I sneezed, dammit, I was getting sick, I could already feel myself weakening. I was the only one to blame though, I ran away from my abusive relatives home when I was about seven years old, they had almost beat me to death. I had always loved painting, so I thought I could make some good money selling off my paintings, but no one wanted to pay a small child for barely above average work. I didn't have any money and I wasn't going back to Surrey, my only choice was the streets. I walked all the way from Surrey to London where I thought I could get some money for my paintings, and I did, but only enough for some food and more painting supplies.
I started to get creative when I needed more money, finding pens people dropped and going dumpster diving for cardboard and other things that would hold the ink, I also knew just where to sell them to. I went to downtown, where all the hipsters lived, they really liked weird things like my work and loved to buy it. I made enough money to buy a small, and I mean small, apartment and continue my work. I was sick mainly because I spent the majority of my days outside trying to either find materials or sell my work which took more than a little effort. Today was my eleventh birthday and I had saved for months only to buy myself a birthday cake, it was the only one I had ever had.
Once I was done having my cake I heard a tapping at the one window in my apartment and looked over to see an owl. What was an owl doing at my window? I let it inside because it looked extremely eager to see me, looking closer, there was a letter attached to it's leg. Hmm, that's really weird, I took the letter off and examined it. Emerald ink and a wax seal?
Harry J. Potter
Living Room
1st Apartment
Main Street, London
What the hell? This was extremely creepy, but my curiosity got the best of me and I opened the envelope, breaking the wax seal in the process. I read it, my eyes getting wider and wider as I looked at the words on the… parchment? Who were these people sending me a letter via owl on dried animal skin!? Just for bants, I grabbed some of the little paper I had and wrote my reply down, accepting the invitation to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I strapped it onto the owl's leg and put it outside where it flew off almost immediately afterwards. Why not? I thought, I might as well do it, it's not like I have anything else to live for.
To say I was surprised when it actually was real, when there was a place called the Leaky Cauldron the harbored witches and wizards, would be an extreme understatement. I was knocked on my ass with shock, but I still went to bank and got money from my accounts and got everything I'd need for the magic school.
Three years later…
Ginny was dead and it was all my fault, or at least, that's what everyone thought. Ginny was murdered by a death eater, but I was framed and now everyone hated me. I thought that Hermione, Ron, Percy, and Mrs. and Mr. Weasley had been like family to me, but they were testifying against me. They were saying that I had always been dark and crazy, saying that it was only a matter of time. Dumbledore was suppose to represent me, but he was on the Weasley's side, everyone believed I had killed my friend and that I was insane.
"That settles it," the minister said after hearing what Dumbledore had to say about me, "Harry Potter, I sentence you to life in Azkaban Prison for the murder of Ms. Ginevra Weasley." My face drains of all color, remember the dementors that guard the prison with terror.
"NO!" I screamed, trying to resist, but I watched as they snapped my wand in two, everyone looking at me with nothing but pure hatred painted across their faces. Why was this happening to me?
I was going crazy, I could think, I was dying. How could this be? I think I'd been here for a year or so, but I didn't know, it's not like I had a calender or something. Everyone here was especially vicious to me because I was the savior of the light or something like that, but the worst thing was the dementors. All I wished for was to go back in time and never write back to that owl, to ignore it and go on with my life, but no. Now I was in prison, slowly going crazy and dying of starvation. I had heard whispers however; the condemned death eaters talking about how Voldemort was coming to get them, but I could never tell if they were telling the truth or just crazy. All I wanted was to leave, and I didn't even care if it was in a body bag anymore.
I was sleeping at first, but then there was a large bag that woke me up with a jolt. Looking out of the small window I had in the door of my cell, I noticed the dementors were gone. That's when I heard the screams, not screams of terror, but screams of happiness, then my brain put everything together. Voldemort was here and he was taking the dementors and his followers. I heard yet another crash that was so loud, it had to be coming from the cell below me, and that's when I thought of a brilliant plan. I didn't know if I could do it, but there was no use in not trying. I hoped the blast had weakened the floor so I focused my everything into a ball of energy in my hands, aiming it at the floor of my filthy cell. With another thunderous crash that fit in just perfectly with the others, the floor was gone and I looked down to an empty cell, the door completely blown off. The drop was about ten feet, but with the rubble it was only about six, I crawled to the edge of the gaping hole and slide down until I was hanging by my arms. I dropped, thanking anyone who was listening that I didn't twist my ankle in the process, only a few scratches. I nearly started crying, but I pulled myself together, I knew I had to get out and there was no use celebrating yet.
I ran through the halls without any resistance, no one knew who I was, my face was completely unrecognisable from what I looked like when I got to Azkaban in the first place. Going through level, after level I finally got to the ground where a huge battle was underway. The ministry against Voldemort and his death eaters, they actually thought they were going to win? I almost started laughing as I snuck past them, out into the open via a huge hole in the wall. I grabbed one of the boats there and started rowing like my life depended on it, which it did, if I was caught I would be sentenced to death. Luckily, it was nighttime and I got away without problem. I reached the shore hours later and finally got to appreciate the fresh air and the ground. Tears fell from my eyes because for the first time in years I could smell the earth and trees around me. It seemed to be summer, but we were far up north, so it didn't take very long for me to start shivering. That's when I started my journey. I nearly died only a couple days after I got out from cold and hunger, but I stumbled upon some campers and got to steal some clothes and food. After what seemed like only a week or two, I busted out of the woods, straight onto a highway. Narrowly avoiding a car, I followed the road to the nearest town where I pickpocketed a couple people to stay at a hotel for a night. When I walked in I knew I didn't ft in, I looked like I spent the last years in the woods and smelled like it to, but I didn't really care.
"Hello, I would like a room." I said to the receptionist, my voice hoarse from years of disuse. She looked up, but, to my surprise, her expression was not one of disgust.
"Yes sir." I was quickly hooked up with a nice one bedroom room and hurried up there, all I wanted was a shower.
On my way up I passed a maid's cart and stole some more of the shampoos and stuff like that, grim was caked on my skin and in my hair and a small little bottle of anything wasn't going to fix it. I was undressing when I saw the calendar sitting on one of the nightstands next to the queen sized beds. August 15th, 2016. I stared at it in shock, it really had been that long? Seven whole years, I was had just turned twenty years old only fifteen days ago. I was a man, last I remembered I was only a prepubescent thirteen year old boy who was just barely starting puberty. This new information made me really want to take a shower, I wanted to see what I looked like.
I was right to grab more shampoo because my hair was past my back it was so long and covered in dirt. The water ran black and the shower lasted about an hour before my skin was raw, but clean. I quickly dried off, putting my hair up into a bun and walking over to the full length mirror. I laughed at the people who said I looked just like my father, because they would be shocked if they saw me now. There was the side effects of seven years in Azkaban like a gaunt, dead look of starvation, but you could see my face was different. One thing was that I was tall, like 6'2" tall, but that didn't make sense because I had been small all my life, like what happened? I had a strong jaw and a straight nose and lifting up my beard I noticed that I now had thinner lips, chapped from dehydration. My eyes were sharp, but still the same emerald green my mother had, hooded by a heavy brow, underneath I had some sharp cheekbones. My face was no longer square, but more oblong than anything; it suited me more though. One of the only things that hadn't changed were my need for glasses and the dark skin of my father.
In the morning I went down to the free buffet eating my current body weight and then I went back upstairs. My hair was way too long so I decided to cut it, along with trimming my beard that went past my neck. I had picked a nice hotel that had a razor and scissors in the bathroom for cutting hair which I was extremely grateful for. I cut my hair to around my shoulder blades, I had taken another shower earlier to be completely clean once more and my hair was now wavier and I liked it. Trimming my beard was a bit more complicated though,mainly because I'd never had one or seen anyone trim them. First I started with the scissors, cutting it all the way down until the hair was less an inch, then I picked up the shaving cream and the razor and started shaving my neck/ Christ, I was so hairy, I didn't even know people grew hair on their neck! Just for fun, I trimmed my beard so it was thin, reaching my chin with a little trail of hair meeting my lip in the middle. Then I gave myself a tame handlebar mustache, laughing a little in remembrance of the hipsters I used to sell my paintings to.
It turns out hitchhiking to London wasn't that hard when everyone's heading in that direction. People who had went up north for the summer were now going back to London and their jobs so I just hitched a ride with a couple of nice people who didn't murder me and soon enough, I was standing in the middle of muggle London. The smoggy air was even more comforting than the fresh air of the wilderness, London was where I spent some of the best years of my life selling my art.
After a couple of months of being thrown in the wind I found a job that would be perfect for me. A bartender, I had always loved cooking, but especially when Aunt Petunia asked me to make her evening 'tea' so I applied at a bar near the building I lived in downtown. During the day I worked at a high end coffee shop, but at night I was flipping bottles and mixing drinks for the people of London. On my days off I would paint and try to sell my work and even write a bit, this was going to work, and I didn't need any magic to do it.