Chapter 2: Third Time's the Charm

Harry woke, and his heart immediately started thudding in his chest. He held his right hand over and felt for the delightful pulse of a heart beating inside your body rather than outside of it. Last time he had been terrified, this time he was in a daze. Having your still-beating heart torn out of you and then suddenly waking up to it still being there was something beyond the threshold of fear and panic that a child's mind could process. He was in shock. It was surreal, going from agony to being as healthy as a malnourished, abused child could be, but Vernon's rage would allow no time for him to come to terms with his second death.

"...Ungrateful little freak! How dare you bring magic into my house, after everything we have done for you! I'm going to wring your useless little neck…" Uncle Vernon raved as his heaving mass surged towards the cupboard.

Panic finally roused Harry from his stupor, just in time for Vernon to throw open the door of his cupboard. In an instant remembered the pain of a broken arm, even if the memory of that pain was nearly two years old. He remembered having a concussion, of the light hurting his eyes and the agonizing noise of the Dursleys pounding up and down the stairs over his cupboard echoing into his bones for weeks. He remembered the pain of breathing with broken and cracked ribs. Terror seized control of his mind.

As Vernon's quivering bulk blocked out the light of the hallway, Harry frantically searched for anything he could use, and has his hand slipped between the cot pad and the wall, he cut his finger on something hard and sharp. As Vernon's meaty, grasping hand reached for him, Vernon roared and fell back in pain, screaming like a stuck pig with a shard of a ceramic plate sticking through his hand. Just a few days ago, but what felt like two years ago, Harry had broken a plate while he was cleaning up after Vernon and Dudley's Sunday afternoon snack in front of the Telly. Petunia had been in the kitchen, and so he had hidden it in the only place the Dursleys would never sully themselves by touching.

He grabbed his glasses in one hand, another shard of the plate in the other, and bolted past Vernon Dursley as he tried to roll his massive body off his back and to his feet with only one hand.

Dudley stood in the hallway ahead of him. The heaving mass of rage behind him had found its feet, and the bulk of the boy in front of him blocked the way forward to the front door. All that was left was the doorway to the living room to his side, and so Harry ran. As Vernon screamed promises of murder and vengeance, Harry threw himself through a window that was left open to dispel the day's summer heat, and neither Vernon or Dudley could dream of fitting through after him.

Harry ran out into the night, invigorated by the cool air even as he heard Uncle Vernon roaring from inside the house. Harry ran and ran as if his life depended on it because he knew it did. The neighbors were flicking on their lights one by one and a few were even on their porch by the time Vernon made it to the car. Harry's conscious mind had long since been overwhelmed. All he knew was that what he had done could never be taken back. Reading a book about freakish things, running away, stabbing Vernon, and now public humiliation meant a death sentence should Vernon ever catch him.

Harry was at the corner of the street before he heard Vernon's car roar to life, and so he ran to the park. Blazing headlights and a roaring engine hounded his footsteps even as he stepped off the road and onto the park's lawn. Uncle Vernon wouldn't be crazy enough to drive on the grass, would he? Harry was crying in terror, he just wanted this nightmare to end. That's what it had to be, a nightmare. Where he knew that he was going to be caught by the Dursleys, or some other monster. He knew he would suffer when he was caught, but the dream never allowed him to escape. He wanted to wake up and not be mangled, killed, or run over. He was always miserable, but he was learning that life could always get much worse.

Uncle Vernon stopped his car at the side of the park and cursed and yelled at Harry, but Harry kept running until he entered the trees on the far side of the park, and he vanished into the forest.

Harry ran through the forest for a few hours before he began to realize something was wrong. It was too peaceful. He had stopped and sat against a tree near a stream, his little chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

There was a full moon tonight, and the forest wasn't very dense, so there was enough light to see by. It was beautiful, in a terrifying way. He kept expecting his Uncle to emerge from the shadows and attack him, or Dudley and his gang to find him, or a man with a stick to step out of the shadows, but nothing happened. He sat, and waited. Even after he caught his breath he didn't rise.

He couldn't decide if this was a dream or not. None of this made sense. Was this hell? Was this what happened when unwanted freaks died? Was he doomed to live in fear only to die horribly again and be forced to return to Vernon's rage over and over again? Or was this simply a nightmare where he thought he knew what would happen because the nightmare was his own creation?

Somehow, his chest being crushed by Dudley never seemed real. He was afraid of it and tried to avoid it, but even after the year repeated itself it didn't seem real. Dying a second time, after being trapped and helpless for hours, how could he just brush that off? How could he live knowing that any alley he walked down might be a trap?

"What am I supposed to do!" he thought, as he dug his fingers into the soft, damp earth on the ground beside him.

He sat, crying against the tree until the dawn light peeked through the canopy above. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't go back. Uncle Vernon would kill him this time, he knew he would. Running always made it worse. Dudley would forget if Harry ran far enough, but Uncle Vernon's rage only grew, especially now he had stabbed him and that it was public. The neighbors would be talking about what had happened. His coworkers would see his bandaged hand and ask questions. He would kill Harry a hundred times if he could to vent his rage, and now Harry knew that one mere death would not be the end of his suffering. If he was killed, yesterday would just happen all over again.

But what else could he do? Where could he go? That house and that cupboard were all that he knew. The Dursleys barely fed him, but at least he ate something and had a place to sleep.

He cried and worried and argued with himself until he heard a rustle of leaves and then someone talking nearby, causing him to choke back his tears and hold his breath.

"Curse you, foul mammal. You have escaped me today, but I will wait. I will devour you soon."

Harry waited, and waited, but there was no sound indicating the person who spoke had left. His face turned purple, and he saw stars before he couldn't hold his breath anymore and he gasped.

"Not prey. No. Too loud. Too large. I smell you, human. Stay back! I will kill you!"

Harry's resistance and will to keep had been bled dry over the course of the night, and his memories of the day before. He had nothing, and nowhere to go. "Just do it. If you don't, my Uncle will. If neither of you does, I'll just starve out here."

"You speak? You speak only to say you wish for death? You will not fight?" The voice hissed back.

"What would be the point? I'm a freak. I'm a burden. I can't survive on my own and no one else will help me. My Aunt and Uncle are the only ones who would put up with me, but if I go back, Uncle Vernon will kill me."

"Do you promise, great speaker? You will let me have you?"

"Yes, go ahead and end it. I will not fight you, I swear." Harry sighed. He didn't care what happened. He didn't see any reason to keep going, not that he had much choice. As the adrenaline left his body, he found himself more weak and tired than he had ever been. Hopefully, this stranger would make things quick. All he could hope for was that it wouldn't hurt as much as Dudley crushing his chest or having his heart torn out. Maybe, just maybe this would be the last time. If it wasn't, he would force himself to endure Vernon's rage this time.

In the moment, it had seemed so important to escape, but getting beaten again couldn't be worse than starving to death in the woods. All he had to do was avoid the worst injuries, like a broken arm or a concussion. If he kept his anger buried, he wouldn't enrage Dudley. If he avoided that part of the Neighborhood, he wouldn't have his heart torn out of his chest.

"Very well." The stranger spoke, and soon Harry heard a slithering sound.

A grass snake pressed through the grass, coming from the same direction as the voice Harry had been speaking with. A chill ran down his spine as the brown snake with black streaks along its sides came closer. If the snake bit him before the stranger could kill him, it could make his death far more painful. He began to scoot back, and the snake hissed at him angrily.

"You promised you would not resist, speaker. Is your word worth so little?"

Harry froze, and his mind ground to a halt. It took a few moments, but he relaxed, relieved. This was a dream. It was all a dream. Dudley killing him, thinking he re-lived a whole nine months, the man with the stick, flashbacks to the "Wizard of Earthsea" incident, and now the talking snake was all simply dreams, even if they were more vivid than usual. Maybe the pain of the snake's bite would be enough to finally wake him up. It had to be getting late, if he overslept and breakfast wasn't already well underway by the time Aunt Petunia came downstairs, he wouldn't be allowed his slice of bread.

"Thank you, speaker, just wait a moment, this will all be over soon."

The snake slithered up to his left arm, shifted himself around a bit, looked slightly less confident than before, although Harry wasn't sure how he could tell, and then bit down with all its might on Harry's left forearm. Harry closed his eyes, embracing the pain, hoping he would wake up, but the grass snake released its hold on him after a few minutes.

"Well, this is embarrassing. Please give me a moment. I've got this. Just stay right there benevolent speaker."

The snake moved to Harry's hand. It lined up with his thumb and, looking much more confident this time, the snake struck out and bit down on his thumb.

"Ow!" Harry yelled as the snake's mouth quickly enveloped his thumb to the base, and then kept using its teeth to try and pull more of harry into its mouth. Harry jerked his hand reflexively, but the snake hissed angrily.

It hurt, but no more than harry hunting usually did. He was fascinated with the snake, and he felt a strange kinship to it, even as it continued its doomed attempts to devour him whole.

"Sorry, you can't eat me. I'm too big. Are you poisonous?" Harry asked, surprised his arm and finger didn't hurt more.

The snake let out a mournful, depressed hiss as it finally gave up and released his finger. "Not only do you mock me by not being small enough to eat, but now you wish to eat me instead, speaker?"

"No! Why would I eat you?"

"If not, then why do you care if I am poisonous?" The snake asked as it coiled itself and stared up into Harry's eyes.

"You bit me! Didn't you put poison into me?"

"Speaker, a snake has venom in its fangs, not poison, and it is quite rude to ask a snake if it has venom or how strong that venom is… but if you must know, no. I do not have venom. I strike with power, and eat my prey whole."