Harry ran.
The back fence was over six feet, but he managed to launch himself over it anyway, adrenaline tasting like copper in the back of his throat. He landed heavily on his hands and knees, skinning his palms badly. His wand was in his trunk, but how could that help him anyway? He was underage, and the Ministry hated him. No, he had to run. The Dursleys were on their own.
He felt a twinge of guilt, but brushed it off as he sprinted down the next street over. Dumbledore would probably see to them before the Death Eaters closed in. And if not, well. Perhaps they shouldn't have treated him like shit.
Nobody was outside, a fact he was grateful for. Harry felt like a target had been painted on his back. The wards were all that protected him from You Know Who during the summer months. (And the occasional check-up by an Order member, but those were cursory at best.) With those gone, Harry was doomed.
The park loomed up in his vision and he slowed down, panting as the stitch in his side made itself known. His hands stung badly. There was a tree that he could climb- it used to have a tree house built in, but that had been discouraged when a child had fallen from it. Most of the boards were still there, though. He couldn't stay there long (he'd be trapped), but perhaps it could suffice to take a breather.
Climbing it took more energy than Harry thought, especially considering his headlong break over the fence hadn't incurred the only damage he'd taken that night. He finally tipped himself onto the broadest branch available and felt all his muscles go slack. His cheek rested against the wet bark.
No sounds came from the direction of the Dursley house, although that didn't necessarily mean anything. Silencing spells existed. Although You Know Who always liked to go for the gaudy, so perhaps that was a good sign. For his so-called relatives, anyway. Not for him. Death Eaters could be anywhere. It's not like they didn't know where he lived. Although maybe even Voldemort didn't expect the wards to fall. Harry didn't know if he had enough hope in him left for that.
Exhaustion fogged his mind. He couldn't stay up here. Morning wasn't that far away, and when the sun came up, he wouldn't have the pretense of shelter that this tree offered anymore. He was still so tired-
Probing his lip with the tip of his tongue, he decided at least that was done bleeding. His shoulder ached horribly, and he kept working out bits of gravel from his palms. But he was mostly all right. For now. Until the Death Eaters found him and tortured him until his lungs gave out.
Always look on the bright side, why don't you? he thought to himself, finally pushing up into an awkward sitting position. Straddling the branch was still painful, but at least he didn't feel quite so much like he'd been laid out for slaughter.
Suddenly, fireworks lit the park from down the road, in the Dursleys' direction, and Harry cursed. Someone had discovered the state of the wards. For a moment, he considered sneaking back toward 4 Privet Drive, to see if it was the Order, but discarded it. Why should he? With his luck, Dumbledore would know how to force the wards back up and he'd be trapped there still. Or kept with someone else who hated him. "For his own good." He was sick of hearing those words.
No, he decided as he dropped lightly to the ground, still feeling the impact jar his bruises.
For better or worse, he was on his own.