Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Chapter 1: What Once Was Lost

Two years had passed since the summer night that young Harry Potter had decided to run away from home, and it had been two years since anyone had seen any trace of the boy.

Two long years since the Wizarding World had lost its beloved saviour.

Whilst no one knew where the boy was now, everybody in their world knew the tragic story of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and what had happened to him on that Halloween night so many years ago. The way he had cheated death. The way he had somehow fought off the darkest wizard of all time as only a toddler, escaping with nothing but a scar. The way he had tragically lost his parents, sacrificing their lives for the good of the Wizarding World.

He had disappeared from the public eye after that night, left to grow up away from the hype and attention, but people did not forget his name. They did not forget his sacrifice. The child became a symbol of the new world, the new future. Life carried on but they did not forget his story.

He was a hero.

Of course, even though no one in the general population of Wizarding Britain knew, even now, exactly what had happened to the Boy Who Lived in the decade that had followed that fateful night, some parents had tried to fill in some of the gaps. Some taught their children that he was now a prince, raised in a faraway land by a grateful king. Others told stories of a loving family who had adopted the saviour as one of their own, preparing him for the day that he would rejoin their world.

Only a few knew the truth.

There was no grateful king. There was no loving family.

Instead, Harry Potter had grown up, unloved, in the hateful Dursley household. When he had been only ten years old, he had run away from home. He had not been seen since.

The letters for the new Hogwarts students had been sent that fateful summer, and anticipation had been high in the Wizarding world as many realised that it was finally the year that young Harry would rejoin them. When his letters were returned unanswered, with the address clearly and diastrously missing on the magical envelope, anticipation had turned into fear, and fear had turned into horror as Harry's disappearance and his life had the Dursleys had been revealed piece by horrifying piece after further investigation.

Albus Dumbledore had revived the Order of the Phoenix, hoping to find some clue that would help bring the boy to safety, hoping to lessen the guilt he felt every day for having left the poor boy there without ever having checked up on him. The old Headmaster had aged considerably over those first few weeks, and he had not been the same since. He was still cheery to his students, and eccentric to his staff, but the twinkle in his eyes had dimmed and left, never to return.

Sadly, their extensive search had turned up nothing, and it was largely believed that they had arrived too late. Harry had been long gone, and no form of tracking, magical or not, was effective after so long of a gap.

The trail had gone cold.

They still searched, some almost obsessively to this day, but most who knew the truth about his childhood believed that Harry would never be found. They believed, with a sadness weighing heavily upon their hearts, that Harry had left the mortal world and had joined his parents once again.

A skinny, young boy, almost thirteen now although he looked much younger, was standing unnoticed in a darkened corner of the busy street, unmoving as he leant on the brick wall, always watching, but never a part of the hustle and bustle of the busy London streets. His keen green eyes took everything in; from potential threats to potential opportunities, he missed nothing.

The cool evening breeze blew through his messy dark hair, but he paid it no mind, his focus elsewhere as he watched the people march down the pavement past him. He watched impassively as the heavy foot traffic of people on their way home from work passed him by, their minds already on their families and what would be awaiting them at their houses.

Most did not see him in the shadows, and even though some glanced in his direction, in truth they gave him as much significance as the brick wall he was leaning on. He was nothing to them.

Nothing to anyone.

Harry pulled his worn jacket more closely around his skinny chest to try and contain what little heat he could, but even though it was summer, the night that was slowly creeping upon them would be too cold for most to bear.

Sighing deeply to himself, Harry moved away from the wall with purpose, walking lightly on his feet as he dove in and out of the crowd, never making contact with anyone. Never attracting any attention.

That was rule number one for life on the streets.

Never be noticed.

He had become good at following that rule over the years. It had been difficult though, and Harry had learnt the hard way. Beatings, scars and fights had made it clear; avoid any attention and life will be better.

Or at least, it won't be worse.

Rule number two had always been a bit harder for Harry to follow, but after many hard and harsh lessons he had grasped this one as well.

Do what you have to do to survive.

It hadn't been easy at first, but it's surprising what an empty stomach will do to your conscience. Harry had never liked stealing, and he still only did it when he had no other choice, but his nimble fingers, honed by hours of practice on the streets, had saved him from hunger more times than he could count.

He walked down the street with purpose, darting in and out of the crowd, but never a part of it, his hands moving quickly to gather any prizes he could from the pockets of the unsuspecting men and women making their way back to their homes and families. Guilt formed no part of his thoughts as moved through the crowd, his focus solely on gathering enough to survive a little bit longer.

So far, today had been a bad day.

Hunger gripped painfully at his stomach, but he pushed the feeling aside with practised ease and ducked into a side street away from the crowd. He kept his head down, pulling up the collar of his worn coat to protect himself against the chill as he walked quickly along the winding route that would take him back to his current hideaway.

He had only been staying here for about a week, and so far it had remained safe. His last place, an old derelict house, had been compromised when he had spotted a policeman snooping around the area. He himself had not been seen, but the risk of being caught had been enough for Harry to move. His life might not be great, but it was his, and he refused to be taken by the system. Like it had throughout his childhood, running kept him free; kept him alive.

Moving from place to place, never staying anywhere longer than a month, Harry had never had anywhere to call his own. It was a sacrifice he made willingly, if only to avoid being put in an orphanage, or worse; being sent back to the Dursleys. He would do anything to avoid being found, but he knew, when he allowed himself to dwell on it, that he was deceiving himself.

Harry knew, deep down, that no one was looking for him.

His battered and worn trainers splashed through puddles as he came around the corner quickly, pausing only to take a quick assessment of the area. The alleyway he found himself in was cramp, dirty and dark, surrounded on both sides by battered buildings that had seen better days. It was empty of life though, and that was all Harry really cared about.

He was alone.

Moving cautiously down the darkened alleyway, just in case there was someone hiding in the shadows, Harry came to the side of an abandoned pub sitting desolately at the end of the alley. Looking around himself once more to make sure no one was watching what he was doing, Harry walked slowly but purposefully over to the wooden board covering one of the windows. The pub had only recently closed down, so he figured that it would be relatively safe for him to stay here for a while. The area of London he was currently in was a bit...questionable, but in all honesty Harry had stayed in worse, more dangerous places, and with no roof over head to protect him either.

Pulling his hands out of his jacket pockets, Harry pulled back the loose board, just far enough for him to squeeze his skinny frame through the gap. He pulled his backpack through after himself, and sealed himself in, the darkness of the derelict pub enveloping him almost immediately. It didn't bother him though.

It had been a long time since he had been scared of the dark.

His eyes adjusted slowly. He rubbed at them with his free hand as if he could somehow get rid of the blurriness, blinking furiously at the darkness that overwhelmed his vision. His glasses had been stolen a long time ago, and he still missed them to this day. Harry managed without them, of course, and his eyes had adjusted somewhat in time, but he still hated the blurred scenery that made up his life now.

Shaking himself slightly to dispel the bad memories he had been dwelling on, Harry pulled his jacket more tightly around himself and walked over to the dusty bar. All the alcohol had been cleared out when the owners had abandoned it, but they had left behind some of the bar snacks. Harry grabbed a packet of crisps and ate them quickly, not even taking a second to savour the taste; he hadn't eaten yet today, and since it was nearing seven o'clock in the evening now, his stomach was protesting loudly enough for him to be forced to do something about it. It wasn't the most nutritious meal in the world, but Harry had eaten worse in his short life, and to be honest he counted himself lucky to have anything to eat at all.

In hindsight, he really had lucked out when he had found this place last week. It was musty, and damp had begun to set in along some of the walls, but on the whole it was dry, and it kept him fairly safe at night, from both people and the elements.

The best thing about it was that it was completely abandoned.

Just like him.

After finishing his pitiful meal, Harry sat down on one of the old barstools and pulled his daily takings from his pocket. He had spent all day on the streets of London; begging, stealing, anything to get enough to survive for another day.

Today had not been a good day.

He counted the change quickly; he had only been able to beg three pounds and four pence today. His short stature and young looks usually won him more than that, but the weather had been poor today, and the people had been sparse and miserable. That, and he had been forced to move on a couple of times during the day when some people had taken a bit too much interest in the fact that a young boy was alone and begging on the streets. He didn't need their 'do-gooder' attitude, he just needed their money.

Putting the change back into his pocket, he moved his attention to the items he had managed to pickpocket earlier that evening. One wallet, one chocolate bar and a ten pound note. Not a bad haul, really, he thought to himself.

Harry picked up the chocolate bar and wolfed it down immediately, his stomach protesting slightly at the new food. He would have to be careful when he ate again. Too quickly and he would be sick, something he could ill afford.

Too slowly and he would not get any better.

Putting aside his thoughts on that matter for the moment, since there was little he could do about it now, he pulled the wallet towards himself and searched through it carefully and meticulously. The credit cards would be of no use to him, since he was clearly too young to use one in a shop without it being noticed, but he might be able to sell them on the street to someone who could, at least before the man he had stolen the wallet from could cancel his cards.

He looked through the money fold carefully and pulled out the twenty pound note he found there. Not as much as he had been hoping for, but enough for now. He would have to make it last though. He doubted he would be able to do much more begging, or pick-pocketing for a while; the weather seemed to have taken a turn for the worse, and he couldn't afford to get sick, not when he could barely afford food, let alone medicine.

He would survive though, because luckily Harry knew the true meaning of the phrase 'saving it for a rainy day'.

He added the note to the ten pounds and folded them together carefully, before pulling up his trouser leg. Harry took the notes and shoved them into his ratty sock to join the rest of his meagre savings, careful to smooth them down to hide the small bulge. Harry sighed; by the time the weather finally brightened up, he knew the bulge would be a lot smaller. In fact, if the bad 'British summer' weather lasted longer than a couple of weeks, then he would probably be left with no money at all.

Shaking himself once again, Harry pushed away his miserable thoughts and pulled himself up, wearily making his way up the rickety stairs of the derelict pub. He was exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep at the moment.

Creeping through the upper flat, partly through habit, and partly in case anyone else had discovered his hideaway, Harry was careful to keep quiet, a practice he had become an expert in. He peeked around the corner into the bedroom, but found that he was quite alone.

His emotions were conflicted when he thought about this. On the one hand, being alone meant he was safe, something he had worked very hard to achieve for himself.

On the other hand, being alone was...well, lonely.

Harry sighed softly and, out of habit, walked over to the adjacent bathroom to test the tap. The water and electricity must have been shut off when the pub had closed down, but each day Harry checked the taps to see if the water miraculously returned.

It hadn't, though, and Harry sighed deeply this time, keeping his eyes down to avoid looking at the dusty mirror at his own haggard appearance. Having not had a shower in a long time, Harry knew he didn't look particularly great and he had no desire to see the evidence of it, especially when there was nothing he could do about it.

Shrugging off his jacket, he walked back into the bedroom and made his way wearily over to the corner. The furniture was sparse in the upstairs of the pub, with little from the original flat remaining, so Harry had to make do with the softest bit of floor he could find.

Pulling off his tattered shoes, but leaving on his clothes, he sunk down to the floor and pulled his jacket over his skinny frame to act as a temporary blanket. Dragging his bag over to use as a pillow, Harry lay down slowly and finally allowed the tension to leave his body. He would worry about tomorrow when it came.

He always did.

A/N- So this is another short chapter, but it's really just a second prologue to set the scene.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed yesterday! I'm fairly certain I'll continue with this, although I'm not 100% sure where it's going yet. I have a general idea, but it might take some time to work it out properly. For the moment though, thanks for reading and let me know whether you liked it!