Let's just say this is what happens when I try to write a serious story. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm CAPABLE of writing something serious, but this is what I can do for now. Enjoy : )

So far this is just a one-shot, but I have a little extra bit saved for another chapter. Let me know if I should add more to this!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter... although I would gladly make him my slave. Haha :3

Harry couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream. Bound, gagged, and tied up, he couldn't do anything. His wand was back at the Dursley's, locked up with the rest of his Wizardry belongings. He had to convince them to at least let him send Hedwig to the Weasley's for the summer. As if he wasn't lonely enough, THEY had to take his only companion. The only other person who knew what went on here at the Dursley's.

To make things worse, Harry had been jumped by a local Muggle gang. It wasn't just some stupid kids looking for some fun over break this time, like Dudley and his gang. This was serious; they had guns and everything. They had wanted his money, but as he had nothing on him at the time, decided to tie him up and leave him here.

Harry was tied up against a pole inside an old, abandoned house on a vacant lot, his arms and legs binded around the pole. There was a small towel in his mouth to stop him from yelling for help, and there was another rope that binded his chest to the pole. There weren't many vacant lots left in Muggle London, and it was just his luck the damn gang found this.

This only reminded him of fourth year; being trapped in the graveyard while he was forced to assist Voldemort's return. If any Death Eater's showed up, he would be dead meat. He cursed his relatives for taking his wand. Summer was supposed to be for relaxing; and he would frankly rather face Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters than spend an entire summer at the Dursley's.

To make matters even worse then they already were, those assholes had decided to light what was left of the house on fire.

...why was it ALWAYS him? Why couldn't he just have ONE decent day on summer break that didn't involve risking his life? Fuck it all. Fuck being decent. Fuck being normal. Fuck EVERYTHING.

Harry spit out the gag, and started screaming for his life. Knowing that wouldn't do much against the roar of the fire, all he could do was try to break free of the bonds -which were pretty damn strong- and pray that the Muggle police was in his mind, Harry knew they would be too late.

The answer came to him in seconds. Wandless magic. Groaning in his frustration, Harry knew he would never be able to accomplish something only experienced wizards like Dumbledore and yes, Voldemort, could do. He would have to do things the Muggle way.

Alone, wandless, and panicking as the fire grew larger, heading closer to him as it burned everything in sight, hissing and spluttering. It was then Harry realized that everyone in the Wizarding world would have no idea what happened to him if, no when the fire would take him. Then a Muggleborn wizard or witch would read the newspaper and realize that Harry James Potter, the only known person to have ever survived the Killing Curse, was killed in a fire in Muggle London, by some stupid Muggle gang that only got away with this because he let his stupid Muggle relatives take his trunk and lock it away.

Fidgeting, Harry yanked his right hand out of the bonds with a scream. The heat of the fire was quickly growing hotter; the flames erupting as they closed in around him. Eyes set in fierce determination, Harry used his free right hand and worked quickly against the flames. He let out a yell of triumph as his left hand became free, and another as he managed to pull his arms free out of the ropes wrapped around his chest. I may get out of this alive after all, Harry thought, as hope burned within him. Okay, bad pun. But now was not the time to be thinking about bad puns.

He bent down to undo the ropes around his feet, and was free within seconds. He jumped over some of the lower flames, and looked back just in time to see the flames slither up the pole; Harry thanked whatever God was out there that he wasn't still tied to that damned pole...

Trying the back door, he found out it was locked. Grimacing, Harry's head spun around the room, panicking as the smoke flooded his senses. There was no way to the front door without being burned alive. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief as he laid eyes on a window, not far from the back door. Racing to it, he tried to open it, but failed. His eyes searched the perimeter, searching for something, anything, to break the window open. I've come too far, been through too much, to just have it end here and now, like this, he thought desperately.

Harry's second blessing of the night came in the form of a table, not far from the flames. The house was so close to being completely burned to the crisp, and him along with it. Coughing on the smoke, Harry made his way to the table. The table wasn't very strong, and he was able to yank off a leg in split seconds. Praying that it would be strong enough, Harry slammed the table leg at the window.

Nothing happened.

Clenching his teeth, Harry swung at the window again, and heard a satisfying Crack! of the window. Looking back at the fire that was quickly heading his way, the fire's reflection showing in his glasses, Harry took another swing at the window. After a few more, the glass finally broke.

Coughing some more, and quickly growing more desperate, Harry's hands grabbed at the glass, ripping it apart when the fire was just mere inches away from him. Grimacing when there was still not much room, Harry aimed a good, hard kick against the wall. That did the trick as the remaining glass shattered before him.

Harry thrust himself out the one-story window just as the flames caught his right jeans leg on fire. He let out a scream as he landed on the ground, and heard a sickening crunch! of his left hand. Turning his head to look at the house, Harry stared at the old house in a mixture of shock and amazement as it crumbled beneath his feet.

It was at that moment he realized his jeans were still on fire.

Eyes widening, Harry was never more grateful it had rained last night so that the ground was still moist as he rolled his leg in the muddy grass. Harry sighed in relief as the fire receded, and he collapsed on the ground in exhaustion. Harry couldn't even find the energy to run a hand tiredly through his hair. Hearing the Muggle sirens approaching and ready to put out the fire, Harry knew he had to get out of there if he didn't want to bring attention to himself in the Muggle world. And he got enough attention in the Wizarding World for both worlds combined...

Twenty minutes later, Harry was on his way back to Number Four Privet Drive. He wanted to think he would get a crapload of shit from his aunt and uncle, but he knew they wouldn't really care. The auror's watching his house never saw him leave, so they wouldn't notice a thing... this spent Harry's mind whirling. He supposed this was James' side of him thinking now, because he knew Lily would not have even snuck out of the house against Dumbledore's orders. Or at least, from everything he had learned about them that's what he assumed.

Harry had a feeling he would pay for his recklessness later, but right now he really didn't care. He was still in the city, so he took a big U-turn and bumped straight into a girl. Adjusting his glasses, he saw it was a very beautiful girl.

"Hey," she said. "You kind of bumped into me,"

Okay. Beautiful American girl.

"Oh, s-s-sorry. Guess I wasn't looking where I was going," Harry stammered, still nervous around girls.

"You're fine. Although you could make it up to me by buying me a drink," she said, smiling at him. She was in long black, high-heeled boots, a short miniskirt, and a low-cut pink and black tank top with a jean jacket. She had straight blond hair and blue eyes. Everything about her just screamed "SLUT!".

Ignoring the fact he was underage, Harry said, "Well, I don't like buying anyone a drink until I know who they are,"

She smiled again. "Reasonable request," Moving closer to him, she said, "Amanda Carson. On break here with my parents and it's been extremely boring so far. Looking for a little entertainment, if you don't mind. Can I have your name?"

"Harry," he said, looking at her.

"Just Harry?" Amanda raised her eyebrows.

"Just Harry," Harry confirmed.

"I'll take that. Come on," Amanda said, leading him to a rather hazy spot in Muggle London.

"You know these streets?" Harry ased, surprised.

"Yeah. My grandparents live here, so every summer my parents take me and my sister to visit them," she said, leading him through the late-night crowds of people.

"Interesting," before Harry could say any more, she pulled him into a bar.

"So about that drink?" Amanda raised her eyebrows.

"Well, er, I would... but I don't have any money on me," Harry said, awkwardly running a hand through his hair.

Amanda did not seem phased. "Oh well. It's a good thing I always carry around some extra cash with me," and pulled out some American money. She went up and bought the drinks, while Harry got them a couple of seats.

One hour later, Amanda rented them a room for the night. Harry's last thought was that 'Sirius would be so proud of me'.

At nine o' clock the next day, Harry walked out of the motel a new man.

Use your imagination.

Harry wished more then ever that he had his wand with him to call the Knight Bus. But the Dursley's... damn them. Damn all three of them to hell.

He would have to fucking walk all the way back to Number Four Privet Drive with the bright sun shining and what could be a killer hangover. The bright sun killed his eyes, and his stomach felt like it would hurl at any second. He staggered down the street for just barely a block before he puked onto the sidewalk.

...stupid hangover...

Thanks for reading! : )