Harry gave a frustrated sigh as he opened his last trap and found only a small squirrel. He had two other traps, but those had been empty when he checked and he had been seriously hoping for something a bit bigger, like a rabbit.
It had been a week since the wilderness had become a safer place for the expecting wizard than civilization. Harry had spent several days at the cave he'd found, recuperating and doing his best to heal and take care of his wounds. He had been able to catch a few small animals in make-shift traps—which he had surprisingly learned from Dudley. The sadistic little sod used to set up traps in their neighborhood to catch stray cats or rabbits or any other poor creature that wandered into his traps before tormenting them with his gang of friends.
It had been horrible what he would do to those animals—shoving sharp sticks into the cage-like trap until they stopped moving or kicking it like a bloody football while cackling at the terrified and pained shrieks of the creature inside. Dudley knew that he hated it so he made it his duty to always force Harry to watch, his friends holding him still while Dudley put on a little show that had made Harry vomit on more than one occasion. It wasn't a pleasant batch of memories for him, but it had given him enough information to build a few rudimentary traps of his own. It also steeled his stomach when he actually caught an animal and had to kill them quickly and hopefully without much pain. Once the animal was dead, preparing the meat became rather easy and guiltless.
The cooked meat had been worlds different from the handful of berries he had consumed the first night. After feeling how quickly his strength returned after that, he had no more qualms with hunting for his food. After all, he knew that it was best for the growth of his child to eat regularly and so there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to ensure the health of his child.
It had been a good set up, but after a while, he knew he had to get moving again. There weren't many animals in the area he had made camp in and he couldn't stay in the woods forever, he needed to keep moving.
The night after leaving, he hadn't found a great place to sleep, so he ended up just making camp between the trees. Two days later, he found a rocky overhang near the river and set up there for a while.
Which is where he's been staying since.
He would eventually have to leave his wooded asylum, but he wasn't in a huge rush to leave yet. He knew that the Order and Ministry would be hunting him down. They made it very clear at Diagon Alley that they wanted him dead. Sides had been chosen, lines have been drawn, and Harry was now and probably always will be Enemy #1 for them. He's a wanted fugitive now.
His best shot was to lay low, keep hidden until he can discretely leave England and probably find refuge on the continent. His fame might not have been solely contained within Britain, but outside of England there were still maybe people who didn't know his face and had forgotten his name. Voldemort had wreaked havoc in England, but he had not spread to continental Europe the way Grindlewald had, and so many countries hadn't been very invested in their war. It meant that Harry would have anonymity and wouldn't forever be kept from the world of magic once he left his home country.
Harry sighed and brought his catch back to the river to be prepared and cleaned before he cooked it. There was now only a slight limp to his gait. The gash on his calf had scabbed over and closed up nicely. It still smarted every now and then, a bit of muscle weakness and bruising, but it hadn't gotten infected and he could walk pretty far on it before needing a break. He'd probably have a scar, but he certainly was no stranger to scars.
The wound on his shoulder, however . . . now that was a different story. Just as he had predicted, it was a lot harder to tend to. He cleaned it each morning and night, making sure to clean off the bandage as well as often as he could. Unfortunately, the wound kept opening up when he moved the wrong way and it was taking much longer to heal because of it. Harry had even tried to heal it just a little bit with some magic, but he had barely started when he felt the warning pressure of exhaustion on the edges of his mind and stopped immediately before he hurt himself.
After a few days, the wound became inflamed despite his best efforts and he knew it would turn into a pretty bad infection if he wasn't careful. Though, in a turn of luck, Harry somehow came across a plant while looking for a place to set up his next trap and was surprised to realize he recognized it from his Hogwarts years.
It had narrow green leaves and little pale purple flowers along its stem. Mentha Arvensis. Better known as 'wild mint.' It wasn't magical or anything, but it was used a lot in potions—especially healing potions—as it was a very strong anti-inflammatory. Putting just a little bit on his bandages before tying them on again actually helped quite a lot. Also, chewing on the leaves every once in a while, helped to keep the effects constant.
The progress of his injuries wasn't the only development though. He hadn't a lot to eat every day, and yet, there was still the slightest swell below his belly-button. Harry really wished he wasn't stuck in such dangerous circumstances so he could properly revel in the tiniest bump of proof of his precious child's growth. Though, it had spurred him into setting up more traps, trying to provide as much nutrients as possible, as well as resting a hand over his stomach whenever it wasn't occupied. Harry even spent a few hours standing in the river, knee-deep with his trousers rolled up and a long stick he had sharpened into a spear in an attempt to catch some fish as well. He didn't catch a single fish that first day, but after a while he got the feel of it and managed to cook up something other than squirrel or the rare rabbit when he was lucky.
When he eventually did move on, he stuck with his plan of following the river. The further downstream he traveled, the calmer and shallower the waters became. Eventually, Harry was able to cross without fear of the current upsetting his footing or the waters going too deep.
Harry crossed over and it was a good thing he did since not long after that, the river was joined by another, more violent one and the rest was a wild churn of rapids and sharp drops from jagged stone. The river also seemed to curve off to the left, bringing it back closer to the way he came from and Harry knew it was time to leave the river behind. He stayed near the water's edge for a few more nights before setting out in another direction. From keeping note of where the sun rose and set, he knew he was loosely heading South-East. That didn't do much in telling him where he was headed, but it did make sure he wasn't walking in circles.
Harry had yet to see more than smaller animals and a few groups of deer—which were obviously too large for him to hunt as he mostly relied on traps. He hadn't been too worried about encountering larger and more dangerous animals, seeing as pretty much every large natural predator in England had been hunted to extinction more than a century ago.
Thankfully, the biggest threat Harry would face out there were people—who seemed to have never stepped foot on this land—and the elements, which he was handling with at least mild efficiency.
Though, now that he thought about it, this forest might actually be warded against muggles. There were large chunks of land and towns that had been totally hidden by magic—Diagon and Knockturn Alley for example, right in the middle of London—to protect both magical people and creatures. Huge bits of forest set aside for magical creatures so that they could thrive in their natural habitats and not worry about muggles tearing up the land to build five-story car-parks and enormous glass and steal monstrosities.
The more Harry traversed through this endless forest, the likelier it seemed that this was indeed one of those warded spaces. Subsequently, these places had also drawn in non-magical animals. Which meant he shouldn't let his guard down, as it was still possible to have a run-in with something he couldn't defend himself against.
So far, though, every animal Harry encountered was far more afraid of him than he was of it.
Two weeks in the forest, alone save for the silent passenger in his belly, was certainly an experience. There wasn't much to occupy Harry's mind as he walked for hours on end or stared into the glowing embers of his fire and waited for sleep to finally encapsulate him. He tried not to think of anything at all, not wishing to be distracted or caught off guard, but that eventually proved an impossible task as the forced silence in his head only drove him further around the bend.
Which caused him to turn to the only thoughts that didn't serve to remind him of the shite situation he had found himself in currently. The dreams had helped him through the war and in the end they had given him the most amazing gift he had never dared to hope for. He wasn't having the dreams anymore, but the memories of companionship could still serve to reassure him.
The more he thought about them, though, the more oddities he found. And perhaps it was just his bored mind fixating on nothing, but it did take his mind off things for a while. There were things that didn't really add up, though. Such as the fact that Tom could speak in his dreams but never spoke his name and didn't seem to really recognize him. Which probably had to do with the nature of a Horcrux and perhaps it wasn't really aware most of the time. However, the last time he saw the Horcrux—in the train station when Voldemort tried to kill him—Tom seemed perfectly aware then.
Also, the Tom he'd met in the train station had looked . . . younger. He was taller than Harry, but he lacked height and width of frame he carried later on in life. He couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen-years-old. In contrast, the Tom who had occupied his slumber was older, firmer, more built and sure of himself. If Harry had to hazard a guess at his age, he'd say he was closer to his early twenties or so.
No matter how much he thought himself in circles, though, in the end he always came back to the same place; dreams were nebulous at best. Even memories were subject to a certain level of unreliability. Though, such thoughts did keep him entertained in the pressing heat, they were nothing to miss needed sleep over.
Surprisingly, when he actually does encounter a dangerous animal, he walks away completely unscathed.
The further he walked, the less flat and level the land became. His progress was slowed down by steep inclines and rocky, jagged terrain. Harry had found a place to settle for the day earlier that morning. After a bit of exploration, he even found a small stream nearby and decided it was about time he gave his clothing a thorough wash.
Currently, Harry was crouched over the stream in nothing but his pants, rubbing together the material of his shirt while his trousers hung from a tree nearby to dry in the mid-day sun. It was a rare cloudless day with a pleasant wind threading through the trees like reeds and emitting low, phantom notes and cadences as it chased away the heat. Through the verdant canopy above, flickering pillars of light beamed down and left brief kisses of feathered warmth across his bare back. The song of birds echoed through the branches to promise him that he wasn't alone.
The small stream was not nearly as cold as the river he had left behind, but it was still quite cool and appeared fairly clean. His lips twitched triumphantly as he saw the dirt and splotches of dried blood fade away until it was nothing more than a shadow of a stain and the water ran clear trailing after the submerged material.
Pulling out the shirt, Harry wrung it out as well as he could before fiercely snapping the fabric and shaking loose a spray of smaller water droplets. Hanging it on the branch next to his jeans, Harry grabbed the material that used to serve as a bandage of his leg but now was more of a multi-purpose cloth. Not the most sanitary but there was only so much he could do with what he had and cutting up more of his cloak just wasn't an option, as it was his primary source of warmth on those frigid nights when the fire died out as he slept.
Harry sat down on a flat stone near the stream, dipped the cloth in the water and began to clean himself as best as he could starting from his dirty ankles up. It was as he did this, letting his mind drift away with the simple task of scrubbing at his skin until it was clean and slightly pink from his ministrations, that he felt comfortable and that, when he eventually made it out of this mess, all he wanted was a small house in the woods. Away from people, reliant only on himself, and able to raise his child in peace.
He wanted his little one to never know of the life he'd escaped from. Never know of the people who betrayed their father and tried to kill them before they had even taken their first breath. He didn't want them to know about 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' or 'The Dark Lord Voldemort'. He would homeschool his child if he had to. And if his son or daughter ever asked him who their other father was, Harry would tell them Harry was their father, and that he had just wanted them so much that they had appeared in his belly. Abstractly, it was true. He had not conceived his child, not physically.
He had not even met the tiny human in his belly, and yet he already felt more love towards them than anyone in his whole life! He had never known his heart could grow this big, that love could be this boundless, unconditional, or powerful. It suddenly made sense how his mother's love and sacrifice had done the impossible and deflected the killing curse of the most powerful wizard in centuries. His child made him want to do the impossible—like, he felt he could do it, for them.
Harry would do anything for—
Harry froze at the deep, resonating grunt that certainly wasn't human. Slowly, Harry looked to his left and found not even five meters downstream, ambling out of the foliage was a great beast of a bear. He didn't dare move an inch as he watched the creature lower its head and began lapping at the water rushing under its nose—totally unaware of the human boy crouched further upstream. Harry hardly blinked, his heart suddenly ramping up in his chest almost painfully so.
If he'd had his wand, this situation would hardly faze him. He could simply stun the bear—or better yet, he could just disillusion himself and go unnoticed. However, Harry didn't have a wand. He could barely cast aguamenti in his state without putting a strain on his body—which was already busy nurturing and growing his child—much less fully defend himself from a bear who was likely five-times his weight. He was just as defenseless as a muggle. More so, even, since he was nearly naked and didn't have his pocket knife on him to at least try to defend himself if the bear attacked.
His mind warred with itself, conflicted on whether he should try to flee or to stay exactly where he was and hope that the bear didn't notice him. Unable to make up his mind, Harry just sat there, staring at it and waiting for something to happen. He had faced deadlier creatures in the past—dragons, acromantulas, dementors, a basilisk—so why did he feel more afraid now than when faced with any of those creatures?
Harry's hand silently moved to protectively cover the nearly-flat plane of his abdomen.
Larger than his fear, a wave of strength bubbled up in his chest and clenched around his heart. He forcefully slowed his breathing and in turn, the pounding in his head subsided as the blood in his veins settled from a torrent to a calmer thrum. He focused every ounce of his attention on the threat in his vicinity, watching for the slightest shift to warn him he'd been spotted. The bear, however, continued to lap at the stream until it had apparently had its fill. As it raised his head, black eyes shining like obsidian marbles and loose jowls dripping with water and saliva, it seemed to blink lethargically and raised a large, dangerously-clawed paw and rub at its furry round ear for a moment as bugs zipped and buzzed around its matted fur.
As the bear shook the dripping water from the fur around its maw, it slowly turned around and walked back the way it had come. Harry, who waited nearly a whole minute to breathe properly, took note of the direction the bear walked so that he could try to avoid a reunion with it later on. Stumbling over to his wet clothes, Harry grabbed them and quickly made his way back to his little camp. He didn't wish push his luck and risk it coming back while he waited for them to dry. Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone out here to see him in his state of undress.
That night, even though his fire was built high, his clothes were clean and dry, and the wind had settled down enough to keep the nightly chill from turning unbearable, Harry found it very difficult to fall asleep. No matter how much he tried to force him to relax and rest because he needed every minute of sleep he could catch, his mind refused to settle knowing that the bear was out there somewhere—and perhaps other deadly animals as well.