One Last Hope
Torch-I don't own Harry Potter, just this storyline...so no stealies! -
A messy-haired, ten year old boy sat on the swings at his local park, cradling his right arm, which was supporting a large burn. The October weather was fairly cold, but the boy felt at peace as the wind eased the pain on his arm. He ignored his shivering, and concentrated on keeping his burn cool and still, so as not to aggravate it. He'd been a very bad boy, that was why his Aunt had hit him with the boiling hot pan. He wasn't sure how he'd been a bad boy, just that he'd done another freaky thing by regrowing his hair after she had just shaved it all off. He'd ran off after that, knowing when he returned he'd get no food and be locked in the cupboard for the whole of the half-term holidays. He was a freak, was Harry Potter.
Harry had no friends, for no-one wanted to be friends with the boy whom Dudley and his gang despised and beat with a passion. Harry was their own personal punch bag, and their favourite sport was, Harry-Hunting. Looking at the deserted playground, he wondered what Dudley and his gang were doing now. Probably beating up a poor innocent five year old. He thought. Pathetic. He winced as his arm gave a throb of pain. And that was when he heard it.
"Hey Dudley!" Shouted a voice Harry recognised as Perkins. "It's Potter!"
"GET HIM!" Dudley cried and the sound of heavy feet, pounding upon the ground, fell upon Harry's ears. He stood and began running away from the noise, hopefully to safety, clutching his arm to stop it swinging and being too painful to escape.
His feet carrying him to where-ever, Harry sprinted down the streets, hoping to outrun Dudley and his gang. He was pretty fast, what with the fact that this happened pretty much everyday, but he was also malnourished and was slowing down rapidly. That was when he tripped. Harry fell to the hard, cold pavement, his glasses thrown from his face and landing with a smash. He felt eyes upon him, and knew Dudley must be closer than he thought. The black-haired boy scramble to his feet, grabbing his broken glasses from the pavement and shoving them into his pocket. He set off running once again, not daring to look over his shoulder, hoping, if he carried on for a while, Dudley and his gang would get tired and stop chasing him.
This wish soon became reality. After Harry had been running flat out for another ten minutes, he fell over the roots of a tree in the small wood he had entered in hope of throwing the gang off. He lay still, holding his breath (even though his lungs were screaming for the air it needed), listening. When he could hear no sound of heavy lugging, he turned onto his back and began gasping, greedily swallowing the air inwhich he needed before he passed out from his light-headed-ness. However, this was not to be as he fell unconsious anyway...