Harry was asleep when Vernon returned, and the room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the moon. The front door made a loud crash as it slammed shut; and Harry sat upright in bed immediately, jamming his too-small glasses onto his face and wincing with pain.
He looked around him, and was satisfied to see that his preparations from earlier were well in place in case things should go too badly tonight.
He knew he couldn't use magic, so he'd waited for Petunia to go to bed before heaving his trunk downstairs. It awaited him, under his invisibility cloak, on the front lawn. He hoped he would be able to get it back inside if he needed to, if nothing bad happened tonight. He was pretty sure that was unlikely though, after the way things had went this afternoon.
He ran his hand over his hip, feeling where his wand was held in the waistband of his pajamas, and felt a little more secure. No matter what happened, he wouldn't get hurt too badly, even if it meant being hauled up for underage magic charges in front of the minister for magic again.
He tensed as he hear uncle Vernon come up the stairs, his footsteps heavy. Harry knew from the way they fell that his uncle had had an extraordinary amount to drink tonight.
He relaxed as he heard Vernon shut himself in the bathroom, and for a long time there was silence. He began to think he'd fallen asleep in there; maybe he had, because by the time he heard movement out in the hall again, it was through a sleepy haze, and when he'd woken up enough to sit up in bed, he realised that Vernon's fat body was blocking the door frame.
Harry half leapt, half fell out of bed, thankful that he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on, and was on his feet shakily in a moment, but in three heavy strides his uncle was in front of him, a new expression on his face: fury mixed with something else just as threatening.
Harry stepped back, reaching for his wand, but a sweaty hand closed on his neck, forcing his chin up, and before his hand could close over the stick of holly wood, he was pushed backwards away from Vernon forcefully. He lost balance and hit the wall, his shoulder colliding painfully with the cupboard.
He wondered how Petunia could just lie in bed and listen to this every night.
Vernon was charging towards him, and Harry heard his shirt rip and his breath caught in his chest as he was grabbed by the collar.
"You'll wish you were never born, boy." Vernon's voice was quiet and threatening, and Harry felt an unexplainable chill in his stomach. Something was different.
He was shoved roughly into a corner, and this time it was his cheek that took the brunt of the blow. Vernon's hand was pressing so tightly around his neck, pushing it so hard against the wall, that Harry though his nose might break.
Something was wrong.
Why was Vernon breathing like that?
He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow, but instead he heard the unmistakable sound of a fly being unzipped.
His eyes flew open in shock.
He felt a rough tug on the back of his trousers, but Harry had tied the scrap of leather that had once been a belt on too tight.
The revelation of what Vernon was about to do hit him like a ten tonne lorry, and for a moment Harry thought he'd forgotten to breath and felt as if he would black out from the panic.
No. No. NO!
He violently pushed off from the wall, a surge of strength which he could only attribute to accidental magic helping him break Vernon's grip on his neck. He nearly tripped over himself, but propelled himself towards the door, blindly falling across the landing down the stairs in his panic, grabbing the handrail just in time to stop himself freefalling down headfirst, but not securely enough for him to keep his grip when gravity tugged him sharply.
He fell down the bottom half of the stairs, landing on his hands on the second bottom step, and sliding speedily down the last one and into the opposite wall. Though dazed and blind in the darkness, he could hear Vernon thumping after him, and forced himself to his feet, clinging to the wall for support and gasping at a sharp pain in his chest.
He hoped the direction he was staggering in was towards the door, and to his relief his hands met the familiar wooden surface before Vernon reached the bottom of the stairs. As he finally managed to grasp the door handle, there was a resounding crash and a few rhythmic thumps, and Harry knew his uncle had fallen, but rather than relief, he felt panic as he fumbled with the bolt; Vernon was now only feet away from him, and he didn't dare look behind him to see whether he was still coming for him.
When he finally managed to wrench the door open, Harry threw himself out onto the porch, gasping in relief at the fresh air and stumbling towards his hidden trunk.
He ended up tripping over it, but looking back at the blurry black mass that was number four, he wasted no time in pulling the cloak over his body and settled himself, hunched over, on top of the trunk.
He sat and shivered for a long time, not wanting to think about it. After a while though, he could feel thoughts waiting to be thought, pressing in on his skull, so he began to pick at his nails to keep himself busy.
He'd lost his glasses, he thought vaguely, how would he get onto the knight bus if he was blind. Everyone would see the bruises, they'd notice him, and then they'd see his scar…
If it got out that Harry Potter was wandering around in the middle of the night covered in bruises, he'd never hear the end of it. Everyone would know, and everyone would ask what happened, and Dumbledore would look at him with those x-ray vision eyes and he'd know right away - but that couldn't happen.
He found a jagged point on his left ring finger nail, and he focussed on it, picking harder.
He wouldn't even let himself think the words, but he felt as if he was drowning in his shame. He didn't want to question the feeling, probe any further, or think about what might have happened.
Everyone would know.
If Vernon Dursley could have ensured Harry's silence in a more complete or perfect way, Harry didn't know of it.
He was wearing only his pajama bottoms, and he was beginning to shiver, but for the cold this time. He wanted to get up and put on clothes from his trunk, but the windows of Privet Drive stared down at him accusingly, as if searching for the invisible figure on the lawn.
He sat there for so long, frozen by indecision and the cool night air, that when he finally moved he wasn't sure whether he'd been still for hours or mere minutes.
Pulling the cloak tighter around himself, he glanced nervously back at the house. He was glad Vernon had given up before chasing him outside, but it was unlike him to give up so quietly. He'd expected to hear a few choice curses bellowed from inside; this looming silence made him feel extremely uncomfortable. He wondered if Vernon was still lying at the bottom of the stairs.
He stood up, concealing himself as he dragged his fully visible school trunk slowly off the grass. He remembered hiding under the covers as a small child - as he grew older even being in the cupboard felt safe enough - hiding from monsters in the dark.
It was the unspoken rule that if they couldn't see you, they couldn't hurt you, and in his dazed state it was to this childhood rule he subconsciously reverted. Safe under his invisible safety blanket, he trudged down Privet Drive, heading for the same children's park he'd hidden in before he'd started third year. Where he'd first seen Sirius.
It hurt to move. His palms felt as if they'd been skinned, and his head was throbbing. Sometimes when he moved his chest twinged again, but he kept walking.
He walked for what seemed like hours, through in reality he knew it was only a ten minute walk to the park. His hands were stinging badly now, and sticky too. He gasped in relief as soon as his feet took him to the very edge of the play area.
Then he stopped, breathing heavily, to think.
He couldn't believe that his own uncle would…
Did he mean it as a punishment? Or after all these years, has he been waiting to….
Harry felt ill. He felt disgusted. He was shaking again, feeling sick from what had almost happened.
Vernon had said he was a disgusting freak. Why would he…
He didn't want to think about it ever again. He had had his wand with him, he should have held it ready, he should never have let Vernon get that close to him without having his wand pointed at him.
Pushing the ugly thoughts of what might have been away, Harry made himself smile. He had to forget, he had to never think of this again.
He couldn't.
He took a moment or two to just breath. He made himself concentrate on the dimly green grass, the grey fence nearby, which was only a vague blur. He looked at the solemn clouds, only dark lumps up ahead, but for a bit he imagined they were silver-lined by the moon, and tried not to think of anything else.
He was fine. He had to be.
Under his cloak, he looked around to see if there was any movement in the vicinity. He didn't stop to think that any watchers would already have seen a large trunk transport itself along a sizeable stretch of pavement and stop and lie down at the edge of the park.
All corners of the park were motionless so, flattening his fringe over his scar nervously, he took the cloak off and knelt beside his trunk.
He fumbled at the locks and then ran his hands over the top layer of clothes. He'd left his disguise until the end to pack, so he would be able to find it easily.
He felt Dudley's old bulky hoodie first, and pulled it over his bare chest, grateful for the sudden warmth. Next he felt the sharp peak of Dudley's baseball cap, so he put it on any pulled the hood up. Hopefully that would hide the worst bruises. It had been risky, taking Dudley's favourite hat; Piers had brought it back from a holiday in New York for him as a birthday present, but he didn't have anything of his own which would hide his face so well.
It took longer to locate a pair of suitable trousers by touch. His hoodie was battered and old looking, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself by wearing too many similarly ragged things at once, but it was hard trying to identify the jeans he wanted by touch.
When he finally located his least worn jeans, he pulled them over his pajamas, too cold to take them off. For shoes he realised he hadn't packed any trainers in his haste; only his school shoes remained. Groaning, he pulled them on. They were tight, and he knew they looked ridiculous with the rest of his outfit.
Ready at last, he closed his trunk, fumbling once again with the catches. He felt for the handle and stood up shakily, gripping his bruised side.
For a few moments he only stood, looking around in bewilderment at the blurred world around him. He'd have to think out every action and movement if he was going to get away with pretending he wasn't as blind as a bat.
I'll just take everything slowly.
If worst came to worst, he could admit to having lost his glasses, and hope that no one looked to closely, or pictured his round frames on his face.
Shakily, wishing for luck, he dragged his trunk back towards the road, and held his wand outstretched.
BANG!
A bright purple triple-decker bus appeared out of thin air and Harry remembered to force another grin. It didn't work. He tried again.
He was alright.
He patted the galleons in his pocket which he'd counted out earlier that night.
He was alright.
As Stan Shunpike stepped out of the bus, Harry kept his head down, and held out the coins. "The Leaky Cauldron, please." He said, hoping that Stan would hurry up and take them, and the bribe too, to stop him asking questions, instead Stand took his time picking out the right coins from his palm and ignored the rest.
"You alright in there-?" Stan asked, squinting at him, but Harry ducked his head.
"I'm fine. Take me to the Leaky Cauldron." he repeated
"Alrigh', alrigh', no need to be rude, give us a mo' - say did you want a toothbrush?"
"Just the bed is fine, thanks." Harry said impatiently, but by that time he had managed to slowly make his way onto the bus without tripping or showing obvious signs of blindness, so he sank onto the nearest bed in relief while Stan collected his trunk.
As he lay down, he pulled the peak of his cap over his face as if he was sleeping, and turned away from Ernie and Stan, keeping one hand firmly gripping the side of the bed.
Thankfully, the Knight Bus only made three other stops before the Leaky Cauldron, but his exit was made trickier because a gruff sounding wizard got off there too, and as Harry cautiously felt his way out of the bus, the other wizard complained and tried to chivvy him along.
Harry set his jaw, kept his head down and his pace steady.
As he'd hoped, Tom had no problem giving a room to a suspicious character with a hidden face, but Harry was sure he raised more than a little suspicion when he was shown to his room. The stairs were tricky and unevenly spaced, and he had to feel his way up with his feet while Igor, the porter, waited impatiently at the top, Harry's trunk on his shoulder. He could almost feel Tom's eyes on his back. Once the ordeal with the stairs was over however, he was expected to follow Igor though several darkened corridors to his room. He got lost in the dark twice, and had to stand still and wait for Igor to grunt at him so he could follow the sound.
He waited, standing, for Igor to set down his trunk in his room, and waited for the click of the door shutting, before sinking onto the bed, fully-clothed, and shutting his eyes.
The next day, Harry crept down the stairs slowly. He needed to get to muggle London. He didn't know where to start when it came to buying wizard glasses, and he was less likely to be recognised outside of Diagon Alley.
He managed to get out of the Leaky Cauldron without causing a scene, but out on the crowded street it was a different story. He tried to get a reasonable distance away from the pub, squinting at the street for cars that looked like a taxi, but he tripped and stumbled so often he could easily picture the disapproving glances he must be getting. People would think he was drunk.
When he finally fell and landed on his already sore hands, he gave up.
"Help." he called out helplessly, getting to his feet "I've lost my glasses, can someone help me?"
Blurred people-shaped blobs brushed by him as he repeated himself; one pushed against his shoulder so roughly he fell over again.
Harry was not a tearful person, but the sense of overwhelming helplessness was awful, and he felt tears pricking his eyes as he tried again.
"Help," he called at the passing blurs "I've lost my glasses, can someone call me a taxi!"
"'Ere son," someone close by said finally, "There's a taxi rank just over there, give me yer arm."
Harry held out his arm cautiously, though he felt like sobbing in relief, remembering to keep his head down as much as possible at the last moment.
He was lead over to a black car, and he hesitated before getting in, checking for a likely blur on top of the cab, indicating that it was indeed a taxi and not someone trying to kidnap him.
He thought he saw a taxi sign on top, but he relaxed and got in when he heard the driver's handheld radio buzz and beep.
"I've lost my glasses," he explained as he got in "I need to go to an optician's. Any one."
"You all right kid?" the driver asked, and he could feel eyes on him. He looked down while the taxi started moving. "That's some scrape you have there."
Harry wasn't sure which particular 'scrape' the driver was referring too, so he merely replied "Got in a fight with a guy. He broke my glasses."
"Yeah?" the driver's voice was sceptical "And how long ago was that."
"None of your business." Harry said sharply, giving up. The rest of the journey was in silence.
He was dropped off on a busy street filled with muggle shoppers with bulging carrier bags. The taxi driver had pointed out the right building to him briefly, and he hurried towards the spot.
He wasn't sure he had the right place. Did the driver mean the shop to the left perhaps? Everything was a blur. He gritted his teeth, feeling tears of frustration again, and hating the helplessness.
Someone with a fussy female voice hurried over, a thin blurred figure in black.
"Are you thinking about laser eye surgery?" the voice asked excitedly, pressing a leaflet into his hands. He could see she had a wad of them under her arm. "We offer treatments for only two hundred pounds, if you sign up today."
Harry sighed, relief coursing through him, then searched for the right words.
"Um." Harry had no idea what laser-eye surgery was, but it didn't sound pleasant. "I'm looking for glasses, please. I lost mine."
"Excellent!" the woman cut in, motioning towards the shop "Would you like me to show you our range? You could walk away today with a designer frame for as little as a ninety pounds!"
As 'little'? Harry had muggle money on him, thanks to helping himself to Petunia's purse the night before, but he wondered if he had enough.
He felt a rush of guilt. He was desperate, but he hated he'd been desperate enough to steal. He'd pay her back, he promised himself again. At the time he'd just been anxious about going into Gringotts; he didn't have his key and he wasn't sure if they'd let him take any money without it, so he'd resorted to rifling in his Aunt's handbag.
Wordlessly, he followed the saleswoman into the shop.
"Geek-chic is very in right now." she bubbled, passing him an oversized pair or red frames to try on. Harry stared at himself doubtfully in one of the mirrors on the wall. They weren't the right prescription, but he could see a little better than before, but he didn't need good eyesight to know that he didn't want giant red glasses.
"I don't think I need to look too much more like a geek." he said firmly, handing them back and casting his eye over the array of spectacles on the walls. "I just want something simple." He left out the fact that he couldn't see himself in the mirror; the frames of the glasses were filled with glass that wasn't the same as his prescription.
He knew his round frames were hopelessly outdated, but he liked that they made him look like his father. The only problem was that they were so distinctive.
"Look I need thicker glasses," he explained quickly "I have really weak eyesight."
"If you need your eyes tested you'll need to come back in two weeks to collect your frames." the woman sounded disapproving "You didn't say-"
"I know," Harry said desperately "But I was in a fight and I lost my glasses."
"I was wondering about your face." the woman said sniffily "But no matter what your circumstances-"
"How much?" Harry said
"Excuse me?"
"How much extra do I need to pay to get my glasses now?"
He heard a sort of irritated cough "I'm afraid-"
"You could call it a tip." he prompted, closing his eyes and praying she'd catch on faster.
There was a silence.
"Well," she said hesitantly "the only way I could think to do that is to give you an eye test now, and search the shop catalogue to see if there happens to be any glasses already in stock that happen to suit your eyes."
"Great." Harry said "Go ahead."
A full hour later Harry escaped from the shop, clutching a bag containing several spare sets of contact lenses to last him through the school year.
There had been no glasses in his prescription, but by handing over a few more bank notes that he was too blind to make out the assistant had admitted they had a wide range of contact lenses ready to go. He didn't both thanking her as he left.
He'd never worn contacts before, but so far he was impressed. He could see clearer than he ever had before, although he'd known he'd needed to get his eyes retested for some time now so he didn't think that was down to the contacts. He could barely feel them, and he was already looking forward to playing quidditch with them on.
It was relieving to be able to see where he was going; he'd never felt so grateful just to be able to see.
Looking around at the now in-focus world, he was glad to see he was surrounded by muggle clothes shops. He badly needed a new wardrobe, especially as he had weeks before term started during which he had to disguise himself. Suddenly a barber shop caught his eye and he began to move hastily towards the shopping centre before he made any more drastic decisions. He knew his hair was far too long now though - it brushed his shoulders - but he was yet to have a pleasant experience getting his hair cut so he'd leave it for later. He made his way into a nearby shopping centre.
The clean white interior of the building was filled with bustling muggles, and Harry walked as slowly as he could, feeling intimidated by the glossy storefronts. What had happened to his life? He remembered being a little scared of places like the apothecary in Diagon Alley with its old fashioned and gloomy exterior, and its shelves inside filled with bottled animal parts and pickled plant life, but now he felt as if, were he to see a shop like that in here, he would hurry in just to escape the gleaming plastic displaysand the large, unmoving posters of smiling models.
When had he become so used to being a wizard that the muggle world made him feel unwelcome?
He wandered into the nearest store, a shoe shop, and walked around from shelf to shelf looking at all the shoes. It was hard to pick things which he thought made him look good – until now he had never been able to pick his own clothes, apart from his school uniform, and that didn't really count as being his own choice.
However he survived his first foray into the world of fashion and emerged from the store some time later clutching several bags and feeling distinctly cheated. What was it with muggle salesmen? He was sure they weren't lying when they'd told him that all the shoes were the height of fashion, but since when had he cared about that? How on earth had he been persuaded to spend that much money on footwear?
Harry decided to stop and think carefully about his next purchases. He pretended to window shop as he thought about what he wanted to get next.
Clothes, of course he wanted his own. He kept catching sight of his reflection in the glass windows of shops and marvelled at how different he looked without his glasses. Would people even recognise him as Harry Potter without them, if he hid his scar? He was sure that if he bought himself some decent clothes, even Ron and Hermione wouldn't recognise him.
The only thing was, he wasn't sure what sort of look he was going for. Maybe he should look around the shops and see what sort of clothes he liked?
He made his way to the nearest menswear shop, but everything seemed to remind him of uncle Vernon. He left quickly and looked around to see where other boys his age were shopping and followed a group into a sports shop. Don't want to come home looking like one of Dudley's friends he decided, but he bought a newer hoodie to replace his worn out one, and then moved onto a fashionable looking shop a short distance away.
Initially Harry found himself baffled by the vast array of clothes. He saw a few tshirts he liked and, picking up a basket, decided to buy them. Then he realised that he would need jeans too, and identified a few likely looking pairs. Looking down in his basket, Harry was somewhat disappointed to see how ordinary his selections looked. They were basically better-fitting versions of the clothes that Petunia and Vernon had given him. He hung them all back on their racks and decided to get the basics first and grabbed several neutral coloured pairs of socks and underwear.
What kind of look do I want? he thought, looking at the youths around him. Many wore just jeans and t-shirts, a few were exhibiting the 'geek-chic' look that the optician saleswoman had tried to sell him, but Harry couldn't see himself looking cool in v-neck jumpers with their rather ugly and old-fashioned patterns. Some people just had an aura about them; they carried off their look well. The girl at the till looked stunning in a dress that would make Hermione or Ginny look as if they were wearing old curtains. But then Hermione and Ginny didn't do their hair like that; in a messy up-do, or wear heels or earrings.
Harry decided that if he wanted to look different he needed to be a bit more daring. The old Harry Potter wore hand me downs, the new one needed to wear things that looked different to what he was used to. And also, he admitted to himself shyly, he would quite like to look good. Nothing like Malfoy in his expensive suits, but just something that looked normal, something that suited him, made him look interesting rather than drab.
He examined several other teenagers around him. Many of them seemed to get most of their look from their hair, and he even spotted a few haircuts he liked enough to get himself. He toyed with the idea of getting an earring, but decided against it, and hurriedly shook his head to get the ridiculous idea out of it. Wizards just didn't do things like that! Except Bill Weasley, but somehow that was different. He could only imagine, with horror, the reaction he might get from Snape if he walked into class with an earring.
Eventually he found a couple of pairs of jeans that looked sufficiently 'interesting', with rather impressive price tags and, with an eye on his depleting money supply, found some t-shirts and jumpers that looked pretty good. He made sure that all his selections looked nothing like anything Dudley would ever wear. He spent some time deliberating over a fancy leather jacket but in the end decided he'd rather have a dragon hide one if he was going to spend that much money and left it.
As he stood in the checkout line he added some trendy looking bracelets and a necklace after realising that several other boys in the queue were wearing them. At the last moment he decided against two of the bracelets and picked up a belt, and then wondered if buying any of this was a good idea after all, but by then it was too late and most of the clothes were in plastic shopping bags and Harry gaped at how much it all came to.
Pockets somewhat lighter, Harry stopped to sit down on a conveniently placed bench to watch the muggles pass by and attempt not to have a panic attack. He had never spent money so frivolously in his life. And so much of it…
He looked down at his numerous shopping bags, head spinning. What had he been thinking? He wore robes most of the year, for goodness sakes! The thought of taking all his purchases back to the shop entered his head, and he half got to his feet before he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby window.
A small, skinny, boy draped in what looked like elephant skin gazed back at him.
He sank back onto the bench, staring.
His hair was thick and untidy, and not in a good way. It longer than he remembered. His face was pointy and hollow looking. He had dark smudges under his eyes, and his bruises were horribly obvious. When did he get a cut lip? Without his glasses, he looked like a lost sheep, but when he remembered what he had looked like with the awful contraptions on, he realised dully that it was an improvement. His clothes were far too large. He looked like he had wandered in from the street, he was even surprised no one had pulled him up about where such an obviously poor person had gotten so much money from.
Abruptly, he decided to get rid of Dudley's old disgusting clothes, and as he stood up he looked over his reflection once more. He's forgotten he was so painfully short. He headed into the nearby public toilets and put on some ripped blue jeans, a black and red t-shirt and a pair of his new trainers. He revelled in the feeling of wearing socks and underwear that were actually new, and got several odd looks from muggles emerging from the toilet cubicles for standing and beaming at himself in the mirror for such a long time.
Reluctantly he covered his face again with his hat, but with a new hoodie over the top. He snorted at his reflection. He'd never looked less like a wizard.
Wasting no time, he headed for the barber shop he had seen, dumping Dudley's old clothes in the nearest bin as he went.
11