The First Case.

Harry panted, wheezing and groaning with pain as he ran through the streets. His body was screaming at him, begging him to stop so then he could rest up and literally lick his wounds, but he knew he couldn't. The reasons why were running after him, yelling their usual, unimaginative taunts.

"Freak!"

"We're gonna getcha this time, freak!"

"You're gonna get it, today Potter!"

"You're gonna learn you can't get away from us, freak! Mum and Dad will make sure of that! They always say you're a waste of space, and you're gonna get it when I tell them what you did!"

Although he was panting madly from the effort of running away from the gang, Harry had to admit he was impressed Dudley was able to say all that and he was still able to keep up; usually, whenever Dudley chased after him and yelled threats like that, he would stop for a minute to catch his breath.

It didn't always work.

His cousin was so fat and lazy it was a wonder he didn't collapse whenever he stood up.

As he kept running - Harry had learnt the hard and easy way that he needed to be in shape at all times, otherwise, days like this would end up with him going to hospital, and ordinarily, he would have either outrun the other kids since they had the hobby of spending a lot of their time sitting in front of the TV, stuffing themselves full of junk food ranging from burgers to pizzas, crisps, ice cream, and heaven alone what else.

While he hated living with Dudley and his parents, especially when it came to the lack of a proper diet for a growing kid, Harry had to be thankful he managed to eat enough to keep himself going during messes like this - Harry had time to think while he tried desperately to think of some way of getting out of this mess.

He had somehow managed to escape from the gang - when he looked back on this moment, later on, he would suspect that the gang had been beating him up so badly his magic had reacted to his emotions and they were simply thrown off of him and thrown quite some distance away so quickly they wouldn't realise what had happened which would have given him the time needed so he could escape, but for the time being thanks to his ignorance of the magical world and the existence of magic, Harry had no way of knowing what had taken place - and he was trying to get away from the gang.

Ignoring their taunting, he kept on running. Harry panted again as his body moved which sent more pain through him.

The gang had managed to pummel him for a good few minutes before they'd been thrown off of him, and his body ached as he ran. His lungs were like blacksmith bellows, and they felt as if they'd inhaled the choking smoke and magma from a volcano, but he needed to keep going. Each injury he had taken ached, and only made his body even sorer than before. He knew if they caught him then they would only pummel him again.

Ordinarily, Harry would be able to outrun the gang. It was so easy, and since he was smaller and lighter on his feet, and he practically ran every day, and knew, thanks to the local maps and the history books in the library, some of the more obscure places in Little Whinging which were unknown to the gang but full of hiding places where he could catch a breather and work his way out somewhere else.

And while he knew he wasn't exactly healthy thanks to reading a few books from the library, he was grateful he had managed to work out a few ways of keeping one step ahead of Dudley and his gang of idiots. Unfortunately, there were times where it was virtually impossible for him not to go a day without getting his face punched in, and this looked like one of those days. Even worse, he knew that Dudley would tell his parents about what had happened today, and once that happened Harry knew he would be getting a beating.

Oh, joy.

With luck, and he was dubious about this, the Dursleys might just stop at that but he wasn't hopeful. He had a feeling the Dursleys would just shove him in that damn cupboard and pretty much pretend he didn't exist. What made it worse was he had no doubt they would also starve him. He knew Dudley had just made a very good point instead of making one of his petty, wild threats.

He merely hoped the Dursleys didn't kill him this time around.

Literally, but he wasn't hopeful.

Enough, he thought to himself as he looked around desperately for a safe haven so he could lick his wounds while he worried about what was going to happen to himself later. I can worry about the Dursleys later; right now I need to get out of here. I'm too weak. At some point, I'll slow down and they'll finish the job they've just started. Now let me see….if I can lead them…to the railway station…

Plan in mind, Harry began leading the way close to the railway station although he made sure he didn't advertise it - it was simplicity to turn down a street, and then down another street, although he was still worried the gang would catch onto his tactics and realise where he was heading for, but that was a chance he would need to accept; at the same time he wondered if he could actually make it since his body felt like it was going to literally fall apart any minute now, whereas, on any other occasion, it would be simple for him to reach the place, but thanks to what the gang had done to him today, he knew it would lucky for him to even reach the station, never mind the hiding places he'd found. There was an industrial estate near the station, and there were dozens of abandoned houses there, and as long as he was careful and not sloppy, he could get out of this okay.

He hoped, but he was worried that with his body in so much pain, he wondered if he could get there without slowing down.

Still, he needed to try, and as he ran, taking in deep breaths to inject some fresh energy into his legs to give them some strength. A part of him also wished something he knew his pig of an uncle - although his opinion on whether or not he was even related to the Dursleys or not - would call freakish would happen. At this point, he needed all the help he could get just to escape the gang trailing behind him, and he had definitely noticed whatever it was about him which always made the Dursleys lash out only occurred whenever he was being threatened like this.

Oh please, come on, he begged as he panted harder. Please let me get through today. I don't want to die because my stupid relatives love using their fists too much!

Nothing happened. Harry groaned and he risked a look behind him. What he saw made his entire body groan, which only exacerbated the pain he'd taken already even more. The gang were catching up to him. At this rate, he wouldn't have long left until they caught him and then they would likely beat him up again.

Not seeing anything else he could do, Harry just kept running while he hoped he could keep going; it had been a long time since he had been pushed like this, but the last time he had been so badly beaten and then chased by the gang behind him right now he'd been lucky enough to be in a part of Little Whinging where he knew there would be dozens of hiding places where he could rest for a few hours or so until he'd gotten back his energy and gotten a second wind. It had been a long time since Harry had been in the same situation but he was unlucky enough to be somewhere in this dump of a town where there weren't any immediate hiding places but with the gang behind him, it would be harder to find one anyway.

Come on, keep it going, just for a bit longer. Please, he mentally pleaded with his body, hoping that his aching chest and bones and his burning heart and lungs had a bit more strength to them otherwise Dudley and his mates would pummel him again until he was sucking in his meals through a straw. As he raced - or tried to race - past the various shops and houses, Harry wasn't surprised that he was being chased by Dudley and his gang and he was clearly in a terrible state physically and nobody cared enough to help. It was a terrible fact of life he had needed to learn to accept, just like it had been a bad idea to ever tell anyone at school what life was like with the Dursleys. It had only happened once or twice, but he had never let himself trust anyone in Little Whinging. The librarians were nice and all, but he couldn't count on them helping him since there was little they could do; the police, as far as he knew, had tried to help him a few times, but they had gone away, apologising to the Dursleys suddenly about the "misunderstanding."

Harry shuddered as he remembered what had always come afterwards. After the second time, Harry had simply decided adults and the law was a waste of time and energy.

Risking a quick burst of speed allowed him the opportunity to risk a glance back. The gang were lagging behind him, their faces red with effort. It was clear they were definitely having problems keeping up with his pace even if his body felt like it was going to fall apart any moment the longer he kept going. Still, a part of him was impressed he had managed to keep his pace going with the gang right behind him, and when he took in their faces as they raced towards him, seeing their red breathless faces, he saw that once again their lack of proper exercise was bringing them down whereas his own problems stemmed from the fact his body had been pummelled so badly it was a miracle he was still capable of walking. He thanked every deity he had read about from the Greek Pantheon to the Buddha himself he had the common sense to jog as often as he could in order to improve his speed and stamina despite having such a lousy diet. When he saw them coming closer, Harry turned around and started to run off again; the brief stop had given him the breather he'd needed to regather his strength, and while it was slight he had learnt from experience to take whatever he could get since it might literally mean the difference between life and death.

He was just coming to a T junction when suddenly two gorilla-like arms shot out, with one fist smashing into his abdomen and a terrible pain shot through him while the next blow to his head made him feel like something had just cleaved his skull in half. When he was lying on the tarmacked ground Harry tried to push through the pain and he tried to focus his eyes so he could see who it was who'd punched him twice. It was painful and seemed to take an age - the blow to his gut had hurt as if the blow had popped it, and the punch to his head had knocked him senseless - but he managed it. Harry tried to move, but he let out a wheezing cry when he felt a large foot stomp down hard on his chest. He tried to wriggle his way free, but he couldn't move more than a few inches, and the weight of the foot holding him down like classical hero standing over a slain beast stopped him moving too far. Harry gave up trying to escape, knowing it was hopeless.

He almost groaned when he saw it was Gordon. The larger boy was looking down at him with a malicious smirk which looked ghoulish and sinister against his red breathless face.

"It's over, Freak!"

Why couldn't Dudley and his friends and parents get fresh material? Having the same insult thrown into your face was enough to get incredibly boring, very quickly. Despite feeling so out of it thanks to the blow to his head, Harry could still hear the sounds of the rest of Gordon's friends as they ran towards them.

"We've got him, Duds!"

"You won't be getting away from us like that again, freak!"

Again with the freak. Didn't it ever get boring for Dudley and his friends? Apparently not.

Harry screamed in pain again as Dudley punched him hard, followed by Pier's kick to the stomach while Gordon laughed and jeered down at him while he kept his foot down pinning Harry to the ground following Dudley's orders to keep him still so he didn't find a way to escape again. Apparently Dudley had managed to scrounge a bit of forward-thinking out of his atrophied brain; Harry would have been surprised otherwise and would have considered it to be a somewhat minor miracle on any other occasion. But right now Harry was cursing his piss-poor luck.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when he was kicked yet again, this time to the chest. This time Harry was certainly one of his lungs had just been punctured. He let out a gurgling cry, the pain so overwhelming he closed his eyes and tried instinctively to fold his body into a foetal position to protect what was left, but with the weight of Gordon's leg pressing down on his chest, it was hard for him to assume the posture.

He was in trouble - really big trouble. If they didn't stop what they were doing soon, or very unlikely someone would see what they were doing and stop them, then he couldn't see any way he could get out of this mess. It was doubtful that even if he could wriggle his way free he could find the strength to run anymore. He was positive the last blow had broken a rib and punctured a lung, it certainly hurt enough.

"Look, Dud, I think we're going too far."

Harry was in too much pain to know who had just spoken, and he didn't care.

"Why, do you wanna go down there too, do you?" Yeah, he was sure that was Dudley.

"No, he's coughing up blood. How long do you think it'll be before someone see it?"

"Why do you care?"

But Harry was starting to get frightened. Blood? I'm coughing up blood? Maybe I am dying! No, no….I don't want to die. I haven't seen everything or anything out in the world yet. I remember vowing to leave Privet Drive, get away from those disgusting animals who are called my relatives. But thanks to my bastard cousin, that looks like it will never happen!

Suddenly Harry wasn't just frightened. He was furious, and his pain and fear only fuelled his rage. His anger had started off as a spark as he'd been beaten again, but now it was becoming a white-hot rage that was exploding out of control. He pictured the gang above him, jeering as they beat and tormented him while he was lying there on the ground, unable to move, unable to escape, and he wished they paid the price for what was going on. His rage grew as he pictured the people of Little Whinging who had never intervened and stopped Dudley and his friends form going as far as this.

As he felt this rage, Harry felt a curious sensation, a sensation of raw power inside of him. It felt so strange, so powerful, and yet at the same time, it felt like he was being wrapped in a blanket of protection.

To his surprise, he felt the weight of Gordon's foot holding him down….was no longer there. Harry opened his eyes blearily and tried to focus; the cheap glasses the Dursleys had been forced to get him, and had been damaged so many times because Vernon was too much of an uncaring cheapskate to buy him new ones, seemed to have somehow survived this time, but Harry was having a lot of trouble focusing through the lenses so it took a while. When he could see what had happened, his eyes widened in shock.

Gordon was lying on his back, and as his pain-befuddled brain needed a moment to realise that the rest of the gang weren't yelling questions about what had happened to their friend. Turning his head painfully around, Harry received another shock. The rest of the gang were lying on their backs as well. But he received another shocking surprise a few moments later, although it felt like an eternity; his best theory later on when he thought back about the incident was his brain was still trying to cope with the amount of pain shot into the pain centre and it clouded his awareness. The pain in his chest, the all-prevailing agony from the blows to his chest that he had been certain had punctured a lung….they seemed to have healed.

Shocked and surprised that whatever had knocked out Dudley and his friends had also gone to the trouble of healing his injuries, Harry needed a few moments to realise what had happened, and when he did he was surprised and wondered if his pain-befuddled brain was playing a cruel joke on him. But it wasn't.

His body was, more or less, healed. Yes, he was still in pain, and as he slowly climbed to his feet, gently moving around to test just how much of himself that was intact, he thought about what had just happened, and when he was on his feet again he gently examined the gang to see if they were alright. They were still breathing, they were just unconscious. A part of him wished they weren't, but there was nothing he could really do about it now.

As he examined Dudley, Harry knew without a shadow of a doubt his 'cousin' would tell his parents about what had happened, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Harry closed his eyes, knowing that Vernon would really lose it this time; his 'uncle' always lashed out whenever something 'freakish' happened, and he relied on his son to tell him if anything happened. Sometimes Dudley lied, just to see Harry in pain, but Harry knew this was going to be one of the big ones.

Not only had he used his 'freakishness' against Dudley, but the whole of Dudley's gang. Harry knew Dudley would spin it all his own favour, and Vernon and Petunia wouldn't care, and Harry was not looking forward to what was going to be a very long and very painful night.

But at the same time…..Harry had felt a true sense of power inside of him, something that had never happened before whenever one of those weird episodes happened, but even better he felt he had a good idea of what had made the power happen. As he idly stood there, looking down at the prone bodies of the gang while wondering to himself why nobody seemed to be bothered, Harry mused to himself about what had happened, and what that sensation meant.

His 'uncle' and his 'aunt' called it freakishness, but Harry was trying to think of a good term for it. After a second he decided that he would wait for a bit until he had enough time to think of a proper name - he was too delighted that he had finally discovered how he could make it work. His anger towards Dudley and his gang of thugs beating him up and seemingly not wanting to stop themselves until he was dead, and his fear over coughing up that blood and dying here on the street, along with so many of the things he had wanted to do with his life like travelling the world, learning languages, and meeting new people while discovering knowledge everywhere he went never coming about because his 'relatives' had murdered him in cold blood had not only knocked out the gang, but it had also healed him.

Fear and anger…

Harry knew he would need to experiment a bit in order to master the power (Mmm, power? Yes, that seems to be the best term for it; it might not be as cool as the Force from Star Wars, but its simple enough not to be noticed. I can hardly call it strength, but it's still early days, he thought to himself), but the feeling had been exhilarating.

And he knew one other thing.

He wanted to feel it again.