Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron in a cheery mood, having had dinner in one of the small cafes littering Diagon Alley. The mood dimmed, though, when he stepped beyond the concealed gates to the backyard of the pub. Ahead, the bar was strangely silent, and he could feel an air of anticipation around it.
He was famous in the Wizarding World; he only realized it now. So had a group of fans been waiting to ambush him? Or the followers of Voldemort – that name that Hagrid feared so? Regardless, it was bad all around, and he did not want to come inside to check.
There were trailing vines on the wall and sturdy-looking window ledges…
Harry counted the windows and climbed up the wall to reach his room's. Praying that nobody was inside his room, he climbed through the open window and looked around warily.
Nobody. Not yet, at least, because he could hear footsteps ascending the stairs…
He stuffed his rucksack and Hedwig's cage into his bottomless backpack, murmuring an apology to the owl meanwhile. Then, shrinking the trunk like the shop-keeper had instructed him, he stuffed it into his britches' pocket. Seeing that he had left nothing else, he went out by the same way and back into Diagon Alley. There must be an end to that alley. Or, if not, he could always brave Knocturn Alley…
The alley looked and felt just like it had been. His ambushers had not thought to spread there, then. With that hope in mind, he darted in between the groups of shoppers, avoiding the shadows where someone might lurk.
– He was famous because of the scar on his forehead, right? He could make use of Dudley's old hat, then.
But Diagon Alley ended on Gringotts, and he did not dare come inside to see if there might be a way out… His left hand clenched the blue stone in his pocket, opposite where he had stowed the shrunken trunk. – Nono. It was the last option, must be so.
Eyes were on his back. He must move on.
Taking a deep breath, Harry plunged into Knocturn Alley; running, running, always running. And the watcher pursued him. It was like the warped version of Harry Hunting Dudley liked to play on him…
The alley was dark, secretive and menacing. But Harry did not stop long enough anyway. And, as if sympathising with his plight, the dubious shoppers there made way for him.
The alley branched, and branched, and branched again. Harry just followed his feet in all that.
And at length, they brought him to a dead end.
The filthy, mold-invested wall was full of nooks and crannies, though.
Slipping many times in the process, Harry climbed the wall and looked over.
An underground train station. Perfect.
A hill of garbage was directly below the wall, rotting and stinking, but Harry did not care. He jumped down, landing on the pile and falling with it. Afterwards, stinking and filthy, he ran again.