Every Saturday, without fail, Harry would sit outside at the porch, with whatever little possessions that he had in a drawstring bag. And he would wait.

He was waiting for his father. His father would get him on one of these Saturdays.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia told him it was no use. They laughed and taunted him, saying that his parents were dead. Died in a car crash. He did not believe them at first, wishing desperately that his parents were on some dangerous assignment instead, and were bound to pick him up someday. He even believed that if they were dead, they would come back as angels (as he fervently believed that they were good people) and let him live in heaven with them, where magic and fairies existed.

However, with the jeers and bullying, exacerbated by Dudley and his gang's favourite pastime, Harry Hunting, these Saturdays would also be an absolute nightmare.

It was hope that kept Harry going.

Very soon, Harry turned five. His aunt started giving him household chores to do. It took up all his Saturdays. However, he would still get his bag ready, in case his father really came.

When he turned seven, he gave up waiting. Something inside him died right then. But sometimes, just sometimes, he dreamt of someone coming to get him. Just a tiny flicker of hope.

OoOoOo

The next day, Harry left. He couldn't bear to board the Hogwarts Express once more. It took too much time. He couldn't bear the long journey. He didn't say goodbye to anyone, not even Ginny.

He did the impossible. He apparated out of Hogwarts.

This was his own journey. No one else would interfere with him.

Dumbledore wanted him to go back to the Dursleys. Harry was sure he had his reasons. Dumbledore was a scheming and manipulative old bastard, but Harry respected him. He was fond of him even. Now that Dumbledore died, he felt it was his personal duty to fulfill Dumbledore's wishes.

He rang the doorbell thrice. He was lucky that no one saw him apparate. Aunt Petunia opened the door. She wasn't very surprised although the frown was in place.

"Learned to apparate, haven't you?" she said scathingly.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Not offering more information, he went in as she stood aside.

"Dumbledore died." He didn't know why he said it. He just did.

"The old headmaster? The one reputed to be the most powerful wizard that ever lived?" Aunt Petunia's voice was tinged with worry, and what was it? Fear?

"Yes. The very same man who sent you the Howler. He...he died."

Aunt Petunia seemed to be at a loss as to what to say. She finally nodded.

OoOoOo

He could feel the magic of the house. Perhaps it was Dumbledore's magic channeled here after his death. Perhaps it was his more acute senses. He didn't know.

The magic acknowledged him, recognizing him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. It acknowledged him bond with someone of the same blood as him.

"So mote it be." His aunt intoned. She presented him with a thick parcel and a vial.

"This will be your last time here. You would never again return to Privet Drive. Drink the potion. And don't ask so many questions. The answers are in the parcel. Come down after you're done and cook dinner." She said it in such a way that he was left with no room to argue and left before the shock could wear off.

He knew his aunt wouldn't poison him, no matter how she hated him. Labeled at the bottom of the vial was the name B. R. Greene. He supposed it was the brewer of the potion. With one big gulp, he drowned it.

He felt a kind of cleansing. All the potions, spells, charms cast on him seem to wear off. The sleeping draught that he consumed so that he could get some kind of sleep seemed to have dissipated. He felt awake, too awake, and knew that sleep would be hard to get. At once, he knew that Hermione had cast a calming charm on him. It didn't make much of a difference. He wasn't jittery.

Then he felt the greatest betrayal. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't will himself to. He felt a kind of detachment.

OoOoOo

He went up to his room, enlarged his trunk, not bothering to unpack. He opened the parcel. It contained much more things that the parcel's normal size would allow. Then again, he lived in a magical world.

He wondered how many more shocks he would receive that day. Then an owl swooped from the open window. The grilles were still in place. Harry could only take his letter before the owl had to fly off again. It gave him a displeased hoot, having no water and no owl treats after traveling for so far.

The letter read:

Dear Mr Potter,

You have been selected as a member of the Guild. All will be made clear to you if you accept. Deep condolences for the death of Dumbledore. Take the portkey to headquarters at midnight.

Guild.

There wasn't even a name, just a note. It disappeared once he finished reading it.

Was there anything else to lose? He thought bitterly. The wizarding world would happily celebrate once he managed to destroy Voldemort. Till then, all there was for him was jeers and disbelief that he could actually do it.

It was time. He felt it more than he heard it. The second chapter of his life has ended. There was no time to lose.

Great! He thought. I am putting my lives on the hands of strangers.

Looking around at his bare room, his eyes landed on the drawstring bag that he had packed again and again when he was young. The last time he did it was ten years ago. It seemed fitting that he took it with him.

The price of innocence. It was gone now.

Goodbye, Aunt Petunia. He silently thought as he went down to cook dinner magically. I disliked you since young. I still do. But thanks anyway, for in the midst of making my life miserable, at least your family taught me that life is really a bed of roses, albeit with too many thorns.

He heard Uncle Vernon and Dudley reach the front door, talking about school and seemingly unimportant details. He heard Aunt Petunia tell them that "the boy's back". Uncle Vernon grunted a reply.

Once again, he packed his belongings as he did ten year ago. He had more possessions now. He shrunk them and took the portkey, a small circlet with nothing in the middle.

The next morning, when Uncle Vernon banged on his door to make him clean his car, he was gone.

OoOoOo