Disclaimer: Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.
Author's Note:
Thank you, all you wonderful reviewers! I really can't describe how much it means to me that you are reading and enjoying my story! Well, maybe I can…I look forward to reviews so much that I check for them about every ten minutes that I am in my dorm room. Crazy? Maybe a little…
Anyway, my thanks go out to Mooncinder (sorry, I'm really trying to get the plot going!), Sarily (probably won't be an earth-shattering fic, as it's my first, but I will do my best), Gwendolyn P. Malfoy (glad you like it!), Wiccan PussyKat (thanks for the lengthy review, they're my favorites! Fifteen feet is rather far, yes, but he was desperate…you'll see this chapter whether Harry really runs away or not. I'm really trying to keep everybody in character, but I'm having a hard time writing it all in Harry's P.O.V., I hope I'm doing alright. I'm glad you like the humor; I like to inject a little here and there as I find it tends to lighten up the storyline a little. Sometimes I think without sarcasm Harry's life would just be too depressing to stand!), PinkPantherLady (I'm getting to the plot; this chapter should reveal a little, I think), HermioneGreen, yellowpages, tansy1354 (I'm glad you liked the letters, I was afraid they were too cheesy; although some abuse fics are done well-check out Celebony's Recnac Transfaerso), I don't believe the Dursleys did more than smack Harry around and neglect him—which is enough!), dweem-angel, and angel74 (thank you so much for the formatting info! I was getting fed up with my italics not showing up—that really bugs me!)
Chapter 4: In the Shadows
As Harry limped down the sidewalk, he understood why dropping out of second story windows wasn't a commonly used route to exit a building. The good news was that he was pretty sure that his swollen left ankle was only sprained, not fractured. Harry wondered if the slight bounce he had thought he felt when he had hit the ground could have been his accidental magic kicking in. He had to have imagined it, though, as the Ministry would surely have been all over any chance to discipline him.
Harry gritted his teeth through the pain and forced his feet forward. Surprisingly, he did not feel panicked about his current situation. Sure, he had no place to go and Dumbledore and the rest of the Order would be furious with him, but at least he was away from the Dursleys. Unlike his escapade the summer of his thirteenth birthday, Harry didn't care what Dumbledore would think or what the Ministry of Magic would do. It wasn't like the wizarding world could afford to discard him since the prophecy had declared him their weapon against Voldemort. Dumbledore would see to it that he was trained and primed for war regardless of any charges the Ministry brought against him for running away or defending himself against Death Eaters, as he would probably have to do at some point.
Harry was jolted from his reverie by the sound of wood cracking and muffled cursing. He had his wand drawn under his cloak and was looking around in alarm when he saw where the sounds had come from. A teenage muggle girl was hanging by her hands from the lattice and ivy decorating Number 14, sneakered feet struggling to gain purchase on the thin wood. Harry almost went over to help her before he remembered it would be more than a little strange for him to appear from out of nowhere and try to help the girl break into a house. She didn't appear to be up high enough to injure herself, anyway. Luckily, the girl quickly found her footing again and scaled the rest of the latticework without a problem. As she disappeared into an open window, Harry decided she was probably just trying to sneak back in without her parents noticing. Privet Drive isn't as normal as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon think.
Harry shrugged off the odd scene and continued his slow journey out of the neighborhood. He began to plot out what his next move should be. First of all, he needed money, so he would have to get to London somehow. But how? Harry dismissed the question for now. Once he got to Gringotts, he would have to change a lot of galleons over to muggle money. There was no way he'd get away with staying at the Leaky Cauldron this year; before long, he'd have the Order, the Ministry, the media and a crowd of Death Eaters pounding down his door. No, he would have to check in to a muggle hotel somewhere…
A chill washed over Harry and he paused in his walking. His first thought was Dementors, but he looked around and noticed all the streetlights were still functioning properly. He also noticed that he was now standing at a crossroads exactly three blocks from his—the Dursleys'—house. This was it; this was where the wards, his protection, ended.
Suddenly, Harry wasn't so sure that he was making the right decision. He could hear Hermione in his head, chiding him for his foolishness. He had only his wand and cloak with him, no transportation, and had left his trunk, Gringotts key and personal belongings at the Dursleys'. However, Harry knew those things weren't what was really holding him back.
Did he honestly think that leaving the Dursleys would bring him freedom? Perhaps he would be escaping their hate and scorn, but it would be leaving relative safety for the tumult and danger of life on the run. At best, he would be tracked down and dragged back by Dumbledore. At worst, he would be kidnapped by Death Eaters to be taken to Voldemort and tortured until every last shred of information and dignity he possessed had been torn away from him. Not only would he not defeat the monster that had destroyed his life and the lives of countless others, but he would also let down his friends and all the people depending on him once again.
The disappointment and unfairness of it all left Harry feeling drained and weary in mind and body. It didn't matter if he could physically escape or not; until Voldemort was eradicated and his lackeys brought to justice, Harry would always be a prisoner of the prophecy. What it all came down to was that Harry Potter was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he stayed at Privet Drive, he would continue to be used by the muggles as a slave, and later on, by Dumbledore as a weapon. If he left, he would be a toy for Death Eaters and the Dark Lord until they grew bored with him.
The only things Harry had going for him at the moment were his friends, and if he left, he wouldn't even have that. Behind his closed eyes, he could see Hermione rushing in to hug him after a summer of loneliness and confusion. He remembered Ron in second year, blindly following him through the Forbidden Forest, even though it meant confronting his worst fear. A vision of himself, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna surrounded by Death Eaters was the last to come up. Harry remembered the fear and intensity of that night in the Department of Mysteries, but beneath the fear was a feeling of empowerment. As scared as they all were, they had stood together in the face of danger and possible death. Harry realized then that perhaps he wasn't as alone as he had thought.
Even knowing it put them in danger just to be acquainted to him, Harry knew his friends deserved better than to find out by owl that he had taken off and disappeared into the night. They had gone above and beyond the call of duty by defending him when it had seemed like the whole world was against him; now it was he, Harry being put to the test. Although Harry wished nothing more than to be free of the Dursleys and Dumbledore's dubious protection, it was now his duty to grin and bear it. Like it or not, they were all in this fight together.
Mind made up, Harry looked back once more across the invisible borderline that he would not be crossing. Someday, when Voldemort was a thing of the past and the hopes of the wizarding world were no longer pinned on him, Harry would experience the joy of crossing that barrier unburdened. Just not tonight.
As he was turning to go, Harry saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. When he focused in the direction it had come from, it was dark once again. Still suspicious, Harry stood stock-still and waited a little longer. There! He saw it again; an unnatural (at least in the muggle world) blue glow by the corner of a house across the street. Safe under the cover of his invisibility cloak, Harry crept as close to the road and supposed limits of the wards as he dared. Now only twenty or so feet away, he could make out the dark outline of a person. Harry squinted in an attempt to make out more of the figure, whose back was to him at the moment. There was another soft blue glow, and then the person turned around.
Harry froze in shock. Despite his bad vision, despite the darkness, he recognized that face without a doubt. Oblivious to his presence, the cloaked person walked a few feet further and raised a wand. With a whispered incantation, the wand glowed blue before slowly changing to a dull, throbbing red. Getting over the shock, Harry's fight-or-flight reflex began to kick in. Before he could react, however, the dark figure grinned at the wand's reaction and reached a hand under the sleeve of the cloak. A moment later, Harry heard the familiar 'pop' of disapparation.
Without another thought, Harry turned and ran full speed back to his aunt and uncle's house.
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A multitude of thoughts ran through Harry's mind as he raced back down Privet Drive. If the Death Eaters knew where he lived, had they now found a way past the wards as well? Despite the mutual hatred and disgust between Harry and his relatives, he did not want them dead. If he was supposedly so well hidden from Voldemort yet he had still been found, what about Ron and Hermione? As far as Harry knew, they weren't nearly as well protected, and if Voldemort couldn't get to Harry, the Slytherin would happily go after his friends. Hell, he'd go after them even if it served no other purpose than bringing more misery to my sorry existence.
Panting as quietly as he could manage, Harry slowed as he reached Number Four. He stood on the doorstep and listened intently for footsteps, a creak of the floorboards, screams of pain, anything. Everything sounded alright; the Dursleys were probably fast asleep and dreaming happy dreams of a Harry-less existence. As soon as he was sure no one was watching, he reached out and grabbed the doorknob. Locked. Harry mentally cursed and ran around to try the backdoor, which he found was also locked. On the way back to the front, he noticed that every window was closed and locked as well, even though it was a hot and humid night. As a last resort, Harry peeled up the "Welcome" mat on the porch and checked for the spare key. All he could see was an outline in the dirt where the key had been not long before.
"Stupid, thick prats…" Harry mumbled, throwing the mat back down with a 'SLAP'.
"POTTER!"
Harry whipped around at the sound of the panicked shout and came face to face with Mundungus Fletcher, although the man's gaze was directed more to the left of where Harry was actually standing. Seeing no one else around, Harry yanked off the cloak and revealed himself.
"Oh thank Merlin! Where in hell's name have you been, boy!? What did you think you were doing, running off under that cloak of yours? Dumbledore would've had my hide if anything had happened to you!" yelled the flushed Order member.
"There's no time to argue about it; I just saw Bellatrix Lestrange! I need to speak to Dumbledore!" said Harry frantically.
"Lestrange? She got through the wards?" asked Fletcher, drawing his wand and glancing around nervously.
"No, she didn't get through, but she was right at the edge—inspecting them or something," Harry replied.
Fletcher let out a sigh of relief and rested the back of his hand on his wrinkled forehead. "Holy skrewt, Potter, you had me going there for a second. I thought you meant one of 'em had actually got through!"
"WHAT? What do you mean, 'actually got through'? How long have the Death Eaters known where I am, and why didn't anyone tell me?" Harry shouted angrily.
Fletcher began to look nervous again. "Well, I figured Dumbledore would'a told you about it…ya see, Lupin warned Dumbledore before you came back that Pettigrew more'n likely revealed your location to You-Know-Who by now. After all, the rat had been sleepin' in the same room as you for three years before his return."
The gruff little man must have mistaken the fury on Harry's face for fear as he prattled on, "But don't let that worry you kid; Dumbledore reckons even if they know where ya are, the wards'll keep 'em away just fine."
Harry glared at the man, nonplussed. "I want to speak with Dumbledore," he growled.
Fletcher gulped. "A'right…shall we pay a visit to Bella, then?"
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Sorry for the sort-of cliffie. I have about four papers and a creative project due next Friday that I've barely started, but I wanted to get something posted before I locked myself in my room and resigned myself to working on nothing but schoolwork…then after that, I have finals to look forward to! Yay! Yeah, right…