When Harry woke up again he was all alone at the back of the school, lying on wet cement. Dudley's gang was gone, the only evidence that they were ever here at all being the new purple patches all over his body and his stuff being littered all over the pavement. Harry rubbed his eyes wearily, switching slightly whenever he touched a bruise. Blinking twice, he realized he needed to find his glasses. He searched around along the ground until he felt the touch of glass, and gingerly placed it back on. One of the lens was shattered, but it worked out for him because he only needed one eye to see.
He carefully got up on his feet and patted himself. It was sunset, and he was hungry, thirsty, and tired - all kinds of terrible. He was also scared, his heart twisting into a knot as he looked at the mess around him - his plastic lunch box covered in scrapes, papers ripped and pencils snapped, his bag soaked and emitting a foul odour…. He went looked around seeing what he can salvage. Lunch box, an eraser… he had trouble finding his fork.
Seeing what's left, he didn't want to go back anymore. Not where Aunt Petunia will scream at him for being ungrateful for the stuff they provide for him and where Dudley will just stand there, smirking. He didn't want to be locked up in the cupboard, it's really dark in there and it gets very lonely sometimes. He doesn't want to be in there for another eternality, wanting stretch and eat and feel sunlight. Those things would always seemed to be miles away when he's in the dark. He didn't want to go back.
He put the battered lunch box by the foot of the wall.
Harry huffed. He was going to run away again, this time for sure. He could see the first stars starting to emerge in the darkening sky, shinning cheerfully down at him. He wouldn't be able to see stars if he were in the cupboard.
Harry walked out of the school yard, hugging his arms in response to the night's frost.
He spent the night in-between some bushes, and by the time morning came, he found himself to be a bit feverish.
—
In a bright and small sea-blue painted shop was rows and rows of daily necessities, non-perishable goods, a television, and Mr Bebins. Once in a while a customer came in, looked through paid, and went out, all very usual routines.
Mr Bebins for his part would rather have been attending a live cooking show than sitting as a cashier for Bebin's Convenience. They were holding a show at a short-enough-drive away and yet he's stuck here watching it through a pixelated television screen, unable to see its vivid colours or smell its aromas. The audience present were to taste and judge the contestants' cooking.
"..Twice baked bubble and squeak jacket potatoes…"
The wooden door opened with the noises of a wind chime, and Mr Bebins had to look down to see who came inside. It was a child in wild black hair and shattered glasses, dressed in rags and covered in dirt. Mr Bebins looked away from the TV watched the kid with suspicion. What's he doing here? His mop of hair moved in-between the snack isle.
"..in an oven at 180 degrees. Shred one third of a cabbage and…"
The kid was tiny and Mr Bebins was sitting, and so when he came up to the counter Mr Bebins could only see his hair and half of his pair of green eyes. The kid put a bag of chips on the glass counter, then two five-pence coins, adjusting them to be side-by-side to each other. He had bruises on his arms.
Mr Bebins scanned the crisps and read, "That'll be 25 pence." He looked at the coins on the counter.
The boy looked nervously back.
"Do you have anything else to add?" Mr Bebins asked.
The boy paused, nodded, and pulled out an eraser from his pockets. It was a disgusting eraser, filled with pencil holes and grime, but you can tell it has been rubbed clean. Or at least, cleaner than what it had been before. It was somehow dirtier and better-cared-for than the average eraser of a school-children.
Suddenly, Mr Bebins gasped, taking the eraser high up for closer inspection. The boy looked at him.
"This is amazing!" Mr Bebins exclaimed, "It this would fit wonderfully in my eraser collection! I've been collecting for a while now and just couldn't seem to find one of this colour. Say, would you sell this to me for 15 pence?"
The boy did some math on his fingers, then nodded.
Mr Bebins smiled, "Thank you! Five, five, fifteen. That'll be enough for the bag of crisps," he pressed some buttons on the register. "Here's your recipe."
Before the boy took the recipe, Mr Bebins felt the need to ask, "Are your parents nearby?"
"My parents are dead," the boy took the recipe, then left the shop.
The television continued.
"… now it's all, juicy brown… mhm… that's delicious…"
—
He shouldn't have taken the highway.
He shouldn't have taken the highway.
Harry had always heard Aunt Petunia tell her husband to take the highway if they're going somewhere far, and so he thought if he took the highway he would end up somewhere where they'll never find him. But really? He shouldn't have taken the highway.
If he hadn't taken the highway he wouldn't have been so cold from all the wind from the cars. If he hadn't slipped up and walked off the grassy side and into the road he wouldn't have been hit by an incoming car. If he hadn't been hit by an incoming car he wouldn't have been bounced and flung into the air And if he hadn't been flung all the way up he wouldn't have been down in a dirt trench, off to the side. Had he not taken the highway, he wouldn't have been out of breath and curling up in pain.
His head was hot and throbbing. His limbs were weak and unsupportive. He was so tired, and having trouble keeping his eyes open. He wished for someone to help him. Maybe a friend, so that he can have someone to sit next to during lunch. He wished someone could come and slap his tiredness away, telling him to get back to his feet and keep going, that all his injuries will heal and this little obstacle can't hold him back. If he slept now, he might be returned back to the Dursleys when he wakes up.
He thought and thought about it more, but the more he thought the less he noticed that he was falling into dreams.
While he rested, his magic had all the freedom to come out and explore, filling the static wet air.
—
Somewhere in the clouds of magic, a star and a bird conversed.
The star had been awakened by a magic and had only now began to talk, and it spoke to the nearest being who would hear, which was the bird.
"The boy is dying," the star said, "With all his magic I can easily fix his wounds, like what I had always done, but now he wishes for a friend so that this won't happen all over again. That is what the magic tells me."
The bird stopped its flight and landed on the closest branch. "A friend? A friend! How are you going to do that?"
"I cannot make gold out of nothing, if I were to, it would be rotten and reduced to ashes the moment any pressure were to be put onto it. As such, I cannot make a soul out of things that are not soul. If I were to do so it would merely be an empty husk, devoid of emotion and sensible thought."
"I see, does that mean you will be rejecting the magic's request? The boy has a potent magic, does it not tempt you to accept?"
"I don't need you to tell me that. It is tempting enough on its own…" The star thought, "All considered, there is a fragment of a soul inside the boy that is not his. The soul of an enemy of his. An enemy of many, but it would give Harry great potential in the future if he were to-"
"Stop! This would be unfair to both the living parties. Not only are you placing the boy in great danger, he also has the responsibility of leading a war in his fate."
"A war that he will be much better suited to lead if he survives the mental anguish the companion will bring. The boy will be safe, the other will be deterred from harming the boy physically since his body will be made from the boy's magic. You can't see it from your view below, but in the grand scheme of things the challenges will make him stronger. It will bring bad, yes, but it will also bring good. There is really no reason to resist this. Just let the magic pass."
The bird sighed. The star told the magic what to do, and went back to slumber, belly full.
—
Author's note:
Any feedback is welcomed haha