Chapter 2

The mug had slipped out of his grasp before he could catch it. Its shattering had caused everyone in the kitchen to freeze, motionless. Harry had slowly raised his head to look at Aunt Petunia's face. She had grown pale and taut, her entire body shaking with repressed anger. Uncle Vernon's moustache had twitched dangerously. Dudley had smiled with childish glee, his podgy face twisted grotesquely. Before Harry could do or say anything, his aunt's bony hand had clamped around his arm and dragged him to his cupboard, tossing him in like a rag doll. She had locked the door and closed the vent, and with no light bulb, Harry had been left in utter darkness.

Since then he had smelt lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and the evening snack. Dudley had gone to bed, and the television was off. Harry curled in on himself, the sweat finally beginning to dry on his skin. He was separated from the boiler by only a thin woodchip wall, and Dudley had been for a bath so it was very hot. Combined with the horrid heat wave that suffocated the country, Harry's flushed body was beginning to hurt.

He was rubbing his forehead against the skimpy pillow, distracting himself with the different sensations between the normal skin and his scar, when he heard his guardians discussing something in the kitchen. It sounded urgent, and Harry was curious even though he knew it was wrong to eavesdrop.

"I can't stand him anymore," Aunt Petunia said. Harry could imagine her pacing between the table and the fridge, back and forth. A chair creaked - Uncle Vernon had shifted slightly.

"What do you want me to do pet?" he asked. There was a screech, meaning Aunt Petunia had pulled up a seat. Her voice quietened.

"We have to get rid of him. Dump him at an orphanage or somewhere," she whispered. Harry heard a spoon scrape in a bowl; Uncle Vernon was probably having a last bit of ice cream before bed.

"I said that when he first arrived. But what about them? They'll be able to find him at an orphanage. He has to disappear completely," he answered. There was a pause.

"We'll just have to dump him, pretend he ran away. They can't find him if he's not on any records," she said finally.

"I can take him tonight," Uncle Vernon concurred. When the conversation turned to Dudley and his artwork from school, Harry tuned them out. He sat up, back to the wall, and stared into the blackness. He may have been only seven, but he knew whom his guardians had been talking about. After years of threats and promises, they were finally going to get rid of him. He felt a lump form in his throat at this ultimate sign of rejection, but as always he blinked back the tears. He would never give the Dursleys the satisfaction of knowing they had hurt him. It would only spur them on. The boiler gurgled, and Harry fell into a light sleep.

He awoke when someone descended not-so-lightly down the stairs. From long years of practice, Harry could tell it was Uncle Vernon. He sat up, and stared fearfully at the cupboard door. It opened with a creak, and suddenly Harry was looking into the red round face of his uncle. A small, old rucksack of Dudley's was tossed at him.

"Put all your stuff in that," Uncle Vernon ordered gruffly before backing away. He left the cupboard door open, thankfully, allowing light from the kitchen in. Harry stared around his small room briefly, trying to memorise every detail. Yes, Dudley got two bedrooms, but the cupboard had been Harry's. He would miss it.

Harry had very little to pack in the bag. He stuffed in his ragged blanket, and a couple pairs of underwear that he had hidden in his pillow. He did have a small metal box, no bigger than a photograph and just deep enough to hold his glasses. This wasn't its purpose though; in it, Harry kept everything of value to him. Most of the objects were things he found outside, like an obsidian stone or the charm off someone's necklace. They were only small, because anything bigger attracted Dudley's unenviable attention and were swiftly stolen away. Harry carefully placed it in the rucksack, followed by a few drawings and his pitiful supply of crayons.

Uncle Vernon was putting a packet of chocolate bars into his briefcase when Harry entered the kitchen. Their eyes met for a second, before Harry lowered his head as was the custom. His uncle clicked his briefcase shut and lifted it off the table.

"Come on then, boy," he muttered. Harry obediently followed the large man out the front door.

It was silent in the car as they drove out of Little Whinging, picked up the main road and headed west. Harry sat in the backseat with his rucksack clutched tightly, watching the scenery flash by in a blur of streetlamps and shadows. The tyres hummed beneath him, and there was a strange whooshing sound in his ears, but Harry didn't mind. He felt sleepy, which was no surprise; it was very early morning.

They pulled off the motorway and stopped in a nondescript town. Uncle Vernon climbed out of the car and yanked Harry's door open roughly.

"Get out," he snapped. Harry did so, backing away from the car and his suddenly irate guardian. "Now you listen to me, boy. You don't know us. You've never heard of the name Dursley. You ran away from home and can't remember where you used to live. Got that? Keep your head down and don't talk to anyone. If we hear any word of you there'll be trouble! Understand?" Uncle Vernon poked Harry in the shoulder to emphasise the point, then climbed back into the car.

Harry stared at the retreating number plate, feeling lost and forlorn, until it was out of sight. He glanced about him, looking for a place to stay so he could sleep. He couldn't go to an adult, or the Dursleys would hear about it. Harry didn't want to tempt their wrath again. He spied a darkened alley between two shops across the street and dashed over to it. It was empty and it was sheltered, which was good enough for him. Harry settled down, using his rucksack as a pillow. It was, thankfully, cooler outside under the stars than during the day; so cool, in fact, that Harry shivered. Then he remembered his blanket. Once wrapped snugly in that, his exhaustion overcame his anxiety and he fell to sleep.

Harry spent the next day wandering aimlessly around the town. He didn't attract too much attention; no more than usual at least, due to the hand-me-downs that he wore, which was just fine with him. He quickly learnt the layout of the streets, where there were food shops and schools, and a park.

Harry took an immediate liking to the park. It wasn't particularly large, but it had a small duck pond in the centre, as well as a winding path running through it and a few metal benches. He spent most of the evening sat in the shade of a willow tree by the pond, watching people stroll past the wrought iron fence without a care in the world: old ladies, young couples, children about his age skipping merrily, sometimes rattling sticks against the railings. When the first stars began to appear, he returned to the alley he spent his first night in. The heat of the summer day faded and he fell asleep once again cocooned in his ragged blanket, ignoring the incessant rumbling of his empty stomach.

The end of the third day Harry spent on the streets saw him digging through rubbish bins outside a fast food restaurant for leftover meals, so hungry was he. He tried not to think of how disgusting it was to be eating out of a rubbish bin as he wolfed down half-finished burgers and leftover chips. He had waited until night so that fewer people were likely to see him and chase him off, and the dark hid him well from the occasional car driving along the high street. Harry could just imagine Aunt Petunia's face if she ever knew what he was doing, and was heartily glad that she didn't.

It was the next day, sitting in the park one evening as he had become his habit, that Harry realised the Dursleys had abandoned him. While this terrified him, as it would most children, it also brought to him a startling truth: he could do what he wanted now. He didn't have to run from Dudley, or scrub the floor, or stay in his cupboard for hours at a time. He was free from all that. For the first time in many months, a true smile broke out on Harry's dirty face.

"Are you alright there, son?" a deep voice asked. Harry jumped, blinking up at a towering silhouette. The man squatted so Harry didn't have to crane his neck to look at him; it was a policeman, obviously concerned about him judging by the frown on his face. Harry bit his lip - Uncle Vernon had warned him to stay low, or else there would be trouble. "I haven't seen you in Verwood before," the policeman said casually, drawing Harry's attention to him. Harry merely shrugged. The policeman sat himself by the tree, studiously not looking at Harry. "Where are you parents?" he nonchalantly asked.

"Dead," Harry blurted out before he could think about it. The policeman's expression grew even more concerned but he said nothing. They remained like this for a while, both pretending to watch the world go by while discreetly observing the other, giving Harry time to come up with a plan. He hated lying, because it was something Dudley always did, but in this situation he didn't really have a choice. He couldn't let the policeman take him back to the Dursleys.

"Where are you going?" the policeman asked when Harry stood and futilely tried to brush away the mud stains on his overly large clothes. Harry gave him the most innocent look he could muster, the kind Dudley gave Aunt Petunia when he was blaming Harry for something he himself had done.

"I'm going to be late for dinner if I don't go home soon," Harry answered with a fake smile. The policeman frowned in confusion .

"I thought your parents had passed away?"

"They have," Harry answered breezily. The thought itself always made him hurt a little, but he could cover it up quite easily because the Dursleys had often used it in an attempt to make him miserable. The policeman stood also. "My aunt and uncle look after me," Harry explained. The look of dawning realisation on the policeman's face sent relief coursing through his body. He wasn't going to be taken back to the Dursleys!

"Okay laddie, but you be careful walking home." Harry nodded agreeably and set off at a quick march. It was earlier than normal for him to be leaving the park, but at least he wasn't going to a police station.

The alley was familiar territory for him; Harry sighed in relief, now that he was away from the danger. The feeling quickly evaporated as a large, grease-stained man - the owner of the restaurant next door where Harry stole his food from - loomed out of the shadows, Harry's rucksack in hand.

"Get lost, you little beggar," he growled, tossing the bag at Harry, who caught it clumsily and clutched it to him. "If I ever see you here again I'll make you pay for it! I'll call the police! You'll be sorry you were ever born!" he growled menacingly. Harry stood, dumbfounded that he was being thrown out again. The man stamped his foot, sending Harry dashing skittishly away down the high street. He didn't once look back.