A/N 2012: Hi there! Thanks for reading my first fic! I had an idea and decided to try it out... we'll see how it goes. The main focus of this story will be the relationship between Harry and Sirius as they find comfort in each other through tough times. Let me know your opinions- good or bad- so I know how I'm doing :) This will probably only be a few chapters long, depending on the response. Anyways, thank you and enjoy! And please leave a review!

A/N 2017: Years later I've decided to continue with this story! I'll be going through and updating each chapter, then posting some new ones to continue the plot. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review or any suggestions for the story!

*Warning: This chapter contains some swearing and a short scene of physical abuse. Please don't read if you're not comfortable!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

RUNAWAY

Chapter One: Beauty Sleep

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light - bright and deadly.

The dull thump of Cedric's limp body hitting the ground.

His friend's lifeless eyes, wide and blank, staring up at him.

His own pained cry: "Cedric! NO!"

A gleeful voice screams - "CRUCIO!"

Pain, pain, pain. Everything hurts. Make it stop.

His own tortured screams.

A face sneers down at his crumpled body with two glinting, snakelike eyes. It smiles like a knife.

One last curse: "Avada-!"

Harry Potter bolted upright on his shabby mattress at Number 4 Privet Drive, sweating and shaking, his throat raw. Before his eyes could even open, Harry's wand was drawn, a spell on his lips, ready to defend himself. Harry looked around frantically for a few seconds before finally realizing where he was. He let out a tired sigh of relief.

'Great' Harry thought miserably as he fumbled around on the nightstand for his glasses, shoving them crookedly on his face. 'Another bloody nightmare. Will I ever get a decent night's sleep?'. Harry put his wand back in his waistband, swung his legs over the side of the bed and onto the floor. His body still tremored with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse; sometimes his dreams were so vivid it was hard to tell them from reality.

This past month had been one of the toughest of Harry's life. Haunted by the fatal events of the Triwizard Tournament in June, his life had taken a drastic turn for the worse. His fitful sleep was riddled with horrific nightmares. Harry was no stranger to feelings of guilt, but the weight of Cedric's death was crushing him. The loss of a close friend left Harry feeling empty. He had lost his already meagre appetite; he ate only enough to keep himself alive, causing his cast-off clothes to hang off him even more than usual. Harry felt weak and tired- his face was thin and gaunt, his eyes dull and haunted by experiencing things no 15 year old ever should.

On top of all this, his uncle's behaviour had taken a violent turn, even more so than usual. If Harry put one toe out of line he was guaranteed to have a few nasty bruises the next day. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle- he'd certainly endured worse pain. He was more worried about the bruises being visible when he went back to Hogwarts. Harry didn't like to be noticed or worried about, and he knew his friends, especially Mrs. Weasley, would be relentlessly concerned about his health.

Worst of all, Dumbledore had forbidden any owls to or from Ron, Hermione, Sirius and anyone else. All forms of communication were cut off for safety, leaving Harry feeling more alone than ever before. Loneliness has a way of defeating even the bravest of souls. Each day Harry could feel himself sinking further into depression and desperation, that dull hopelessness that plagues the mind and exhausts the body. But what could he do? Trapped at Privet Drive, Harry knew he couldn't live like this for much longer.

Harry really missed talking to his friends, but they weren't quite what he needed at the moment. Though he would never admit it, what Harry needed was an adult to help him; to take care of him and talk him through his issues, but not coddle him like Mrs. Weasley would. He needed someone like Sirius.

The last time Harry had any contact with Sirius was the night of Cedric's death and Voldemort's return, in the infirmary. Unable to catch Harry in private to say goodbye, Sirius had bid him a hasty farewell with a hug and pat on the cheek. But he had also discreetly slipped a scribbled note into Harry's hand. Later that night, when everyone was asleep, Harry had opened the note. It read:

Harry-

I'm sorry I have to leave, but it's necessary - for reasons you can't yet know.

Dumbledore didn't want me to tell you this, but I am anyways, just in case you need me. On the back of this note I have written an address - this is where I'll be staying. If you need me, send an owl there and I should get it.

I love you, kid. I'll see you soon.

-Sirius

P.S: you must burn this letter after memorizing the address. Don't leave it lying around, and don't tell anyone else about it!

Harry had turned the note over, where it read:

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England.

It was comforting to know where Sirius was, but slightly useless seeing as he didn't even have Hedwig with him at Privet Drive - she was staying at Ron's place for the summer. Sighing heavily, Harry rose from his bed - there was no way he was getting back to sleep tonight.

Suddenly Harry's bedroom door slammed open, interrupting his musings and revealing his humongous, pyjama-clad and extremely enraged uncle. Shit.

Before Harry had time to dodge him, Vernon stomped towards Harry, shoving him backwards onto the hard floor. His uncle picked him up by the scruff his t-shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"What in Bloody Hell is your problem, boy! What do you think you're doing, screaming like a bloody maniac, waking my family up at two o'clock in the bloody morning!"

Harry groaned, recovering from his moment of shock- he hadn't even realized he had been screaming during his nightmare. He braced himself, ready for another blow- by now he knew that fighting back was useless. Uncle Vernon delivered a sharp punch to his face - That's gonna be a black eye Harry thought as his head snapped back against the wall.

However, as the next fist wound up, something new happened - Harry decided that he had had enough of this. That he wasn't going to take it lying down anymore. Pushing his fear aside and ignoring ever instinct he had, Harry used all his force to shove his uncle away from him. Vernon dropped Harry to the floor in shock.

"I'm sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep, Uncle Vernon." Harry sneered as he rose to stand weakly. "I know how desperately you need it." Where the hell was this coming from?

"WHAT'D YOU JUST SAY TO ME, YOU LITTLE BRAT?" his Uncle roared. Another fist collided with Harry's jaw, sending him crashing backwards. His head hit the wall with a sickening crack and he fell forwards onto his hands and knees, dazed. A sharp kick in the ribs followed by another crack brought him back to reality. But Harry was done. He couldn't continue with this life. Filled with purpose, he forced himself to stand and faced his Uncle, speaking to him in a deadly tone.

"All my life you've treated me like dirt. I used to think it was my fault; that I wasn't good enough for some reason. But now I know differently. You're a sick, twisted, cowardly bastard, and I'm tired of your shit."

"WHY YOU- YOU LITTLE- GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Vernon spat, pointing to the door.

"I was just on my way out." Harry stated coolly. The rush of adrenaline from finally standing up to his uncle caused him to momentarily forget his pain. Harry grabbed his pillowcase from underneath the floorboard and stuffed it into the trunk that he hadn't ever bothered to unpack. He stormed out of the room, past Vernon who was watching him with beady eyes full of rage. He stomped down the stairs, his uncle right behind him. When he got to the bottom, Harry saw his aunt and cousin waiting near the door. His aunt glared at him cooly, while Dudley sneered his pig face at Harry. With one hand on the door knob, the fifteen year old turned around to face his sorry excuse for a family.

He had so much he wanted to say to them, but no words could truly express his contempt and disgust. He looked at each of them right in the eyes, one by one, finally resting his level glare on his uncle. He settled on two quiet, simple words:

"Fuck you."

Then he turned on his heel, flung the door open and stomped out of the house, leaving Number 4 Privet Drive behind for good.