A/N: I don't own Harry Potter

This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Writing Club March

Liza's Loves: 15 - Honey Mustard - Write about a Hufflepuff

Marvel Appreciation: 18 - [Character] Shuri: Write about trying to help someone.

Character Appreciation: 25 - Trait: Friendly

Word Count: 731

Harry glanced around the street. There was no one out this late at night. He'd done it, he'd finally ran away from the Dursleys. It had taken him fourteen years to escape.

He'd already sent Hedgwig out ahead of him. She would find him when he was settled. He looked at the address again, trying to read Hermione's tiny handwriting.

The ink was a bit smudged, but he was pretty sure it was 13 Wisteria Lane, or was it 18 Listia Lane? No, Wisteria made more sense. He pulled out the map and studied it. He should be almost there. He'd had to walk the whole way, since he'd not managed to steal enough money to take a taxi.

Finally, just as the sun was starting to rise, he found himself standing in front of a decent sized house with painted blue shutters. The number 13 was painted on the door in gold paint. Harry smiled. He tried to flatten his hair, not that it did much good, and knocked on the door. Hopefully Hermione could explain to her parents about Harry staying here?

The door opened to reveal a blond girl, the same age as Harry. She stared at him for a moment.

"Harry?"

"Hannah? I thought, I must have read the address wrong," Harry admitted, holding out the smudged letter.

"Probably, but we're about to have breakfast if you'd like to join us. I mean, you must be hungry?"

"Thanks. I was trying to get to Hermione's. I ran away from home and she said I could stay with her."

"Oh, Mum! There's a boy from school here and he needs a place to stay, can he stay with us?" Hannah yelled as she let Harry into the house.

"I'll make up the guest room. Does he want pancakes?" Harry heard someone call back. Hannah turned to him.

"You're staying with us! You can owl your friends and let them know you're safe here. You want pancakes?"

"Sure."

"Yes, Mum, he wants pancakes," Hannah called, as she led Harry towards the kitchen where a woman who looked like an older version of Hannah was currently making pancakes. She smiled at Harry and then nodded to Hannah.

"Hannah can show you where the plates and forks are," she said. Hannah nodded, giving Harry a tour of the kitchen until breakfast was ready and the pair sat down to eat.

"I didn't know you lived this close," Harry said after a moment.

"I didn't know you lived near here either. Did you really run away from home? Why?" Hannah asked.

"My aunt and uncle aren't very nice," Harry answered.

"Do they not believe you about what happened last year?"

"They're Muggles. They don't like magic. They took away my school books my first year. The only reason I get to keep them is because they're scared of me. I finally had enough, I couldn't stay there, no one is writing me with any information."

"Oh, I don't know much about what's going on either, but at least you can do your studies without anyone saying anything. There's a great reading chair in the attic. And as for what happened, everyone in this house believes you. And I'm sorry about the whole badge thing... you know, with Cedric?"

"I remember," Harry muttered.

"Sorry, it was a really mean thing to do. We were just so happy that Hufflepuff was finally getting some attention, you know?"

"I understand," Harry replied, giving Hannah a smile.

"Want a tour of the rest of the house?" she asked.

"Sure."

"And we can put your stuff in the guest room. You are going to stay, or I could help you get to Hermione's?" Hannah asked. Harry looked at her, at her smile, at the way she truly seemed to like him, not because he was famous, but just because.

"I think I will stay, Hannah. No one would look for me here either," he laughed after a moment.

"Great! There's so many awesome things we can do! I have a tire swing out back, and there's this street carnival at the end of August!"

Harry smiled. Hannah's excitement was contagious, the idea of doing all these things he'd never done before, and doing them with her, was more than he'd ever thought he'd find when he ran away. Maybe he hadn't gotten the address wrong after all.