thinks wryly while getting out of the cab and pulling his things onto the pavement.
"Good luck with the parrot!" the driver shouts as he drives off and Harry can't help but start his walk down the street in search of a cheap Bed and Breakfast with a smile on his face. Walking down the side streets away from the main square Harry stumbles across a row of small hotels and Bed and Breakfasts which are close enough to the muggle parts of London and within walking distance of the Leaky Cauldron as well and promptly ignores the brightly coloured neat one he sees first in favour of a more sorry looking establishment further down the road. It is probably one of the last places the Order or Dumbledore would think to look for him and he doubts he will draw too much attention to himself staying there for a few weeks until school goes back if he needs to.
It is a townhouse that, sitting back from the street up several steps with a decent garden, has been converted for use as a Bed and Breakfast with longer grass than the establishment further down the road and paint chipping off parts of the front door but it looks decent enough. Looking down at his own clothes Harry knows better than to judge a book by its cover and investigates a board with the prices on it down at the bottom of the garden at street level. The rates are low, and that suits Harry just fine because it means he just has enough to cover his first night before getting to Gringotts the next day and converting some of his savings into pounds for the summer.
With a smile, Harry starts hauling his trunk up the front steps and twenty minute later he has checked himself in to a cheap but cheerful enough room that instantly becomes the Headquarters of his own personal mission to get his life sorted and agreed breakfast times with Mrs Mason, the lovely old lady running the place.