Filled with an alarming sense of urgency, Harry dashed up the stairs into Dudley's second bedroom, grabbing an old pack and stuffing one of Dudley's old coats inside. He then sprinted back down to his cupboard, grabbing everything he owned (a small bag of shiny rocks, dull ones, bits and pieces of metal, extra fabric and thread from Petunia's sewing station, little twigs and other bits of wood. He hoarded a lot he knew, but he felt like he needed it and it somehow all fit in the bag so he wasn't overly concerned about it) and running back out into the kitchen. While there he grabbed granola bars and water bottles, healthy things the Dursley's had but never ate. They wouldn't miss it.
Harry hesitated by the vase in the living room, where he knew his Aunt kept money for rainy days. It'd be bad to take it, but he might need it later. It's not like the Dursley's ever bought him anything anyway. It'd be like the birthday presents they never gave him. Decided, Harry quickly swiped the money and was about to bolt out of the door when he heard a small whimper.
Turning around warily, Harry came face to face(snout?) with the small dog Marge had brought with her. It was a tiny thing, and looked about as well cared for as Harry himself. The small dog cautiously approached Harry, sniffing hopefully at something he had in his pack. Harry swallowed quietly. The dog looked about as close to Ripper as an orange to a watermelon, but Harry just couldn't be sure. But it really did look pathetic. It's rusty orange fur was matted with dirt and Harry could see its ribs. The sniffing and puppy dog eyes just made it look all the more pitiable. And poor, poor Harry, he always had been a kind boy at heart.
Realizing he was wasting time with his staring contest with the dog, Harry once more exploded into action. Scooping up the dog with one arm and opening the door with the other, Harry ran as fast as he could into the fading light.
He ran and he ran and he ran. At some point he became aware that his magic was keeping his weak limbs moving, the misting clouds of his magic soaking into his muscles, and that the dog in his arms was surprisingly calm, likely attributed to the thin cloud of drifty-magic covering its form. And still Harry ran and he ran. He ran for what must have been hours, far longer than Dudley and his band of bullies would have ever been able to chase him.
Eventually his magic could no longer sustain him, and Harry fell limply to the ground. The little dog gave a small yelp as Harry's thin frame came centimeters away from crushing it. As it was Harry barely managed to keep himself from crushing the thing, offering what small protection he could from the fall. He didn't want to get up. He wanted to stay where he was, let the peaceful call of unconsciousness take his small form into it's sweet embrace. But Harry knew the dangers of the streets at night, especially in a city. (flashbacks of being locked out of the hotel room when Vernon brought the family on a trip, unable to leave him behind. Hiding behind a dumpster in the rain as scary men with piercings and tattoos loitered nearby. Fearing for his life as he watched them torture a small rodent) so he wobbled onto rubbery legs, stumbling into the night.
He would not stop here, not now, not so close to freedom. He could find a safer place to sleep. Harry refused to succumb to the tempting darkness on the edge of his vision, refused to let the puppy in his arms fend for itself in such a cruel world, refused to give up. Not until he was moderately safe.
Stumbling around blind really wasn't Harry's best idea, he knew. But what else could he do? It's not like he knew where to go, not without being taken back to his relatives. He'd only wondered for a few more minutes before he'd run into a bench. With bleary eyes, he noted that it was a bus stop. With a bus in front of it. Harry quickly weighed his options. The bus's light in the front said it would end up in london, and surely he'd be able to disappear there. But then, he's just a kid, so wouldn't him getting on the bus by himself make people suspicious? If he didn't get on the bus though, he'd be walking for goodness knows how long. Harry didn't think he could survive that.
So decided, Harry quickly got on the bus, paid the fare, and settled down in the first seat he could collapse into. He leaned his head against the cool window, very glad to be off of his feet. He pulled his Prince out of his waistband and snuggled him to his chest. Harry could swear the doll was warm... But as soon as he'd thought such a thing, his magic was floating around his head in wispy clouds, luring him to sleep.
The next time Harry woke, it was to the bus driver gently shaking him awake. The man was gruff looking, rather round with a scruffy beard to match his har. The puppy was sound asleep in his lap, still shrouded by his misty-magic.
Once he saw that Harry was awake, the bus driver leaned back, Prince in his hand. He gives the doll a considering look, before tossing his gaze back at Harry, who was still too exhausted to really register what was going on. He gently places the doll in the boy's hand with a soft chuckle.
"To see one alone so young..." He picks up the boy's bag and deposits a thick book inside. He then picks up the small dog and gently places it inside as well, making sure not to squish any of the pack's contents. It doesn't so much as whine, still deeply asleep. He gently sits the boy up and pulls him to his feet, the doll hanging limply from Harry's fingers.
"C'mon kid. I hate doing this, but this is the end of the line." Harry is gently guided off of the bus and into a nearby sheltered ally. It was a nicer kind of neighborhood, so the bus driver wasn't overly worried about the boy's safety as he deposited the young man under an awning, the dumpster next to it smelling something awful, but the bus driver couldn't really do anything about it. The boy would be safe until he woke up at least.
As the bus driver walked away without a backward glance, he thought that perhaps this boy would become something incredible, if only he had the chance to grow. He finds himself not at all mourning the loss of his time-treasured book, sure it was going to a good cause.
Harry, meanwhile, simply shrinks against the wall of the alley, backpack cradled gently against his chest and his little prince firmly wedged between the backpack and himself. He once again succumbs to an exhausted slumber.
Alright, I have no excuses. This is an old chapter, so it's been written for ages. I just forgot to post. Whoops. In my defense, Alice has been an absolute task master about our cosplay project. Blame her for the delay. (ignore the part where she actually had her part of the job done ages ago... shhhh)