A/N: Hello readers! This story will contain strong mentions of abuse, PTSD, and trauma. Please don't read if this is triggering for you. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this story. It will probably be only 4 chapters or so, and I'm almost finished writing all of them. Let me know what you think, and if this gets positive feedback I'll update soon.

He didn't know where he was going or what he was planning on doing when he got there. All he knew was that he needed to get out. Walking quickly down the sidewalk, his eyes blurred with tears almost to the point where he couldn't see, not that he could anyway with his fractured glasses already fogged with the force of the rain. He stumbled on legs that felt like dead weight, forcing himself to stay upright. The rain had become a tired drizzle, but the streets were still flooded with frigid water, puddles inches deep forming on the uneven sidewalk.

This wasn't the first time he had tried to escape, but it was the first time he had done it at night, bringing nothing with him so he could move faster. Hopefully, this will be the last time. He didn't think he'd survive if they caught him again. He'd barely lived through the last time, and that was months ago. Things had gotten much worse since then, they had become even bolder in their attacks. The boy was so deliriously tired he couldn't even walk straight. He tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and fell into a puddle, feeling his knee collide roughly with the pavement. Any other child his age would cry out in pain after that, but the child was so used to pain skinned knees didn't even phase him anymore. It did help take his mind off some of his other ailments, for which the boy was grateful.

The street was desolate and gloomy, feebly lit only by flickering street lamps sporadically placed along the sidewalk. His rolled pants were now soaked and heavy on his tired, sore legs. He'd been walking for what felt like an hour, though his concept of time hadn't ever really been established, so he really had no idea. All the little boy could think about was how weary he was, and how very much he longed to stop and sit down, even for a few seconds, but he couldn't get the nagging thought that they were following him from the back of his mind. As he'd been walking, he'd made as many turns as he possibly could short of going in a circle to try to deter them from him as much as possible, but he still didn't feel comfortable. He needed a refuge. Somewhere to rest where they couldn't find him, where he could escape the constant abuse and never have to go back. He just didn't know how.

He was about to collapse. His thin legs felt like jelly, and he didn't think they could support him for even a moment longer. Just as he was about to lay down in the middle of the sidewalk, he vaguely saw a shadow in the distance of what appeared to be a structure. He inched towards it, incapable of moving faster, and he could dimly make out what appeared to be swings through his bleary eyes. A playground? He thought as he continued in the direction of the welcoming shadow. Yes. That's what it's called. The boy had never been on one, but he had heard his cousin speak of them as though they were the best things on Earth. Maybe this is what was in front of him. And there it was. Right in front of him. The structure towered over him and cast shadows onto the wet mulch. The streetlights above shone bright reflections on the metal slide, the rain panging off the surface.

He had barely noticed, but the rain had started to pick up speed, and before long, the pouring rain soaked his shirt, chilling him unpleasantly to the bone. He knew he needed to get out of the rain as the wind picked up and he distantly heard thunder, but the playground was too exposed. What if they were to find him? He looked around for a place to stay, pushing his black hair out of his eyes which had stuck to his face in the rain. He wanted somewhere safe, dry, and preferably a place where he could hide. He knew they probably didn't even know he was gone yet because it was still in the middle of the night, but he still couldn't get it out of his mind. In the corner of the mulch, a weathered picnic table stood. It wasn't much, but it looked like his best option. The boy found a relatively dry spot and curled up, his soaking clothes doing nothing to keep him warm. Shivering, he fell asleep, thoughts of fear replaced by the desire to be warm.

HJP

"Mum! Come quick!" The loud voice of a little girl woke the small boy with a start, jerking him back to reality. The boy opened his eyes to see a girl with brilliantly red hair standing over him. He heard footsteps as the girl's mother, he assumed, came over to where she was standing, blocking the sun from his eyes. She had the same red hair as her daughter, he noticed.

"Oh dear, honey are you ok?" She knelt down under the picnic table, her skirt covering her knees, which rested on the mulch. His eyes widened with fear, and he scrambled to stand up on the other side of the table, his mind racing to find the most efficient escape. He knew these people weren't safe. They couldn't be. "Hey, it's alright, come here." She had stood up before as he had made to run but now knelt down again so they were face to face. He stared at her, eyes wide, but not daring to move in case she was to grab him. His aunt had always told him it was never a good idea to run. You'd always be caught, and it would just make the punishment worse. "We're not here to hurt you, alright? Where are your parents?" He calmed slightly, the woman did look concerned for him. He spoke for the first time in what seemed like weeks.

"I don't have parents." Her expression softened even more and she smiled warmly at him.

"Do you have any relatives?" He thought back to his aunt and uncle. No, he didn't trust her enough to tell her he had run away. She would probably take him back, telling him he'd be ok and they were his new parents like everyone had. So, he took the safe route and just shook his head. She looked even more sympathetic and worried if that was possible. "Let's start with an easier question." The kindness never left her voice and eyes, which is what made him comfortable enough to answer her next question. "What's your name?"

"Harry." He said this so quietly she had to lean in to hear him.

"Well, Harry. I'm Mrs. Weasley. This is my daughter, Ginny." She touched the girl's arm and the girl flashed him a small smile. She looked to be almost his age, maybe a little younger. She could have been a friend of Dudley's, his cousin. "It's very nice to meet you. What about how old are you? Do you know?"

"I-" He studdered. "I think I'm seven. I don't really remember though."

"That's ok, that's ok." She assured him quickly. "I have a little boy who is seven, too! His name is Ron. I'm sure he'd love to meet you. Ginny is only six." He smiled warily at her. "Can you tell me where you live?" Harry again shook his head, eyes widening in fear. He stepped backward so he was just out of her reach. She couldn't know where he lived. She seemed nice, and he almost trusted her, but that's how everyone else had seemed. They had all been nice in the beginning, but in the end, he ended up back at his uncle's, where he started. "It's ok, bud. You don't have to tell me that. Can you tell me what I can get for you? Are you hungry?" Harry nodded vigorously, though still stayed fearful and reserved. No one had ever offered him food like this before. "Okay, Harry." She smiled. "Can you come with Ginny and me?" She held out her hand welcomingly for him to take. He hugged his hands tight to his chest and tried to cover them with one another. "No, ok." Why don't you just walk with us, and we'll go find food, and maybe some warm clothes. How does that sound?" Harry nodded again, the pang of hunger made his fear diminish significantly. "Let's go." She grabbed her daughter's hand and the three walked down the sidewalk, the opposite way as Harry had come. Harry made sure to keep far enough away that he could run if he needed to. When they got a little further down, out of sight of the playground visitors, Molly stopped. She let go of Ginny's hand and pulled a long stick out of her pocket. That's a funny thing to keep in your pocket Harry thought to himself. He watched as she stuck the stick straight out in front of her, and she put it back in the pocket of her denim jeans. As soon as she had done it, Harry jumped as a loud bang echoed throughout the street. He blinked as in front of him appeared a big purple bus. It had to be at least two stories. He noticed Ginny and Mrs. Weasley watching him, Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened at his expression.

They all climbed aboard the bus and sat down in the front in seats that looked to be a century-old after the woman told the worker their desired location. They were off. The bus zoomed up and down the streets, much faster than all the other cars. Harry wondered why this was allowed. The people they passed didn't seem to even notice it!

Soon, but not soon enough for Harry's liking, the bus screeched to a halt, and the three got off. That ride had given him a bit of an upset stomach. "We're here, Harry! This is our home. Do you want to come inside?" Mrs. Weasley's voice distracted him from his thoughts. Harry looked the house up and down. It was curious. It looked old and shabby but quite homely. Harry really enjoyed looking at it, and he was almost sure he could trust this woman and her daughter now. They weren't like everyone else. He looked up at her and nodded slowly, and she reached down to take his hand again, and again, he retaliated by pulling his hands so she couldn't reach them. He knew this was probably a trap but they seemed so nice and he figured if he didn't tell them anything else he could get food and be on his way. He watched them go ahead of him then stepped quietly into the old house.