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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Fighting Sword
Prologue: Vanished
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Stopping before an empty park he'd never seen, Harry's shaking body collapsed onto the ground as his prolonged adrenaline rush ended, leaving him breathless and dizzy. He had no idea how far he'd managed to run since leaving Number Four Privet Drive in fear and panic; he was sure it was around noon when he came in from the gardening but he doubted his sense of time could be trustworthy. It was now full dark and there was no way he could run that long without the aid of some highly restricted potions.
Harry felt worse then he had ever felt before, his pale and shaking body was covered in sweat, his head pounded furiously and he felt like he was going to be sick. Gasping heavily, Harry tried to take a deep breath and push himself up from the damp grass. He only managed to get as far as his hands and knees before the feeling of sickness at the bottom of his stomach became too much for him and he began to dry-heave. It felt like forever before he had his body back under control and he attempted to stand up again, this time making it all the way to his feet.
Placing his hand over his grumbling stomach Harry wished he had more with him then just his wand. In his hastened escape from Vernon he had left everything he owned behind including the few muggle Pounds he managed to save up and now he wished he had them with him more then ever before.
Cursing loudly Harry began pacing back and forth, pondering what he was going to do next. He never wanted to return to the Dursley's again, although Dumbledore did have a way of limiting ones options. He could call the Knight Bus; head to the Barrow or the Leaky Cauldron; or maybe make his way back to Privet Drive and head over to Mrs. Figg's house and see if she could help him.
After debating for a time with himself Harry sat down gently at the park bench with a soft groan. He really didn't want to do any of the stuff he could think of. No matter what he did it seemed like he would just be sent back or be put in the spotlight again as the poor Potter boy whose parents died when he was just a baby. Deciding to take his time with making the decision, Harry laid down on the bench to watch the stars.
Harry wished he could rid himself of his alcohol soaked shirt. It was hard to believe what his uncle had nearly done to him. Even drunk, Harry never believed Vernon would attack him the way he had. What he did do was straight forward physical abuse and what he was about to do went way farther than that. If his aunt hadn't arrived home from her new job as early as she did, he was sure Vernon wouldn't have stopped. As it was he was just happy to be away from there.
Something shimmered far off in the darkening sky catching the corner of Harry's well trained eyes. Harry stared hard where he had thought he had seen the object and was just about to give up on it when his eyes once again caught sight of it. At first it seemed to be nothing more then the light from some muggle aircraft but something felt off about that. He was sure whatever the object was it wasn't muggle in nature, he could almost feel the magic in the item emanating from it.
Watching the object closely, Harry came to a quick conclusion; the object wasn't stationary like he first thought, it was falling and it looked like it would be landing very close by. Sure enough, minutes later, a clinking sound could be heard when the object hit the metal of the monkey bars before falling into the playground sand.
Getting up, Harry wandered over to the small sphere that was emitting a soft, pure light to investigate the object that reminded him a little of a snitch. The moment his fingertips touched it, he felt the whirl and pull of a Portkey.
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