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...)

Note: This chapter is in Ron's and Hermione's POV

The wind whistled past Hermione Grangers' house, causing a slight humming sound to echo about the relatively empty house. The Granger residence had been practically deserted all summer so far. Hermione Granger, the only person home, had spent most of her holidays doing homework.

Both her parents were at a conference, and Hermione had finally made them agree to letting her stay home herself for a while. She could only imagine what Ron would say to that. Hermione's homework was nearly done. In fact, she was so close to finishing she had brought another assignment; for extra credit, upon herself to finish.

She stared at the letters piled on her desk, all from Ron. Sighing, Hermione picked up the latest one. She recognised the handwriting at once. It definitely wasn't from Ron; in fact it wasn't even from anyone whom she suspected to write to her. It was from Harry. Harry Potter, the same boy who had gone into a total sulk at the end of last year.

Hermione knew the loss of his godfather weighed him down considerably, but she could sense there was something more. Something he wasn't telling them, and she was slightly mad at him. After all; they were his friends, they should know.

Hermione had warned Ron not to write to Harry, this wasn't for one main reason and the reason she had given Ron wasn't even close to the truth. Hermione, deep down in her mind, wanted Harry to come back and admit to things. How he felt towards events and how he pictured his friends. Sure, she didn't want to upset him and Ron always did just that, but Hermione wanted him to admit to his feelings. It was healthier for him.

When she first began thinking about that, she had laughed at herself saying. "Merlin, I'm thinking like a physiatrist." But now, days after her original thoughts she didn't laugh. She meant what she had though; she meant was she was holding herself to!

Hermione shuffled the letter between her fingers, unsure whether to open it or not. She had simply ignored Ron's letters; all 12 of them. But Hermione wasn't sure whether Harry's could be ignored. She decided to open it,

'If it is something I can ignore, I will.' She thought, 'After I read it.'

Hermione undid the ribbon that held it together with her fingernails, and unfolded the yellowing piece of parchment delicately. The paper was defiantly old, but Hermione wasn't sure it meant anything. Harry often carried around pieces of old parchment he had found. Sure it was strange, but at least he didn't collect warts in a jar or something.

All Hermione had to do was skim the letter to sense something was wrong. She knew her friend all to well. Unlike Ron, Hermione listened to him and understood what he was talking about, most the time; she could tell when something was bothering him. Ron would just shrug it off, thinking he would get over it; and if he didn't... Hermione knew Ron cared. But sometimes he was such an optimist.

Hermione was unsure what to do with the letter, she didn't want to send it to Dumbledore or Ron and upset Harry. She knew how he liked to keep things private.

Hermione was puzzled. She didn't want to ask Harry what was "truly" going on. Knowing him, he would just do the 'oh, nothing' routine. However, the letter was a total cry for help. She didn't want to just leave it and let him be either.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours of contemplating, Hermione decided to write Harry. Ask what was really up. Harry would know she didn't wasn't to break their trust, and would probably ignore her, but she hoped it was for the best.

Crookshanks, who had been sleeping on Hermione's purple doona all day stirred. She stood up, stretched sleepily and jumped right over to where Hermione sat on the floor.

Smiling, Hermione picked her cat up and scratched her under the chin. "Aren't you a cutie pie?" She cooed, forgetting about what she was about to do. Crookshanks purred in response and walked over to Hermione's dresser, knocking off her quill.

She couldn't bring herself to punish the cat, it was only trying to help and help it had done. The quill instantly reminded Hermione of the letter she was going to write. Spare parchment already in front of her, from her homework, Hermione started by writing simple.

"Dear Harry,"

She paused, "What should I write that wont hurt him, or break the trust?" she asked the air. This, of course, gave no response. Finally, she just wrote what came to her. A long letter full of "But's and If's;" nothing to be proud of.

Frustrated Hermione threw down her pen and sighed loudly. "I give up!" She said, admitting defeat (probably for the first time in her life.)

Even though she knew Harry would not like it, Hermione decided it might be best if Dumbledore get his letter. Then maybe things would settle and Harry would become calmer, more centred.

Dumbledore,

I know it is a bit odd to be hearing from one of your students, but I got this letter from Harry and thought you might want to look at it.

I'm not sure what it means, but never have I heard Harry say things at the Dursely's were going "great." He just isn't like that and I am worried about him.

Can you please look into it and put my mind at rest.

Thankyou,

Hermione Granger.

She folded it and placed it in an envelope; adding the original copy of Harry's letter behind it. Hermione's parents had luckily given her the money to buy a small brown owl for the house. Even though she did not live in the "magic world" it was easier. People wouldn't get suspicious, everyone had pets. Some people on her street even kept tarantulas!

It was, though, extremely lucky her parents had gotten the owl. While Hermione tied the letter to Isis's leg (which was what she had named the owl) she silently noted to thank her parents considerably.

Letting the owl go, she wondered how Harry was really doing, and how Ron was coping....

At the Burrow things had been hectic all summer so far. Although it was not that far into the summer, it seemed as if it had been going forever. The long summer days seemed to drag on for everyone. Especially Ron. Ron was used to having a friend around, whether it was Hermione and Harry, or one of his brothers.

This summer though, he didn't have them. Hermione had warned Ron not to owl Harry until they were sure he was ready. He knew Harry knew this as well. His friend always knew these things; somehow. Hermione hadn't owled Ron even though Ron had tried countless times to owl her. He never got a response. Fred and George were off running there business, Molly still had not gotten used to the fact that was where they were going in life. Ginny, was the only one left at home, other then Ron; and it wasn't much fun to try and do things with her.

Ron, who was sitting in his bedroom staring at the brightly coloured Chudley Cannons poster, wasn't sure what to do with the day. He wanted to owl Harry and asks him what was up, invite him over. Be like old times; but it was never going to be like that. Things had changed, permanently.

From the kitchen Ron could smell the delectable armours of chocolate cake. He was sure it was chocolate cake; the smells were definitely rich, nice. Smiling, Ron followed his nose into the kitchen were he was confronted by his mother.

"Ron," She started, "you only ever care about your stomach, have you got any of your homework done yet?"

Ron tried to look guilty, not quite pulling it off, "Not yet mum, I was going to wait a bit, start it later." He pulled a chair from underneath the table and sat down on it.

"So, did you cook the cake?" He asked, eyeing what looked like the largest chocolate cake his mother had attempted to make.

"Yes, I did." Molly weasley answered truthfully, "I hope it tastes ok, I made it especially for tonight. I though we all needed some cheering up, especially now Fred and George are gone."

Ron looked down; it was obvious he wasn't going to get any right at that second. It was such a nice reason for his mother to make the cake. Totally unlike her, after all she didn't usually attempt those sorts of things. Again Ron was stuck with the predicament: What to do.

He didn't have to think long, though, as a small tapping sound was heard around the kitchen. Tap, tap, tap. Ron knew instantly where the abrasive sound was coming from: the window. Smiling, Ron made his way through the kitchen (which was unusually cluttered) without tripping over a single pot or pan, and opened the window slightly; just enough to let the large snowy owl inside.

"'Ello Hedwig," Ron greeted the owl cheerfully; Hedwig pecked his hand in response. Ron pulled away his hand, it had been a while since Hedwig had done that to him (it had been a while since any owl had done that to him...), instead he patted her on the head, his little finger stinging slightly.

"Has Harry written to me at last?" Ron asked the owl, pulling a small stained-yellow piece of parchment from the owls' leg.

'Looks old,' He thought unravelling the red ribbon that loosely tied it, round the letters middle.

Ron didn't pay too much attention to what was actually written and skimmed through it quickly. The first thing he noticed was its length. Short, very short, Ron wasn't sure what this meant. He re-read it, and seemed satisfied. The old parchment was cool to touch, and was a strange yellow colour; but looked alright to him.

However, Ron payed no attention to this; preferring to aim the whole of his attention, or at least all he could give, to the actual letter itself. Although it was all good, and Ron felt somehow satisfied, even though he knew it was strange and decided to occupy his time writing back.

"What's that you've got dear?" He heard his mother ask, finally.

"Letter from Harry," Ron replied, almost instantaneously. He could predict his mothers answer to that, anyone could.

"That's nice, how is he?"

Ron didn't even bother answering; instead he picked up the small letter and handed it to Mrs. Weasley for her to read herself. It was easier that way; Ron wouldn't have to do any explaining.

It didn't take long for Mrs. Weasley to finish reading the handwritten letter, but instead of smiling with her usual response "that's nice," Molly Weasley frowned stating simply,

"I'm not so sure about this..." She placed the letter back on the table, just as Ron began writing his reply and walked out the room rather quickly.

'Strange,' Ron thought, and went to work on his reply...

Ok, Well. This was a pretty useless chapter, but I wanted to explain a little further about why he hadn't gotten owls from Ron or Hermione. So, next chap will be back to Harry POV!

Thanks to ciberloco, Severed Glass and xxambzxx for reviewing.

Ciberloco: Thanks, I appreciate the fact you like it (at least a little) so far. I was thinking of turning it into a one-shot; but decided to go further. Thanks for the help; I am going to use it. –Smiles- . This chapter I already knew I was writing, and doesn't work by your help, but keep a look out.

Severed Glass: Thanks as well. I know it isn't a new idea. This is the first fic I've published so I wanted to practise something others have written and try to perfect my writing technique before using my own ideas. I'll try to add unexpected plot twists, but I don't know where yet. They'll definitely be coming though... I hope. Also, I will try to use the other 4 senses, warn me if I'm not. Threatening usually works!

Xxambzxx: I didn't really understand your review. But thanks for reviewing all the same.