A third of the way into the summer, Harry Potter got his Hogwarts Letter. He'd done decently in most subjects (even a mediocre grade in Potions wasn't enough to make his grades bad, and at least he'd passed!). He was doing best at History, but that was because the questions were all the same. It wasn't like you had to study more than a few pages of material!
Hermione might be willing to say that Hogwarts was the best Magical School ever, but Harry was a bit more discerning. If you didn't teach history, just why was there still a class for it? Harry'd heard there were national exams, and surely you couldn't pass them without actual classes, right?
Still, there was a list of class books. Which left Harry in the unenviable position of having to cadge a ride to bloody London. Oh, it wasn't that far, really, but he was twelve. Twelve-year-olds went everywhere with their parents. Assuming they had any.
Harry despised pity, but it was looking like that was the best option.
Swallowing down the gorge, Harry Potter skulked out to nab a ride towards London.
It was always better to ask, than to depend on the kindness of strangers.
After all, you never knew what kind of strange motivations strangers might have.
It took Harry days to meet a good mark, one of those stout women who smiled at everyone and looked like she'd pinch his cheek.
Well, yes, she did pinch his cheek - but she also gave him a ride to the nearest train station, and showed him how to look up the schedules.
Harry was going to need to sleep somewhere - fortunately, he'd packed enough scrounged money for the train.
Maybe - maybe he could just try sleeping in the train station?
The only problem with that was where to sleep. If anyone noticed him, he'd be linked up and slickin'...*
The best thing he could come up with was this: Work for a Living and you're never a problem.
Hopefully he could find someone still in school. Young kids were less responsible, and more likely to think of him as a "younger person" rather than a child.
Harry Potter hadn't been a child in a very, very long time.
A powerless adult wasn't much better, but still...
Harry Potter got into the nice lady's spotless car, and got a very nice ride, full of wholesome old-time music, to the nearest city with a train station.
The city was grimier, dirtier. Less pristine than Privet Drive.
Harry liked it better that way - by nature a neat person, he couldn't help but see perfectly clean as I made it that way.
Growing up where no one would ever even say Thanks! made cleanliness rather stifling.
Harry had quite a ways to walk from High Street to the train station, and he made good time. It was easy to just stick your hands in your pockets, pull your cap down on your head, and keep your eyes on the ground.
Nunnayerbusiness.
Just the way Harry liked it.
*in trouble with the police. Don't look this one up, it's new!
[a/n: I thought I'd have more time to write this. Oh well. I have the next few scenes scripted in my head. Reviews will get them out the door quicker!]