Escape from the M.O.B.
Summary
Grey and pragmatic, Harry is not what he appears to others. His life of abuse and privation has resulted in him not easily trusting anyone, least of all adults and left him with a drive to be free of influence and to exact vengeance for the wrongs done to him and his family. He thought joining the magical world would change things and was not surprised when it did not. He dreams to escape the life that is his. This is the story of how he escapes the M.O.B. (Manipulative Old Bastard a.k.a. Dumbles), finds someone to love, trust and forges a life away from magical Britain.
Disclaimer
JKR's sandbox, not mine. I wish, right? I'm grateful she allows fan fiction to flourish in her incredible world she created. I'm ecstatic that anyone would spend their time reading my thoughts.
Rating:
Not my usual style of writing. I've rated this M for abuse, mature situations, language, and violence. Please note – This story is intended for adult readers. Life is a series of choices: good, bad or indifferent. Bad things can happen to good people. Sometimes you must make difficult choices. This is just a story for entertainment, and I make no statements; social, political or apologies.
Ships – Age-appropriate Harmony but a very slow build.
Book compliance – The story begins during May of 1990. Many characters according to cannon but a few OC's from my imagination.
Wizarding etiquette – My work posted here is written strictly on a hobby basis. I make no claim that these chapters are error free. I get help with proof reading, but mistakes happen and I don't sweat it. If you enjoy my work and can accept the quality of my writing, please read on and enjoy. I'm open to comment that helps me improve my writing but don't want to hear that you don't like the way that I write my stories. If you don't care for the content or style, just walk away. My grandmother beat into my head a life lesson that if you don't have anything nice to say you should keep your mouth shut. Thank you Nona Ida! Certainly, something to aspire to!
oOoOoOo
Chapter 1-Revelations
May 25, 1990. The spring before first year.
The young boy called "Boy" by some, "Freak" by others, but was in reality named Harry Potter, sat in the chair closest to the classroom door and watched the clock anxiously as it crept up to the dismissal bell. He was a survivor. Living on the edge for all of his life he could remember, he had developed an uncanny situational awareness. It had saved him many beatings and unpleasant situations in his short, deprived and violent lifetime. He spent too much time on the streets for a child of his age. He was no stranger to using his fists, or a weapon at hand like a rock or board, or his feet as the case may be. What kept him going was a fierce iron will, a desire for vengeance and a desire for escape.
Today was the last day of term at St. Grogory's primary school, and the beginning of the summer holidays. If truth be told, he'd rather stay in school, even though it was unsavory. At least here, within the four walls he was not beaten, and he had a chance at his one decent meal a day at lunch time. In addition to what little his aunt sent him to school with, and what he stole from the fridge when she was not looking, young Harry supplemented his food with buying a school lunch with money he found between the cushions of his relations home as he cleaned, the occasional pilfering from the miscellaneous house expense jar on top of the fridge, but mostly from his cousins room, who left money lying about and never missed a pence as long as Harry was not greedy. He had a few shops that sold food and he went diving in their bins for outdated or nearly spoiled food. One shop, a kind old woman, who was a baker, left bread for him every weekend she worked, in a plastic bag left on top of the bins. On occasion when he was desperate, he stole outright. But his sense of morality was dialed down taught. He always made restitution when he was forced by circumstances to steal.
He had been surreptitiously watching his cousin and his gang spread about the classroom. His cousin was leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his face and was giving looks to his pals, Piers, Dennis, Gordon and Malcom scattered about the room, all who held their usual vapid look to their faces but with a palpable air of malice.
The boy was an outcast, friendless in a sea of over one hundred children in his school form. He was ignored for the most part, even by the teachers. They all thought him of less than average intelligence. His cousin Dudley had seen to that, intimidating anyone that showed any interest or kindness to the black haired, green eyed bespectacled young boy. His uncle had thrown his considerable weight around also, making it clear that his nephew was a delinquent and a freak and should not be believed. A few visits from an eccentric bearded old man in very out of date clothing had made people forget and young Harry had kissed goodbye to any help. With his history, he had learned to rely only on himself, that adults could not be depended on, and unlikely to be trusted, especially if the old bearded one or his uncle were to arrive on scene. He was alone in a wilderness of abuse, hate and indifference. He by necessity had to make his own way in the world.
He had little to nothing of his own. A scrap of an old blanket in red and gold, a small dirty and much worn stuffed black dog that he kept hidden else his relations would have it taken away. A Swiss army knife he had found in the street one day with a broken blade, but he had filed and sharpened the nub to something still useful, an old leather wallet with about one hundred pounds he had slowly been saving was secreted in a hole in a tree in the back garden of his relations house. Other than that, he owned nothing. His clothes were rough, overly large hand me downs from his cousin. He was not allowed to have anything. After all he was a freak and a burden according to his uncle.
He understood he was different though. Strange things happened when he was very emotional, at first when he was scared or angry. But harnessing his iron will he learned to control his freakishness. He did not know what to call his powers but with intense concentration he was able to make things happen. He practiced and could do some amazing things like summon things to him, push things away from him, cause a light to hang in the air, even teleport. He had accidently put himself on a school roof one day. Spending a week in his cupboard with no food and little water had hardened his resolve to learn and harness his abilities. He examined what he did, when he did it, how he felt and the environment when he did it. He began to practice and had a nice repertoire of wandless skills. His most impressive was the ability to change how he looked. He never allowed his relatives to see what he could do. He was resolved that one day, and it would come, that he would have the last word with his so-called family. According to French author Eugène Sue, revenge is a dish best served cold. A concept that was very appealing to him.
He could feel the hatred that emanated from his cousin and friends. Today they looked wound up with anticipation. He felt they would surely engage in a "Harry Hunt," their favorite pass time, and this would mean nothing but pain if they were successful in running him down. Ah, but that was the rub, wasn't it? They had to catch him first. His felt his adrenalin began to pool and rise and he began to take deep breaths forcing as much air into his lungs as he could. He had hoped to be able to spend the afternoon at the local library. Well as things were shaping up, he'd have to work for it. But he had felt that it would come to this. Dudley besides being stupid, was predictable and Harry had planned for today.
Outwardly his appearance and his past performance in school gave an impression he was quite dim. Far from it. Harry had learned that his health was directly related to how well Dudley exceed his performance in school. Harry learned from the start of school to bring home anything with a better mark than his cousin would result in a beating or starvation. Harry if not anything was a quick learner. He kept his intelligence and keen mind close to the vest. He was a sponge and learned everything he could albeit in a manner that did not bring attention to himself. While his report cards just did not reflect his intellect and actual learning, he was in fact at least three forms ahead of his peers in his core learning of math's, geography English grammar, composition and literature, and far beyond in a number of subjects that held his interest. Long hours in the library reading books and magazines on topics that interested him gave him a base of knowledge far beyond anyone his age. He just lacked practical experience. He loved history and had read through almost the entire history section of the Little Whinging Free Library. He was fascinated by World War two and read everything he could especially escape stories. He spent hours watching birds. Oh, to be able to fly. He yearned to be free. He vowed. Someday I'll be free.
He sat staring at the clock and gathered himself as it approached fifteen minutes past the hour of two. He looked at Malcolm who was seated closest to him. Malcolm smiled and licked his lips. Dudley was just a bully. A big one but living with him he knew how to handle his cousin. Malcom was the fastest of Dudley's gang and the greatest threat to catching Harry. He was the only one he really feared. Dennis and Gordon were followers doing what Dudley told them to do. They couldn't think for themselves. All were cowards, Piers was pretty dim witted. Malcolm, as he got older and bigger, had become faster. He had the meanest streak of them all. The bell clanged and Harry bolted out of his seat and out the door trying desperately to get outside before the corridors filled with meandering students blocking his way. As Harry had bolted for the door, he had propelled his combined desk and chair sideways away from him and directly into the path of Malcom. Malcom was prepared and hurdled the desk and was not impeded in any way. Mrs. Concannon yelled at them to slow down and not run in the hallways!
He made a beeline for the exit with Malcom only a few steps behind. Dudley's gang all exited the room right behind Malcom. Not a classmate had even left their seats, as they realized what was happening and none wanted to be trampled or marked for later punishment.
He was out the front entrance doors and sprinted for the four-foot-high fence that enclosed the school yard. Over the fence was a sidewalk, then street and then a village green dotted with trees. Once into the green Harry would easily outdistance his pursuers. While Malcolm may equal His sprinting ability for short distances, he was no match for the much smaller boy who had the endurance to run at a mile eating speed that Dudley and his gang had no hope of matching him at any distance over 200 yards. While he was fully confident in himself, and his ability to escape and evade, he did not know about Murphy's Law. He would learn a valuable lesson today. 'Whatever can go wrong will.'
He was in a full out sprint towards the fence and noticed the gate was blocked as number of parents loitered around waiting for their children. Malcom was about ten yards behind him and keeping pace. Harry veered to the right and directly at the fence intending to hurdle it in stride. Malcom would not be able to follow and lose ground as he would have to slow and vault it using his hands unlike Harry who intended to hurdle like he was on the athletic track. But Murphy's Law struck and struck hard. The boy learned a life lesson that day. His hopes for a clean get a way were dashed as he extended his front leg cleanly clearing the top of the fence. His trailing leg coming over, and the cuff of his oversized rag like pants he was forced to wear, caught on the top of the chain link fence forcing him to stumble and land awkwardly. Desperately trying to keep his balance Harry careened into a parked automobile and bounced off spinning around. He turned to run but Malcom was over the fence and his club like hand smashed him the mouth.
Harry went down like a load of bricks. Malcom yelled and straddled the stunned and bleeding boy and began to pummel him with his fists. He was helpless and retreated to a fetal position and covered his head with his arms as he absorbed the punishment. Breathless, Dudley and his gang arrived. Dudley explained with glee: "We got you now freak! Let him have it boys!" They proceeded to kick the prone boy with abandon. Dudley said: "Look at me, it's a football," as he lined up a kick to Harry's head. It's open to debate if Dudley meant to hit him in his jaw but he did, shattering his jaw, spraying blood everywhere and rendering him unconscious.
Adults who had been at the gates rushed over and stopped the carnage and grabbed Dudley and his gang. Mobiles were taken out, the MPS constables were called and 999 for the AAP (Associate Ambulance Practitioners).
Within a few minutes he was loaded into an ambulance and immediately with sirens roaring the driver set off. He called St. George's Hospital Emergency Department, the nearest critical care hospital equipped to help trauma such as this boy and made its way onto A24 and hit the gas sirens blaring.
Meanwhile in Scotland, in a tower of an ancient castle, an old man was startled as an array of small silver instruments emitted loud warbling tones of warning, and several actually exploded into fire. The old man, with outlandish colored robes and long white whiskers held his face in his hands and muttered, "Why can those stupid muggles not follow directions?" He stood up, transfigured his robes to a 1930's style muggle suit, spun and disappeared in a great crack of sound.
The two AAP's were desperately working on the blood covered boy in the back of the van, and the driver was relaying information to the trauma center. "Subject, John Doe, is about ten years old, has shattered jaw, suspect a concussion, he was kicked numerous times, suspect broken ribs, several deep cuts and abrasions. Subject is coughing up blood, breathing labored, suspect punctured lung."
One technician was busy laying out a trauma pack of instruments while the other had suctioned Harry's mouth of blood and turned to reach for an oxygen mask and turn on its supply when Harry heaved up in a massive convulsion, his eyes wide as saucers and he hung there frozen for a moment before dropping back down lifelessly. A curious bulging scar engorged with blood on his forehead popped open in a burst of black tar and mist and an unholy scream filled the ambulance. Harry caught a brief visage of a face with snake like features and curiously red eyes before he fainted, and the mist dissipated. Startled by the scream the driver almost lost control as it careened from one lane to another on the motorway. In a dusty room in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic a glass orb, one of many thousands slowly faded from bright white to black.
When he convulsed, the boy felt the curious sensation of a rubber band breaking in his chest. He suddenly felt lighter and his mind clearer than ever before. He then stopped breathing and passed out. He did not understand that his magic had a binding on it, one put there by his mother when he was just a babe of three months to help control his magic, and one put on by the Albus Dumbledore when he left Harry on his aunts' doorstep. Both shattered when his heart stopped beating.
"What the hell was that," asked one of the AAP's?
"It looks like he had an infection in his forehead, and it burst. He probably screamed because he's in pain. It looks like he's in cardiac arrest now. Get the defib out while I get the O mask on him.
He ripped the boy's shirt open from collar to his belt and pulled it aside. He placed the paddles on his chest and stomach as proscribed. "Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
He pressed the button and Harry's whole body leapt off the gurney.
"No heartbeat, do it again!"
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
He pressed the button again and Harry's whole body leapt off the gurney one more time.
"It worked his hearts restarted!"
"Pick it up Jack, we need to get this kid to more help than we can give!"
oOoOoOo
Albus, too many names and jobs, Dumbledore arrived at St Grogory's school to find pandemonium. The police were out in force, parents were milling around and the last thing he wanted to see was an ambulance pulling away and Dudley Dursley being handcuffed and put into a police car.
'This is bad, I need to get a handle on this right away before I can't control this any longer,' thought Albus.
Unabashedly using Legilimency Albus invaded the minds of a number of people and gathered the information he would need. He cast wide area obliviates, several imperious curses and a number of compulsions charms. Doing this to magical's would put him in Azkaban, but to muggles? No harm no fowl. They were beneath him and laws did not apply. It took but ten minutes to get the information he required and in additional five minutes, no one in the area, remembered what happened today, the boys had been released, and Albus had further educated them on acceptable behavior towards Harry.
He then departed to number 4 Private drive to have a talk and reeducate Harry's Aunt and Uncle. His interaction left much to be desired and Albus soon lost his temper at the reaction and attitude of the Dursley's. Abandoning any pretext at diplomacy, Albus ran rough shod over the two muggles, and memory charmed them and cast a strong compulsion over them to do what the desired. He had spent too long with them and he needed to catch up to the ambulance with Harry.
oOoOoOo
The ambulance was diverted to St. Hellier hospital in route due to a major highway accident that overwhelmed the emergency room at St George's Hospital Emergency Department. It was also closer, and Harry was moved into an operating theater much sooner to his immediate benefit. This diversion caused the supreme meddler to miss Harry and delay finding him for almost three days.
By the time the meddler found where Harry was, he was awake and answering questions about his home life to a social worker who had built a nice dossier documenting the lack of his medical care, malnutrition, x-rays showing broken bones and current injuries from his encounter with the gang.
She excused herself to use the Ladies and had left his thick file on a seat when Harry spied Dumbledore, decked out in his 1930's three-piece vested suit with a bowler hat and his long white beard questioning nurses at the main floor station and waving his wand about.
Harry immediately recognized him as the man who had visited the Dursley home on several occasions, each time after Harry had been beaten severely by his uncle and once after his aunt Petunia gave him a concussion with a frying pan. Each time the old man, usually dressed in outlandishly colored dress like robes had waved a curious looking stick around and said strange things in Latin that changed the behavior of his relations. Prominently pointing his stick at their heads and with a swish saying 'Obliviate". Harry had noticed the vacant look in the eyes of his relations and then the old man whispering instruction to them. He also did what he called healing charms on Harry and attempted to obliviate him. But Harry's magic protected him. It welled up and surrounded his mind creating a barrier to what the old man was doing. He played along pretending to act just like the Dursleys' putting a vapid look on his face when he tried to obliviate him. He had guessed it was sort of forget everything for a period time thing. He played along to get along, a survival behavior that he had learned the most hard way.
He tried very hard and thought of shrinking the folder and putting it in his trouser pocket. He felt it happen and laid back on his pillow exhausted by the effort. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He felt the man put something on his chest then felt the strangest sensation and he cracked an eye open a moment after he stopped spinning and when he felt the old man move away and call out to someone named Poppy. He was in another hospital type place, but it looked very old fashioned and primitive with stone walls and small windows.
Harry spent the next five days in the little green colored ward and thought about what had happened. No one but the old women named Poppy was ever seen. She filled him with medicine she called potions and constantly waved her wand about him muttering the strangest things like 'episky' and giving him something called 'skel-e-too-grow as well as a 'nutrient' cocktail to help with his malnutrition. She also gave him copious amounts of food at mealtimes, more food than he would see over several days and struggled to eat it all. He had never felt better than this though. The old women had repaired his glasses and he wore them though he realized his vision was corrected. No need to garner a closer look from them. He played possum and faked sleeping especially when the old man visited, and he listened closely to the conversation. He even stole a newspaper and a few magazines that they had inadvertently left behind and did not notice. These was shrunken and added to his pocket for later perusing. He spent much time thinking. He had overheard the word magic. Now he had a name to his abilities. He also thought about what had been done to him. Dudley and his gang would someday pay for their actions.
Poppy tried to engage him in conversation when he was awake, but he did not say a word and only stared at her silently. She seemed to be taking care of him, but he held no trust in her. He did not see or hear her argue with the Old Man about his care. He saw her as just another adult that didn't care. Then she came to him and told him that the headmaster would be taking him back home soon and gave him his last nutrient dose. He palmed the vile with a small amount left in it and hid it in his trouser pocket.
The Old Man was talking to the matron. He overheard he was concerned that he would not talk to the matron taking care of him. "Does he have brain damage," he asked her?
"I don't think so, he is alert and follows direction. My scans say he is OK. Maybe he's scared?
Albus stepped into the hospital ward and told Poppy to give him a dreamless sleep potion, a quarter dose to knock him out for the portkey back to Privet drive. She went to get it and he cast obliviate on him and whispered instructions to him. The Old man smiled at the dumb look he put on his face. A good act. He had no inkling his obliviate failed. He drank his potion as directed and did not wake up until several hours later, locked in his cupboard under the stairs. Harry smiled to himself as he reached into his pocket and felt the shrunken file and the newspaper and magazines he had swiped.
oOoOoOo
The next several days he disappeared right after he cooked, served and cleaned up for breakfast. He took the opportunity to eat his fill without repercussion. He easily eluded his relations who treated him with indifference. He spent his days in an abandoned and boarded up factory that was two miles from Privet drive. At one point it had been a machine shop and there was still equipment and scrap metal lying about. He would read and practice his wandless skills. Sometimes he took a load of scrap copper, brass and aluminum on a wagon to a local scrap yard to earn some money for food. He knew enough to not be greedy and mix it up. It certainly looked like he had collected on the side of the road on the binmen days. He was careful to not bring attention to himself and did not abuse the situation. No sense in killing the goose that was laying food money he thought. It was a favorite spot to hide and read books from the library. It had a conference room on the second level that had a nice, though worn leather couch, a big table with comfortable chairs and south facing windows that let in great light for reading.
He studied the three publications he had purloined and took copious notes. A newspaper that was called the Daily Prophet, a weird magazine called the Quibbler, and teen witch weekly. It seemed the wizarding world was real, hidden in plain sight, his strange powers indicated he may be a wizard! There was something called the Ministry, a bank run by Goblins called Gringotts and various creatures that he thought were fantasy. He determined a main shopping district and bank location was Diagon Alley. Too bad none of the three indicated where it was located, nor how to get there. Several articles raised his curiosity naming something called the Knight Bus but it did not indicate how to find it either. He made a list of questions. If this bus was indeed transportation, it just may come in handy someday.
He thought the Prophet was a mouthpiece for the ministry. It was a combination of real news, muckraking by some journalist called Skeeter, (he made a note to steer clear of her), and propaganda from the ministry as well as numerous advertisements for magical things and businesses. This begat even more questions on his list. Teen witch Weekly was vapid beyond compare but he did glean a number of household and beauty (read grooming) charms that he began to experiment with. The articles were ridiculous. One made a big deal about some poncy fop named Gildaroy who won the best smile award again. Pray he never met such a person. He absolutely loved the Quibbler. A first read through and he thought it was a fantasy graphic novel like he read in the young adult section of the library. A careful second read convinced that buried in the nonsense (who the eff was Stubby Boardman and WTF is a Nargle and the Rotfang conspiracy) was a crafty counterpoint to the Prophets propaganda. It took a bit of sleuthing and wading through the dross of the magazine to reveal hidden slivers of truth and criticism of Wizarding society and current prominent politicians and private people of the so called pureblood elite. The cross word also had an insult in it. He had only found it by accident. He had looked at the crossword with it kitty corner to him and he looked at the diagonal and was shocked to find in a row from top to bottom, Fudgewetsthebed! He would have to find other Quibblers to see if this was a feature or just some fluke. The mag had a subscription form on the back for "Owl Ordering". What was that? So many questions, so few answers.
He devoured the three publications reading them multiple times. It only whet his appetite for more. He was solving a puzzle. He felt something odd pushing and pulling him towards the magical society. He would continue to do his homework and be ready for when it came. He also practiced his magic every day. He'd concentrate using only his thoughts and hands trying to do things. Perhaps not the best way to learn magic but he sure hoped he had invented a few things. He tried mightily to teleport again but he did not move. He had felt a few twitches and decided to wait a few months and try again. Each effort was fatiguing. His 'water please' magic that made water stream out of his index finger ensured he never went thirsty. I guess I'm limited by my imagination he thought.
After much thought he had a few certainties or truths in his life. One: His life was hardship because he was different. Impossibly he was a person with magic! Two: His relations would mistreat him whether from an undue influence of the old whisker puss or from their very nature. Three: There was no one in his life he could trust. Four: Adults were useless. The only one he could depend on was himself. Five: Plan, plan, plan because anything that can go wrong will. Six: The old man named Albus was the cause of all his hardship and not to be trusted. Someday he grimly thought, I will get even.
oOoOoOo