Disclaimer: JK Rowling and a few other people own everything, I don't.
Come Take My Hand
Chapter 3
Running Blind
The child ran from the house, hearing the thumping of heavy footsteps behind him that indicated his uncle's realisation of what was happening.
Harry was as small as his Uncle Vernon and Dudley were large and here his size enabled him run more efficiently. Combined then with the advantage brought with the element of surprise, the situation resulted in the boy reaching the door in time to yank it open wide enough for him to duck outside.
He was now presented with two possible paths he could choose - up the driveway and out onto the open road, or down behind the house, where he could see thick masses of bush and forestation.
On the empty road, stretching out as far as Harry's eyes could see, he understood that there would be little opportunity to escape from sight.
It wasn't a difficult choice even for someone as young as Harry, and with only a split second of hesitation, he darted behind the brick wall. Close behind him, loud raspy breathes were following.
He now could perceive that his only chance of avoiding confrontation with his relatives would be if he lost them amongst the vegetation. He longed for the sercurity and solitude offered behind the curtains of leaves.
Run.
Desperation gave him a frantic type of energy and soon he found himself batting leaves out of his way as he burrelled through them. Bending his head to avoid running into the lowest branches, Harry moved deeper and deeper into the valley.
The gnarled trees were blurring as he tore through them, severely distraught by the events of the past forty-eight hours. The child was no longer sure if he was being followed, but was not willing to relax while there still might remain a chance.
He put everything he had left into the effort of continuing to stumble onwards.
As he did so, he found himself panting heavily and it quickly reached the point where his whole chest was heaving and aching.
Still he felt the urgency to run, escape, survive...
And then a tiny bare foot then found itself caught under a root that protruded from the damp undergrowth and he fell down upon the blanket of damp leaves.
Hide.
Harry crawled over to the closest tree and hid behind it in the seclusion created by the twisted trunk and roots. It was sort of similar to playing hide-and-seek, a game that had always seemed very much like reality to the child, for there had always been dire consequences when Dudley and his friends managed to find the lone boy.
Except here it was much more real.
He froze in the curled up position he was in, as muffled voices and conspicuous grunting breaths reached his ears. The child feared making the slightest movement, in case a rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig gave his location away to Uncle Vernon and Dudley.
As the breathing got closer, the words that were spoken became more distinct.
"-Couldn't have gotten far, the runt." His uncle was saying.
"When - When we find him, you'll hurt him like he hurt Mummy, won't you, Dad?" Dudley's voice sounded tearful.
"That I will, Dudley m'boy." Harry heard as the weary reply.
The child felt his skin growing icy cold. They were speaking of it again, saying that his was to blame for his aunt's death. He didn't understand, wasn't sure why they would believe such a thing.
But could it be true?
Had he broken Aunt Petunia's vase and started the fire?
He wasn't sure how he could have managed to do such atrocities, but if he had...well...they were right in being angry, in wanting to hurt him. Maybe he was a freak, wasn't that how they said he had managed it all?
The child felt tears prick into his eyes.
Maybe that was why nobody liked him. He was dangerous, a dangerous freak.
His uncle and cousin seemed to be advancing further, soon to the point where Harry felt positive that his tree was all that lay between them. He attempted to hold his breath, in case they heard he breathing as easily as he had heard their's.
"Why did h-he h-hurt Mummy, though?" Dudley was practically whining, not handling the physical and emotional stress of the situation well.
Why had he hurt Aunt Petunia? Harry, himself, could have supplied no answers to his grieving cousin.
"I've told you, Dudley, he's a freak, that's why."
Vernon groaned with exhaustion, and Harry was sure that if he could see his uncle, he would have seen an exceptionally red face, with bulging veins throbbing on the side of the thick neck.
"We will go back. He will show up again, there's nowhere else for him to go. And if not, good riddance." The man decided this reluctantly and a few seconds later, Harry could here the defeated trudging of retreating feet, leaving him alone in his tiny sanctuary.
The child remained there, hidden away from the world, for what seemed to him to be hours. The increasing darkness was evidence that supported this, as was the chill that came with the night air, making him shiver as it penetrated the thin, worn cotton of his t-shirt.
Still too afraid and bewildered to leave this spot, he curled himself up even tighter, hugging his legs. The conversations had left him deeply confused, only one thing that his uncle had stated made sense to him - that Harry had nowhere to go.
There was no point going back to the Dursleys' temporary residence, the child could understand this much easily. Going back there would only bring violence upon himself and, anyway, it seemed like he had already made their lives miserable. Going back would only cause them more trouble.
Then there was the guilt. He had never wanted his aunt dead...how could he have killed her? He knew as a fact that he hadn't lit a fire in the house, yet he couldn't deny that strange things often happened around him. Maybe he was bad luck and he had passed his luck onto the Dursleys'.
Once again, he tried to comprehend whether it was his fault that Aunt Petunia had died. He sincerely hoped that he hadn't. To die in such a way...
Fire.
Harry winced, hit with unpleasant thoughts he had now come to associate with flames.
It was enough to make him feel, for the tiniest amount of time, thankful for the bitterly cold air and the dampness of the leaves against him.
Slowly, regardless of both the boy's state of mind and the chill of the breeze against him, his eyelids became heavy. Soon after, he was drifting into a dark and drowsy sleep.
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A/N- I don't think I have had that many reviews for any one chapter before! Thank you all so much, it's so encouraging.
This chapters a bit shorter, sorry.
Next Chapter due probably Saturday/Sunday.