Title: Running away.
Genre: Angst (well it will be)
Characters: Harry and any one else I add later.
Summary: When Harry's memories haunt him, the Dursley's become violent and it seems no one cares. What is left to do?

Rating: PG-13 (It will get worse...)

A purple mist hung over the houses of Privet Drive. The pale sky, ready for the suns awakening, was already beginning to glow; introducing the new day. While most people were sensibly asleep in their beds, not ready to awaken; there was one difference. One boy; alone in his room, who sat in a quite uncomfortable position on the end of his bed.

Harry Potter.

It had been at least three days since Harry had gotten any sleep. His dreams were plagued with nightmares. Nightmares he did not want to revisit. Harry sighed, it was early and he was tired. Too tired to really do anything that day, but he knew he would have to. Vernon and Petunia would find some chore for him, and probably more when he was done. Lately they had been keeping him busier then ever. It was odd, when Harry came to think about it, usually the pair would be glad to get rid of him.

Shifting slightly to allow for more leg room, Harry began to lean backwards onto the uncomfortable covers and mattress below him.

'I can't keep doing this.' Harry thought to himself, 'I'm going to be too exhausted to do anything. Then what will Vernon do to me. He'd call me useless, probably kick me out...' His thoughts began to falter, deep inside that is what Harry himself thought. He was useless. It was his fault people kept getting killed: His parents, Cedric, Sirius; all his fault. If Harry hadn't been so stupid, he could have prevented at least two of them from being killed. If he hadn't been born, well...

'If he kicks me out, it will be fine for everyone. Not like I'd argue about it.' He argued mentally, 'It would probably be better. I'd get what I deserve.'

Harry, afraid he'd fall asleep even sitting on the hard, lump bed stood up quickly; too quickly. He was already tired, sore and standing up that quickly didn't do much for it. Everything went blurry, tipping upside-down for a moment. When Harry finally got his head together, he began to pace across the room.

"It is about time I wrote to Ron and Hermione," He whispered to himself, glad he found something to keep his mind off things. Quickly finding a hidden piece of parchment and a quill, Harry sat down (cross-legged) on the floor – parchment in front of him. "How should I start it?" He asked himself, out-loud.

Finally, he just began writing something, anything; whether it was truth or not.

Ron,

How are you? I hope well. Look, sorry I didn't write earlier. I couldn't find the time. I've been quite busy. Everything here is great. What have you been up to? I was surprised when I received no owls from you or Hermione. Why didn't you write? It might have reminded me to write. Anyway, I have to go.

Bye,

Harry.

He re-read it, it wasn't exactly the truth. Well, hardly anything was the truth. He could find the time; he had all the time in the world. He jut hadn't felt like writing. He still didn't, but he was sure someone would get suspicious and send a scout over to investigate. They were like that now, ever since... That event.

'Everything here is great,' when Harry re-read that line he scoffed. It was far from true. He was being worked so hard, bullied, and starved. The usual, only worse; and no one knew, or cared. Harry wasn't surprised when he didn't get any owls. He knew why. Harry was more than sure that Hermione had warned Ron not to owl him until they were sure he had cooled down. After all, they were bound to have noticed the change in his behaviour after Sirius was taken from him. Especially after the talk he had gotten from Dumbledore.

Even the last sentence was wrong, 'Anyway, I have to go?' He had all the time in the world. He could have written pages and pages explaining everything. How guilty he felt, what was happening to him; mentally as well as physically, how much he hated this place, how much he longed for Hogwarts – but didn't particularly want to go back and how much he longed for something... his own, to prove he was still human. Not this insane monster he believed he was.

Deciding, finally, it would at least keep them off his back (at least for a little while) Harry rewrote the same letter (changing the names around) and addressed it to Hermione. Folding them slowly, he wondered how long it would be until Hedwig was awake enough to make the journey to either place.

As if she could read her masters mind, Hedwig bounced over to Harry, leg out. This made Harry smile, the first true smile he had had since last year – at least. As soon as Harry had tied both letters to Hedwig's leg, Hedwig pounced up and flew into the sunrise. She would deliver Hermione's first, then continue her journey to Ron's before making it back home.

'Maybe with replies,' Harry thought.

"Boy, come down here. Now!" Harry heard his uncle screech from the kitchen. Harry, startled looked at the small clock on his bedside table. It was 7:00 am.

"I didn't fall asleep did I?" he said to himself, he knew he hadn't. If he had he would have been awaken by dreams, not his uncle calling for breakfast. "Must've been lost in thought," He replied, answering his own question.

"Coming Uncle Vernon," he called, standing up and making his way to the door. Harry was still tired, would be all day. He knew he couldn't make one more sleepless night; he had to face the dreams. What he hated was he had no one to tell them to. Sirius was the last person who understood and now... he was gone. Harry hung his head – partly in shame, partly in preservation of his godfather's memory.

"Boy!" He heard Vernon call again, this time more threatening, menacing. Harry knew he had to get down there as quickly as possible. So, walking out of the bedroom he was forced to sleep in and down the stairs, Harry faced his uncle and asked, dumbly, "Yes Uncle Vernon?"

His uncle stared at him. Harry, who was now was almost taller then Vernon looked at him right back. His uncles eyes were showing signs of anger, the question was dumb.

"You know what, boy," he said, Harry was startled, the words sounded more like they were coming from Voldermort then his uncle. Harry knew something was up, and didn't feel like being around when it surfaced.

Harry let go quickly, "Sorry," he said. He didn't need to apologise, why would he? But somehow he knew it was best. It would keep Vernon, who was in a particularly menacing mood that morning, from hurting him. Which Harry was sure he would do is he persisted. His uncle was normally non-violent, to some degree at least, but something was defiantly different. Harry could smell change.

Harry made his way to the stove, and began cooking up a few eggs and some bacon. The Dursely's favourite breakfast. Vernon looked satisfied and sat down at the table, opening up the paper and hiding his head in it.

Harry glared at him, right through the paper and into his uncle. He was sure Vernon would feel it. He better at least, it took effort. 'Why does he keep doing this? Is he so stupid he doesn't even know how to make his own breakfast?' It struck Harry he must know, or at least Petunia must know. After all, for the majority of the year Harry was at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. Just that name brought up memories, ones Harry didn't want to surface. Not now, not ever, at least; Not in the near future. Lost in thought, Harry noticed suddenly the eggs were beginning to harden. Vernon hated his eggs like that. Quickly turning off the gas, and grabbing a plate, he served a few eggs onto Vernon's plate and then some onto Dudley's, who had obviously taken his place at the table while Harry had been cooking.

With a look that meant, 'Happy now?' Harry walked back up into his bedroom and sat down on the blue sheets of his bed. It was all his fault. Everything that happened, everything! Harry's eyes, which usually had some spark, were empty; tears threatening to fill them.

'I am just over-reacting,' Harry tried to reason with himself, 'It's not that bad. I'll get over it. I will!' It wasn't working. Memories of his godfather, Sirius, flooded his mind. How happy he was when he learnt about Sirius. How happy Sirius looked when he had met Harry. Harry could talk to Sirius; things were explained and sorted out. Now Sirius was gone, who was left Harry could trust enough to tell. Not his friends; they would go to Dumbledore, they always did. Not Dumbledore. The old man would probably blame himself on Harry's feelings.

Harry could still vividly see his godfather, his last relative in the world who cared about him, disappear before his very own eyes.

Sirius's eyes widening in shock as a jet of light hit him squarely in the chest. Sirius falling, slowly, his body creating an arch as it fell. The look of fear, surprise on his godfathers face as he fell. And. The doorway, as fluttered back into place; as if no one had touched it.

These last memories were too much for Harry, who was already on the brink of tears. He didn't care if it was sunny out. He didn't care if people could see him. Harry was not even aware of his surroundings as he lunged forward, head first, onto his bed. Arm around his head; sobbing.

'Why did you have to leave me,' Harry cursed his godfather silently, 'Everything was perfect. It was finally working out. Why did you have to go and, and die on me!

Die. Harry surprised even himself with that comment. His surprise wasn't enough to stop the tears which had taken control of him. But, these tears were good. They meant he had finally accepted him godfather was dead. Well, beginning to accept it.

Inside Harry was angry, not only at his godfather. But himself; for everything he did. It was obvious he felt guilty about it. However, there was much more to it then that. And it would take longer then one silent cry to get over it.

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(This is my first published fanfic. Second one I've ever written. Has anyone got any tips to make it better?)