Hey guys. Thank you for your lovely reviews on my last chapter. It makes me very happy you like the story and your kind comments make me feel much appreciated! I won't put up all the disclaimers up again each chapter, if you want to re-read, please see chapter 1.

So here the story continues... Enjoy.

Please Come For Me - Chapter 2 – Something Isn't Right

The sun was setting slowly in Little Whinging, colouring the streets with a warm shade of crimson. The leaves of the trees were still green. Probably they wouldn't wither for another month or two since it was in the middle of summer. School holidays had begun recently and kids were playing outside even past dinnertime. After all, they could sleep in and what was the point of holidays otherwise? The parents seemed to be enjoying themselves too, some watching their kids in the park, catching up on the newest neighbourhood gossip, others taking a walk with their spouse, chattering animatedly about the day's events.

Harry was lying on his bed again, eyes closed, his mind wandering aimlessly. Now and then he would hear a strained sound coming from somewhere outside. Or was it just his imagination?

Harry hated the holidays. He didn't particularly like going to school either, but at least there was a fixed amount of time on weekdays he wasn't forced to spend in his uncle's presence.

At school, everything was manageable. He was used to being ignored.

It hadn't always been like this, though. In his first year, lots of children had approached Harry happily and included him in their games. This wasn't to last long though.

Soon, Dudley, who was initially invited as well, was left out because he ruined every single game. If they played tag, Dudley would start cornering kids, leaving them scared and crying. 'Simon says' had soon been revised to 'Dudley says'. Nice toys were usually his (which he wouldn't share) or other kids' which he hunted down and then wouldn't share.

Dudley had been very surprised by the experience of being left out for once in his life. Yet it had not occurred to him that his own behaviour might be the cause of his misery. Therefore, he did the only thing he had learnt to do in such a situation – blame it on Harry.

Besides, Harry seemed to be popular, driving the other kids away from him. Petunia had spent many evenings trying to comfort him.

'They are mean to me, Mummy!' Dudley had wailed. 'They call me names. They don't like me on purpose!'

'Maybe you could start sharing some of your toys. Only some!' She added hastily upon the very shocked glare she had received from her son.

'You know, lots of kids don't have as many nice toys as you have and they like to try new things. It is a good way to make friends.'

Before these words could sink in and unfold their meaning, Petunia's effort was squashed by her husband.

Up until now, Vernon had been sitting in his oversized lounge chair in front of the TV, grinding his teeth because of the on-going whining behind his back. Harry had been sitting on the floor and watched the scene in silence. When Vernon suddenly jumped up, he automatically backed away several feet, wondering if he had done something wrong.

Vernon turned around facing his wife and very agitated son whose eyes were puffy from crying. His face's colour was matching the little toy fire engine he was clasping.

'Boy, listen closely!' Vernon's hands were balled into fists, resting on either side of his belly.

'You don't need to share with others! They will only break your nice toys anyway and think you have gone all soft. Do you want them to think you are some kind of spineless wind-bag who hands out giveaways to the needy?'

'No, Daddy!' Dudley shook his head vigorously.

'You don't need them to be your friends. You are above that, son! They just need to respect you! You will find others to play with who are just as tough as you are! Real friends!'

Finishing his sentence, he turned around once more and approached Harry with three quick strides, stopping just at arm's length away from him, fists still clenched tightly together. Pleased by the effect he had caused, he watched the little silhouette cowering at his feet, tearful eyes wide-opened, bottom lip quivering, and sneered contentedly. Then he faced his son again.

'See, Dudley. What do you need friends for when people just need to respect you? You won't have any problems, see?' He jerked his head towards his miserable nephew, trying to support his well-elaborated point.

Clearly Dudley was rather impressed by his father's demonstration than by his mother's reasoning. He started chewing on his lips. Then his puffy eyes glittered and his face lit up considerably. Without warning, he sent his little fire engine flying towards Harry who was still crouching at Vernon's feet and didn't dare to move. He yelped when the toy hit his left shoulder painfully.

'Oowie! Heeeey...!'

He wanted to protest, but Vernon leaned down until he was on eye-level. Annoyed, he glared at the boy.

'Something you want to say?'

Silence.

'You could have broken your nice toy, Dudley.' Harry finished somehow lamely.

Next day in school Dudley had lost no time employing those new tactics, bullying away until lunch time. Soon he discovered that none of the kids were making fun of him, nor was anyone calling him names anymore. He never had been nice to them, but now they had a reason to fear him! Now he could concentrate on his next problem – Harry's friends, or rather – Harry having any friends.

It didn't take a lot of threatening as everybody was already scared. Harry could guess what his cousin had told the kids, although he never learnt about the details. He just noticed how they started talking behind his back, looking the other way when he wanted to join them in their games.

Those were the experiences that had hurt deeply, and remembering them was just as bad.

A sickening feeling spread in Harry's stomach and tears had started to well up in his eyes. He opened them and started rubbing to ease the sting. He rested his hands on his face for a moment and sighed deeply. As long as he was living with Dudley, as long as people knew that he was related to him, he would never have any friends.

'Harry, we really can't play with you anymore,' the kids in school had told him timidly.

'Please don't get us into trouble, kay? We'll still be friends. We'll just pretend that we are not, right?'

And it had worked. They had pretended well and soon all was forgotten about Harry. Apart from new kids who joined the class and hadn't yet been told how dangerous Harry was to be around, there weren't enough suicidal kids left he could play with.

Harry didn't want to get others into trouble, so finally he stopped talking to most of the kids. The teachers in school did talk to him, but it didn't help much, either. Harry had to make sure that he wasn't outscoring Dudley on any task they were given, a very tough challenge in itself. He had to make up so many mistakes and give stupid answers that by the end of his second year, all of his teachers pitifully regarded him as a hopeless case state funding was wasted on. They felt sorry for the little boy that usually tried very hard to no avail.

x x x

Harry reached for the toilet paper he had stuffed into his pocket earlier the day. It had been damp and was making a fluff now. He managed to extract a handful of atomized pieces but soon figured that he would never retrieve all of it at this rate. Petunia would be outraged if she found this in the laundry, possibly ruining other clothes as well.

Pushing himself off his covers, Harry heard the snapping sound in his wrist again.

OUCH.

He switched on the lights and tried to examine his hand. It was swollen and had adapted a weird colour. But maybe that was just the lack of natural light in his room. It was impossible to see anything with his window barricaded. A singular light bulb was suspended from the ceiling. It looked like it couldn't compete with a decrepit firefly.

Actually, Harry was surprised that it hadn't given up on him yet. He rarely used it, just to be on the safe side. It had been there as long as he could remember. There wasn't much he could do about it anyway. With a shrug of his shoulders, he switched it on and got going on the more pressing issue.

He stood on his left trouser leg and pulled his jeans down with his intact arm, pulling the leg with his other foot. There was no need to unbutton or unzip as it was hanging so loosely, eventually he'd drop them in public. Yet he'd never dare ask Uncle Vernon for a belt! Ironic man he was, he'd probably misunderstand the request.

He finally managed to step out of his trousers and turned the pocket in question inside out, starting to pick at the remainders of the toilet paper, lost in thought. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong this time.

Harry glanced towards his window and seeing that the sunset-weakened rays of light weren't making it through to him anymore, decided that it must be time to sleep soon.

Vernon hadn't yet locked him up inside his room. He was sure to hear the padlocks once Uncle Vernon eventually came to shut him in. Still he didn't need to push his luck and check. Avoidance was generally good tactics around this place.

He threw the toilet paper ball into his waste bin, then folded his trousers neatly and laid them across his chair. He turned off the gloomy light bulb and headed for his bed, pulled back the cover and carefully crawled inside.

Rolling onto his side, he hugged his pillow closer to his body and closed his eyes only to immediately open them again. His heartbeat had quickened considerably.

Harry rolled onto his other side, still clutching his pillow.

He was such a baby. Not being able to sleep. How childish.

Harry didn't know how it had come. At some point, it had started and henceforth occurred on a regular basis. He just couldn't get off to sleep without rolling back and forth endlessly. Somehow dark thoughts kept coming once he closed his eyes, wrapped into complete darkness and silence. Usually there had been some light from the street lamp in front of his window. But now that his room was fortified, there wasn't a single spot of brightness. His heart sank at the thought.

Tears started to well up in Harry's eyes again. He hugged closer to his pillow, burying his head into it. He wanted to cry some long unshed tears, but was too stricken with emotions.

x x x

Harry rolled onto his other side, maybe the thirtieth or fortieth time. He had stopped counting when he had gotten all mixed up with it. Then he realized that his hand didn't hurt anymore. Neither did his head.

That was nice for a change.

Already he wasn't feeling tired anymore. He pushed himself up and sat back against his bed, trying to take in his surroundings. His room didn't seem to be as dark anymore, either. Little spots of light were dancing in front of his window. Harry caught glimpses of them when they flew in between the slits of the boards. Were those fireflies? He strained himself to see them clearer, but just as he wanted to get out of his bed, he heard a shuffling noise outside his door. Then, metallic sounds followed.

'Click. Click. Click.'

Was Uncle Vernon finally shutting him in? Wasn't it too late for that?

Or... he wasn't!

Was he unlocking them? In the middle of the night? To come into his room? When he was supposed to be sleeping?

Harry hugged his knees against his chest, firmly clutching his arms around his legs.

He didn't dare breathe.

'Click.' That was only one to go.

'Click.'

Near rigid with fear, Harry pulled his bedcover over his knees and half across his face, just leaving the nose and eyes uncovered, staring at the door. Someone was sneaking around out there. Slowly the knob of his door turned. It would open any second.

Yanking himself out of his shock, Harry lay down flat on his back again, pulling the cover right over his head. Maybe he could just pretend to be sleeping. His breathing was alarmingly loud. He clapped one hand over his mouth, but still could hear his heavy accelerated breathing.

'Clack.' His door had been shut again.

He didn't dare move.

Was he alone again?

He felt someone's presence linger around menacingly.

'Creak.'

Something heavy was moving across the floor boards of his room!

With both hands Harry clutched to his cover, violently shaking. He had to make sure and check. Slowly he lowered the cover, inch by inch, holding his breath. His knuckles were white, forcefully holding on to his cover.

Just a few more inches.

Time seemed to stand still.

He finally screwed up his courage and dropped the bedspread, staring into two ugly eyes hovering above him! Someone was laughing disgustingly in the silence.

'NOOOOOOOO! LEAVE ME ALONE!'

Harry started to scream but it felt like the words had never formed on his lips. Two fat hands were choking him. He gasped for air, uncontrollably slapping his hands above his head, trying to free himself from that iron grip, flailing limbs everywhere.

'NOOOOOOOO! STOOOOOP!'

He violently trashed around, getting tangled up in his way-too-big shirt. It felt like he was being tied down by it and it got worse the more he struggled.

'LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME BE! GO AWAY!' he screeched in desperation.

Eyes wide-opened, he stared directly into the two ugly bulging eyes, seeing nothing else, feeling the beefy fingers around his throat.

'You are a freak,' a horribly icy voiced breathed.

'And this is why you have to die.'

Harry tried to jerk his head away, hitting it against his bedpost, still screaming. Then he opened his eyes.

x x x

Violent muttering penetrated Harry's door as he heard the familiar clicking outside. He made out Aunt Petunia's voice. She was trying to calm her husband who seemed too agitated to unlock the door. Harry's heart sank.

Another dream. Again.

A couple of moments passed in which Harry tried to calm his breathing and lie down again, but to no avail. His heart was hammering against his chest, his shirt was completely soaked with sweat, and his temple was hammering where his head had connected with the bedpost. His hair was clutching to his forehead in damp streaks. He ran his fingers through it so he'd be able to see anything. Harry noticed that his hand was shaking badly.

Finally the door burst open with a bang, sending splinters from the doorframe everywhere. It would have been obvious that Harry feigned sleep if he still remained silent after this entrance.

'WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK ARE YOU SCREAMING ABOUT, BOY?'

Vernon was outraged. He switched on the light but it only gave a weak puff and everything remained dark inside Harry's room. The only lights now came from the hallway outside and the master's bedroom at the end of the floor.

That's it, Vernon thought.

'I WILL NOT PUT UP WITH THIS ANYMORE!' He thundered.

Having said this, he grabbed Harry by his hair and dragged him out of his bed. With full force, he threw him towards the severely abused door which hung loosely in its hinges. He snatched the trousers lying on the chair and flung them at Harry who was grabbing the doorframe for dear life.

'Get. Out. NOW!'

Wide-eyed Harry held on to his trousers. He backed away from his uncle and aunt. Petunia had been standing in the hallway helplessly, now approaching her husband.

Harry stopped just in time to avoid falling down the stairs backwards and observed the bizarre scene. He felt paralysed. Everything seemed to be so unreal. This couldn't be happening!

'Vernon! You cannot throw him out!' Petunia tried to appease her husband in a hushed voice. Then she added, 'what will the neighbours think?'

'I do not bloody CARE!' Vernon's voice was hoarse as he screamed on top of his lungs. 'It's in the middle of the night, for crying out loud! No one will see! Didn't you hear him scream like an idiot? I have had enough of this!'

Harry struggled to get into his trousers. The legs just kept getting tangled up and his body felt like it might collapse anytime soon. As he had finally managed to pull his trousers up, Vernon approached him and captured him by the scruff of his neck.

He tried to pull Harry towards him so forcefully, the fabric of his shirt gave in to the sheer brutality with a tearing noise. Harry threw his hands at his throat. The collar of his shirt had been expanded so much that it was hanging loosely over his right shoulder now. Vernon decided to give his assault another chance of success, this time grabbing Harry's bare right upper arm, forcing him down the stairs.

Harry tried to get hold of the handrail, but couldn't reach it. He struggled to keep his balance and the only thing which kept him from falling over and breaking his neck was the iron grip on his arm.

It felt filthy.

Harry was disgusted by the touch on his bare skin. The belt was one thing. But those beefy, filthy, disgusting fleshy fingers were something completely different.

Once they reached the front door, Vernon yanked it open and, with a ferocious push, sent the boy flying a couple of feet. His knees got cut by the gravel in the driveway.

'Don't you dare to come back before the morning!' Vernon thundered. 'Go scream somewhere else, idiot!'

With that he ushered Petunia back inside who had paled visibly at her husband's outburst. She peeked around but the neighbour's curtains remained tightly drawn. Nobody seemed to have noticed. With a last look at Harry and then at her husband, she decided that she didn't dare to intervene and closed the door slowly, giving Harry one last glance, possibly a little longer than he was used to.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry started running. He didn't have his shoes or socks but the asphalt felt still warm. Tears of confusion and fear were streaming down his cheeks.

Where was he supposed to go?

Harry could only think of one place where he had felt happy, safe. Taking a few turns he started his way towards a little playground he had discovered a few months ago. It was only small and Dudley had never been to it. Harry had snuck away a couple of times and played there when Uncle Vernon hadn't been home from work yet, when Dudley was out playing somewhere else and when Aunt Petunia wasn't paying close attention to him, probably busy with keeping a close record of what was happening in the neighbourhood.

Once a few kids had been there, a girl and a boy, the girl obviously younger, maybe 3 or 4 years old, the boy rather older than Harry. But apart from those kids, the playground seemed mainly deserted. Maybe it was too tiny to be very popular around this neighbourhood.

One time, Harry had received an awful hiding from Uncle Vernon as he got lost in his game and returned home late. His uncle had asked where he had been, but surely he hadn't given away his secret. If it wasn't for this, he would have been in trouble for something else anyway. He truly treasured this place. It gave him so much solace. And there was no chance he'd surrender that. Uncle Vernon seemed contented with Harry's excuse that he got lost, confirming his belief that the boy was stupid beyond recognition. Also it meant that he got to punish the boy for something that wasn't about to change.

Maybe fifteen minutes or so had passed which felt like hours. Harry was starting to worry that he had missed the right junction. After all, he had never been here in the middle of the night. Just when he was about to give up and turn around, he saw the metal of a swing reflect the dim light of the crescent moon. It looked exactly the way he remembered it to be, the way he needed it to be. Beautiful and serene.

With a sigh of relief, he walked towards the swing and sat down on it. Harry needed a moment to collect his breath. His hands clutched the iron chains by which it was suspended from and dangled his feet in the sand below, letting it rinse through his toes.

Then his emotions caught up with his condition. A heart-wrenching sob escaped his lips. Startled by the loudness of it he jerked, clapping a hand to his mouth. Pushing off the ground with his feet he gave the swing a light twist and gazed around carefully, trying to take in his surroundings. Obviously, he was alone.

Tears were freely running down Harry's cheeks and falling onto his sweaty shirt. Although it was still warm outside, he started shivering. Hugging his arms fiercely to his chest, he started swinging back and forth slowly, annoyed that he was such a crybaby.

What was he supposed to do? Why had he come to this place in the middle of the night?

Harry berated himself as the darkness seemed to close up on him. Probably he should have just waited at the front door and after a couple of minutes Aunt Petunia would have convinced his uncle to let him back inside before, by any chance, neighbours started noticing. But he had been stupid and taken off…

Another heart-wrenching sob escaped Harry's mouth and another flow of tears released some emotions which he couldn't suppress much longer. He gazed at the stars, feeling numb.

After a couple of minutes that felt like hours, Harry didn't have any tears left to cry. His eyes were stinging, but rubbing them only made it worse. He wasn't shivering anymore, quite contrary. His forehead felt very hot and he had started to sweat again.

As he was trying to regain some common sense, rocking back and forth to calm himself, gently stroking his cheeks with the knuckles of his hands, some more sobs escaped from the depths of his broken heart.

He snapped back to the present, when a stifled gasp of surprise reached his ears. Drawing in a sharp breath, he scanned his surroundings, stopping dead when his gaze fell on someone standing next to the trees at the junction of the main road and the pathway leading towards this playground. Harry's muscles tensed.

He could only make out the silhouette. It seemed to be a tall person. It just stood there, one hand pocketed, the other one held in front of his mouth as if caught in surprise, watching him carefully. Casting a quick look around, Harry decided to run for it. With a pounding heart, he jumped off the swing and took the path which led away from the playground.

After a few moments, he jerked around to see if he was being followed, stumbling terribly as his way-too-large trousers threatened to drop. The spectator seemed to have walked towards the now abandoned swing and stretched its hand out, as if trying to get a grasp of what he had just observed.

Without looking back anymore, he ran as fast as his sore feet would allow him to.

x x x

What the hell had just happened?

Walking closer towards the swings, the tall figure reached for the iron chains to stop the rapid movement as they were dangling wildly.

They felt still warm where the boy's hands had gripped them tightly, just moments before. Could he dare trust his eyes? He felt the warmth of the chains once more as if to reinforce the thought that a child actually had held on to them just seconds ago. He hadn't imagined. He wasn't becoming insane.

Running his fingers through his entangled hair he stopped at his ear, scratching the little fang which was pierced into it. With a light shake of his head he hurried towards the other end of the playground where the kid had disappeared. He ran down the road in either direction but didn't get a second glimpse of the kid. It had suddenly sprung up and then just disappeared into the darkness.

What was this kid doing here in the middle of the night? He thought, angry at his slow reaction. But what was he supposed to do? Hunt down the kid?

It was an hour past midnight.

x x x

Tom had had a rough day at work. Actually it had been a rough month since the baby was there. And he had been tired. Although his working times were now a lot more convenient than they had been when he was still assigned to the emergency room of the local hospital, he hadn't really gotten used to it yet. He liked his work very much. The demanding nature of the job usually caused him to excel in it, getting lots of quality work done. But the lack of sleep due to his messed-up biorhythm exacted its toll eventually.

It hadn't been easy to surrender his beloved position to another colleague and start working at the GP's for a while, but his wife hadn't settled for any discussions. Being home with the baby, she needed more of his support than he could offer while doing hospital hours. So he had agreed to slow down for a while, after all, it was family first.

Now he worked regular office hours, except if he was on the alert. In the mornings he'd be tired and make his way through the day with truckloads of coffee. In the evenings he would start to feel more alive and full of energy. While his wife made sure he got his sleep, feeding the baby at night, she relied on him to take care of their other two kids. Thankfully, they could rely on their neighbours to step in now and then when work got over his head.

This morning, he had dropped his son and daughter off at the Gregory's with a guilty pang in his stomach. It didn't help that his 4-year-old daughter had hugged herself to his neck vigorously and refused to let go. Just when he had promised her a dozen times that he wouldn't forget her and surely pick her up by the end of the day, he had managed to prise open her firm grip and put her down.

The evenings usually followed the same routine now that he did regular hours. After taking the baby from his tired wife and spending some time outside with the kids, they would have supper and see Marie off to bed afterwards. Sam, his older one, would then get to choose what he wanted to do with his Dad. Tom had to admit that, after all, regular hours did have their benefits.

But when he had finally put his 12-year-old to bed, he enjoyed to collapse on the couch, the baby on his stomach, glancing at his beautiful wife who sat opposite him in a comfortable stuffed chair. They would talk about their day, make plans for the weekend, and enjoy some quiet time. By 10 p.m. the baby had fallen asleep. Warm air was coming in through the open window. It was a wonderful summer night.

'I will head off to bed, honey' Dana had said. 'Who knows how long she will be sleeping.' With an affectionate look, she regarded her baby, then her husband. 'Make sure you don't stay up too long. You look tired.'

Tom nodded, kissing his wife and baby as they passed him and returned to his comfortable position on the couch. Turning on the stereo with some quiet music, he recapitulated his day's events. This had been a rough day and, unlike usual, he hadn't been able to leave his work behind once he'd passed his front door.

'There was something with that boy's behaviour that made me feel awkward', he had said to his wife when she had commented on his thoughtfulness before.

'What do you mean, awkward?

'I don't know. It is just a feeling.' He shrugged his shoulders.

Seeing the frown on his wife's face, he added 'maybe I am just tired.' Poking the baby gently, a big grin spread across his face. 'I wonder why.'

He didn't know why, but he felt very uneasy and only managed to relax slowly now that he was lying on his comfortable couch. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

It felt like he hadn't slept at all when he was woken by the familiar sound of a child crying. Maybe Sam had had a bad dream, or Marie couldn't find her cuddly bear. Half-way across the room heading for the staircase, he heard the heart-wrenching sound again. It didn't come from upstairs though. It came from… outside?

Walking back to the living room, Tom strained his ears to hear another sound and thought that he heard the metal chains of a swing. It was right across the street, his kids' favourite playground.

Determined to make sure, he slipped into his sneakers, stepped out of his front door and moved across the street, slowly, as if not to scare away anyone he might find there at such a late hour of night.

Coming to a halt a bit away from the playground, he looked for the source of the sobbing and discovered the little creature on the swing, crying desperately. A gasp escaped his mouth before he could clap his hand to it. Obviously he had given his silent observer's position away, for the little kid had noticed him. It stared at him for a second, as if seizing him up, then it ran for it.

Tom had wanted to shout, tell him that everything was alright and that there was no need to be afraid, but was too dumbfounded by the situation to speak at all.

The kid turned around and stumbled in its way too large trousers which dropped half-way before they were yanked up again. This time there was no looking back.

Yes. He knew this kid.

x x x