Into the Woods

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I would fully attempt to rule the world...who's with me? HP FANS UNITE! Lol.

Chapter One

After making sure everyone in Privet Drive would surely be asleep, Harry quietly rose from his cot in the cupboard under the stairs. The six-year-old's heart fluttered with excitement and anticipation; he'd been planning this for over three months now. Finally, he was going to escape the Dursleys once and for all.

He shuddered, thinking of how long those three months had been. It had taken him that long to finally strike up the nerve to run away, he was so freaked out. The Dursleys were scary people. He remembered when he got the idea of escaping—he considered it the breaking point.

………………………………………

It had been a long, hot day, unusually hot for a day in late May. It felt like the middle of July, and it was drop-dead humid outside. He would know, having spent hours tending to the hedges and Petunia's garden, then painting the fence (which seemed to need a new coat at least every two months; two weeks if it was especially cold or torturous weather, according to his uncle). By the time he was finished, he was ready to collapse. More than anything, he was thirsty. He hoped silently to himself that there would be nobody in the kitchen to witness him drinking a quick glass of water.

Unfortunately, his plea was not answered. Petunia was in the kitchen standing over the sink and washing the dishes. Her lips thinned immediately at the sight of him. "You're filthy. Get out of my house."

"But…"

"You heard her, boy," Vernon growled. He pointed outside menacingly. "Out."

Harry nodded feebly, not knowing what else to do. It was better not to upset his uncle. He walked back through the screen door and sat dejectedly under Petunia's hedges (which were, he thought to himself, very well cared for). After a moment or two of waiting, he heard a car pull up in the driveway. He had looked up to find his obese cousin, Dudley, and several of his friends, exiting the car and coming to the front door.

Dudley smirked at him. "Watch out, Potter," he hissed, thoroughly enjoying the fright he was instilling. His friends cackled wickedly behind him.

Harry groaned, grimacing to himself. He was in for another beating.

Sure enough, by the end of the hour, he was battered and bruised, eventually forced to climb up a tree to evade the lot of them. Dudley had done most of it; Harry now sported a black eye, a couple of ugly scrapes and bruises from where he'd fallen multiple times and been hit by Dudley's infamous stick, and at least one busted up finger. He wiggled his fingers—no, maybe two.

"Get down from there!" Dudley had screamed, knowing full well that his heavy form would never make it up that far.

Harry ignored him, too winded to respond, and merely scurried up the tree even faster. He wasn't quite sure whose backyard this was, but for the moment, it was protection.

"You'll be sorry, Potter," Dudley swore to him, turning his back on Harry. "You can sit there all night, if you want. We'll be having dinner." Then he walked away haughtily, his friends following him like a pack of feeble minions would their master.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a little. Then something cracked underneath his small frame. Instantly, he knew what was happening, but his arm flew up to grab the higher branch only a second too late; the branch he was sitting on collapsed, and he was sent hurtling to the ground.

He landed on the grass with a hard thud that seemed to shake his brain. For a moment he just laid there, letting his consciousness slowly creep back to him and the little lights in his head disappear.

"You, boy!"

Harry sat upright immediately, fearing that it was his aunt. But it wasn't—it was their neighbor with all the smelly cats, Arabella Figg.

"What were you doing climbing that tree again?" she yelped, racing towards him. "You could've been killed! Are you all right?"

"Um, yeah," Harry answered, standing up shakily and brushing himself off. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "It will happen again. That's why it's sad, really. But just remember—they're a bunch of bullies. You're stronger than them."

"No, I'm not," said Harry sadly, looking down at his bloody knees.

Mrs. Figg was about to contradict him when his uncle bellowed from the house, "BOY! GET IN HERE AT ONCE!"

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon!" Harry called back, running towards the house. Vernon took one look at him and, shaking his head angrily, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

"You're pathetic, you know that? Thankfully, Dudley and his friends give you what you deserve. But that doesn't mean you can go on bloodying up my kitchen, now, does it?" He dropped Harry roughly on the grass in the backyard and pulled out the hose, turning the knob. Harry flinched.

"Uncle Vernon, I—"

"Shut up, boy," his uncle commanded, turning on the hose to full blast and spraying Harry down.

The force of the hose literally sent him flying backwards on the grass, piercing the open gashes on his skin. He heard a snap; thankfully, it was his glasses this time, not a bone. Trying to find a bright side, he thought to himself, "At least it's cold."

When Vernon finished, he grinned triumphantly and left Harry sputtering on the lawn. "I'll come back for you later. You stay out here until dinner's over, got it?"

"G-got it." Harry tinkered with his glasses while his uncle was gone, and managed to get the tape on them to stick again. How long would it last, though? At least he could see.

Soon it was nightfall, and he was still waiting in the backyard. He yawned, and realizing his uncle was probably in bed, curled up by the hedges and tried to fall asleep.

"Meow."

He opened his eyes, alarmed. "Oh," he said in surprise. "Hi, kitty," he said to the cat standing quite still in front of him. The cat cocked its head, almost in concern, before leaving just as abruptly as it came.

The next morning, his uncle was furious. "How dare you stay out here? What would the neighbors think of us?" he screamed once they were in the house. He grabbed Harry by the shirt collar again, still yelling, but Harry wasn't listening. He was bracing himself for the cupboard.

Sure enough, Vernon kicked open the cupboard door and threw him violently inside of it. Harry's head smacked the wall with a sickening crack…and he saw darkness.

He woke the next day, the room pitch black and the door still locked. The Dursleys forgot about him; finally, three days later, he was released again because there was nobody to do the chores. But those three days offered him a lot of thinking time…he knew he had to get out of here. Soon.

………………………………………

Those were the days he sat there, hungry, alone, and scared, that he decided he was leaving. He was finished with the strenuous tasks, the berating words, the threats and the vicious bullying. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to survive, but he'd find a way. He always did.

The door of the cupboard creaked as he opened it; he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that nobody was awakened by the noise. Carefully, he grabbed his knapsack, in which he'd put all of his clothes and his three of Dudley's school textbooks that he'd thrown at Harry one day and then forgot about.

He crept into the kitchen, quickly grabbed two of the apples, half the bread loaf and a water bottle before finally leaving the house through the front door. As he closed the door behind him and looked out at the stretch of Privet Drive, he thought to himself happily, Free. I'm finally free.

Harry began his trek. He knew exactly where he was going; straight to the large forest that bordered the playground Dudley always terrorized. It was pitch black outside, with only one streetlamp to offer him light near the playground. He found himself fearing the lurking shadows…but reminded himself that there was nothing out there but his own imagination.

He stood at the edge of the forest for a moment, uncertain about whether he should enter or not. There was something foreboding about the forest. Dudley had said to all the little kids that were younger than him, "You'd better watch it; there are horrible monsters in those woods." Of course, Harry knew not to believe his stupid cousin. But what if…?

He took a step forward, then heard something rustle behind him. He whipped around in fright to find the same cat he'd seen those three months ago when he'd been locked outside for the night.

Relieved, he took a deep breath. "You like sneaking up on people, don't you?" he asked the cat, almost laughing about how absurd he was being. That cat, a monster of the forest? As if. "Get a grip," he told himself, walking into the forest.

The cat followed.

Harry frowned at it. "Don't you have an owner or something?"

The cat merely stared at him intensely, almost human-like. Harry shivered, despite the summer heat. There was something…weird about this cat. But what?

He shrugged and let the cat follow. He walked maybe three miles deep into the forest, and then, confident that nobody would be able to find him this far in, sat down on a tree stump in a clearing. He took one of the pieces of bread out of the sack, hungry since he hadn't eaten since lunch, and broke off a piece for the cat.

"It's bread," Harry said to it, as if the cat would understand. "You can have some. It's not deadly or something."

The cat cocked its head and took the bread from him.

Harry sighed happily, having rid himself of the Dursleys. He curled into a sleeping position on the large stump, already beginning to nod off, when he heard a high-pitched wail from not too far away.

"RON! Where are you?"

Harry stood immediately. He wasn't alone.

………………………………………

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