Buying a ticket for the underground train was not as easy as Harry had thought, unfortunately. Being filthy and stinking, garbed in Dudley's cast-offs, put him at a huge disadvantage. The ticketer thought he was a street urchin having stolen some money somewhere. She was insistant on calling the police too, so Harry took off in search of a way out of the tube station.
He had forgotten how fast telecommunication travelled.
A surge of desperate energy empowered his limbs when he found that a group of policemen had waited for him on the gates of the station. Now he was chased from both ends of the world… He felt trapped, angry and desperate. Why could people not just let him go on his merry way?
But no, he would not surrender to any of them. He would escape or die trying.
The latter sounded so tempting right now, as he again went into the station and streaked along the railway tunnel, half-hoping that there was no train soon to depart or arrive. He was winded, his eyes stung, and his legs felt afire. The only fortune was that his backpack was feather-light as well as bottomless. But that also reminded him that Hedwig was still in there. – Was she yet alive?
– There were lights ahead.
Oh, only the next station…
Harry darted across the platforms, determined to escape into open air, even if he would collapse afterwards. He could barely breathe, and his vision swam. Sweat stung his eyes, just as often as his glasses slipped down his nose.
People shouted all around him. He could not hear them well; he would not. To him, attention meant danger, and danger meant capture. He would not allow it, if he still drew breath.
Everything felt surreal, as if he was swimming in a sea of nothingness that somehow smelled of danger and fear. The dizziness in his head supported that feeling. He felt detached from his own body after a while, as if the fire burning his legs and lungs was inconsequential.
Many kinds of atmosphere passed as he stumbled along at length. He could vaguely recall wading along something wet that reached his waist too.
He would not give up. No, he would not…
– A dead end. Harry sprawled on the hard surface of what might be road, thrown back after hitting something that clanged loudly. Everything went pitch black all around him for a moment, before he at last fought out of it. He was dead… or soon to be. He could not move anymore, much less sitting up and continuing his run. He was completely helpless now.
He hated it. But everything was dull, including that feeling…
Someone loomed over him, then barked something – but not to him. Surprisingly, that person then removed his pack with surprising care. The same hands patted his shoulder gently, and a voice whispered in his ear, something that he dimly remembered as his name. – "Harry?"
And then darkness embraced him again.