Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with the Harry Potter franchise nor the great author, J.K Rowling! This story was just created for fun, not to impersonate the lovely author herself.

Chapter 2: The Storm

Harry Potter woke up in a sweat when the sky had rumbled. He rubbed his eyes and did his normal routine of putting on his glasses, but this time, there were no glasses. The previous events of last afternoon had come back to him and he scowled, remembering where he was and what he had to do. Harry peered his eyes towards the darkness, looking for the outline of entrances and exits of the abandoned alleyway to make sure no one was alerted to his presence during the night. In the dark, he saw some cardboard boxes scattered around, and accompanying them were the squeals and scuttles of rats. The buildings that towered on the sides of the alleyway were abandoned: once as the businesses and restaurants of failed entrepreneurs. From what he heard last night, there were shops not too far; possibly a few blocks away. However, looking around, there was no sign of anyone coming after him, unlike when he was asleep.

For as long as he remembered, he had nightmares and they always played out the same scene. In the nightmare, he saw a red-headed woman scream as bright tendrils of light hurled at her. She then would collapse to the floor in where she became as stiff as a nail. Then, the murderer, with a stick in his hand pointed towards Harry, would be, as usual, the one to cackle and step over the dead body in order to get closer to him. Afterward, there was a green flashing light, another scream, and then nothing.

Not only was he so jaded of the same scene in his head, Harry got tired of his uncle coming in and threatening to "beat out the nonsense in him for his throttling about in the middle of the night." Eventually, Harry left the cupboard at night, being very tired of his uncle's antagonizing mutters, and decided to venture to the back porch to sleep. It was very cold, but Harry was more concerned about his Uncle's reaction than that of anything else. It worked for a while until the neighbors started to complain, in addition to Harry falling asleep during the day in school. Eventually, Harry and the Dursleys just had to come to some understanding—if he could call it that. He was surprised that they hadn't kicked him out just yet, but he didn't understand the incentive of why they did it now in comparison to using an excuse of the more heinous "crimes" that he committed in the past.

Of course, sleeping in some ditch was going to attract the wrong type of attention. Anyone, especially those looking for easy pickings in the alley, could hear him like the Dursleys did. The nightmares were a danger to himself because now, he had no idea who was around—nevertheless that he had no idea concerning his whereabouts. It was very unlikely in this part of town that friendly people would be alerted to his presence, but rather, it was far more likely that the bottom-of-the-mill-type criminals would seek him out. There were bad people out there who would take advantage of him. He knew this, seeing the Dursleys drain his natural tendency for altruism over the years. Strangers? Probably a fate worse than one Dudley or Vernon could have impeded on him.

He squinched his nose in response to the strong fishy smell, likely from the nearby trash bin in the alley, and got up from his cardboard nest. The sky had continued to boom and his eyes widened in a realization that he needed to find somewhere to hide in from the rain.

In the cinereous sky, Harry saw the beginnings of a lightning storm: bright flashes of yellow light erupted in the sky, followed by cold pinpricks of water that he had to shelter himself from. He packed his belongings and looked around for enough cardboard to cover himself. While cowering from the freezing rain, he looked around, under the cardboard, for anything he could use to open the backdoors of the buildings.

Pat. Pat. Pat.

At first, he thought that it was just the sound of the rain, but the more he thought about it, it sounded like the stride of no more than a few people walking near. Of course, Harry was well acquainted with the sounds of footsteps when he was living with the Dursleys. The presence was inching ever so closely to Harry and he quickly darted into the pile of cardboard boxes to hide.

Thieves? Homeless? A rabid dog?

Whatever who or it was, it must have heard the disturbance in the alley and wandered to find the origin of the sound: him. Harry wriggled around just a bit to make sure that the cardboard boxes sheltered him from the rain and hid his form. It was his best attempt to delude the strangers into thinking he was not there, and hopefully, the darkness could shield him from them. Holding his breath, he listened.

The footprints stopped. Something or someone was searching for him. The identity or identities of the presence were unknown to Harry, and, unfortunately, he could find no holes to peek through to see the origin of the disturbance. He knew it was human because suddenly there was a light shining on his cover.

"There is no one here. You had too much to drink last night, and I would've been awake if there was screaming. Let's go back to our tents, eh? Nothing exciting really happens in Wickham, you know that," pleaded a wiry voice.

"I don't bloody hallucinate! There be a lad or lass that we can nick from 'round here. Believe me on this one. There's someone out here and I just know it." He had a voice that reminded Harry of Mr. Dursley, and it made Harry hold his breath even tighter. The two stopped right in front of Harry's cardboard contraption.

Wickham? Harry barely remembered anything about the other parts of England except that he remembered that someone in his class had moved to West Wickham.

"Could it be that the lad is in some other alleyway? It's just the alcohol making you all funny. Besides," the vagabond paused briefly," we could always hit off the market people for some pounds instead. Let's just go," Harry heard from above.

"Let's look at the other alleyway first," the voice insisted, "I only will then take your own adv-you see that? I bet there's a little rascal in that box!"

Harry's heart raced and he heard something brush against his cardboard cover. He cowered waiting for them to find him. He heard the boxes shuffle and froze as stiff as a nail. I'm dead.

"Mrrraooow!" A cat screeched.

"Bloody hell! My glasses! They are gone! First some scream, and now my eyes because of some loony cat."

"One of us will step on them glasses if we keep looking 'round in the dark with this kind of flashlight. It's probably broken already and it's best not to cut our fingers for a broken thing. We can snatch another one later."

"Fine, I suppose you're right," the voice sighed. Harry heard the two leave the alleyway.

Harry waited until he could hear no more footsteps. When he could only hear the squeals of rats, he came out of the pile and scrambled to find the glasses that the two left behind. He didn't know if it was his prescription, or even what it was, but if it was no better than his normal sight, he would discard it. In the darkness, he felt around in the wet gravel until he found the set of glasses. His hands felt upon a wire framed pair, and he grabbed it for examination. The glasses were intact and likely not too scratched up. He used his shirt to wipe the glasses and to make sure, he confirmed that there were no large cracks, then he put them away for later. When sunrise comes around, he would test them out to see if they were useful.

Warning bells rang in his head, telling him to move. He was in England of all places, and sitting outside in the stifling rain would only be bad news. He shuffled around to find his drenched backpack and then put it on him while he braced against the rain. He shivered, looking around the alleyway for anything to break into the abandoned buildings with. At least, he thought, he could get some shelter and hide away from the two thieves if they come back.

Once he saw nothing of use in the shadows of the alleyway, he walked to the exit and ducked his head in both directions to watch for out anybody. Afterward, he went towards the parking lot where the Dursleys dropped him off. Just seeing the spot where his relatives shoved him away made him clench his fists very hard. He kept at his search, focusing on the task at hand and shoved the memories away. After searching in the dark for a while, he discovered a rusty piece glinting at him, and he thought that he could use it. He picked up the metal pipe and made his way to the nearest door and banged on the doorknob for some time until it finally bolted off. He remembered how Mrs. Dursley wanted to have the "perfect home" and in order to do this, she had someone over to install a more fashionable doorknob for the entrance. Harry watched the man install it when he was stuck in his cupboard. Remembering that there was another contraption in the door, he wrung his hand inside of the hole and messed with the locking mechanism until the door was fully unlocked. Then he opened the door and went in, looking back to see if anyone followed him after hearing his break in.

It was really dusty. This place must have been a restaurant once because he saw lots of chairs and tables with sickly-yellow tablecloths which were messily strewn all over the place. He went to see if there was electricity so he could have some light, but there wasn't any. So, he pulled out his flashlight and went around the room. The windows were boarded up, but besides that, the walls were empty with nothing showing recent disturbance and after looking around in the room, he figured out that there were two corridors. He held on his rusty piece more tightly and dropped his bag near the door to check out more of the place. With his metal pipe in one hand and flashlight in the other, Harry went into one corridor. After going through the small corridor, he opened the door into the kitchen.

Within the kitchen, there were old condiments shelved and a variety of platters and silverware put away, ready for use another day. He opened the fridge and saw that it was empty, and then he turned towards the pantry. Inside were some packaged pasta, and several cans of everything from tomato paste to beans. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he was hungry.

Then he moved on to the next corridor and found the restroom. He turned on the tap to see if it would work, but unfortunately, nothing came out. He would have to find water elsewhere once his own backpack runs out.

So, he went back to the main, spacious room and proceeded to check to see if the thieves came back after hearing him break in and enter. But, there was no one and he was alone.

His stomach rumbled again, reminding him that he needed food, so he opened his backpack and grabbed some chips and a can of soda while he sat down at the entrance of the place, thinking about his past. Dudley was very accustomed to so much junk food that a couple of cans or a bag of chips were not missed, but it was certainly welcomed in Harry's sly hands. Harry was planning on leaving the Dursleys eventually in some far distant future, but that was different than what he would have done. When they dumped him in Wickham yesterday, everything changed. He would have to be tougher and somehow survive as a homeless person for a while. It was brutal, but it was better than living with the Dursleys, and while he was angry that they could get away with this, he was also terrified by the open prospects of being independent and in a way, free. His plan would be to walk far enough until he can see the Thames river, and then he would find somewhere to go in London. Deep down inside, Harry knew that the journey was practically impossible, but he couldn't stay in Wickham either. He couldn't just go to the police, because the Dursleys probably filed a missing person report already, and they'll just send him back with them. He was the black sheep of the family that got into trouble all the time, so no one could possibly believe that the Dursleys dropped him off in the middle of nowhere, and Harry did not want to even imagine what they would do to him if he went back. I have to keep going, alone it seems, he thought.

Done with his breakfast, Harry saw that it was daylight through the broken door and decided to get ready to look for some water. He unloaded his backpack in the bathroom and then and went into the pantry to add a quick snack while he got ready to go out while also grabbing a large bucket from the kitchen to carry with him.

Almost forgetting, he put on the square glasses to test them out. The static noise and warped frosted glass he saw in front of him had, for a good amount, disappeared. It wasn't perfect, having seen a crack on the left eyepiece with a slight blur, but it was certainly better than before. Annoying but manageable, he headed out while making sure the door looked untouched as possible.

Harry walked to the edge of the parking lot, looking around for a hint of where to look first. He saw the street name of his new home, not Privet Drive but Oakwood Street. Harry remembered the road where the Dursleys took off at and decided to head into that direction. The thieves came from the other direction, of where the music came from the previous night, and this was something he wanted to avoid. It seemed like the bad part of town and it was better, in his mind, to avoid it. Perhaps, he could get into central Wickham, or at least a nicer part of it, by following the road that the Dursleys headed out from. He counted on the fact that there would be facilities, like a library or restaurant, where he could collect some clean water before returning to his hideout. As planned before in only a split second, he walked along the flaxen grass with an empty bucket in hand. Few cars passed by him, but when they did, they just kept going. The drivers would only gawk at him and then head off into another direction, and Harry didn't really know if he was grateful or resentful that they didn't pull over. His shoulders slumped in shame of his situation but he wouldn't ask for help. No one ever believed him.

After walking for a couple of miles, Harry noticed that the hot sun was far up in the sky in comparison to the darkness only earlier. As an afterthought, he promised himself he wouldn't get caught up in another alleyway, vulnerable in the open like that. What if those thieves had found him in that moment? It was a stroke a luck, and not a situation he wanted to run into again. He couldn't depend on luck, for who knows when it would've run out? His luck already ran out at the Dursleys and it would have been a matter of time before he would run out of luck on the streets like this. He did not know how yet, but he desperately needed to learn how to survive on the streets. I need to survive, he told himself. Harry drank another syrupy can of soda to stave off the thirst, but it was no real substitute for plain water, and then continued on his long walk while his arm became sore carrying the bucket.

In Harry's mind, people are bad, and this is a simple fact of life. There are four types of people in this world, scratch that, three. The fourth category was a fantasy, not a truth. No one was truly kind or cared about him unless they gained something from him or anyone else. He imagined his parents to be in that fourth category, but he really couldn't know: his parents were dead and from what he heard by the Dursleys, his parents were apparently drunks that died in a car crash. He didn't really believe them because they sometimes lied, and he could tell when the Dursleys lied. Mr. Dursley had a temper and at the very least, his uncle's ears would show the pinkish hue of a spoken falsehood, or how Mrs. Dursley would not look at him straight with a sneer on her face. No one belonged in that fourth category; that fantasy was only in Dudley's unopened storybooks from his second bedroom, or on the telly as a hero archetype. His parents were the exception; he needed that comfort and deep down, he knew it. There are three types of people in this world: those who scratch your back if you do scratch theirs, those who ignored you, and those who wanted to hurt you for entertainment, or otherwise gain from your losses. He would do better, he noted to himself, for there were no other alternatives: people were mean, belonging to those three categories-except for his dead parents.

Harry was trying to find a main road, but lost his way and headed into a road far off from where he saw before. He started his journey by walking on dry yellow grass but somehow ended up walking on the sidewalk of some suburban street. He had to be closer, right? Harry figured that he seemed to have ventured into the neighborhood slums as there were houses as far as he could see. He was on a sidewalk right next to the houses, and he was heading in the direction of even more houses.

Then it hit him, a fatal mistake. He realized that he did not take into account that he should have been recording down all the street names he went through, so he could get back. He wasn't even sure if he could return to his hideout now, and that made him really nervous. He generally knew that his hideout, along with his stuff, was back behind him somewhere in Oakwood Street. Stupid, Potter.

There was only one way to go now, and that was forward. Since he acted, he might as well continue with his course of action. Eventually, his feet were starting to hurt from the amount of walking, and he certainly had no idea where to go. Therefore, he had to stop somewhere, but he was concerned with ending up in a situation much worse than the last encounter he had with those two men in the morning. He promised himself, not to get into another situation like that.

Harry shook away his worrisome thoughts. He assured to himself that he would persevere and find a way out and would only focus on the current objective, which was to get water from the town somehow. Then he'll worry about getting back by finding some map. He just had to make it through and avoid the dangerous people: the muggers, the violent types, and especially those who would bring him back to the Dursleys. There were only three types of people in this world, after all.

Several hours had passed, and Harry was more tired than even in the first miles he walked. Still very determined, he walked and walked, following the road looking for signs, that he would go into the middle of town. The sun was high in the sky and it burned straight on his neck and back, cooking him like a lobster. He had sweat pooling down on his back and forehead, and eventually, he became so bored that he started to count how many weeds were coming up from the cracked pavement. The sidewalk seemed endless and Harry didn't really know what he was doing any more, with the street names he actually started paying attention to, bleeding into one and another, disorientating him further.

After walking for a while, Harry noticed that a police car had entered the street. The Dursleys always had a bad name for the police. They threatened that if he ever ran away, the police would do horrible things to him, and then bring him right back. The cops on TV did not seem friendly as well so Harry, either way, did not want to cross paths with them. However, it would be a red herring if he immediately just started running so he didn't know whether to run or ignore the officers. He walked a little faster in hopes they would just move on, like the rest of the others. The police car swerved to Harry then slowed down, at Harry's walking pace. The window of the police car slid down and Harry craned his neck at the car.

"Hey kid, what are you doing out there?" Harry was surprised that the police officer had an American accent.

Harry did not say anything for a brief moment. He was afraid and hadn't had many dealings with the police before, except for their reputation by the word of Vernon Dursley. Who would believe that the Dursleys dumped him in the London area, and what could the police do besides send him back? Harry could try, but he was not going to full-heartily hope that his adventure could be believable to the men in the vehicle, besides, they were the bad type. It was better to just continue on his journey to get water and get back to his stuff, skirting around the Police muddling in it all.

"Walking to the middle of town," Harry answered honestly. He turned around to face the two men in the police car.

"Chap, I'm afraid you're heading in the wrong direction then. Not a local?" The other police officer in the vehicle spoke up. His tone of voice hinted that he thought Harry was joking with him.

"Yes, well, I'll best be on my way then," Harry scowled. He turned away from the policemen and continued to walk.

The policemen would not believe him and are jeering at him now! What do they want to do with Harry in the first place? He clutched his backpack and bucket closer to his body.

"Kid, why are you walking alone? Do your parents live close?" The American had shown concern. The policemen started their vehicle again and steered towards Harry.

"Why can't I walk where I want to go? I'm not messing with anyone's lawn or anything like that." Harry stopped again and faced towards the car. Now, he was getting annoyed.

The car stopped right next to Harry. "Who is taking care of you?" asked the American.

"My aunt," lied Harry.

"Chap, come with us, and we can take you to her," the other police officer spoken up once again.

"Why? I can just walk back. Am I causing some problem, officer?" Harry craned his stiff neck to side.

"Come clean, kid. We know you're a runaway, carrying a bucket like that. It's best to just come in the car with us, nice and easy."

He was tired, dirty, and was running out of the water. However, he also didn't want to go back to the Dursleys. The American motioned to Harry to come in the back but Harry had another idea. He made a dash for it, dropping his things, running towards a nearby house and climbed the terrace.

"Hey!"

He clumsily went across the yard and climbed some more fence to make it to the next street and figure out a way to hide. Unfortunately, the house owner was suntanning in the backyard and hollered about "a boy in the yard." The police would catch up if he didn't move fast enough and he can already hear the sirens going off.

Harry decided to go through another street so he could make the cops lose their trail. He climbed another fence, more slowly this time from exhaustion, and decided to hastily hide in the bushes of the backyard. He was catching his breath when he heard the policemen enter the backyard.

"Come out wherever you are!" Harry shuddered from the adrenaline.

He heard the policemen shuffle in the yard and then they found Harry crouched in a ball deep within the bushes. They almost would've moved on if it were not for a twig that snapped.

"Found you." The English police officer grabbed Harry, carefully maneuvering around the thorny branches and put handcuffs on him. Harry tried to shake him off with his bruised arms, getting sliced a bit by the thicket, but the taller man quickly overpowered him.

"We're going to the station, nice and easy," the American puffed.

They escorted the reluctant green-eyed boy to the vehicle and opened the car door, then shoved him in the back. Closing the door, Harry noticed that he was sitting in the place of law breakers. In the middle of the car were thick steel bars to keep the incarcerated from harming their enforcers. He couldn't put into words how angry he was, damn the stupid police. He kicked the metal bars hard in seething anger. No! I'm not going back there!

The English Policeman turned on the radio to drown out Harry's attempts at escaping the vehicle. Eventually, Harry stopped and sat there, realizing that his bucket and backpack was thrown in the boot of the car. Huh, at least the important stuff was with him. The officer had given a lecture to his co-worker about how Led Zeppelin is such a wonderful band while the American insisted on claiming it was really the Beatles. During this jabbering about which rock band was better, Harry zoned out to his thoughts. His adrenaline wore down and he realized during the chase, he got more than some bush scratches. He had a gash on his leg and a stub toe, and while he felt nothing during the escape, it became bothersome now, lingering at the back of his head as a minor annoyance.

The cops kept bantering back and forth while ignoring Harry. What could they say, even if they wanted to? He was already a criminal in their eyes, and deep down inside him, there was a nagging, persistent feeling that could not be pushed away. Harry was trying to not admit that he was nervous, a forbidden thought in his quest for survival. Harry just wanted to feel safe in his new hideout, and just wanted to siphon some water from the town, but it seemed he would have to deal with a lot more than just that.

The police vehicle pulled up into a parking lot, and Harry saw the run-down brick station surrounded by a sea of concrete, but it was far more interesting than the monotony of suburban houses. The two officers carried Harry inside, with Harry still trying to kick at the officers before submitting defeat once he entered the building. Once within the building, Harry's eyes adjusted to the change of scenery. It was darker inside, with the lingering smell of coffee pervading the place. The three were greeted by a blonde, plump woman with bright red lips scribbling away notes at her desk, which was stacked with various files and folders. Upon the desk was a gleaming nameplate: Secretary MacGinnis, which was slightly concealed by the sheer mass of paper and pens piled on top.

She looked up and scanned Harry with a clinical curiosity and then turned her attention to the two officers with an aloof countenance.

"Hello Officers, who is this?" she had a soft and lively voice, which did not meet to her tired, sunken eyes.

"We found this chap wandering the streets of Wickham. We suspected he was a runaway and when we caught up with him, he made a run for it. Of course, not fast enough. We just need missing child reports to confirm this.

"Alright, I'll send the paperwork. In the meantime, it's best to inform Deputy Brooke about this incident. More and more runaways are ending up here and it might be on the news soon. I hate press," the secretary scowled, "please follow me."

Past the secretary desk, there was a narrow corridor with a mucky Persian carpet. The woman lead Harry and the Officers, and in a brief time, all had arrived at their destination at the front of the Deputy's office.

The plump woman had knocked on the sturdy door and tapped her foot impatiently during the brief wait. The frilly, ivory curtains in the window of the door were parted for a second, showing an elderly woman with a phone in hand on the other side. She had her finger up and mouthed, 'one second,' at the secretary. The curtains were drawn again to hide what was behind the door and the woman with it, presumably Deputy Brooke herself.

"Eh, Chap, say I never caught your name?" The English officer spoke to Harry for the first time since Harry's capture.

Harry stumbled for a very brief second, wracking his brain for a replacement,"Derek. My name is Derek." He was willing to make up as much as he can in order to avoid the clutches of the Dursleys.

"Nice meeting you, Derek," The English officer furrowed his eyes with a distant expression on his face, deep within meddlesome thoughts, "say─"

"We have to go, lunch break just started," the other officer interrupted. Then he turned to Harry, "good luck, and hopefully we might see each other in the future, but not in crime, okay?" The American officer emphasized the 'crime' part while Harry simply nodded.

Both of the officers made brief farewells and went in another room of the station.

The door creaked and rubbed against the dirty black carpet when it was opened by a woman, this time, with no phone in hand. Harry cringed at the sound of the door and at his future fate beyond it.

"Why hello to you, how is everything today, and who is this?" She spoke with a rough voice.

"As usual," replied the secretary. She had a moping expression briefly, but it was replaced, again, with a blank expression. "This boy here," she pointed at Harry, "is Derek. Two of our officers brought him in after finding him in the streets."

"Thank you," the secretary had nodded at the Deputy and Harry, and then walked away, likely, to her desk to finish paperwork. Deputy Brooke then, focused her attention on Harry, "Please come on in," she smiled and bent down towards Harry, "I have some sweets, do you want one?"

"Sure?" Harry shrugged.

He went in, immediately overwhelmed by the smell of cigarettes. Low and behold, there was a cigarette still alight, which the Deputy then smothered out immediately.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled.

Deputy Brooke showed Harry to her small candy bowl and Harry picked out a mystery flavored lolly, then he sat down on the nearest chair.

Truthfully, he wouldn't have minded any sweets since Dudley always stole them from him, especially during Halloween, and he hoped it distract him. The lady sat down in her desk chair and brought out some paper and a pen. Harry gulped. He unwrapped the candy and put it in his mouth, tasting the artificial strawberry flavor then clenched the wax paper in his warm and sweaty hand.

"I am Deputy Brooke, and I would like to ask you some questions. It is my job, of course," she amusedly noted. "So, let's start with your name once again."

"D-Derek," he shuffled uncomfortably. The strawberry tasted sour in his mouth.

"How do you spell it?"

"Um, D-E-R-E-K."

"Last name?"

"Smith."

"How old are you?"

"Ten, but will be eleven soon," he realized that he didn't even know what day it was, so he glanced around the room and saw a calendar on the wall. It was the twenty-third of June.

"Getting comfy in my office?," he saw that the Deputy narrowed her eyes as she wrote down the information.

"It's a nice office, I guess," Harry shrugged.

"Derek," Harry flinched at the unfamiliar name, "judging by your current state," her eyes traveled up and down at Harry's disheveled appearance, "it seems that you put up a fight with the officers, correct?

"Possibly?"

"However, because you didn't cooperate with the officers, you could spend a night─or two in the cell." Harry's eyes widened at that," but, I'm willing to be flexible on this manner. If you tell me exactly what happened, I'll only let you off with a warning and nothing will go on paper."

"Oh, okay," he didn't feel that assured. "My mother's side of the family," he began," kicked me out of their home. I-"

"Tell me their names and address, so it can be dealt with properly," she said objectively," I will hand you over to Child Protective Services, and you will be put in an orphanage in the meantime."

"Meantime?" Harry repeated in confusion.

"Oh yes, it could be that you will be returned to your caretakers if there is no evidence to suggest they abandoned you," Harry was liking her less and less, "so their names and address?"

"They, um, are the Smiths," Harry knew that by now, the Dursleys would have destroyed all the evidence. They had the connections and were just enough crazy to do it. "I only know what street they live on, not the number, sorry," he looked up at the ceiling.

The woman sighed a little. She looked very annoyed, and Harry thought that, perhaps, she felt like he was wasting her time; he could sympathize with her on that regard, but he just couldn't go back. She wouldn't understand that.

"They live in Magnolia Street, of Little Whinging."

The address was too close to the Dursleys, but not close enough for him to get shoved back with them. Mr. Dursley would murder him this time if he ever came back.

It was a compromise. Since, Smith was a very common family name, and the investigation would eventually close, preventing them to blame on Harry as the runaway. Now, Harry would be free to live elsewhere, away from them. Anywhere was good, even the orphanage.

"Pardon me while I make a few calls," Deputy Brooke had turned away from Harry and opened her phone book, flipping through the pages to find the numbers. She punched in a number and then dialed on the machine.

"Hello, this is Deputy Brooke from West Wickham Police Department. We have a runaway ten-year-old boy with us. He needs relocation to an orphanage. Can you contact the local orphanages for a vacant spot?"

There were some muffles from the phone. The Deputy sat at her desk and wrote names on a slip of paper.

"Mmhmm," she hummed and in response, there were more muffles from the phone, "Of course," Harry was so bored, waiting for her to end her call. "Okay," she twirled the phone line around her finger, "uhuh. Thank you, sir, for your time, and have a wonderful day." The phone clanged when she placed it back on the machine. "Derek, can you give this slip of paper to my secretary? I have to make more calls, but she will be able to help you out until they arrive."

"Yes," Harry's mouth twitched. Which direction was the front of the building again?

"Oh, how silly of me, I see you don't know the building well," she proclaimed with a fake-saccharine voice. "That way."

He nodded then left the room, shutting the door behind him. He felt a little light-headed from the cigarette smell back in the Deputy's office and was happy to be in the presence of faint coffee instead. Then he went into the direction that the Deputy said was the right away. Trampling over the dirty Persian carpet once again, he found his way to the front and handed the folded piece of paper to the secretary. The secretary had read the writing that extended on the page, and Harry peeked over her shoulder, trying for a last attempt at reading it, but all he saw were blurry shapes of ink.

"You are very dirty, let me show you to the showers and it also looks like you need some new clothes." The secretary darted her eyes away from the paper and walked towards a new hallway in where Harry tagged along.

"I have some stuff back in the town town, are they going to let me get it back?" He spoke up.

"It depends, but somewhat likely, yes."