Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. No part of HP belongs to me, sad as it is.
Harry stood at the corner of Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive. The sun had long set, but still he stood. There was no bench, no stool, no curb for him to sit on, so he stood. And really, he preferred it this way.
This way, he could feel every drop of rain. Every molecule of water splashed across his worn face.
Cars splashed by, late night fathers rushing home from late meetings to put their daughters to sleep. The cars drenched him in sudden waves of fast flowing water, leaving the water to drip from his body, even as more drops cascaded down from above. What did he care? The rain no longer had any sort of meaning for him. Nothing really meant anything anymore. Hope? Truth? Justice? Honor?
Hope. A word for the weak. From the first moment when the fat arse Dursley first laid hands on him, Harry knew that hope was only for those who didn't open their eyes to the world. In every smash of meaty flesh against his emaciated figure, Harry knew that Hope was dead. But then came the letter. That damned letter. It sparked a hope in him that he thought not possible. But it had. And it was, briefly. A hope, that for nine months out of the year, he did not have to suffer his relatives. It was the hope of the unknown. That something, somewhere, anything, anywhere, there was a possibility that was better than what awaited him every morning and evening at Number 4, Privet Drive. But he had been foolish. Beneath the glittery magical illusion of the wizarding world was the dark truth. A society that still existed at least 100 years behind the muggle one in which he had grown.
"Well, grown is a bit of a stretch," mused Harry. After all, he hadn't so much grown as existed.
Truth? Oh Harry knew truth. He knew it as a harsh mistress. She did not try to coddle him. It was the truth that Harry was abused by the Dursleys – he would be a fool to not admit the truth. It was truth that Harry was magical; the stupid Dursley's would be (and were) idiotic to think that they could separate such an integral part of him. And it was truth that Harry was damned tired. Tired of being put on a pedestal. Tired of running for his life, for something he had no recollection of. Tired of having no one to really turn to, who he could tell all his inner demons and have them understand.
So Harry ran. Ran and ran and ran, around the neighborhood, through the park, and around the neighborhood again. Until he stopped at the corner of Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive.
And here Harry stood, thinking. Brooding? Maybe.
It continued to rain. But Harry had finished standing there at the corner. He had finished standing while his life was being walked for him. Harry walked back to Number Four, Privet Drive, noting the wet sloshing of boots behind him as he walked. The occasional curse and hard step of a trip alerted him to the identity of his bodyguard.
"Tonks," he called aloud to the empty air. Stillness, except for the constant beat of raindrops, answered him.
"Tonks," he called out again, this time a little more impatiently. Still no response.
"You know, when it's raining, the fact that the rain falls in a person shaped space is a dead ringer for identifying someone, isn't it?" said Harry, annoyed.
"Good catch," murmured Tonks, and Harry could hear the embarrassment in her tone. "But if there are any of our enemies nearby, it would be even worse for me to take off the cloak right now. Best just keep moving and get on home, Harry."
Biting back a flippant "whatever", Harry barely tilted his head, and continued his walk back to his personal little hell hole, his bodyguard trekking noticeably quieter. Sneaking a peek out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly found the rain to fall straight down, all around him.
"She's cast an illusion then," thought Harry, hiding a small smile.
As Harry entered Number Four, his thoughts returned to his task at hand. He would suffer being a fool no longer. Loathsome as Snape had been first year, he was also right. Harry had entered a world which he had no knowledge of; a world where everyone knew him. It wasn't enough to have power. Knowledge was needed to direct that power. And that is where Harry faltered. He had relied on Hermione for far too long, allowing her to essentially direct his power. He could no longer use her as a crutch, not if he wanted to be his own man. Harry could already foresee the problems that would arise there. Hermione had established herself in their trio as the brain, the one to turn to for answers. She would not be able to understand his need to be his own person, at least not until much later. It was too much of threat to the person she had become. Ron too, would revert to his jealous tendencies. Who Ron was had become intimately tied to who Harry was, that for Harry to change who he was, was to ultimately change Ron.
"In the end," Harry mused, "you can only look to yourself."
And with that thought, Harry packed up the few things that mattered to him; his wand, his album, and his cloak, walked downstairs, and out of Privet Drive forever.
Hope you liked it. It shall continue, and gaps filled in and whatnot. Read and Review!!