Harry jerked upwards with a gasp, only to come into painful re-acquaintance with the underside of the stairs above his head.
As Harry laid there and groaned quietly, nursing what was promising to be a sizable bruise on his forehead, all of his memories and experiences rushed into him; assimilating themselves with his seven year old mind.
Harry almost fancied he could feel his brain stretch and grow as it made room for the ten other years of memories that hadn't truly happened yet. His magic even seemed to age, becoming heavier, somewhat darker; tainted with his experiences and magical knowledge and maturity. Still, even though he was in a seven year old body, Harry was still shocked and pained to realize that there was more magic at his disposal now, at this age, then he'd ever had or used at Hogwarts. Well, if Harry had something to say about it, Dumblefuck would never get a chance to block his magic again.
Feeling the acute pain settled into a dull, throbbing ache, Harry sat up and surveyed his all-too-familiar surroundings. His cupboard was just as dusty and dark as he remembered it. The three broken green toy soldiers were still there, although the headless dinosaur he's filched from the bin when he was nine was noticeably absent. Although Harry was pleased, no, ecstatic, to discover that his blue, ratted baby blanket that his mother had embroidered for him was still there (the Dursleys had burned it when he was eight after they'd discovered it. Harry could still feel the lingering ache from the loss). He knew that all these things would be coming with him when he left, a reminder of what he had already survived.
Because, yes, Harry was leaving. The only question was… when.
He knew that he needed to give his godfather a few days to get out of Azkaban before going to Gringotts; and he'd risk his chances on the streets until then if not for his need to be near the telly when they announced his escape on the news like last time.
So Harry merely sat back and waiting for his relatives to rise, preparing to play the part more familiar and ingrained to him than the 'Boy-Who-Lived' persona.
Not too much later Harry heard the tell-tale sound of his relative's alarm clock. Mentally, Harry mapped out the morning. First, if Harry remembered correctly, Uncle Vernon would get into the shower while Petunia came down to get him up and observe him while he made breakfast, to minimize the risk of the freak ruining her darling family's breakfast (and to make sure he didn't steal any food). After Vernon finished his shower, he would get Dudley up and both would come down for breakfast. A few insults and a bruise or two later, and Harry would be free to eat his slice of bread in his cupboard before getting started on his chores.
True to form, that's exactly what happened. Well, mostly. To his shock, Harry wasn't beaten or insulted once that morning. He pondered this while he was cleaning the dishes, so deep into his thoughts that he completely missed the disturbing glances his uncle kept sending his way.
Harry might have been subjected to horrible and terrible suffering, if not for Aunt Petunia. Yes, as strange as that sounds; Petunia was responsible for averting a horrendous crime from happening again; however indirectly.
You see, Petunia was one of those types who marked off each day as it passed on the calendar. And so, as little Harry reached up to put a now-dried plate away, his gaze caught the calendar hanging on the side of the cabinet. The sight of the red X's leading up to today's date caused Harry's blood to freeze and nearly drop the plate.
It was July 31st. Harry's birthday. Harry's seventh birthday.
The first time Harry's uncle did… that to him.
Immediately, Harry knew that his decision was made for him. He wasn't hanging around until tonight; for his uncle to unleash his sadistic and twisted pleasures upon his body.
Harry was leaving. Today. Hopefully Padfoot, after discovering him gone, would immediately go to Gringotts. Because Harry wasn't sticking around; not for one more second.
Harry, now wise to the significance of the date, recognized the frequent glances that, in his past life, had made him feel scared and uneasy. Now, they just made him sick with revulsion.
Finally, his uncle had left for work, after sending one last look at the small boy that caused Harry to shudder with disgust.
It was summer, so Petunia, after giving Harry an impossible list of chores, left to take Dudley to a play date with Piers and Malcolm. Watching and waiting for five minutes after the car had left the driveway, Harry sneered and crushed the list.
It was now or never.
Going as fast as he was able, Harry quickly gathered his blanket, broken toy soldiers, and all the loose change from the tin on the fireplace that the Dursleys thought he didn't know about. He snuck in to Dudley's room and stole his smallest jacket, then into the Master bedroom to get all of Petunia's gold jewelry. After all, it didn't hurt to have a little extra gold to bribe the goblins with, did it?
Harry, as he was leaving, had a sudden epiphany and cut his finger, before writing a message on the while hallway:
Won't Dumbledore be ever so DISpleased to find out you've lost his Savior? Pity pity…
Harry grinned. With any luck, the Dursleys wouldn't say a word about it to anyone, meanwhile quietly gathering up their things and skipping the country. When Dumbledore found out, he would hopefully be too late.
Feeling pleased with a job well done, Harry shouldered Dudley's favorite backpack (Harry'd dumped out and burned all the summer homework that the Dursleys had forced him to do for his cousin), now packed with all that he currently owned in the world, and walked out the front door.
He would never return.
Harry stepped off the Knight Bus, giving Mortimer Merryweather (the current conductor, presumably before Stan Shunpike) a jaunty goodbye wave. He'd just had a fascinating conversation with the old wizard.
Apparently, Padfoot had arrived in time a day or so earlier than Harry; and as such had just escaped this morning. Harry knew that it would take at until tomorrow morning at the latest for him to get to Privet Drive (probably just in time for the news announcement). After trailing Harry's scent to the road, he should be able to deduce that Harry'd already jumped the gun; and head straight to Gringotts.
Harry grinned. It wouldn't be long now. A day or two at the most, and him and Sirius would be off to make a better future (Harry snorted at himself for his ridiculously cliché thoughts).
"An' ah gud ev'nin' ta ya laddy buck. R'member, y' bes' beh careful 'round these parts… y' never know what mi' beh lurkin' 'round tha cornah." And with those final parting words, Morty gave a short nod and shut the door. And, before Harry would so much as think up a response, there was an echoing BANG!, an explosion of displaced air, and the purple death-trap was gone.
Shaking his head, Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron. Hitching up his backpack and making sure that his hair and hoodie covered his scar, Harry schooled his features into a deceptively innocent expression before walking up to Tom, the old barkeeper.
"S'cuse me mister?" It was almost comical to see Tom jump, whirl around and look for someone clearly taller than three and a half feet, before glancing down and blinking stupidly. Harry, pretending to be oblivious and scared, willed false tears to fill his big green eyes. "M' brother lef' me behind an' I can't get through the big wall 'cause I don' have a wand an' am too s-small…" Here, Harry made his voice hitch and warble pathetically; meanwhile inwardly cackling at his mad acting skills as he could practically see Tom melt.
"Of course lad… I'll help you get through. Though be sure to tell your mum what happened, she'll be sure to give your brat brother quite the tongue-lashing." Harry nodded, practically radiating innocence and sincerity; as Tom ambled around the bar while wiping his grubby hands and taking out his wand.
Harry followed dutifully, gazing at Tom in abject hero-worship. To his credit, Tom merely smiled fondly as the barrier opened; reaching down to ruffle his hair before going back into the bar.
"Thank you!" Harry called, but Tom was already gone; the door closed behind him.
Harry turned around and took a good, hard look at the bustling Alley. This was it. As soon as he stepped through this barrier, there was no going back. From here on out, Harry would be changing history; altering the present; recreating the future.
He was going to make his mother and father proud.
Time to make the shit hit the fan.
Harry took a deep breath, clenched his fists in sudden nervousness, before lifting his foot and taking a step forwards. He continued, until he got five steps away and the archway closed behind him.
Harry took one last look back, before turning and making his way determinedly to Gringotts.
It had begun.