A/N: Sorry about the lack of updates; I tried writing while away for the holiday, but due to my eleven year old nephew's constant reading over my shoulder, I found it impossible. The story is going to get very strange in the future (what, it wasn't already?). If you're not into the extremely bizarre, don't continue reading.

I hope everyone had a nice holiday!




Harry took an instinctive step back as his uncle loomed over him. However, as Vernon took a step forward, he stumbled in his still-drunken state, and nearly crashed into the stove as he lost his balance. Harry cringed as the man caught himself and continued to stumble towards him, his guests looking on in bewildered confusion.

"This is all yer doin'!" Vernon slurred, making a wild grab for Harry, who had just then turned and tore up the stairs.

"Get back here!" Vernon screamed, making a pathetic attempt to follow him up the stairs, stumbling and swaying back and forth with each uneasy step upward.

Harry reached the top quickly, turned, and dashed into his bedroom. He grabbed the chair from his desk and used it to bar the door, then began to hurriedly collect his things. Just in case, he thought. There was no way he was going to get caught in his uncle's wrath and lose his Hogwarts things.

"Yer out of here!" Vernon slurred, reaching the door, but not stopping soon enough. He his the wood with a loud 'smack', and swore loudly—at the door, or him, Harry wasn't quite sure. A stream of vulgar words streamed through the barricade.

He lifted the loose boards beneath his bed and collected his books, quills and homework, shoving them into his trunk noisily. As he slammed it shut, there was a loud, sudden 'CRACK'.

The door splintered from the force of a sudden blow which Vernon Dursley had inflicted. Stray shards of wood flew in all directions, clattering off the walls and causing Harry to duck in order to avoid being pierced. The chair which had held the door was now in pieces at his uncle's feet.

"I've had it with you, boy! How could yer embarrass--magic in this house--you rotten little--!" Vernon bellowed, his face reddening even worse than it had been earlier. A small trickle of drool still ran down his chin and his eyes were wild not only with rage, but with panic.

Harry realized suddenly that his uncle's rage wasn't simply caused by his curious wandering into the kitchen; he intended to blame him for his drunken behavior. Obviously he failed to realize that this display would basically out him as a wizard, undoing what Vernon has spent fourteen years trying to do; hide his magical background.

Harry clutched his trunk and pondered how he could manage past his uncle. It wouldn't be too difficult--the man was flaming drunk and not very quick, even when sober. Vernon stumbled forward slightly and reached out to make a grab for him, despite his being entirely across the room.

"C'mere!" Vernon slurred.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then moved slowly, cautiously forward a step.

"O-out!" Vernon said, a small hiccup stuttering his words slightly. He pointed a chubby, pink finger at the now-open doorway and stood to the side.

Harry glanced at his out-stretched finger, noting briefly how it resembled a raw, peeled sausage, then back at his uncle whose face was screwed up in intense anger. At his hesitation, Vernon wagged his finger at the doorway, but was unable to manage another sentence; only a faint, strangled noise emitted from his mouth.

"Er," Harry grasped the occupied cage of Hedwig quickly under his arm, causing the owl to squawk nervously. He then tugged his trunk quickly behind him and hurried past Vernon into the landing. With very little hesitation, he turned and began trotting down the steps, his trunk banging noisily behind him, Hedwig raising a fuss in her cage, beating her wings angrily.

He'd nearly forgotten about the company and as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw them. They were standing in the living room, now looking simply put out, expressions of disgust on their faces. They both looked up at Harry as he banged into the sitting room and froze. Hedwig still thrashed about her cage, shrieking in displeasure. Harry saw their eyes flicker from the upset owl, to him, to his trunk, then back to him.

"What the devil--"

"Er, sorry to intrude," Harry said. Anger flushed him suddenly as he realized he was leaving Privet drive forever--where, he wasn't sure, but he knew, deep in his heart, that he wouldn't return. His mind flashed back briefly over his last fourteen years and how miserable Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had made him.

He planted a faint, embarrassed smile on his lips.

"Not meaning to be a bother," he walked towards them, on his way to the door and they parted to let him pass. "You see, my uncle," he nodded at the large man who was just then stumbling down the stairs, wheezing and gasping for air, "is a bit upset. He wants to blame the fact that he can't hold his liquor on my being a wizard--like I would actually want to see such a display enough to magic him into doing it--"

Petunia shrieked, dropping something glass and very breakable nearby, which exploded and sent shimmering pieces across the carpet.

Harry, noting the ominous way Vernon seemed to swell from the corner of his eye, hurried past the guests, whose mouths now hung agape, and flung open the front door. The screen banged noisily against his trunk as he lofted it out, then stumbled over it, dodging away from one of Vernon's chubby hands.

His uncle, however, didn't follow him out onto the stoop. Red faced and glaring, Vernon Dursley stared at him a moment. Then without a word, he slammed the door shut. Harry stood alone then, basked suddenly in the cool, quiet of night and feeling as though he'd just been released from prison. He turned around to face the quiet Privet drive, a massive grin spreading across his face. He had no idea where he was going, but it certainly wasn't back into that house.

Behind him, inside, he could hear muffled voices; the Dursley's likely trying to explain away that night's events. His heart lightened as he thought of how he was to never set foot in that living room again. He would never be tormented by Dudley, belittled by his uncle, shunned or screamed at by his aunt... The voices moved then, away and towards the kitchen.

Harry righted Hedwig and grasped her cage properly from the hook at the top, then set her down on top of his trunk. He had no reason to hide his magical background now, and was perfectly delighted by the idea of outing himself before all of the Dursley's neighbors. He opened his trunk, removed his Hogwarts school robes, and quickly donned them over his clothing. He then placed his wizard's cap on his head of messy black hair and grinned even broader than before.

It was then that he suddenly wondered what exactly he would do with himself. He could call the Knight Bus, but then he would have to deal with it's obnoxious employees. He also had a small stash of Floo powder in the pocket of his robes ("just in case of an emergency!" Molly Weasley had said last summer, as she gave him the small supply). He reached his hand into the depths of his pocket and felt the small pouch which contained the powder. Traveling by fire wasn't Harry's idea of a grand time, but at the moment it seemed more appealing than Stan and his Knight Bus.

Before he could ponder where he might find a fireplace which was hooked up to the wizaridng network, a shadowy figure came wandering down the road. Harry held his breath as the figure strode under a nearby street lamp and became suddenly familiar. A middle-aged man stared at Harry--who must have been quite a sight in his robes, holding an owl, a trunk at his side--moonlight was glinting off his balding head. In his hands was a leash, attached to a rather scraggly looking dog who seemed very bored. He recognized the man immediately as one of the Dursley's nosiest of neighbors.

"Harry? What are you doing outside... and dressed like that?"

He was pretending to be concerned, but Harry could detect the gleeful glint of gossip waiting to be told, forming in his eyes.

"Well," Harry shrugged nonchalantly, casting a bored look back at the Dursley house, which was now relatively quiet inside. "You see, my uncle has kicked me out. He's tired of having a wizard under his roof--"

"A what?" the man said, his eyes wide with evident shock.

"Yeah, I'm a wizard. Pissed my uncle Vernon off quite a bit when he found out. So, now he's gone and gotten himself drunk beyond words and kicked me out." Harry shrugged again. He lifted the handle of his trunk and began to tug it down the few stairs of the stoop. It thudded noisily as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He paused, staring at the bald man who was still staring at him. He was tempted to work some sort of magic to prove his magical abilities, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble with the ministry for such a petty thing.

He gave the man a last smile, then began tugging his trunk down the driveway towards the street. At the curb, he paused, realizing with a start that there was a way he could use magic legally. He quickly tugged his wand from inside his robes and held it out. A small light illuminated and within a second there was a loud crack and the Knight Bus appeared before him.

There was a strangled shriek somewhere behind the bus and within a few seconds Harry saw the man fleeing down the street, his dog trailing him at a distance, the dropped leash dragging behind it on the pavement.

Grinning, Harry climbed aboard and nodded at Stan.

"Neville!" Stan cried, then paused, "er, Harry."

Harry began digging about in his pockets for his gold, suddenly realizing that he liked didn't have much wizard money on hand.

"How much to get to The Burrow?" Harry asked, still digging.

"Five knuts," Stan said, grasping Harry's trunk and pulling it deeper into the bus. The driver, Earl, looked disinterestedly at them, then resumed staring out the windshield.

"You summoned the Knight Bus in front of a muggle?" he said, his voice soft and nonchalant.

"Er—"

"Don't worry, Harry, muggles can't see the bus. All they see is an explosion of sparks and a loud bang. Earl's just given' ya a hard time."

"I don't think I have enough," Harry pulled out his hand which contained two knuts and a small pile of sickles. "Where will this get me?"

Stan looked into his palm, screwed up his face, then smiled at Harry. "Dunno. Really shouldn't get you anywhere. But we can get you as far as London. Yer 'Harry Potter' after all!"

Harry handed the coins to Stan, then quickly sat himself on the nearest bed. London would be fine; he could find the nearest fireplace in Diagon alley and be at the Weasley's in no time.