Chapter Two
Fresh Cut Grass
30th July 1996
Harry lay spread out on his bed admiring the picture in his hand, if you could call it a bed that was. The thin mattress that separated the almost sixteen year old from the ground was hardly what one would call a bed, but it was better than most surfaces he had slept on his life. This was because he lived in a homeless shelter, not that he wanted to live here or anything, but it was either this or the orphanage he had run away from at age eleven. It wasn't like he was exactly disadvantaged either, he worked, he earned money. He went to school, studied, paid for his own lunch and was working to get his O-Levels, thank you very much. Nothing truly extraordinary, but hopefully he'd be able to make his way to his A-Levels in a couple of years. So there he lay, looking longingly at the photograph in his hand, the only item and personal possession he had ever owned. It had been his for as long as he could remember. It was special. Why? Well, it moved.
Harry smiled as the red haired woman in the hospital gown cooed her baby again, brushed a lock of hair from her face and kissed the newborn's forehead, laughing and smiling as she did. Each action was familiar, recognised, he knew it. Probably because this was the millionth time he had watched this scene, but each time felt like the first. He turned over the picture, running his finger over the neat, looped hand writing in the corner of the back.
Lily and Harry
31st July 1980
Maternity Ward
St. Mungo's Hospital
Harry sighed, looking at the photo again, the woman had to be Lily and he guessed that he was the baby. He'd been named for it after all, when they found him the picture was clasped in his little hand, a stuffed deer in the other. The social workers had tried to find this St. Mungo's Hospital, but apparently no record of the place existed anywhere. They thought it was a joke, they'd tried to remove the picture from Harry, but he never let them. As a babe he'd stare at it all day, at the woman, he cried when he couldn't hold the picture. Which was why the thing was so folded and worn. It was the only thing that calmed him down though, the sight of his mother's young face. He wondered if she was alive, if she looked for him, he had her eyes, he wondered if he had his dad's hair since his wasn't red. Was his father's hair also black, messy and uncontrollable? He wondered what the man looked like, what they were like. If they were alive, had they forgotten him already? Did they miss him?
Thousands of questions had always rolled through his mind like a bullet train on wheels, long ago Harry had learned to push them away, bring himself to reality, but that didn't stop him from dreaming about it. Turning over onto his side he placed the photo gently beside him, it only moved for him, no one else had ever seen it do so except for him. Smiling, he removed his duct taped glasses, lay down on his old pillow and closed his eyes. Briefly his hand came up to brush the messy hair from his forehead, pausing on the small lightning bolt shaped scar there. Another mystery, he thought as he sank into a restless sleep.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
"I didn't do anything!" Harry yelled. The woman in front of him kept looking at him with cold grey eyes. Her even greyer hair cropped short and permmed into small, tight curls. She glared at Harry, obviously not believing a word the ten year old boy said.
"Its always you though," she said coldly, "Every time there's trouble its always you. One more digression boy and I will hand you over to the police myself! Now where is Matron Freda's necklace?"
"It wasn't me!" Harry growled, "I. Don't. Steal."
She seemed to want to blow up, her eyes bulged a little and she snarled angrily, her fingers clenched in anger.
"You will lose all your privileges," she hissed threateningly, "Until you confess to your crimes, no TV, no dessert, no outings, nothing. You hear me? Nothing!"
Harry crossed his arms angrily over his chest, glaring at the head matron defiantly. He knew as well as she did that he didn't give a hoot what she took away from him. They were empty words and Harry was going to be damned if he let this woman accuse him of a crime he didn't commit.
"Fine," he said, "You do that."
She gave a snort and shook her head.
"Useless child," she said, "Ever since you arrived here you've been nothing but a thorn in my side. Always causing trouble, always making strange, abnormal things happen. Its no wonder no one will adopt you, no wonder your parents abandoned you."
That struck a nerve and she knew it. Harry got to his feet, fist clenched, glaring at the woman with pure loathing.
"Shut up!" he yelled, the lights in the office flashing.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Seven year old Harry sobbed into the lap of the older woman as she stroked his hair soothingly, whispering words of comfort.
"I'm sure she didn't mean it, Harry," she said softly, "Matron Hilary is just over worked, she really does care about you."
"She hates me," Harry cried, "I know she does!"
"Oh Harry, hate is a bit strong, she-she just doesn't know you-"
"Matron Morgan," said Harry, sitting up, "Am I a freak?"
Matron Morgan looked at Harry seriously, her kind brown gaze boring into him and she took his hand. She was a plump woman in her late fifties, her brown hair streaked with grey, the corners of her eyes wrinkled from laughter.
"Now you listen to me, Harry," she said, squeezing his hand, "You. Are. Not. A. Freak. You're a bright, courageous and talented child and I know you're destined for great things."
"Really?" Harry looked at her wide eyed, his tear stained face still read, "How can you tell?"
The old matron smiled, pulling the youngster into a hug and whispered comfortingly.
"I just can."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
He was back in the tunnels again, it was dark and wet. He was twelve and he was confused, he'd just been asleep, hadn't he? So this was a dream, wasn't it? What was this place? He could see a red haired girl lying on the wet floor, she looked unconscious.
Lifeless.
He ran to her, back in his twelve year old body, he took her hand gently, feeling desperately for a pulse. He found it, it was faint, but it was there, a tiny heart beat fluttering beneath her skin. Harry almost sighed with relief, gripping her hand tightly in his own, he called out urgently to her.
"Please!" he cried desperately to her, "Please wake up!"
Her eyes opened slowly, a warm, honeyed brown, big and strangely enchanting. She didn't move though, her eyes just stayed open, looking, maybe seeing, but completely still.
"Please!" he begged, the tears coming to his own emerald gaze. Still though, she didn't move, didn't budge an inch.
"She won't wake," came the voice behind him.
Harry turned to look into the face of a boy of about sixteen or seventeen years of age, he was handsome and had neat, dark hair. His blue eyes shone cruelly at Harry and he was holding a stick pointed directly at Harry's head.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry was somewhere he didn't recognise, it looked like an old room, big and dusty. A figure sat in a high backed chair. He couldn't see anything but a black cloak and a slumped body in the chair. Something moved at his feet and he nearly screamed when a very large snake slithered past.
"You've found him?" a cold voice wheezed out. Harry squinted, noticing for the first time a figure crouched in front of the one in the chair.
"A-a-almost m-m-master," the man stuttered, bowing down low, "The sp-spell still makes him undetectable, b-but its w-weakening, we know the area, w-we can pinpoint his location the moment the spell w-weakens enough."
"Good," his master cackled, "Good, bring me his blood and don't fail. You know the consequences if you fail, don't you?"
"Y-yes master."
"Crucio!"
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry woke with a start, sitting up, the scar on his forehead stung, it was still dark. He rubbed his forehead and lay back again, the pain subsiding. Memories, fading away into dreams again. The memories he could handle, but the dreams…
That last one, the one with the grovelling servant, it was the first time he'd dreamed about that, usually it was just the red haired girl in the cave. At least that dream hadn't progressed further than the very beginning, he shuddered at the memory of what was yet to come. The nightmare had haunted him since the first night he had dreamed it, that horrible night when he was twelve years old. The strangest thing about the dream, was Harry was scared out of his wits it hadn't been a dream at all, his hand wondering absently to he circular scar on his forearm. The place where that thing-
He stopped and shook his head.
No point.
He probably got it somewhere years before and his subconscious created the dream as an explanation to the scar he couldn't remember receiving.
That was it.
That had to be it.
He had other scars he didn't remember as well after all, he ran his hand over his forehead, closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry woke early, stuffed the picture into the rim of his cap, put on his glasses and went to the bathroom as quickly as he could. He washed quickly, before the other tenants woke up and found him. The shelter gave a roof over your head and a place to sleep, but anything else you were on your own for. You couldn't keep your belongings there because people stole and you never knew if you'd get the same bed twice, so Harry carried everything he owned with him, which wasn't much. It was really enough to fit into the pockets of his old jeans or the small moth eaten back pack he carried too. In it he had a tooth brush, tooth paste, soap, face cloth, some spare clothes, the old stuffed deer which he rarely took out now it was so old and other useful items. During school he also kept his books in a plastic packet to keep them from getting wet and quite recently had taken to buying shaving foam and razors as the first signs of stubble began forming on his young chin. Harry wasn't vain or anything, he just found people were a lot friendlier when you weren't covered in your own stink, especially the ones he worked for. It wasn't much, buying these thing every month or so, but it helped. It was all he needed really. He didn't make enough to afford a place to stay, but that was okay, for now. Someday he'd find a descent job and save up to rent a small apartment, maybe even buy a little house. Harry liked the thought, he didn't need anyone taking care of him, never had and never would.
Harry left the house at about seven that summer morning, the old, red cap clamped securely over his unruly hair, it cover his scar and eyes from view. He never left the shelter with out it, even refusing to take it off in school, not that the teachers cared much, they were used to him. The hat to him was his only form of protection from the staring eyes of the outside world, no one could see his face. Also he carried the picture in it where ever he went, it kept it close and no one ever looked in hat rims for something to steal. Adjusting it to cover all his hair with one hand, he pulled a £2 coin out of his pocket with the other and folded it into his fist. Rounding the corner he entered a little café, picked up a sandwich and paid the man at the counter receiving 50p change. He ate the sandwich as he walked, savouring each and every bite as the cheese, tomato and bread combination slid joyfully down his throat. He paused, looking thoughtfully at the bus stop, half a sandwich in his hand. He wondered if he'd made enough this week to take the bus, it beat walking for an hour. He decided against it though, better to take it on the way back, save what he had for now.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
An hour later, Harry entered the little village in Surrey, his job for this week; mowing lawns and tending people's gardens. It was about a quarter past eight, Harry was forty-five minutes early, so he amused himself by taking out the newspaper he'd picked up on his walk over, taking a seat on the sidewalk and reading the daily news. By the time he'd arrived at the sports section of the paper, he checked the battered watch on his wrist, nine o'clock, time to work.
"Let's see," he muttered to himself as he packed the newspaper away, "Mr. Johnson first, then Mrs. Figg and then the Dursleys."
Harry almost shuddered at the thought, the Dursleys were not the nicest of people, they always seemed preoccupied in one of two things; themselves and what the neighbours were doing. Mrs. Dursley was a tall skinny woman with a long neck and a horse like jaw, the complete opposite of her beefy husband, Mr. Dursley. But nothing compared to their son, Dudley. The boy was a mountain and the biggest bully Harry had ever met, he thanked what ever powers that were that the pig of a boy didn't attend the local village high school that Harry attended each year. But the summers were terrible, Harry worked the Private Drive of Little Whinging, Surrey every year since he was twelve and Dudley always seemed to make it miserable.
"Two more summers," he reminded himself, shouldering his backpack, "Two more summers and I can get a real job."
Slumping over to Number Nine Private Drive, he knocked on the door. A few minutes later a short, friendly looking man opened the door smiling.
"Harry," he greeted, "Right on time."
"Morning Mr. Johnson," said Harry politely.
"Having a good summer so far?" Mr. Johnson asked in his deep voice.
"Yes sir," Harry said, polite again. It wasn't really a lie, the weather had been nice at least, "And you sir?"
"Good, good," nodded Mr. Johnson, "Had breakfast yet? Can I get you some coffee? Before you start?"
Harry smiled gratefully, but shook his head.
"I've eaten, thanks," he said, "What is it you'd like me to do today sir?"
"Hmmm," Mr. Johnson gave Harry a sympathetic, but respectful look. Harry was grateful for it, instead of the pity a few of the other neighbours had given him, Mr. Johnson in some way understood Harry's plight and respected him for it. "Just the lawn today I think, maybe prune the hedge a little."
Harry nodded.
"I'm on it sir," he said, already turning to get the tools from Mr. Johnson's shed.
"Harry."
Harry turned.
"Yes sir?"
"You can go through the house, you know?" he said, "You don't have to walk the whole way round the garden gate."
Harry smiled sheepishly and nodded, following Mr. Johnson inside.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
A few hours later Harry was being force fed by the over ecstatic Mrs. Figg, who was chatting endlessly about all her cats. Harry only smiled in response, truth be told he never wanted to see another cat for as long as he lived, but Mrs. Figg was an old woman and lonely. She liked company and he liked her, he just wished she would stop talking about those bloody cats.
"Eat that stew now boy," she said sternly, "You're far too skinny for your own good. Why give me the rest of this summer and I'll fatten you up good and proper before school starts!"
Harry grinned. She said the same thing every year, and at the end of summer she'd sigh and say, "You better be round soon and we'll try again."
Harry did come back to Little Whinging to see Mrs. Figg, on Christmas, New Year, Halloween, Easter; any holiday, any excuse to make sure she wasn't alone on those days, like he was. Maybe that was it, maybe he came so he wouldn't be lonely, Harry didn't know. He'd left the orphanage after it was obvious no one would ever adopt him, after his strangeness had come to light. Harry didn't want to think about it though. Instead his thoughts turned to the day he'd met Mrs. Figg, he'd gotten into some stupid fight in the neighbourhood, only to be saved by her.
FLASHBACK
The fist connected with his stomach, hard and fast, punching the air out of his lungs and causing him to falter. He tried to take in another breath quickly, but the wind was knocked out of him and his chest was refusing to cooperate. He tried again, it stung on the way down, his traitorous lungs struggling to hold in the life giving oxygen he needed. His ears thundered a little and his stumbled a little before standing tall and facing his opponent again. The boy's hoodie had fallen out of place and he smirked at Harry as he drew back his fist for another punch. The incessant chanting of, 'fight, fight, fight,' from the spectators rattled on Harry's nerves, he put up his fists again, gritting his teeth and getting ready for the next attack. Not for the first time in his life, Harry wondered how the hell he had gotten himself into this mess. The twelve year old boy shook his head a little, trying to concentrate on the attack. The boy was a little older than him, but not very big. This wasn't good, it meant Harry didn't have the advantage of being smaller and quicker. The punch was coming, closing his eyes in anticipation of the pain, Harry cringed.
"What's going on here?"
The aged, shrill voice cut through the throng, the chanting stopped and Harry could hear them scattering off in all directions.
"Get away! You hooligans! Get away!"
Harry creaked his eyes open to find he was on his own, well, on his own if you didn't count the old woman who was now staring at him angrily. Her greying mousy brown hair was secured in a tight bun at the back of her head and she squinted at him a little as though she couldn't see him very well.
"Are you alright, boy?" she asked.
Harry nodded, not sure what else to say. The woman gripped his face, checking his cheeks for bruises, before she looked him over.
"Hurt?" she asked curtly.
Harry shook his head. She scrutinized him for a moment, leaning back a little and watching his expression. Harry gulped a little, unsure of who this woman was and what she wanted exactly.
"Hungry?"
Harry blinked in surprise, her gaze was so intense he nodded. She sighed and turned around.
"Come along then," she said, "Follow me."
"Ma'am-" Harry began.
"Its Mrs. Figg," she interrupted him, "Now come along, I don't have all day."
END FLASHBACK
So he sat there, in Mrs. Figg's kitchen, eating warmed up beef stew and sipping a glass of Pepsi, listening to the old woman talk about her cats. Harry wondered if this was what it was like to have a grand-parent. Half an hour later the session ended, Harry thanked Mrs. Figg for lunch and after promising to return for afternoon tea, set off for the most dreaded house of all; the Dursleys.
Harry knocked n the door of Number Four Private Drive, a little hesitantly, hoping it wasn't Dudley who answered. The door opened, revealing the podgy bully of a boy, Harry cursed his luck.
"Well if it isn't Homeless Harry," the boy sneered, "Dad's not going to be happy, you're late."
Harry checked his watch, he was, by two minutes.
"Get your father, Dursley," growled Harry through clenched teeth, "I've work to do."
"Poor Homeless Harry," Dudley continued, "No mother, no father, no nothing!"
He laughed as he walked away to fetch his father, Harry took deep breathes, it took every fibre of restrain the had not to charge at the boy. Damn it! If he didn't need the money, he'd quit doing the Dursley's garden in a heart beat, but unfortunately, he did. He looked forward to the day when he could come back here and deck Dudley one. He hoped it came soon.
"So you're here then?" said Mr. Dursley, opening the front door wider, eyeing Harry with suspicion and contempt.
"Yes sir," said Harry, trying to keep his voice level, it wasn't working so well.
"Well then boy?" he said gruffly, "Get a move on! You know where everything is! And I'm warning you; anything missing and I'll have you in jail before you can say Bob's your uncle, got it?"
The threat was the same every time, Harry nodded, glad of the cap that prevented anyone from seeing his green eyes flash with anger.
"Yes, Mr. Dursley."
The man shut the door in his face, Harry sighed, trying again to let go of his anger, failing and instead decided to take it out on the lawn.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Lily Potter sighed as she put on her jacket. She wore plain black pants and a white blouse accompanied by sensible heels and light, natural looking make-up. She brushed through her long red hair, trying to look presentable.
Normal.
She glanced at her watch, it was nearly time for her and Ally, her eleven year old daughter, to leave. She knew that the visit was possibly pointless, but the message she'd received from her sister had seemed so strange, so-
Unlike Petunia.
She wished she could put on a better pair of shoes or at least wear a more comfortable top. At the age of thirty-seven, Lily was convinced there was no reason she should be dressing in anyway like her older sister. Skirts and blouses she loved, petticoats and frills reminded her too much of how her mother would dress in her later years. An old woman's look. Which was how Lily felt about her older sister's dress code.
And she thinks I'm abnormal.
She picked up a photograph on her dressing table and smiled, it was of her, James and little Ally as a baby, sitting in a park and smiling up at the camera. Lily didn't know what would have happened if Ally had never been born. James had become so absorbed with finding Harry, with what he thought was his failure. For a while there, Lily had been terrified their marriage would fall apart. Then Ally came into the world. Three and a half years after Harry's disappearance, she had brought back a little of the light into their lives. James had become more attentive, not only to his daughter, but to Lily as well, becoming a wonderful father and husband again.
She smiled, setting the photograph down and picked up the one positioned beside it. Almost identical, except it showed a laughing one year old Harry Potter sitting up on his dad's shoulders. James was smiling and laughing too, his hazel eyes bright. Lily stood next to them, looking up at Harry adoringly and smiling, James' arm wrapped around her waist.
"Harry," she whispered, that dull pain shot through her heart again as she put it down, "Sixteen tomorrow, and you'll never know how much I miss you."
It was still hard. Looking at that adorable face, remembering those green eyes so sparked with life and happiness. She closed her own pair of green eyes, willing away the tears. The decision she and James had made. It was right, wasn't it? Harry was probably happy out there somewhere, happy and loved.
He didn't need her anymore.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered, turning away from the picture and blinking away the growing sting in her eyes.
"Ally!" she called, "Its time to go!"
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry switched off the mower, looking at his handy work of the front yard, straight and neat, just like the Dursleys liked it. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, briefly disturbing the placing of his cap.
"But Mum, why can't I go in with you?" Harry turned in surprise at the sound of a young girl's voice. He saw a small girl with straight dark red hair, a button nose and big, hazel green eyes. She was holding the hand of a woman with identical red hair, her face was turned away as though she was looking for something in the distance, she turned it back as she reached the door, but all Harry could see was the back of the red haired mass. She knocked on the door, Mrs. Dursley answered, her face becoming enraged as she saw the woman.
"Its about time, Potter," she snarled, venom in her voice.
"Petunia," the red haired woman sighed, "You called me for a reason, didn't you?"
Petunia Dursley eyed the woman suspiciously and opened the door wide.
"Hurry up then," she spat, her eyes darted to the little girl who darted behind her mother's back in dear.
"Ally," said the woman, "You stay in the front garden and play while I talk to Aunt Petunia."
"Yes mum," said the little girl obediently, letting go of her mother's hand as she and Petunia Dursley disappeared into the house.
The girl stood staring at the door for a moment and sighed. She looked round to see Harry looking at her and smiled.
"Hi there," she said cheerfully, "Are you Dudley?"
Harry glared, insulted.
"Most certainly not!" he exclaimed, "I'm just the gardener."
"Oh," said the girl, "What's your name?"
"Harry," said Harry.
"I'm Allison Rose Potter," she said proudly, "But you can call me Ally."
Harry smiled at the girl, the spark of mischief that had entered her hazel eyes was oddly familiar and rather comforting. He stuck out his hand for her to shake, which she accepted gratefully.
"Nice to meet you Ally," he said.
Ally beamed.
"Likewise Harry."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Lily took the seat that was offered to her by her older sister, it was the first time in a long time that the two had spoken face to face. The last being at their mother's funeral. Lily remembered that day vividly, the sadness and the despair.
"Its your fault they're dead," her sister screeched, "Just like dad, she died because of your freakishness! Your stupid world!"
Lily bit her lip, watching Petunia carefully, she was carrying a small piece of paper in her hand and trying to avoid looking at Lily. Finally she sighed, looking directly at Lily with her bright blue eyes, colder but almost exactly like their mother's had been.
"How has your-your family been?" she started, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Fine," said Lily, clearly surprised by her sisters sudden change in demeanour, "Ally's starting school soon and James just got a new promotion. How are Dudley and Vernon? Does he still work for that drill company?"
"Yes," said Petunia shortly, "He does, worked himself up quite well. Dudley is doing well at school too, started boxing."
"That's good," said Lily, "Its always nice when boys have a sport they enjoy."
"Yes," Petunia agreed stiffly, "He'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
Lily blinked. She knew who her sister was talking about and she nodded, her throat closing up a little at the mention.
"He'll be sixteen tomorrow," she said softly, biting on her lower lip. Petunia sighed.
"I don't like you," she said slowly, "I don't understand or trust your world. I've never been happy with your choice of husband, I don't agree with what you became when you went to that school-"
"Petunia-"
"Let me finish!" the older woman snapped, "I still blame you, Lily, for mum and dad's deaths, for their favouritism of you and for the fact that they just loved to have something as freakish as a witch in the family."
Lily could feel her anger growing, she started to rise, but Petunia rose a hand to stop her.
"Whatever I think of you, Lily," she said finally, "I would not wish on any mother to lose her child like you did."
Lily stopped in shock, staring at her sister. Surely she had misheard, but did Petunia actually just say something…comforting?
"When I first saw the picture in this article, I didn't think anything of it," she said, taking a deep breath, "I didn't link the similarities until I was cleaning out some of mum's old photo albums and found one of those-those moving pictures. It was of you when you were at that-that school, standing next to your husband. And it struck me that this picture looked far too much like him for it not to be real."
"What are you talking about?" Lily frowned, "What article?"
Petunia handed her the newspaper clipping silently and crossed her arms as Lily stared wide eyed at the photograph.
"This-this is-" she looked at Petunia wide eyed, "He's alive? He's okay? D-do you know w-where he is?"
"Yes," said Petunia, "He's that boy you passed earlier, working in the garden. I made sure we had him here today so-"
"Oh Petunia," Lily couldn't help herself anymore, she threw herself at her big sister, hugging her tightly, tears falling from her face, "Thank you. Thank you."
"Yes, well," Petunia coughed, shaking herself out of Lily's grip, "Go take your child, I don't want any freaks working on my garden."
Lily looked at her sister for a long time, her green eyes swimming with tears, she bit her lower lip and nodded, too happy to care about her sister's remarks.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
They talked for a while longer, silly things, like the weather or their favourite foods, Ally had some strange ideas about sweets Harry had never heard of before. Chocolate Frogs and sugar quills. Harry laughed, enjoying the childlike enjoyment in her eyes.
"You starting school soon?" he asked.
She nodded excitedly.
"Yeah!" she said, "My first year and I can't wait! I hope I get into Gryffindor-"
"What's that?" asked Harry.
Ally's eyes widened, like she'd let something slip.
"I-it's a house," she said, "The school I'm going to has four houses."
"Oh," said Harry, "So it's like a private school or something?"
"Yeah," said Ally quickly, "Private."
"So what are the other houses?"
"Well, Gryffindor, of course, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. I really hope I don't get into Slytherin though."
"Why's that?" asked Harry, frowning in confusion.
"A lot of bad people came from that house," she shuddered slightly, "A lot."
Harry gave her a quizzical look, but asked no more on the subject.
"Well what do we have here?" a familiar voice came from the Dursley's doorway, "Homeless Harry slacking off with the freak."
"Shut up, Dursley," Harry growled as Ally flinched at the word freak.
"Or what?" asked the bully, coming towards them, "You'll make me?"
"Whose that?" asked Ally.
"Dudley," said Harry dryly, to Dudley he said, "Don't push me, Dursley."
"That a threat?"
"No," said Harry darkly, "A promise."
"Ooh!" taunted Dudley, "So brave in front of the brat!"
He charged towards Harry, pushing Ally out of the way, she cried out as she was roughly pushed to the side. Harry saw red, drew back his fist and did what he'd wanted to do since he was twelve years old.
Harry decked him one.
Dudley went down like a light, Harry shook his hand out, exhilarated by the action. Ally was staring from him to the unconscious boy, her mouth open in awe.
"What happened?" squealed a voice.
Harry looked to see Petunia and the red haired woman coming out again, he ignored the stranger and focused on Mrs. Dursley.
"My resignation," he called, "I quit!"
He looked at Ally, lifted his cap momentarily to reveal his shocking emerald orbs and winked at her, smiling.
"See you around Ally," he said, and he turned and ran.
"Wait!" he heard the strange woman call.
Ally gaped after him, very confused, his eyes. She'd only ever seen them on one other person and that person was running towards her from the house.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry laughed as he ran, okay, so he'd lost a job, but it felt great. It felt fantastic! He stopped near the tunnel that went under the train tracks and ducked inside. There he rested against the wall and sank to the ground, sighing. He took off his backpack and pulled out the newspaper he'd been reading. Mrs. Figg expected him back for tea in a couple of hours, he had time to spare, so he read. Harry felt himself becoming drowsy as he did so and eventually fell asleep.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
The magical law enforcement officer checked the report again, frowning as he did. Surely this was impossible. How could this have happened with out anyone knowing about it? He got up from his seat rushed to the Head Auror's office, the old man would be retiring soon, making way for his replacement, but for now he was still in charge.
"Sir?" he knocked on the door before entering.
"What is it Higgins?"
"There's a problem in Little Whining, Surrey," Higgens said, "There's some sort of magical disturbance happening but for the life of me I can't decipher what. I also think there are magical creatures loose in the area."
"Magical creatures?" the old auror frowned, "What kind of magical creatures?"
"I don't know," said Higgins, "But they're not supposed to be there, that for sure."
"Tell Potter and Black to check it out," he said, "Good practice for the lads."
"Yes sir!"
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
He awoke quite abruptly, it was getting dark. Harry swore, it was getting late, he got up quickly and checked his watch. It was nearly nine!
"Just great," he muttered to himself, "Mrs. Figg's going to-"
He stopped, he suddenly felt very cold. He shivered, feeling a dark cloud moving over him. He looked down the tunnel and saw figures moving towards him. One was a stumpy looking man and the others were looming, dark figures that seemed to glide rather than walk. The man leered towards him, Harry found he couldn't move, he was frozen in place. The man moved towards him, scurrying really.
"Sir?" Harry asked, "Are you-? What the hell!"
Harry yelped in pain as the man leapt forward and cut his arm with a knife of some kind. Harry jumped back, staring at the man in horror as he caught the blood droplets into a vile with his other hand. He smirked at Harry, the smile forced, more of a grimace really. He turned to the figures and stuttered.
"H-he is all-all yours."
The man then disappeared in a pop and the figures turned to Harry. Harry gasped, it was like ever happy thought he had was being sucked out of him. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Cold, darkness, despair, negative feelings engulfed him, his ears started ringing. Unwanted memories coming to him.
Being called a freak. Matron Hilary's sneering face. No one wanted to adopt him. Dudley teasing him. Being teased in school. Homeless Harry. Homeless Harry. Homeless Harry!
"Harry!"
Screaming.
"Leave him alone! He's a child!"
"Avada Kadavra!"
Green light
Nothing.
"Expecto Patronum!" a voice yelled behind him. A silvery mass charged off in front of Harry, chasing the hooded monsters away. Harry blinked. The silvery light engulfed the entire tunnel for a moment and then it was gone. They were all gone.
"You alright?" came the voice again, Harry looked up into the clear blue eyes of a tall man with greying sandy hair and a weary look about him, he looked a little worse for wear. He offered Harry a hand up, which he accepted gratefully.
"I-I'm fine," Harry said shakily, "W-what were those things? That silver light too, I-"
"Not important," the man said quickly, handing Harry something, "It's chocolate, it will help. Eat."
Harry hesitated, but after seeing the man put a piece into his own mouth, Harry mimicked him and found he immediately felt warmer inside. He gave the man a weak smile.
"That's some chocolate," he said, "Thanks."
The man smiled back.
"You're most welcome."
Harry nodded, it was dark already.
"I'd better get going," he said, "I have a bus to catch."
The man frowned.
"I could walk you home?" he offered.
Harry blanched.
"No, no!" he said quickly, "I can take care of myself, thanks."
The man nodded and sighed. He drew up a small stick and pointed it at Harry's head. Harry blinked in surprise, not knowing how to react.
"Sorry about this," said the man sadly, "Oblivi-"
He stopped. A creeping cold had come upon them again, the man's eyes widened and he visibly paled. Harry turned in the direction the man was staring. At least five of those hooded creatures were headed toward them.
"Expecto Patronum!" the man yelled again, sending the silver light bursting from the stick and chasing after the creatures.
"Run!" he cried, grabbing Harry and pulling him with him. But as they turned around they came face to face with yet another one of the monsters. The screams were starting in Harry's ears again, the man raised he stick to send another light, but the monster was too quick. It hit him, sending him against a wall and knocking him unconscious. The thing then turned to Harry. He didn't think he'd ever been more terrified in his life.
He looked for a weapon. Anything he could use to drive it away. He spotted the stick, it was right near him, moving as quickly as he dared he bent down and grabbed it. He pointed it at the monster, nothing happened. He had to be missing something. The man had yelled something to get it to work.
What had that man yelled? Oh right!
"Expect-expecto Patronum!" he yelled feebly. The world was growing darker, colder. He needed to drive it away, he searched his memories for something, anything to get rid of the darkness. Matron Morgan, Mrs. Figg, his toy deer, the red haired girl, Ally, decking Dudley and his photo. Harry concentrated on the photo and he imagined a red haired woman and a dark haired man leaning over him and smiling. Talking to him. The man looked exactly like him, except for the eyes and the woman kissed his forehead. He smiled and found the courage to bellow.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry felt the force of something large and silvery burst from the stick. He saw a flash of silver, hooves and antlers and then darkness.
Revised Chapter 2. More memory and dream sequences added, making more sense now?