PART TWO: Little Whinging
Harry didn't know how far he ran before he collapsed onto someone's back lawn. His sides were aching---not to mention the throb in the back of his head where Lestrange had tried to beat him senseless against his own floor. He lay for the longest time on his back in the cool night air, the dew from the grass soaking the back of his shirt. Soon though, he knew he had to get up and find somewhere to go; he couldn't just lay out in the open, the Death Eaters were sure to be looking.
He stood up in the yard and looked around. He didn't know whose house he was at, but the thought of running inside a Muggle home with the news that Dark Wizards were trying to kill him didn't seem like the greatest of ideas. And then it occurred to him, there was one place where he could find help nearby—-Mrs. Figg!
Mrs. Arabella Figg was an old lady who lived just down the road from the Dursleys. For most of Harry's life he had been shunted over to her house when the Dursleys didn't want to deal with him. He'd spent years hating Mrs. Figgs house because it always smelled awful and she owned more cats than he could count and enjoyed showing him their pictures. It wasn't until last summer that Harry had discovered that Mrs. Figg was a Squib, someone born of Wizard parents but with no magic powers themselves. She'd been put near Privet Drive to protect Harry and if he ever needed help from the Wizarding world, it was now.
The problem remained however, that he had no idea where he was. He'd jumped so many fences, turned so many corners and scrambled through so many briars and weeds that he didn't know which house he was at now, or how close to Number Four he was. He supposed the first thing to do would be to find the street and work his way to Mrs. Figg's from there.
The neighborhood that housed Privet Drive was set up in a block, where Privet Drive and Magnolia Road, at opposite ends of the block, were connected at their corners by Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent. On Magnolia Road there was a play park Harry sometimes walked to and in the middle of the block, running parallel to Privet Drive, was an alleyway connecting Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was the same alley where Dementors had attacked Harry and his cousin, Dudley, the year before.
He walked to the door of the fence and found himself staring out at the same square houses and manicured lawns that were a mirror of Privet Drive. He was standing in the shadows of a house on Magnolia Road, facing the play park with its swings creaking in a cool breeze. He knew that Mrs. Figg lived on Wisteria Walk and that he had two choices as to how to get there: He could risk a coverless run down Magnolia Road and up Wisteria Walk, or try to make his way to the alley at Magnolia Crescent. It seemed like a no-brainer question, either run in the open or run in the cover of the alley, but suppose they knew about the alley and were already there, waiting in the shadows?
The odds were in his favor that the Death Eater's didn't know about Mrs. Figg but they were not in his favor to use the alleyway. Finally he decided that the alley was too dangerous and he would continue with his fence jumping and try to weave his way over to Wisteria Walk.
By the time he'd made it to the corner of Magnolia Road, Harry realized exactly how much he hated six-foot high privacy fences. His arms were singing grand opera and his hair was hanging down in sweaty strands in front of his eyes, but he was almost home free.
About three quarters of the way up Wisteria Walk was the small little, over- grown yard of Mrs. Figg. There were streetlights on those three quarters; it would be like running for his life in the open area of the road and he'd be left with no cover if the Death Eaters were watching. But what choice was there? He was going to have to get in touch with Mrs. Figg. He would just have to stay low and in the shadows.
As he hopped the last fence and dropped to the sidewalk below, every sound was amplified. He seemed to be making every noise possible and he was sure that a Death Eater all the way on Magnolia Crescent would be able to hear him breathing. He stood there for a moment, scanning the darkness of the street, not sure what to do next. There didn't appear to be anyone in the road, but those streetlights would give him away in a heartbeat to anyone watching. How had he gotten into this? Hadn't Dumbledore said he was safe at Privet Drive?
There was no time to think about that now. Harry crouched low and made a dash across the road. He made short sprints from cover to cover, trying to avoid streetlamps at all costs and the five or so minutes it took to get to Mrs. Figg's yard seemed like the longest of Harry's Life. Every shadow was a Death Eater coming to kill him, every beat of his own heart was amplified in his ears. There was nothing even remotely friendly about these streets that he'd walked so many times before. He was now very much alone and very much in trouble.
He encountered only two problems when he reached Mrs. Figg's house. The first of his problems came when he reached the front door and found that it wouldn't open. He hadn't thought about that. It was locked and he was out in the open, visible to anyone on the street. He couldn't risk the noise of knocking and he couldn't risk magic...could he? He pulled out his wand and hesitated for a moment; he'd nearly been expelled last year for using magic outside of school and even that had been in a life-threatening situation. He was quite sure the Ministry of Magic wouldn't be too happy to see him back again on the same charge.
After a second or so, he decided that it was better to stay alive and be expelled than to be killed on the side of Wisteria Walk. He tapped the doorknob, whispered, "Alohomora!" and slipped into the darkened house.
As always, Mrs. Figg's house smelled strongly of must and cat. He took a few steps into the darkness, then, almost as an after thought, turned back to the door and whispered, "Colloportus!"
There was an odd squelching sort of sound and the doors edges were suddenly sealed. That sort of barrier wouldn't last long, but it would give him a few vital seconds if he were found. He turned back in the gloom and whispered, "Mrs. Figg? Mrs. Figg, are you awake!"
There was no answer. The house itself was pitch black and as silent as a tomb. Figuring that since he'd done two bits of magic already a third couldn't hurt, he whispered, "Lumos!" and the tip of his wand suddenly lit up in a small bright light.
Mrs. Figg's residence looked just as he remembered it, there were the bits of lace on the coffee table, small figurines and nick-nacks everywhere, a bookshelf of photo albums, which were full of pictures of cakes and cats, and a small television on a rickety stand in the living room. He turned up the stairs, hoping not to scare the hell out of the old woman if woke her up.
There was no point in being quiet, however, there wasn't anyone to scare awake. Mrs. Figg was nowhere to be found. That was his second problem. Had she left? Perhaps to do something for Dumbldore? If that was the case then she should be back soon and find him here, right?
Wrong.
She wasn't coming back. Harry knew that now as he stared around the empty living room once more. Mrs. Figg hadn't just left, she had disappeared and he would bet his entire Gringott's bank vault that the rest of the residence of Wisteria Walk, and probably all the other streets as well, were gone, too.
How did he know?
For as long as he could remember Mrs. Figg, he also remembered her cats. Mrs. Figg kept about thirty cats that roamed the neighborhood and he had never been over to her house at a time when there were no cats scratching and pawing at him. Now, however, there wasn't a cat to be seen. Mrs. Figg was gone and so were thirty cats.
Suddenly struck by the idea that he might be cut off from not only the Wizarding world, but the Muggle world as well, Harry sank down into a chair at Mrs. Figg's kitchen table. What was he going to do now? How was he possibly going to get in touch with anyone, wizard or otherwise?
Then it occurred to him; the telephone!
He hadn't spent eleven years as a Muggle for nothing, had he? He knew how to use a telephone. Some form of hope rising in his chest, he flicked on the kitchen lights and took the phone down from its cradle on the wall. Reading the emergency numbers posted next to the phone with yellowing scotch tape, he dialed the police, then the fire department and even someone named Martha before he finally gave up and slammed the receiver back down.
He slouched back into the chair and sighed. What was he going to do? First things first, he had to look at the situation calmly.
"I'm being chased by Death Eaters," he told the empty room. "Around a deserted neighborhood with no way to get in touch with anyone. Yeah, I feel much better now."
Hedwig was gone and even if she weren't she would still be back on Privet Drive with his invisibility cloak and his Firebolt, the very things he needed to out of here. And then there were thoughts of the Dursleys, who, for all he knew, were dead. He'd spent most of his life despising the Dursleys with all his might and many times he'd imagined horrible things happening to them but none of his fantasies had ever ended with them dead. He'd never wanted that. And now, if they were dead, it was his fault that Death Eaters were there in the first place.
But that brought up another question as well: How had the Death Eaters come to Privet Drive? Dumbledore had said that the reason Harry had stayed with his Aunt and Uncle all these years was because Voldemort couldn't harm him while he was at Number Four. Dumbledore must have been wrong on this, however, because those Death Eaters were there and they were very real and very dangerous.
There was no point in worrying about why or how it had happened, the thing to do now was to figure out how in the world he was going to get out of it.
Wait, he'd left out a few things. One was the fact that Mr. Weasley would be here on Monday to take him to the Burrow, which meant that he had a guaranteed escape in two days. Stay alive for two more days and he was safe but, if he could, he wanted to get out before Mr. Weasley got here. He'd saved Mr. Weasley's life once, but now he could very well get him killed by leading him into a Little Whinging full of Death Eaters.
Another thing was that he had assumed everything had been left back on Privet Drive, but some things had been brought with him. There was the Snitch in his pocket—-load of good that did him--not to mention the Seeing Sphere and his wand-—thank goodness he had that. He pulled out the Seeing Sphere and rolled the black ball across the table absently. He wasn't sure what good it could do him but, if he was right, he might be able to use it like a Marauder's Map.
The Marauder's Map was a map of Hogwarts that had been created by Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter-—Harry's father-—and Peter Pettigrew back during their days at the school. The map showed all the secret passageways of the many turreted castle, but by far its most useful feature was that it would show where all the teachers were at all times, so as not to run into on of them while prowling the corridors.
He stopped the rolling ball and laid a hand over it. Perhaps it was best to ask the most direct question first, "How do I get out of here?" he asked.
Again, the shiny black surface began to swim in a murky white and the electric blue letters floated to the top.
The Door, it said.
He rolled his eyes. "Brilliant." He laid his hand back over the ball and said. "How do I get away from the Death Eaters?"
Run.
"Great strategy, thanks, Napoleon," he muttered.
Suddenly, when he needed it the most, the Seeing Sphere decided to go a bit loopy and be a smart-alec. Great, that was just what he needed. It could tell him his name, but God forbid it tell him anything important.
"Can you answer anything right?" he asked.
If you can ask right. Now it was just being picky.
"How many Death Eaters are out there?"
Twenty and counting.
And counting? That must mean there were more coming and going. It had given a straight answer and it still wasn't doing him any good.
"Are there any on Privet Drive?" he asked.
Yes.
"How many?"
Six.
"Where are the rest?" he asked.
Right outside.
He nearly leapt out of his seat as his heart gave a might thump into his throat. "Outside this house?" he asked, aware that he was whispering now.
Yes.
"Do they know I'm here?"
Yes.
And suddenly he realized his mistake: he'd turned on the kitchen lights. On a street full of dark houses, he had turned on a light and given the Death Eaters a beacon to follow.
Shoving the Sphere back into his pocket, he bounded across the kitchen and into the dark hallway, slamming the connecting door. A boom echoed across the small house as the backdoor was blown off its hinges and there came the sound of many feet running in the kitchen. He grabbed the front door and wrenched at the handle but nothing happened; in his rush to seal the Death Eaters out, he had sealed himself in.
The knob to the connecting door turned as Harry barreled to the left and into the living room, slamming the door behind him.
"Colloportus!" he shouted and the door sealed itself. Outside, Death Eaters slammed into the sealed door and Harry knew he'd bought himself some time.
He turned to the window and shouted, "Reducto!"
With a bang, the window exploded out into the lawn with Harry on the heels of flying glass. He leapt out of the broken window and out to the darkened street when something latched onto his shirt and he was wrenched sideways in the air.
A dizzying thump and a million tiny shards over took him as he was thrown to the glass covered ground. He looked up to find a dark haired man standing over him, wand pointed at his face.
"Stupef--—Argh!"
The Death Eater never knew what hit him. Before he could finish his curse Harry's hand rammed upward, forcing the sharpened point of his wand deep into the wizard's eye. Harry kicked out as the man reeled backward and in an instant he was on his feet and tearing across the yard and out on to the street.
People were shouting behind him and the wounded man was screaming. He could hear boots coming up the street after him and then,
"Cruci—"
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, wheeling around.
It was Bellatrix Lestrange whose wand was sent whipping out of her hand and over her head. She screamed in rage, her white eye now ringed by purple and her nose swollen and red.
"Rictusempra!"
A jet of silver hit Lestrange in the chest and sent her doubling up on the ground. She was wheezing and trying to catch her breath, as she was now laughing uncontrollably, which obviously hurt her nose. He had hit her with the first curse that came to mind—the Tickling Curse.
Harry turned, sped down Wisteria Walk and swerved onto Magnolia Road as a group of confused Death Eaters came pouring from what had once been Mrs. Figg's window. It was too late though, Harry Potter was already off and running toward the play park across from Magnolia Road. They wouldn't find him again tonight.
Harry didn't stop running until he was nearly halfway across the park. His heart was thumping in his throat and felt as if it would burst at any moment. His back was screaming at him and he was sure he could feel blood running in little rivers into his shirt. When he stopped running, he collapsed against a tree and tried to catch his breath.
He realized his mistake with the light and knew now that if he wasn't careful he would play right into their hands. He had to calculate his moves carefully; this was no longer Little Whinging, it was now a chessboard and he was playing for his life
When he'd caught his breath and didn't feel as if he were going to die right then and there, he began to examine his injuries. He felt across his back and held up a hand covered in a thin coating of blood and shook some small pieces of glass free from his shirt. He didn't feel as if he was seriously hurt but he also couldn't see his back to really tell. In the end he just had to assume that he was all right and turn his mind back to the matter at hand.
The play park was dark and empty, the only lights coming from distant streetlamps, which cast ugly shadows through the trees. He had to figure out a place to stay for the night. He was very tired and his muscles felt as if they were ready to give way. He needed to sleep but it wasn't as if he could just curl up on a park bench, they'd be sure to find him.
He looked up at the sky above him but tree branches blocked his view. Then he got it. He could hide up in the tree! It was childish, yes, and not the much safer than the park bench idea, but it was the safest thing he could think of at the moment and so, arms shaking dangerously, his scrambled up into the tree he had been leaning against.
He climbed up until he was about eight feet off the ground and managed to find a nice nook where all the branched forked out at different directions and he was guaranteed not to fall out. He lay back in the tree and sighed. Every part of him felt utterly drained of energy. He didn't know what to do or what to think anymore. Perhaps, tomorrow, things would look better in the sunlight.
Before he fell asleep, Harry Potter pulled out the large black Seeing Sphere and asked it one more question:
"Am I going to get out of this all right?"
The answer wasn't comforting:
That's up to you.
Harry didn't know how far he ran before he collapsed onto someone's back lawn. His sides were aching---not to mention the throb in the back of his head where Lestrange had tried to beat him senseless against his own floor. He lay for the longest time on his back in the cool night air, the dew from the grass soaking the back of his shirt. Soon though, he knew he had to get up and find somewhere to go; he couldn't just lay out in the open, the Death Eaters were sure to be looking.
He stood up in the yard and looked around. He didn't know whose house he was at, but the thought of running inside a Muggle home with the news that Dark Wizards were trying to kill him didn't seem like the greatest of ideas. And then it occurred to him, there was one place where he could find help nearby—-Mrs. Figg!
Mrs. Arabella Figg was an old lady who lived just down the road from the Dursleys. For most of Harry's life he had been shunted over to her house when the Dursleys didn't want to deal with him. He'd spent years hating Mrs. Figgs house because it always smelled awful and she owned more cats than he could count and enjoyed showing him their pictures. It wasn't until last summer that Harry had discovered that Mrs. Figg was a Squib, someone born of Wizard parents but with no magic powers themselves. She'd been put near Privet Drive to protect Harry and if he ever needed help from the Wizarding world, it was now.
The problem remained however, that he had no idea where he was. He'd jumped so many fences, turned so many corners and scrambled through so many briars and weeds that he didn't know which house he was at now, or how close to Number Four he was. He supposed the first thing to do would be to find the street and work his way to Mrs. Figg's from there.
The neighborhood that housed Privet Drive was set up in a block, where Privet Drive and Magnolia Road, at opposite ends of the block, were connected at their corners by Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent. On Magnolia Road there was a play park Harry sometimes walked to and in the middle of the block, running parallel to Privet Drive, was an alleyway connecting Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was the same alley where Dementors had attacked Harry and his cousin, Dudley, the year before.
He walked to the door of the fence and found himself staring out at the same square houses and manicured lawns that were a mirror of Privet Drive. He was standing in the shadows of a house on Magnolia Road, facing the play park with its swings creaking in a cool breeze. He knew that Mrs. Figg lived on Wisteria Walk and that he had two choices as to how to get there: He could risk a coverless run down Magnolia Road and up Wisteria Walk, or try to make his way to the alley at Magnolia Crescent. It seemed like a no-brainer question, either run in the open or run in the cover of the alley, but suppose they knew about the alley and were already there, waiting in the shadows?
The odds were in his favor that the Death Eater's didn't know about Mrs. Figg but they were not in his favor to use the alleyway. Finally he decided that the alley was too dangerous and he would continue with his fence jumping and try to weave his way over to Wisteria Walk.
By the time he'd made it to the corner of Magnolia Road, Harry realized exactly how much he hated six-foot high privacy fences. His arms were singing grand opera and his hair was hanging down in sweaty strands in front of his eyes, but he was almost home free.
About three quarters of the way up Wisteria Walk was the small little, over- grown yard of Mrs. Figg. There were streetlights on those three quarters; it would be like running for his life in the open area of the road and he'd be left with no cover if the Death Eaters were watching. But what choice was there? He was going to have to get in touch with Mrs. Figg. He would just have to stay low and in the shadows.
As he hopped the last fence and dropped to the sidewalk below, every sound was amplified. He seemed to be making every noise possible and he was sure that a Death Eater all the way on Magnolia Crescent would be able to hear him breathing. He stood there for a moment, scanning the darkness of the street, not sure what to do next. There didn't appear to be anyone in the road, but those streetlights would give him away in a heartbeat to anyone watching. How had he gotten into this? Hadn't Dumbledore said he was safe at Privet Drive?
There was no time to think about that now. Harry crouched low and made a dash across the road. He made short sprints from cover to cover, trying to avoid streetlamps at all costs and the five or so minutes it took to get to Mrs. Figg's yard seemed like the longest of Harry's Life. Every shadow was a Death Eater coming to kill him, every beat of his own heart was amplified in his ears. There was nothing even remotely friendly about these streets that he'd walked so many times before. He was now very much alone and very much in trouble.
He encountered only two problems when he reached Mrs. Figg's house. The first of his problems came when he reached the front door and found that it wouldn't open. He hadn't thought about that. It was locked and he was out in the open, visible to anyone on the street. He couldn't risk the noise of knocking and he couldn't risk magic...could he? He pulled out his wand and hesitated for a moment; he'd nearly been expelled last year for using magic outside of school and even that had been in a life-threatening situation. He was quite sure the Ministry of Magic wouldn't be too happy to see him back again on the same charge.
After a second or so, he decided that it was better to stay alive and be expelled than to be killed on the side of Wisteria Walk. He tapped the doorknob, whispered, "Alohomora!" and slipped into the darkened house.
As always, Mrs. Figg's house smelled strongly of must and cat. He took a few steps into the darkness, then, almost as an after thought, turned back to the door and whispered, "Colloportus!"
There was an odd squelching sort of sound and the doors edges were suddenly sealed. That sort of barrier wouldn't last long, but it would give him a few vital seconds if he were found. He turned back in the gloom and whispered, "Mrs. Figg? Mrs. Figg, are you awake!"
There was no answer. The house itself was pitch black and as silent as a tomb. Figuring that since he'd done two bits of magic already a third couldn't hurt, he whispered, "Lumos!" and the tip of his wand suddenly lit up in a small bright light.
Mrs. Figg's residence looked just as he remembered it, there were the bits of lace on the coffee table, small figurines and nick-nacks everywhere, a bookshelf of photo albums, which were full of pictures of cakes and cats, and a small television on a rickety stand in the living room. He turned up the stairs, hoping not to scare the hell out of the old woman if woke her up.
There was no point in being quiet, however, there wasn't anyone to scare awake. Mrs. Figg was nowhere to be found. That was his second problem. Had she left? Perhaps to do something for Dumbldore? If that was the case then she should be back soon and find him here, right?
Wrong.
She wasn't coming back. Harry knew that now as he stared around the empty living room once more. Mrs. Figg hadn't just left, she had disappeared and he would bet his entire Gringott's bank vault that the rest of the residence of Wisteria Walk, and probably all the other streets as well, were gone, too.
How did he know?
For as long as he could remember Mrs. Figg, he also remembered her cats. Mrs. Figg kept about thirty cats that roamed the neighborhood and he had never been over to her house at a time when there were no cats scratching and pawing at him. Now, however, there wasn't a cat to be seen. Mrs. Figg was gone and so were thirty cats.
Suddenly struck by the idea that he might be cut off from not only the Wizarding world, but the Muggle world as well, Harry sank down into a chair at Mrs. Figg's kitchen table. What was he going to do now? How was he possibly going to get in touch with anyone, wizard or otherwise?
Then it occurred to him; the telephone!
He hadn't spent eleven years as a Muggle for nothing, had he? He knew how to use a telephone. Some form of hope rising in his chest, he flicked on the kitchen lights and took the phone down from its cradle on the wall. Reading the emergency numbers posted next to the phone with yellowing scotch tape, he dialed the police, then the fire department and even someone named Martha before he finally gave up and slammed the receiver back down.
He slouched back into the chair and sighed. What was he going to do? First things first, he had to look at the situation calmly.
"I'm being chased by Death Eaters," he told the empty room. "Around a deserted neighborhood with no way to get in touch with anyone. Yeah, I feel much better now."
Hedwig was gone and even if she weren't she would still be back on Privet Drive with his invisibility cloak and his Firebolt, the very things he needed to out of here. And then there were thoughts of the Dursleys, who, for all he knew, were dead. He'd spent most of his life despising the Dursleys with all his might and many times he'd imagined horrible things happening to them but none of his fantasies had ever ended with them dead. He'd never wanted that. And now, if they were dead, it was his fault that Death Eaters were there in the first place.
But that brought up another question as well: How had the Death Eaters come to Privet Drive? Dumbledore had said that the reason Harry had stayed with his Aunt and Uncle all these years was because Voldemort couldn't harm him while he was at Number Four. Dumbledore must have been wrong on this, however, because those Death Eaters were there and they were very real and very dangerous.
There was no point in worrying about why or how it had happened, the thing to do now was to figure out how in the world he was going to get out of it.
Wait, he'd left out a few things. One was the fact that Mr. Weasley would be here on Monday to take him to the Burrow, which meant that he had a guaranteed escape in two days. Stay alive for two more days and he was safe but, if he could, he wanted to get out before Mr. Weasley got here. He'd saved Mr. Weasley's life once, but now he could very well get him killed by leading him into a Little Whinging full of Death Eaters.
Another thing was that he had assumed everything had been left back on Privet Drive, but some things had been brought with him. There was the Snitch in his pocket—-load of good that did him--not to mention the Seeing Sphere and his wand-—thank goodness he had that. He pulled out the Seeing Sphere and rolled the black ball across the table absently. He wasn't sure what good it could do him but, if he was right, he might be able to use it like a Marauder's Map.
The Marauder's Map was a map of Hogwarts that had been created by Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter-—Harry's father-—and Peter Pettigrew back during their days at the school. The map showed all the secret passageways of the many turreted castle, but by far its most useful feature was that it would show where all the teachers were at all times, so as not to run into on of them while prowling the corridors.
He stopped the rolling ball and laid a hand over it. Perhaps it was best to ask the most direct question first, "How do I get out of here?" he asked.
Again, the shiny black surface began to swim in a murky white and the electric blue letters floated to the top.
The Door, it said.
He rolled his eyes. "Brilliant." He laid his hand back over the ball and said. "How do I get away from the Death Eaters?"
Run.
"Great strategy, thanks, Napoleon," he muttered.
Suddenly, when he needed it the most, the Seeing Sphere decided to go a bit loopy and be a smart-alec. Great, that was just what he needed. It could tell him his name, but God forbid it tell him anything important.
"Can you answer anything right?" he asked.
If you can ask right. Now it was just being picky.
"How many Death Eaters are out there?"
Twenty and counting.
And counting? That must mean there were more coming and going. It had given a straight answer and it still wasn't doing him any good.
"Are there any on Privet Drive?" he asked.
Yes.
"How many?"
Six.
"Where are the rest?" he asked.
Right outside.
He nearly leapt out of his seat as his heart gave a might thump into his throat. "Outside this house?" he asked, aware that he was whispering now.
Yes.
"Do they know I'm here?"
Yes.
And suddenly he realized his mistake: he'd turned on the kitchen lights. On a street full of dark houses, he had turned on a light and given the Death Eaters a beacon to follow.
Shoving the Sphere back into his pocket, he bounded across the kitchen and into the dark hallway, slamming the connecting door. A boom echoed across the small house as the backdoor was blown off its hinges and there came the sound of many feet running in the kitchen. He grabbed the front door and wrenched at the handle but nothing happened; in his rush to seal the Death Eaters out, he had sealed himself in.
The knob to the connecting door turned as Harry barreled to the left and into the living room, slamming the door behind him.
"Colloportus!" he shouted and the door sealed itself. Outside, Death Eaters slammed into the sealed door and Harry knew he'd bought himself some time.
He turned to the window and shouted, "Reducto!"
With a bang, the window exploded out into the lawn with Harry on the heels of flying glass. He leapt out of the broken window and out to the darkened street when something latched onto his shirt and he was wrenched sideways in the air.
A dizzying thump and a million tiny shards over took him as he was thrown to the glass covered ground. He looked up to find a dark haired man standing over him, wand pointed at his face.
"Stupef--—Argh!"
The Death Eater never knew what hit him. Before he could finish his curse Harry's hand rammed upward, forcing the sharpened point of his wand deep into the wizard's eye. Harry kicked out as the man reeled backward and in an instant he was on his feet and tearing across the yard and out on to the street.
People were shouting behind him and the wounded man was screaming. He could hear boots coming up the street after him and then,
"Cruci—"
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, wheeling around.
It was Bellatrix Lestrange whose wand was sent whipping out of her hand and over her head. She screamed in rage, her white eye now ringed by purple and her nose swollen and red.
"Rictusempra!"
A jet of silver hit Lestrange in the chest and sent her doubling up on the ground. She was wheezing and trying to catch her breath, as she was now laughing uncontrollably, which obviously hurt her nose. He had hit her with the first curse that came to mind—the Tickling Curse.
Harry turned, sped down Wisteria Walk and swerved onto Magnolia Road as a group of confused Death Eaters came pouring from what had once been Mrs. Figg's window. It was too late though, Harry Potter was already off and running toward the play park across from Magnolia Road. They wouldn't find him again tonight.
Harry didn't stop running until he was nearly halfway across the park. His heart was thumping in his throat and felt as if it would burst at any moment. His back was screaming at him and he was sure he could feel blood running in little rivers into his shirt. When he stopped running, he collapsed against a tree and tried to catch his breath.
He realized his mistake with the light and knew now that if he wasn't careful he would play right into their hands. He had to calculate his moves carefully; this was no longer Little Whinging, it was now a chessboard and he was playing for his life
When he'd caught his breath and didn't feel as if he were going to die right then and there, he began to examine his injuries. He felt across his back and held up a hand covered in a thin coating of blood and shook some small pieces of glass free from his shirt. He didn't feel as if he was seriously hurt but he also couldn't see his back to really tell. In the end he just had to assume that he was all right and turn his mind back to the matter at hand.
The play park was dark and empty, the only lights coming from distant streetlamps, which cast ugly shadows through the trees. He had to figure out a place to stay for the night. He was very tired and his muscles felt as if they were ready to give way. He needed to sleep but it wasn't as if he could just curl up on a park bench, they'd be sure to find him.
He looked up at the sky above him but tree branches blocked his view. Then he got it. He could hide up in the tree! It was childish, yes, and not the much safer than the park bench idea, but it was the safest thing he could think of at the moment and so, arms shaking dangerously, his scrambled up into the tree he had been leaning against.
He climbed up until he was about eight feet off the ground and managed to find a nice nook where all the branched forked out at different directions and he was guaranteed not to fall out. He lay back in the tree and sighed. Every part of him felt utterly drained of energy. He didn't know what to do or what to think anymore. Perhaps, tomorrow, things would look better in the sunlight.
Before he fell asleep, Harry Potter pulled out the large black Seeing Sphere and asked it one more question:
"Am I going to get out of this all right?"
The answer wasn't comforting:
That's up to you.