Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Harry Potter.
AN : Thank you to kenziescott54 for improving/fixing this.
Harry Potter knew that his aunt and uncle were stupid, but today it seemed as if they were going for the world record of Biggest Idiots on the Entire Planet.
If they'd had half a brain cell between them, then they would've figured out it was their precious Dudley who broke the kitchen window by throwing a brick through it; Dudley had been in the garden, while Harry had, as usual, been locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
But of course they were still pointing the finger of blame at him.
"We take you in, and are you grateful?! No, you repay us by damaging our home!" Vernon Dursley accused, his fat face red with anger.
"For the last time, you locked me in the cupboard! Unless I've somehow developed the ability to walk through locked doors and become invisible, it wasn't me," Harry protested, although he knew he had a better chance of convincing a deaf giraffe to listen to him than his uncle.
"Do not get smart with me, boy!"
Harry thought to himself that that wasn't hard, seeing as a brick wall was more intelligent than his uncle; but he wisely kept that opinion to himself.
"Vernon," Petunia piped up, "obviously the lock is broken, and he's lying." She glared hard at her nephew, who for once was glaring right back at her.
Over the years he had been blamed for many things that weren't his fault, but for some reason, this was just the last straw for him. He was sick of having to act like was grateful just because he was living in their house, when in reality he was really only living in their cupboard under the stairs. He was allowed to use the bathroom only if he was given permission; he bathed twice week during school time and once during the holidays; and the only reason he was allowed in the kitchen was because, half the time, he was the one doing the cooking.
"I'm not lying!" he burst out. "If I'd done all that, I'd have told you by now. Because, let's be honest, how exactly were you planning to punish me? By locking me in a cupboard and giving me no dinner? Oh, wait - that's what you do every day!"
He stopped, panting, shocked at having said so much in one go.
Vernon and Petunia, also shocked, stood staring at him for one long speechless second. Harry had never, ever had displayed such an outburst before. Harry watched his uncle's face grow redder and redder and his fists clench tighter and tighter, and waited.
He didn't have to wait too long.
"TO THE CUPBOARD!" bellowed Vernon, trembling with rage. "NOW!"
Harry knew that his aunt and uncle would have to let him out of the cupboard the next day, as it was Monday and he had to attend school. Missing school would raise questions, and raised questions might lead to someone coming to the house and finding out all about little Harry's home life.
He knew that that was the real reason his uncle had never seriously hurt him over the years. Sure, there was the occasional smack, but Vernon had never done anything to leave a noticeable mark, or incapacitate Harry in any way.
But Harry wasn't planning to attend school the next day. He was planning to run away.
He always left the house a good fifteen minutes before Dudley; it was quite enough time for everyone to think he was at school, and by the time anyone knew any different he would be long gone. He wasn't sure where he going to go, or how he was going to survive, but he didn't care, because anywhere was better than Privet Drive. No more getting blamed for something Dudley had done; no more being locked in a cupboard, or having people stomp loudly above where he slept; finally he would get to taste freedom, and he knew it was going to taste sweet.
Uncle Vernon had already left for work the next morning by the time Petunia let Harry out of the cupboard. She didn't say a single word; she just glared at Harry particularly fiercely, and as soon as she saw that he was out, she stalked out of the hallway and into the bathroom.
The minute the door closed, Harry darted to the kitchen; pulling open the cupboard, he searched frantically for anything that he could take with him. The only thing he saw that didn't have to be cooked was a half-eaten pack of chocolate biscuits; he grabbed it and stuffed it into his school bag, then hurried out of the kitchen. He'd barely made back into the hall when Aunt Petunia exited the bathroom.
"Off you go," she snapped. "What are you dawdling for?"
Without another word, Harry turned his back on her and hurried for the front door. Goodbye, Aunt Petunia, he thought, and a wave of excitement passed through him. Goodbye, Uncle Vernon, goodbye, Dudley! Goodbye, Privet Drive, and the cupboard under the stairs! He passed the foot of the stairs and heard Dudley snoring loudly, which only made him more elated; it was going to in his favor greatly.
He burst through the front door, into the sunny day, breathing in the fresh air and the feeling of freedom. It was strange, not walking his usual route to school; but he intended never to walk that route again, so he supposed he'd just have to get used to it. As soon as he got far enough from his house, he slid his bag off his shoulder and hid it behind a bush, after removing the pack of biscuits; there would be no need for schoolbooks any longer.
After only a short while, his feet began to hurt him; but that was only because his shoes were far too small for him. He gritted his teeth and told himself that he must keep walking, just until he found someplace to hide for a few days.
Someplace no one would search for him.
It was growing late in the day. Harry had been walking for hours, and he was sure he'd have blisters when he took his shoes off. He was also extremely thirsty; he hadn't had as much as a drop of water in the last day and a half. He felt weary.
He was now coming near the neighborhood that his Aunt Marge used to live in. Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister, and she was nearly as fat and repulsive as her brother. Needless to say, she hated Harry, and he hated her.
However, in his younger days, his uncle had once driven Harry to see Aunt Marge. The visit hadn't ended well, but Harry still clearly remembered staring in awe at the houses on the street, so different from Privet Drive - which was, you must remember, the only street he was used to seeing. He had memorized them - big, grand houses (or so he thought) made of bricks.
One house, however, he did not remember at all; number fifty-two. It was at the end of a row, and it looked unkempt, abandoned and weather-beaten; but it also looked empty, and that was what Harry needed.
He hurried to the front door and found that it was, miraculously enough, unlocked. He let himself in and shut the door behind him, then glanced around the large front room. It looked rather as if a hurricane had passed through the room a long time ago, and no one had come back to fix the place up since it had happened. It was a complete mess, covered in a layer of dust. But it had a roof, and Harry was sure that nobody was going to search for him here; and that was all he cared about.
After further investigation, Harry found that the place still had running water, for which he was incredibly grateful; he spend a long time with his head underneath the faucet, drinking as much water as his stomach could hold. As for being hungry, for now he had the pack of biscuits.
If he rationed them properly, he was sure he could make them last a few days.
It was night time.
Harry had eaten two biscuits, cleared away some of the broken glass in the front room, and was ready to go bed. There was a large couch, which, once he brushed the dust off of it, made for an excellent place to sleep.
He was lying, curled up on the couch, and very nearly fast asleep, when he saw it.
Two large eyes were staring at him in the almost darkness.
Frozen, Harry held his breath, hardly daring to move, determined not to make a noise until he knew whose eyes they were.
