1Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any kind of profit. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction...nor would I be working at Wal-Mart...
Fame lost its appeal for me when
I went into a public rest room and an autograph seeker handed me a
pen and paper under the stall door.
-Marlo Thomas
You Can Run (But You Can't Hide)
The warm late August air felt glorious as it caressed his sweating and flushed skin. It swept over his body to lightly card through his hair like a doting mother's fingers and exposed the oddly-shaped lightning bolt scar on his forehead. His blood pounded in his ears and only his harsh breathing and the pounding of his feet on pavement could be heard throughout the neighbourhood. The inhabitants of this neighbourhood had long since retired indoors for dinner and the sky was now dark, the full moon winking at him merrily and casting a silver glow on his surroundings.
Ah, bliss. To be completely alone, able to walk (or run) the streets without mobs of people staring and whispering, to be unnoticed, and to be relatively normal for a period of time was unadulterated bliss. Harry Potter's lips turned up slightly and his eyes glittered in joy. A laugh bubbled up inside him and escaped, echoing off the houses before he came to a halt on the lawn of number four, Privet Drive.
His mood immediately dampened somewhat in the presence of this house as he stood there, hands on knees and gasping for breath. He had been free for a short time, but now it was time to go back in his cage.
Harry had managed to stay out of the house for a couple hours at least. Mrs. Figg, his batty old neighbour and a squib, had invited him over for dinner knowing well his dislike for the Dursleys. She had proven much more interesting now than she was when she used to babysit him. Having a common ground like magic to talk about helped a lot, he supposed. However, even that talk became old and he had excused himself to take a run around the neighbourhood. Harry had taken to running a lot lately, he found it was a far more practical stress reliever than shouting until one was blue, or destroying one's Headmaster's office and possessions.
He heaved a great sigh and straightened up, reluctant to enter into such abuse as the Dursleys dished out at him. He made sure to wipe any trace of positive emotion whatsoever off his face
lest the Dursleys see and therefore endeavor to prevent anything that would make Harry happy. 'They'd likely stop me from breathing if they thought it made me happy,' he thought wryly.
Squaring his shoulders he mustered up that Gryffindor courage and marched up to the front door. He grabbed the towel borrowed from Mrs. Figg that he had draped around his neck and attempted to clean himself up. He entered and walked through the entry hall, not noticing the many extra pairs of shoes that littered the floor. It was when he arrived in the living room, towel draped over his head- his vision obscured- and scrubbing furiously to dry his hair when he noticed many voices mid-conversation suddenly come to a halt. He froze. Company? No one told him they were having company. And now he was standing in the center of the room, no doubt all eyes on him. He could feel their burning gazes even with the towel covering his head. Oh, shit. The Dursleys were going to skin him.
They didn't like it when he existed.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he removed the towel and beheld the room and all its occupants. Oh, bugger. This was getting worse and worse. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia sat primly on the loveseat, Dudley lounged in Uncle Vernon's favorite reclining chair, and scattered around the room on the remaining couch and a few chairs were several people he could not recognize. On second glance he noticed one vaguely familiar face, Dudley's friend, Piers Polkiss, he thought his name was. There were two other people that looked Dudley's age, a boy and a girl, however they were not familiar at all. They must be new friends of Dudley's. Sitting near each of the three youths were two adults, assumedly their parents.
'Fantastic. The Dursley's have Dudley's new cronies over for dinner, and I walk right in the middle of it. The Potter luck strikes again,' he thought wryly.
Harry remained standing in the center of the room, frozen like a deer in the headlights for several moments. If looks could kill, he'd have been ash long ago judging from the looks the Dursleys were shooting him now.
"Well now," said one of the unknown women kindly, "I didn't know you had another boy, Petunia! Who's this, then?"
Petunia blinked and made an effort to reign in her look of disgust at Harry being referred to as her boy. Appearances had to be maintained, after all. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to spin a web of lies that would save her face in front of her guests.
"Harry Potter!" squeaked a voice excitedly to Petunia's left.
Harry's head snapped left to regard the intrusion, instantly on guard though not outwardly showing it. Were he not so singularly focused, he would have noticed the Dursley's rather comical gaping expressions. After all, Harry Potter was not known in the muggle world. Unless, of course, it was the Dursleys ranting to the neighbors about what a delinquent he was, attending St. Whatsit's School of Something or Other.
Harry narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion. The squeak turned out to have been the unknown girl around Dudley's age. At present, she was staring wide-eyed at him in apparent awe, her mouth agape.
Several moments passed uncomfortably where everyone simply stared between either the girl or Harry himself. Harry blinked when she remained frozen on the spot, and raised a questioning eyebrow. 'This is getting weird,' he thought uncomfortably.
Vernon gave a pointed cough and it seemed to knock her out of her stupor as her jaw snapped closed with an audible click. Her eyes grew impossibly bright and her cheeks a rosy red and Harry considered bolting for the stairs in light of this new phenomenon. A Death Eater in disguise, here to murder him when he'd least expect it using a new and unusual torture? His common sense caught up to him seconds later when he realized there wasn't a force on earth that could convince any Death Eater to don a brightly colored mini skirt such as she was currently sporting. Harry's vision was momentarily overtaken by a vision of Snape in said skirt and he mentally debated on whether to laugh hysterically or become physically ill. He was beginning to lean towards the latter when he was suddenly knocked out of his musings as a new appendage attached itself to his torso in the form of scary teenage girl.
Harry had never been more aware of a lack of shirt than he did at this moment, staring down into the adoring eyes and blushing face glowing back at him.
"Amy, what in the world–" a man- presumedly her father- said as he half rose from the couch next to his wife, intending to peel his little girl from the half naked arms of this unknown boy.
Harry looked up at the man with such a bewildered look that he sat back down in confusion, sensing no threat from him for now.
"Harry," Vernon ground out, "Perhaps you should go upstairs and clean yourself up."
Harry thought he had never agreed more with his uncle and wondered how he was going to disengage himself from the steel bands currently surrounding his torso.
"I'm your biggest fan," breathed Amy, pressing herself closer.
"Er..." Harry wheezed out. Comfort zone being invaded! Too close!
Her head suddenly came to rest on his chest and she lovingly caressed him with her cheek, "I think you're just wonderful, Harry! I want you to know I always believed you no matter what they said about you! You poor thing, what horrible things you must have been through! That icky Fudge, saying such mean things. What a toad!"
Harry's eyes widened in terror and he fervently wished she'd stop rubbing her face all over his chest. Plus, he was still kinda sweaty. It was grossing him out a little. Then her words suddenly registered with him. Fudge. She had to be a witch. Harry's eyes widened further with the horror of his next thought.
A fangirl.
Harry's hands suddenly shot up to the level of his eyes as though he were being arrested and his eyes widened further in panic. 'I am not going to be seen as encouraging her in any way! Geroff! Geroff me now!' he thought frantically.
'Well, here's a new one,' he thought, 'Voldemort tries his best and I don't so much as blink, but throw a girl at me and I'm done for.' He snorted internally.
'Death by fangirl.'
Amy's father had obviously decided that this was enough as he rose once more from the couch and strode toward his daughter.
"Do they know each other?" the mother of the unknown boy questioned confusedly as said boy glared at Harry with such a look of jealousy and loathing that could melt steel. Piers, however, looked like he was about to be ill.
The Dursleys, save Dudley who was also glaring with jealousy at Harry, seemed to be more bewildered than Harry himself and chose to remain silent.
"Er...Pumpkin? I think it'd be best if you let the poor boy go now. He looks...uncomfortable."
Amy ignored her father and looked up at Harry again. Seeing his confusion, she explained, "I go to Salem, you know. My friends and I follow you in the paper all the time. We own all the books about you, too." She grinned up at him brightly and gave a flirty wink.
Harry could do nothing but blink and blush a light pink that spread down his neck and chest for all to see. Her grin grew wider at this, which caused him to blush harder.
"Personal space," he whimpered.
"Muffin," her father tried again and tugged at her elbow.
She suddenly let go and he had never been more grateful in his life. He whooshed out a breath of relief and took several hurried steps backward until he hit the wall with a whump.
"It's like I stepped into the bloody twilight zone!" Piers loudly commented, and the Dursleys silently agreed.
The horror seemed to continue, however, as Amy suddenly stuck her hand into her shirt and muttered to herself. Harry, for once in his life, had something in common with the Dursleys as he joined them in an incredulous stare.
"Really!" commented Petunia, while Dudley' eyes seemed to glaze over.
"Aha!" Amy exclaimed as she pulled a well-worn piece of paper from her- Harry gulped- bra. She snapped up a pen from the coffee table and smoothed out the creases from the paper as she advanced on Harry.
"I know you don't usually, but it would really mean a lot to me if you would." She blinked up at him prettily with a dazzling smile and proffered the paper and pen. Harry glanced down reluctantly to study the items further and paled to see his face peering back at him. His eyes snapped back up at her, alarmed.
"You keep a picture of me in your...shirt?" He forced out, unwilling to acknowledge it was actually in her bra. She giggled innocently.
His gaze returned to the items in her hand. An autograph was what she wanted. An autograph. One of the things he absolutely protested against. He loathed them. Definitely not!
Then again, he thought as she began to pout at him, this girl was bringing new and scary levels to the word 'obsession' and he wanted to get far away and as fast as possible. He snatched the muggle photo- he wondered how she had gotten one of those- and pen and quickly scrawled To my friend Amy, my scariest biggest fan. Harry Potter and flung them back. As she was scrambling to grab ahold of the photo, Harry took the opportunity to snatch his forgotten towel from the floor and begin his dash for the door. He paused halfway there, however, and turned to regard the rest of the room.
"Nice meeting you."
He was gone before they blinked. The room cast each other bewildered looks and were interrupted by a sigh of delight as Amy crooned over her autograph and shoved it back into her bra.
---------He peered cautiously from the top of the stairs, still dripping from his shower. He was glowing pink from removing three layers of skin. It was tough to get fangirl off.
Oddly enough, everyone seemed to have returned to normal as though nothing had happened. 'Ah, the wonders of selective memory,' Harry quipped and entered his room before shutting his door firmly.
'Bloody fame,' he sighed as he dropped onto his bed, 'It even managed to follow me to the Dursley's. I guess it's true, what they say.' His lips quirked up into a wry grin.
"You can run, but you can't hide."
A/N: Corny and moves too fast, I know. Be gentle.