Sometimes Harry really hated his mysterious ability to transport himself to odd places. Sure, it was awfully convenient when running from Dudley. Dead-end? No worries, just think about not wanting to be there, and you're on the roof! Simple! Yeah, not simple. Not simple at all. The trouble with transporting yourself on the roof is that little seven year old boys should not be on the roof. Harry avoided getting beat up, but he had just gotten in trouble with the teachers instead.
But Harry had never suddenly found himself so far away from his house before. It looked more like the older parts of London than the suburbs. The streets were cobblestoned, and the tall, three story buildings were made of bricks, and were smushed together, leaving no space. It had suddenly turned very dark, and Harry looked up, but didn't see any stars.
After Harry stopped berating himself, he turned his head to the side, trying to find someone. But of course, no one was around. It was still raining heavily, and Harry jumped when another bright flash cracked across the sky. He was quickly getting soaked, was already frightened, and clearly lost. He rubbed his arms, and decided to try knocking on a few doors.
Hopefully, he'd at least be able to figure out where he was, maybe whoever answered the door would be nice enough togive him directions to a shelter. He hoped.
Not wasting any time, Harry walked up a small set of steps to the door of the building closest to him. He couldn't find a doorbell, so he settled for the old knocker fastened to the door, hoping he wasn't being presumptuous. He waited, shivered, and began wondering if he should move onto the next door.
But soon enough, a scrawny old man opened the door, dressed in odd nightclothes. It was a pale blue gown, complete with a nightcap. Harry chalked the dress choice up to the man's age. The man squinted, fumbled with some spectacles, then glanced down in surprise.
"What do you want, boy?" He hissed, "Do you know that it's in the middle of the night?"
Harry's head jerked up in surprise. He was sure it couldn't have been later than 3:00 PM.
The sky was pitch black, but the seven year old's mind immediately blamed the storm. He
flinched at another crack of lightning, and struggled to keep his composure.
"I-I'm sorry, sir. But… but you see…"
"Spit it out!" The man grumpily snapped.
"Ah, I'm- I'm lost, sir. I was wondering… wondering if you could give me directions." The old man blinked, and squinted through his glasses at Harry.
"Hmm… where do you live, boy?" Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep his now soaked body warm.
"Um… Number 4, Privet drive, sir. It's… I don't think it's anywhere near here, sir." The old man's eyebrows frowned, and he shook his head a little.
"No, never heard of it." He seemed to contemplate something, looking at Harry from the corners of his eyes. But, a woman's voice called out behind him, and the scrawny man turned around to reveal a plump woman, about his age, in similar nightclothes, only light pink.
"Harold, what is it? Who's there?" She glared down at Harry, a frown on her lips.
"He says he's lost. Don't recognize the address though." The woman rolled her eyes, and looked down at him. There was an awkward silence, and she snapped at the man, her husband, Harry assumed. The elderly man flinched in the same way that Harry did with lightning.
"Well?! Send him away, then!" She turned in dismissal, and Harry's heart dropped. The man seemed to take pity on him, because he pleaded with his wife.
"Let's let him stay the night. He's only a lost boy. What harm can he do?"
"What harm?!" She screeched, and this time both males flinched. "He can rob us blind, for one! Why do you insist on helping every dirty stray that comes knocking on our doorstep?!"
"Oh come now, Meredith. Just let him dry off, at least. The poor lad with die out there." Harry chose to remain silent, not wanting to flip the tables unnecessarily. He prayed that the old man would win this spat. Instead he focused on shivering and backing the man up as much as he could. Meredith hesitated, and after a few tense moments she nodded her head stiffly and walked further inside.
"He stays the night, then we give him to the authorities. They'll decide what to do from there." Harry was relieved, at least now he wouldn't have to try and walk all the way to a police station in the rain. He thanked the couple profusely, and let the woman lead him to a spare bedroom. "This is where you can sleep. Blankets," she threw some cotton fabric onto the bed, along with a stiff looking pillow, "you can figure out what to do for clothes, just ask before you take anything, hang up your wet clothes somewhere to dry. Tomorrow, Harold will take you to the constable, and don't expect a meal. You'll leave first thing, and I don't want to find one thing out of place." With that, she walked out the room, shutting the door behind her.
Harry turned his spring green eyes around the room. There really wasn't much, just a bed, and a chair in the corner. Harry's brow furrowed in concentration, trying to come up with an idea of what to cover himself with as he stripped himself of his soaked clothing. In the end, Harry made due with covering himself with the blankets, and hoping that he wouldn't toss and turn so much that he ended up embarrassing himself come morning.
As he lay in the stiff bed, he tried to figure out what had happened. He had been hiding from Dudley in a storage space at school. There was a lightning storm, and Dudley had opened the door, a bright flash of the electricity… then he was in the same storm, only in a city. Harry realized that it more than likely was in the middle of London, so the storm probably wasn't the same one. It must have been the same idea as when he suddenly found himself on the roof of the school. I must really be scared of Dudley if I send myself all the way to bloody London just to get away from him. Harry thought as his mind wandered to more insignificant paths.
Harry flinched at another flash, and started shaking in his bed. Now that he only had his thoughts to distract him, it was harder to stop fear from convulsing through him. He told himself that he needed sleep, if that was the only way to escape. As he closed his eyes against the white flashes, and pulled the pillow over the booming thunder, his last thought was that he could think about this tomorrow.
Harry woke to the door to his temporary room forcefully being opened, jolting him awake. He barely had enough time to make sure he was covered, and looked up to see a blurred Meredith standing over him. He reached down to the ground where he had put his glasses down for the night, and after putting them on, he saw her arms were crossed with a scowl on her face.
"Up. We're taking you to the constable." Harry pushed down the idea that the police equaled jail, instead of people helping him get back home. He nodded, and waited for the woman to leave the room so he could get dressed. He had to ask her politely to let him get dressed in privacy with a deep blush on his face, stating that he had no other clothes with him other than those that he came with. The woman became flushed, but said nothing as she stiffly walked back out and slammed the door shut. After a few seconds, he got up, wrapping the blanket around his small body for warmth, and walked to the chair in the corner. He had draped his wet clothes there, hoping they would dry over night. Feeling them, they were still damp, but not enough to make him sick when he went outside. He slipped them on and rushed to get to the door.
Harry saw Harold waiting by the door, looking at a pocket watch. The old man studied Harry as he came closer. Meredith was there, and she immediately started manhandling him roughly, checking his pockets and such, any place where a thief might hide his loot. Harry felt insulted, but didn't comment, telling himself that they were just being cautious, and had every right to be suspicious like a mantra. Harold winced every time his wife was especially cruel. After she was grudgingly satisfied, she huffed and hurried off farther into the house. After she was gone, Harold felt it safe to remark to the boy at what he had noticed.
"Now that I look at you, boy, you have… very odd clothes. Is that what they wear in the country nowadays?" Harry looked down at himself, and checked that what he was wearing was normal. They were. The boy then studied Harold, thinking, I could say the same about you.
He was wearing another old fashioned outfit. It was a tweed suit, and he even had a tie. Again, Harry brushed the strange feeling growing in his chest away, telling himself that it was because the man had probably been born in the first five decades of the 1900's.
So instead of commenting, Harry shrugged with an apologetic smile, telling him that he didn't have any other clothes. Harold nodded absently, still studying Harry with a peculiar look on his face. "No matter, let's leave now," was all the old man said, as he opened the door and stepped outside, making room for Harry to leave as well. After closing the door and locking it, Harold started walking down the road, glancing back to make sure the boy was following him. Harry didn't lag behind, and kept his eyes on his guide.
Not many people were out, but Harry couldn't help but notice the strange clothing everyone wore. They were fashion straight out of the 30's, with the suits, the dresses, everything. The cars were from looked to be in the same period as well. He didn't have much time to gawk at everything, because Harold was quickly gaining speed, and the boy had to run to keep up. After he did so, Harry tuned everything out to focus on other matters.
The Dursleys were not someplace where Harry would willingly go to if he had a choice. But that was the problem, he didn't have a choice. There was no where he could go. He preferred being treated like a servant in a familiar place over being free and alone in an apparently uncaring world. Harold seemed nice enough, but he was obviously not the one who usually wore the pants in the marriage. Harry would just have to resign himself to going back to the Dursleys. He shivered at the thought of the consequences waiting for him at Number 4. They would not be happy, especially sense this whole fiasco was the result of him being a freak. They'd also probably be disappointed that he came back.
As Harry had been thinking, they had arrived at the station. Harold opened the door and ushered the young boy inside.
"Good morning, Charles," Harold greeted a man in a police uniform.
"Morning," the man looked down at Harry, then back at Harold. "Who's this?"
"Boy says he's lost. Came knocking at my door in the middle of the night asking for directions. He was soaked to the bone, so I offered him a night stay. But I can't very well take care of a child, and Meredith wants him out. So we figured we could leave him here, and you can help him find his way." After Harold explained, Charles looked down at Harry, frowning. It seemed that a lot of people were doing that at him lately.
"Did he steal anything?" The constable grunted out, still scrutinizing Harry.
"No, Meredith insisted on searching him at the door. Nothing was on him, not even a coin." Harry was relieved that Harold was vouching for him, maybe now he could get some help to the Dursleys. Inwardly, Harry blanched at the thought of actually wanting to go back to the Dursleys.
Charles hummed, and he nodded his head. He smiled as he spoke to Harry, suddenly seeming kind and gentle. Harry was surprised, and thought, did I pass some sort of test?
"All right then. You can leave him to me, Harold. I'll take care of him personally." The two men nodded to each other, and with one last glance to the seven year old, Harold left the station. The constable turned to him, still keeping the kind smile on his face. He then started a small interrogation when they where in an enclosed office, and Harry rushed to answer. "So, what is your name, boy?"
"Harry Potter, sir."
"Where do you live, Potter?"
"Number 4, Privet Drive, sir."
"Who do you live with?"
"My uncle and aunt, sir. Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and my cousin Dudley. It's… it's rather far away." Charles frowned at that, and he leveled a stern gaze at Harry.
"How far away?"
"The suburbs, actually." Harry glanced up sheepishly, expecting the man to be astonished that a seven year old boys could get lost at such a large scale. And as usual, even Harry himself didn't have an answer. But instead of surprise, there was only confusion. Yes, some bafflement was expected, but only with a mix of other emotions. Now Harry was bewildered as well.
"Excuse me, but… I don't understand what you're talking about." Harry's brow now furrowed, and he kept on thinking about how this man couldn't have even heard about the sort of in between stage of city and country.
"Huh? But, you know… the suburbs. A multitude of houses that look exactly alike, and a bunch of stuck up middle class live in them. They all have the same property more or less. Two story houses with lawns, and most of the time you can't tell your house from the next." Harry started to ramble on about the place he had been dumped, curse however thought it was a good idea, but suddenly, Harry really, really wanted to be back.
"What? Look, Mr. Potter, there is no such thing as a… suburb." Charles put his hands on Harry's shoulders, and gazed at the boy like the constable was beginning to think him crazy. Harry's eyes grew wide, and he raised his voice in panic. All the while, Charles tried to make him quiet lightly shaking him, trying to interrupt him.
"Have you not even heard of it? I live on Number 4, Privet Drive."
"Mr. Potter, I think it would be best if you-"
"My uncle is a company manager, he always calls me 'boy' or 'freak.' My aunt-"
"Boy, quiet down."
"-stays at home, and she's constantly snooping at the neighbors. My cousin's a-"
"Will you please listen-"
"-fat walrus that hasn't got a brain in his body, and likes to chase me around to beat me up."
"Quiet!"
"I hate all of them, but it's the only bloody place I have to go to, so I'd very much like it if you could help me get there instead of acting like I've imagined my entire life!" Finally, Harry felt tears sting his eyes, and he stopped talking. He put his head down, not wanting a stranger to see him cry. He was seven years old, for God's sake. Enough with the pity water works. Charles let out a relieved breath, and calmed down enough to force a soft tone.
"Finished, Mr. Potter? Yes? Good. Now why don't you sit down, and I'll go talk to some people. Can you read?" Of course I can read. What, do you think there's still an uneducated mass? Harry desperately wanted to snap this out loud, but knew it was just to vent out his fright, so refrained.
"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, still looking down.
"Good, er…" the constable looked around, and placed a newspaper in front of him. He looked proud of himself, and Harry didn't have the heart to point out that a seven year old could hardly understand a newspaper. "You can read today's. Don't worry, you'll be… home soon." He finished at he walked out the door, closing it behind him.
Harry turned to the paper, sighed through his nose, and noted that it was brand new, still in a bag to keep the rain off. The boy glanced at the date, and his eyes couldn't leave the page.
It was obviously fresh off the printer, or at least that new compared to what the date implied as to the paper's age. There was no way that a professional would mistake the date so drastically, and even if they did, it wouldn't make it through the person's coworkers.
But… this was impossible. This was straight out of a book.
"Today's date: September 12th, 1933"
Not… bloody… possible…
AN: Okay, here's my plan. I'm not going to have a set date for updates, but instead I'm going to give myself a one week time limit. So, you should at least get a new chapter up by next Tuesday.
Just to tell you, I have no way of knowing if England had suburbs in the 1930's. The story would have a hard time moving along if it turns out that they did. Sorry, I don't even know if my country had suburbs in the 30's. So, let's just imagine that they weren't even in existence at the time. Slight AU now in that aspect. And no, none of you have to correct me. If you do then it's just going to bother me forever, but I'm not going to end up doing much else about it. So please, don't bother.
Wow, that was long for a side note. Either way, review please!
