Harry Potter's first thoughts after a moment of his wake were, "Where's Aunt Petunia?" He wondered this because; for the first time in what seemed to be his entire life, he hadn't been woken by her shrill voice. The young raven-haired boy glanced down at his second hand watch, which he had found abandoned on the street. His watch read 9:04am; with a horrible sunken feeling in his stomach, he realised he had over slept. Harry, ignoring the pain which came from his every movement, cautiously opened his door, which he found unlocked. He blinked the sunlight out of his bright emerald eyes and pushed his way to the kitchen; it was empty. Harry was confused, his 'relatives' wouldn't just leave him here without letting him know first, he would of been woken up to make breakfast. Harry's hand landed on the railing of the stairs, he carefully walked up, not making a sound. He peered into the first room; the door was open, belongings gone and no sign of his cousin, Dudley. Harry was scared and excited, did they leave him here? Was he finally free? Harry, with less precaution, looked into all the other rooms. All empty, no note, and –he looked out the window, the car was gone. Harry was close to jumping for joy, not realising just how difficult everything was going to get for him. His only thoughts were on last night, which had perhaps been the last straw.

FLASHBACK

Harry kneeled on the tiled floor of the kitchen, scrubbing vigorously under the watchful eye of Aunt Petunia. Dudley had dropped his full glass, spilling juice and sharp shards of glass all over the floor – and of course, Harry had to clean it up. Petunia was just finishing up the dishes (which she did herself, surprisingly) when it happened. She stepped unknowingly into a wet patch on the floor, and letting out a shriek, fell next to a wide-eyed Harry and onto the large pile of glass he had gathered. To Harry's shock, Vernon nor Dudley barged in and demanded to keep quiet, both quite occupied by the telly. Harry carefully stood and offered a hand, ignoring her look of distain and badly hidden pain, and hoisted her up. He staggered under the slim weight, being even slimmer himself, but managed to sit her on one of the nearby chairs. Just as Petunia was going to bark at him to get the first-aid kit, and to call Vernon, a small, soft hand stopped her. The hand was placed just over the wounds on her back, not pushing down on them, yet you could feel the warmth radiating off his hand. She looked, startled, as his bright green orbs – so like his mother's – closed in concentration. She felt a tingle of… of something deep inside her back. There was a sound of wind-chimes, almost like a glass breaking, and then she felt the small, deep pieces of glass slowly begin to pull themselves out, wounds closing shut, leaving no scars. Harry panted and dropped his hand, leaving the blood stained glass to fall on the floor. Ignoring the drop of sweat on his brow, he asked, "Are you okay?" Petunia blinked, once, twice, and began to stand. She felt no pain. Petunia didn't know whether or not to be angry, so she just nodded and quickly fled the room, leaving an exhausted Harry to resume his cleaning.

END FLASHBACK

Harry frowned. If they were leaving for a vacation, he would have been dropped off at Arabella Figg's place. The small boy moved from the hallway to the kitchen, and his eyes widened when he spotted something, his Uncle's keys and wallet sitting, almost innocently, on the low coffee table in the living room. Harry's eyes narrowed. What if, his brain chimed in, they were kidnapped? Or murdered during the night and their bodies hidden in the backyard? Or, the voice turned malicious, they forgot about you completely, and left the wallet and keys as a decoy. I mean, where's the car if the keys are here?
Or maybe, Harry, you used your freak powers in your sleep and killed them. Just like your parents, everyone's destined to leave you. Harry's eyes watered for a moment, lost in the 'what if's', before he shook his head as to clear his thoughts, and promptly returned to the kitchen to cook breakfast for one, mind off the topic of imagining anything strange was at work – after all, the Dursley's were as normal as can be, they don't hold with such nonsense.

~TIMESLIP~

It had been seven days since he'd last seen the Dursley's. His thoughts didn't linger on them for longer than a couple hours, he had just decided to bask in the freedom while he could; that had all changed at noon the first day. A strange sensation began while he was watching t.v, and his body began to hum of its own accord; as though one bit of sugar would kick-start a long-lasting adrenalin rush. This lasted for a full twenty-four hours. As soon as it hit high noon the next day, a thoroughly confused Harry noticed the hum had died down and was replaced with a warm glow; deep, actually inside his skin – it was noticeable on his skin, too, he observed in the bathroom mirror. He was usually pale, but this seemed a tiny bit more extreme. His skin was like snow, faintly pulsing with something warm, though his skin was cold as ice. Shivering, Harry curled up to sleep in his cupboard later that night, he still slept there for fear the Dursley's would appear during the night.

Next afternoon bought more and more confusion to young Harry's mind; literally to his mind. His head felt like he had a constant headache, or like his brain was too big for his skull and was bursting to leave its confinement. By now Harry was wishing this was some prank – though it was hopeless to think that as the Dursely's don't have a funny bone in their bodies. His head was aching, he was tired and he was also starting to get low on primary foods; like bread and milk. It's not like I can leave the house, Harry thought tiredly, what if they come back when I'm gone – or someone notices me on the street and comes to ask why the Dursley's haven't shown up anywhere. Harry slammed his hand to the couch pillows in frustration. What was he supposed to do? He's only 11 for crying-out-loud!

Sighing, for what seemed like the billionth time for Harry, he stood and returned to his cupboard. I need rest, he thought, my brain is about to implode.

Young Harry did not notice the shadows, invisible to muggle eyes, watching him from each corner and crevice of the house. Harry did not notice the whispered words, the ever-creeping sense of something foreboding, and the suspense in the air. Something is on the horizon – and poor Harry is its target. Yet Harry sleeps on, blissfully unaware; his time will soon come.