Chapter 1 - Criminal Insomniac


Harry Potter sat on his bed, his knees tucked into his chest, rocking back and forth fervently. Around him lay books and outstretched rolls of parchment with half-written essays on them, but Harry couldn't concentrate. He fought to keep his mind pleasantly numb, building barricades against his disturbing thoughts and memories. Through the window, a steely light slowly turned to gold, showing the strength of dawn. The alarm clock on his bedside table proclaimed in angry red digits that it was half past five and Harry sighed in relief. He had survived another night without falling asleep. It was the third in a row that he had been awake, bringing his total of consecutive conscious hours to sixty-two, give or take. Rubbing his itchy eyes, Harry dipped his quill into some ink and finished his History of Magic essay - What caused the Goblin rebellion of 1352, and why did it end?' - with a few well-chosen words. Sighing again, Harry gathered his school things, knelt on the floor beside his bed, lifted up the loose floorboard he found so handy, and stuffed everything into the dark hole hidden beneath. Standing, Harry yawned and stretched, and out of nowhere a memory played itself in his mind.


Science with Mr. Donovan was Harry's third favourite lesson, his first and second being English and Art. They were currently learning the limitations of the human body, and Mr. Donovan pointed at a picture that was projected onto the whitewashed wall. To go three days without sleep is to reach the limit of our exhaustion endurance. When we reach this stage, we suffer from serious hallucinations, he said, watching the ten year-olds taking notes.


Harry shook his head of the memory and sighed again. So he was going to hallucinate. As long as he wasn't dreaming of the things he had been dreaming about, it wouldn't be that bad. Harry didn't like sleeping anymore. Before, when his life had consisted of cleaning the house and receiving beatings from Dudley, sleeping had been an escape from his horrid life, a chance to dream of parents who loved him, and flying motorbikes, which he had since learnt to be real. Now, sleep meant visions of death and destruction, himself standing helplessly in the middle of everything he loved as it perished, all because of him. Accusing eyes always stared at him from lifeless bodies, and manic laughing echoed in his head. After every nap he was forced to take out of necessity, else he go mad, he woke up with the distinct feeling that he was to blame for everything, and that he didn't deserve anything. Though the feeling disappeared eventually, a little bit of guilt remained, and it had built over the summer until it was all he could do to work himself into exhaustion for his Aunt Petunia.


A sharp rapping on his door made him jump, staring wildly about him.


Are you up, you lazy thing? You've still got things to do this morning! his aunt yelled. Harry glanced at his clock in alarm; he had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed an hour and a half pass him by. Get UP! Aunt Petunia screeched. Harry, already dressed in his clothes, wrenched open the door before she could hammer it down. She glared at him suspiciously, before pointing down the stairs with orders to cook breakfast. Make sure it's perfect; my Duddikins is going back to school today, she barked. Harry's stomach did a little flip-flop. It was September 1st already? Harry shook his head disbelievingly as he passed his old cupboard, his school supplies locked inside. He couldn't believe he had lost track of the time.


Earlier in the summer, July thirty-first to be exact, he hadn't remembered it was his birthday either, until the owls had tapped on his window that particular night, each bearing gifts of various sizes. Ron had sent him Soaring Snitch's: A Guide to Seeking and a birthday cake; Sirius too had sent him a book - The Dark Arts And How To Battle Them - and a cake; Hagrid had sent him his book for that year's Care of Magical Creatures lessons, which Hagrid taught - Cute And Furry Monsters was it's apt title, and Harry was relieved to find it didn't bite like the last set book. After three books for his birthday, even though they were interesting, Harry had been dreading opening Hermione's present, brought by Hedwig. Surprisingly, Hermione being the most bookish of all of Harry's present-suppliers, she had opted to send him a selection of Sugar Quills and a tiny American Indian doll from her holiday in Nevada, that she had bewitched herself, with strict instructions not to show Mr. Weasley, as it broke wizard law about bewitching Muggle items; she had covered up for this by saying she had cast the spells in a plane crossing the Atlantic, where no government could reach her with magic-detecting equipment. Harry had been, frankly, shocked at Hermione's disregard for the law, just for a present. Dudley had laughed when he'd caught a glimpse of the doll, but then it had laughed back at him and he had ran screaming off. Harry's love of the doll had grown greatly that day.


A clip around his ear brought Harry crashing back to reality, but not quickly enough as he was hit about the head with a rolled up newspaper again and shoved out of the way. He tripped and fell over, just as Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen. His nose screwed up in disgust at the smell of bacon, which - Harry realised with a feeling of guilt that was very uncommon regarding the Dursley's - he had burnt.


What's that awful smell? Dudley whined, stomping into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia glared at Harry who was dragging himself to his feet. Dudley took it upon himself to trip Harry up again when he went to sit at the table, so that he sprawled over the dining room floor again. Dudley sniggered, and Harry glowered at him.


Dudley's going to school by car, Uncle Vernon said from behind his newspaper. He lowered it, and stared hard at Harry, sneering. How are you getting to school, boy? he asked. Harry remained silent, sitting on his hands and keeping his burning eyes fixed on the table. Uncle Vernon chuckled knowingly as Aunt Petunia carried plates of egg, bacon and toast to the table for herself, Dudley and Uncle Vernon, and a slice of toast for Harry. He resisted the urge to throw up as Dudley began devouring his meal with a gross intensity. Instead he focused on the problem at hand: how to get to Diagon Alley and King's Cross Station? The Dursley's obviously weren't planning on taking him, and it was too late to ask Ron. Oh why hadn't he thought of the problem before? He sat pondering until the end of breakfast, when he suddenly had a brain wave. Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead with his plan.


Uncle Vernon, could you please get my stuff out of the cupboard? he asked timidly. Uncle Vernon snorted.


And why should I do that, boy? he growled menacingly at him. Harry shrugged innocently.


Well, I have to go back to Hogto my school, whether I take my things with me or not. If you don't get it out, I'll just leave it here, and you'll haveabnormal stuff in the house, he replied carefully. Uncle Vernon's face had grown red, but Harry could see he was thinking it over.


he gritted out, moving to the cupboard and pulling the appropriate key from his pocket. Harry dashed upstairs to grab his homework and presents and hid them in his extra large clothes. He opened the window and told Hedwig to go to Hogwarts while he grabbed and locked her cage, before hurrying back downstairs to his trunk, waiting patiently by his cupboard door. It was some effort to drag it to the front entrance, across the garden and to the road, but he did it somehow. Unlocking it, he pulled out his wand. At that point in time he could have kissed it, he had missed it so much.


Standing and looking up and down the street in case anyone was watching, he stuck his wand out. A moment later there was a loud BANG and a triple-decker purple bus pulled up. A conductor in purple uniform jumped out and gave his speech, during which Harry glanced nervously at his watch. It was eight o'clock, so by his reckoning he had about two hours to do his shopping, depending on how fast the Knight Bus got to Diagon Alley and the station. The conductor helped Harry get his trunk onto the bus, and soon they were away.


After half an hour of jumping to locations all over the country, the bus finally stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. Harry paid for his trip with the spare change he had in his trunk, and walked inside. Tom the landlord gave him a toothless grin as he passed through the pub, hurrying outside. He tapped the appropriate brick with his wand, and entered the street. It was the emptiest he had ever seen Diagon Alley, which suited Harry just fine. He hurried from Gringotts to Flourish & Blotts to the Apothecary to Eelops Owl Emporium, all the time keeping an eye on the rapidly passing time. Dashing back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was dismayed to learn that he couldn't take floo powder to Platform 9 ¾, or anywhere in King's Cross for that matter. At half past ten, Harry flagged down the Knight Bus once more. The conductor was surprised to see him again, but did not comment. Harry noticed that he was a lot more subdued than Stan, which he was grateful for at the time.


It was two minutes to eleven when Harry crashed through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Most of the students were in the carriages, saying final goodbyes to their parents from the windows. To Harry's horror, the train started to move, ever so sluggishly, as he heaved his trunk onto it. Classing this as an emergency, and feeling a sliver of guilt light in his stomach at breaking the law, he pulled his wand out and he magicked the trunk onto the train, leaping on behind it.


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