Chapter One
Unexpected Rescue
By MissBubblez
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Harry Potter. There weren't many in the neighbourhood who knew of the boy properly; seeing as the boy was always locked inside of the house or doing chores starting from the crack of dawn and into the depths and darkness of the cold nights. It was only so rarely that the neighbours were able to catch at least a small glimpse of the boy when he was working on the front yard, wearing nothing but poor quality clothes that were obviously old hand-me-downs from who they could only assume came from his older cousin.
Many had tried and attempted to interact with the boy out of the kindness of their hearts, but every time they had managed to get close to the child, he was either ushered in by his Aunt or Uncle if they were present, or he ran away to avoid them. They each had their suspicions of the events that occurred behind those doors of Number 4, but never found themselves with the power to take action. For the very few that had managed to actually converse with the boy and interrogate him on his home life, he had refused to speak about any details regarding inquiries of abuse and neglect. When he found himself cornered somewhere in the conversation, he would make a mad dash either back into the house or down the street where he thought no one could catch him.
A great majority of those that lived near the Dursleys vicinity shunned the family as if they were nothing but thin air, disregarding their endeavours — which were often made by the child's Aunt, Petunia Dursley — of invitations to the house or even plainly interacting with them. On the other hand, those that accepted her requests for tea merely decided to see the overall condition of the house as well as the reclusive child's wellbeing. Some even went as far as to establish a fake relationship of friendship with the woman, seeming to want the Aunt to cough up about the young child.
One woman in particular — a teacher at that — succeeded in infiltrating the household as a polite guest, spending a rather calming afternoon in the living room and conversing in the daily topics, ranging from the current news to the latest recipes for cooking. With one ear briefly listening to the rant that the horse-faced woman was rambling on about, the other was used and fixated on any sounds, noises or voices she could determine in the house.
There was a sudden knock of the door, but it didn't particularly come from the front door. "Aunt Petunia," there was a young voice, hoarse and exasperated, but it was there. The boy, Harry. "Can I come out now, please?" The guest, frantically spinning her head from side to side in search of the source, quickly snapped her attention to the door under the staircase, eyes widening broadly at the sight of the golden coloured lock that settled directly on the side of the gap on the door.
No, no way. Don't tell me—
"Oh, honestly!" Petunia slammed her white, pastel teacup onto the wooden surface of the coffee table in front of her with an exasperated sigh before lifting herself from the couch and moving towards the cupboard door, unlatching the lock and swinging the door open. "Be patient, boy. Vernon will be home in another two hours, just stay inside and keep quiet!" And with that, the miniature door was hurled closed, a distinct yowl that sounded brittle and on the urge of crying in distress.
The woman, who had been watching the whole interaction play out in front of her, clenched her jaw tightly and curled her hands into tightly secured fists. Petunia, on the other hand, took no notice of her guest's obvious signs of discomfort as well as brewing anger and seated herself back against the couch with an expression that indicated that she was back into her 'happy-and-polite-mode' again. A special demeanour change that was particularly used for guests or friends (which wasn't very often due to not having many) when they were inside the house.
"Was that— no, are you kidding me?" The woman exclaimed, gaping at Petunia with a gaping, shocked expression plastered across her face at what she had just witnessed with her own eyes. A child, in a cupboard. A child. There was no way in hell that she was going to acknowledge that that was his room, where he lived, slept.
Petunia only gave a puzzled look towards her thought-to-be companion next to her, regarding the astonished expression that donned her chiselled, delicate features. "Is there something wrong, Delilah? Is your tea too cold?" She elevated off from the couch once more, making a turn for the doorway that led into the kitchen. "I'll go brew another pot, do you want any—"
"The child!" Delilah shouted, not giving a single care in the world for the way Petunia had flinched at her sudden outburst. "Why— why on earth is he in the cupboard?" Her voice was stern, and she was just barely holding in her anger firmly by her grasp, the emotion seeming to morph onto her face as the wrinkles above her furrowed brows creased deeper. A moment of tense silence filled the air for a few moments before she was finally given her answer.
"Oh," said Petunia, realisation dawning over her. Her tone was meticulously nonchalant as she replied with a briefly sour face at the mention, making it appear as if she wanted nothing more than to forget about the entire subject. "He lives there."
The minute those three words left her mouth, Delilah fully accepted the fact that her next few actions weren't conceivably best described to be wise, but they were necessary. As much as she wanted nothing more than to hurl her tightened fist at that horse-faced woman in front of her, she settled for a solid slap across the cheek, a vibrant and fresh red mark sprouting across Petunia's face.
She wanted to barrage her with well-deserved insults, maybe even throw another slap — perhaps even a punch — but she held firm. Keeping her lips as tight as they could be to the point of where they were coloured white, she pivoted around the leather couch and advanced towards the cupboard door, swiftly pushing the lock to the side with a gentle click. The door creaked open with Petunia still standing where she stood, shock, as well as betrayal, was written all over her now reddening face.
There was a soft whimper that poured out from within the cupboard, soon followed by sharp rhythmic intakes of breaths and trembling sobs. "Come here, Harry," whispered Delilah, motioning with a hand to beckon him further out from the corner of the cramped cupboard. For a short second, she spared a quick glance around the room, spotting crumpled up pieces of paper that were smudged with crayons, some of them deciphering what looked to be small stick figures with a messy signature written on the bottom. She looked away from them in disdain, clenching the hand near her side tighter and reigning in her boiling anger back. "You're going to be safe soon, Harry. Just take my hand, we're going out, we're leaving, outside," she shot a scornful glare towards Petunia before looking back at Harry with a sympathetic smile. "Away from here."
It was only to be expected that the little boy was going to be hesitant because he knew full well that his Aunt was watching just behind her. However, to his surprise, she was just standing there, completely stunned and seemingly frozen on the spot with a red mark stained across her left cheek. He wasn't anticipating any sort of conflict to have transpired between the two women, mostly because he figured that Delilah was just another one of his Aunt Petunia's haughty friends that visited every now and then.
He reaches out reluctantly, unable to keep his hand from quivering violently with his Aunt's sharp, ominous eyes boring into his forehead as he tries to ignore the piercing glares sent his way. A hand, much softer and smoother than his own, wrapped around his feeble, skeletal fingers, tenderly pulled him out from the unsettling darkness and into the basking artificial light. He was forced to squint his eyes at the sudden change in lighting when switching rooms, bringing up half of his arm to cover his watering eyes as he steadily adjusted to the brightness.
"Are you okay, Harry?" It was Delilah, voice as delicate and soft as it was since the day they met in the front lawn, where Harry had been cutting the hedges to absolute perfection. Her voice was almost motherly and he couldn't help but melt into it, an odd yearning to hear it speak more. "Come now, we're leaving." Anger tainted her voice before disappearing as soon as it had appeared. Her expression was intricate, indications of pure loathing directed to the bewildered housewife who was still standing in the living room but with her arms crossed against her chest, overcoming the moment of shock from before. Harry ducked his head, biting down on his lip apprehensively.
"You can't take him," she stated matter-of-factly, a defiant look painted across her pale face that clashed harshly with the redness thrown on her cheek. There was a growing animosity that was barely detectable in her voice now. "My husband won't allow it, he'll call the police. You have no right—" Regrettably for Petunia, the moment she looked away to stare at the cerulean telephone that laid prostrate on the surface of a dresser that was pulled up against the wall, she was struck across the other cheek when she made a move to look back at the two.
"You have no right to abuse and neglect him!" She retorted forcefully, authority crystal clear in her forceful tone as she took a step back to avoid twisting herself into any more conflict. With a quick swoop, she took Harry's hand in her own again, clutching it a little too harshly for the child's liking. "I am taking him with me, whether you like it or not." She spared a prompt glance down towards the petite boy who was way too small for his age, looking back into the cupboard in consideration. "Would you like to gather your things? I can wait for you out here."
Harry nodded without a second thought, his mind swirling with the desires he kept in check for all his years. He was being given a chance, a chance to leave, to escape! And someone was helping him in the process of it — an adult no less. "Yes, ma'am," he answered politely, enduring yet another — but far from unexpected — cutting glare from his Aunt from the sidelines. He squeezed himself back into the small crevices of the cupboard uncomfortably, snatching up a backpack (that could barely stay stuck to his back without it slipping to the side every once and a while) that had been sitting in the unclustered corner of the room. He heard the packets of his rations that he had been saving up for this particular moment whizzing around inside his backpack, radiating a contented smile at his little plan finally proceeding the way it should have been a long time ago. Internally, he thanked himself for packing additional clothes beforehand, not to mention his threadbare blanket that he had been in his possession since he was found by the Dursleys on the doorstep.
Yes, Harry has been scheming to escape his wretched relative's house, it was only a matter of time after all. It had been roughly around five months or so since he started discretely sneaking into the kitchen and back into his cupboard for additional food and supplies, occasionally darting up the stairs and seizing medical divisions from the bathroom dressers. Mostly just simple bandages that could cover up small cuts and bruises if he had somehow acquired them. Gauze bandages and sterile gauze pads were basically a primary requirement for him, for they would prove quite useful for covering his current bruises and deepened cuts from sight. It was risky business, yes, but it was a very essential plan that he had thought out for himself, as he would greatly benefit from it altogether. Sure, he'd be homeless, but — in his own opinion — it would be so much better than having to live with the Dursleys for the rest of his life. In addition to that, he wouldn't have to see Uncle Vernon, ever again.
"You're going to regret this, you know." Petunia's voice echoed from outside the cupboard, Harry stiffening at the sternness and utter grim her tone had taken on. But if he listened closely, he could recognize a small tinge of anxiety — which he quickly brushed off as a simple misunderstanding or the figure of his imagination. There was no way that his Aunt actually cared about him, no, it wasn't even logical anymore. She probably only wanted him to remain so he could continue labouring away for them, which wasn't something that he wanted at all. "You can't just take him away like that!" she argued.
Delilah straightened her posture, cracking her knuckles for good measure. "Oh, I can assure you right now that I'm not going to regret a single thing about this. Call the police, Petunia, go ahead," she waved an arm at the telephone mockingly, a sickening smirk crawling across her lips. "That way you can quicken your arrival in prison, followed by your husband! There is more than enough proof here that proves that your treatment of the young boy is disgusting. The conditions here are deplorable and unacceptable. I will and I am taking this child away from this household— whether you like it or not."
Harry froze for a second, ardently considering his options with his hand hovering over the small picture that displayed an aged representation of his mother long forgotten. Shaking his head to wake himself from his short-lived stupor, he shoved the picture gingerly into the pocket of his overgrown jumper and sighed quietly, tuning out the lashed out arguments that were alluding to the possibility of a fight breaking out between the two women. That was the last thing he wanted to happen, he mused, grabbing a toy soldier from his collection and stuffing into his bag, redoing the zipper back up. He had a feeling that today was going to be a long day.
I can't afford to go with Delilah, no way. She's a teacher — they could bring about Child Services at this point, and last time didn't go so smoothly once Uncle Vernon started to protest. That was just humiliating.
He heard their footsteps against the wooden floorboards moving into the kitchen where their shoes tapped against the tiles that he had just cleaned a few minutes prior to Delilah's arrival in the living room. No doubt to try and sort out their quarrels and disputes there, giving them the advantages of swearing while there was no child present.
Here's an opening!
Clutching tightly onto the straps of his backpack, he slowly peered his head out at the rim of the cupboard door and risked a sneaky glance into the kitchen that didn't stray too far away from his view. The door was shut and he could just barely make out the blurry figures of the two females, their voices being muffled by the obstacle in his path. Briskly checking off that he had everything together and organised in his backpack, he swung his head in the direction of the door that was slightly ajar.
Thank god for that miracle.
He looked back at the kitchen door pensively, meticulously stepping out of his cupboard and heading for the door. It opened with a silent creak that would be almost deafening if it weren't for the constant yells and shrieks that erupted from behind the closed kitchen door. He was pretty certain that he wouldn't be discovered, but one could never be too careful, Harry learnt that the… rather difficult way a while ago.
Double-checking his surroundings once again, taking in the repulsively bright room that he had taken the irritating pleasure of cleaning over and over again for the past — actually, no, scratch that — for his entire life, he gave a disgruntled sigh before bolting out the door in a mad dash, not even caring or glancing back at the door that had crashed against the wall. Making his way across the well-trimmed lawn that had just recently been mowed — by none other than himself hours earlier — he scampered down the street, adrenaline kicking into his system as the strong, frosted wind of the morning tried kicking him back, only to make his hair flying back behind him.
With each quick intake of breath, he could feel a gratified smile quirking up his lips as glossy, transparent huffs of oxygen escaped his opened mouth, leaving a faint trail behind him before evaporating into the air. His anxiety was long forgotten as another feeling deluged him almost instantly. Excitement coursed through his veins, but he could also distinguish a little something more, something more advanced but even more appealing. The last time he could recall feeling like this was when he was outrunning Dudley and his unpleasant gang of delinquents when he was smaller, glancing behind his shoulder and seeing them panting and tediously slowing their pace as they came to a stop made him feel accomplished. Satisfied even, because he knew that they wouldn't be bothering him for a while. And that in itself is a wonderful gift that Harry could only imagine. But this time, he wasn't only running away from Dudley, but he was running away from the Dursleys! All of them!
It was unequivocal that they wouldn't care about their little slave running away — well, other than the fact that they would have to start picking up the slack that he left behind and start doing his chores themselves — but there was still that faint incredulous feeling that kept nagging at him. He had heard Delilah's calls for him from far behind, but he disregarded them as quickly as picking the opinion of liking the Dursley's or not. Sure, maybe his decision wasn't all that wise, but he just didn't want to chance going back and to have his fingers crossed that someone would actually be successful in taking him out of that household. He had done it once before, and he wasn't looking forward to going through that kind of humiliation again. It wasn't even humiliation at that point, he was just dejected that no one had believed in him.
I can just live on the streets, maybe even go to an orphanage—
That thought was immediately stripped from his thoughts, like tearing away a page from an old book. There was no way in hell that he was going to an orphanage, he refused to even concede to having such a thought. He had heard and read enough of what happened behind their walls, from the television to his Aunt's many conversations about them. She spoke about them frequently because she was often speaking her mind out, pestering her husband about dumping Harry in their facility and let them take it from there. There was also the general hate of the overall idea — he wasn't all too sure. It just didn't feel right to him. It would probably be nice to finally converse with kids his age, sure, but he'd rather take his chances out on living on the streets. It couldn't be all that bad, could it?
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A/N: Reviews are appreciated!