Chapter 2: Escape

Harry had been at the Dursleys for a week. He could not stand it there much longer and figured he might as well get what he has to do over and done with. He decided to approach the Dursley's when the time was right. The time was right, right after dinner, where the Dursleys were fed and watered, well Uncle Vernon would be anyway.

The Dursleys were gathered in the living room watching whatever Uncle Vernon wanted to watch on the telly- tonight that was a boxing match. Harry lingered on the stairs, deciding how best to get the Dursleys attention, after so much silence between. The tension between the Dursleys and Harry was like a volcano; all that was needed was an eruption that might just happen tonight.

Harry cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and entered the living room. Uncle Vernon took his eyes off the telly long enough to glare at Harry and then switched his attention back to the match.

"What do you want?" growled Uncle Vernon not even looking at Harry.

"I have some questions I need to ask you and Aunt Petunia," Harry replied coolly.

"Can't it wait?" said Uncle Vernon impatiently, "I'm busy watching the match. It figures you would choose now to speak after not saying a word all week. I was actually getting used to the quiet." He was now yelling, "Come on, McCoy, left hook, left hook!" to no one in particular besides the telly.

"Actually, it can't," Harry replied, anger slowly bubbling inside him. He grabbed the remote and turned off the telly. He was standing in front of the telly, breathing deeply.

Uncle Vernon was slowly turning purple. He was watching Harry with narrowed eyes and expected him to pull out his wand, the tip just visible in his pocket.

"Petunia! Get in here, the boy needs you!" Uncle Vernon hollered while giving Harry a smirk. Aunt Petunia came into the living room, her apron tied around her waist; she was cleaning the kitchen, no doubt to make it more immaculate than it already was.

She walked over to where Uncle Vernon was and stood behind his recliner, her hands resting on the back of it.

"Well go on, and make it quick. I know I'll be needing a brandy when we're through" said Uncle Vernon brusquely, has hands on his lap.

Harry controlled his temper at this remark.

"I want to know about my parents," Harry replied.

"Shouldn't you have asked this question when you were younger?" Uncle Vernon asked, sarcasm in his voice, "Not that we don't love talking about them".

"Isn't that right, Petunia?" he turned to his wife and asked. Aunt Petunia just stood there, contemplating what her husband just asked and said nothing.

"Oh I did and what was the response you gave me? Oh yeah, they died in a car crash, which was a lie! You knew Voldemort killed them! You know more than you let on, especially you, Aunt Petunia. You knew about dementors and other stuff in the Wizarding World. What do you know, you have to tell me, before I leave!" Harry was right in front of her now, leaning over Uncle Vernon.

"What do you bloody think I know, Harry? Where are you going? You can't leave here until your 17, which you-" she yelled.

"Are. I just turned. I knew you would never tell me anything! You're just like him!" he spat at Uncle Vernon. "Afraid of everyone knowing what I am, that I'm a wizard and you know what? I have had enough, of you, of Privet Drive, of everyone! It is not like the two of you ever gave a crap about me anyway. I'm leaving, and don't try to contact me either, because if you do you'll get what you deserve and I want be here to save your fat asses like I did with Dudley and the dementors."

The Dursleys stood there shocked. Uncle Vernon was livid and he raised his hand about to slap Harry. Aunt Petunia just stood there silent, her eyes downcast. She would always stand by her man and his idiotic ways. Harry knew she would never fess up to being a Squib.

Uncle Vernon's hand moved in a motion to strike Harry and kick him in the ass, a head start for him to no longer burden the Dursleys. Harry ran out of the room before he had the chance, packed all his belongings, throwing them angrily into his suitcase and making sure there was no evidence that Harry Potter ever had the pleasure of having Dudley's second bedroom.

He did not care about Aunt Petunia's love protecting him like his mother's; it did not mean anything. Dumbledore was just telling him that so he would not feel so bad about being treated like dirt for seventeen years. And protect Harry from what? From himself, from controlling his magic, from Voldemort?

With those thoughts, Harry just flew out of the Dursleys house on his broom.He did not know where he was going; he just felt the cool air in his face. He heard footsteps running up the stairs before he left, he would have loved to see the look on the Dursleys faces. The window thrown open, Harry gone for good and cold air blowing the curtains was the scene they would be left with.They would probably jump for joy or have a heart attack, whichever suited their fancy. All Harry knew he was free and had the sky and his feet, he could only think of one place to go where he felt loved, The Weasleys.