Life on Privet Drive was unflatteringly normal. The sprawling neighborhood was a copy-and-paste series of houses. The first house on the street looked no different than the one across the road. Even the last house on the street seemed no different than the first one. Each house presented filled flower beds, congested driveways, and the same perfectly white painted doors. However, in the second house on the right, wherein all seemed normal, lay a particular family.

Number four Privet Drive was home to a disarming family. They were not standout citizens or wealthier than anyone else, but they were the pinnacle of a perfect family all the same. The Dursley family had the best landscaping, the cleanest windows, and the most perfect and loving parents. As did everyone on the street.

However, wherein perfection existed, the imperfections that all humans made were buried and hidden away. The Dursley's skeleton in the closet was their nephew in the cupboard.

Harry Potter was the very imperfection that the Dursleys feared anyone to ever know of. The freak of nature would ruin their semblance of a perfect household if anyone knew what he really was. Thus, the boy was buried beneath the stairs, hidden from the light of day and the eyes of anyone.

The ten-year-old child never understood why he slept inside the tiny space of the stairs. Nor did he ever understand why his cousin got everything he wanted. He never understood why his meager dinner was no better than the scraps they served his Aunt's dogs when she visited.

Harry Potter did not understand why he was not loved. Was that not what a family was for?

Yet, he knew that he was afraid of those who should have loved him.

So, while they sat eating their dinner, young Harry Potter fled.

Discreetly out the front door, he did not turn back. So as the last rays of the light began to set, and the sun buried his shadow into the darkness of the night, Harry Potter ran for a better life, for a life he could understand.

The small and malnourished child could only put one foot in front of the other as he dashed away. His stained and dirty clothes rippled in the wind as he tasted freedom.

It was so close!

Harry turned onto the next street of identical houses. The park was at the end of this street, and beyond that was a bus stop that would take him far, far away. He would only have to make it to the waiting bench….

He could see it now under the glow of a street lamp. The yellow light, his beacon in the night, his saving grace. It was so close….

Then there was a pop.

It was loud and something he had never heard before, so while he was determined to flee, his curiosity stopped him. It sounded like a gunshot he had heard secondhand through the telly from when his family watched without him. It made his heart flutter uneasily.

He carefully glanced around, absorbing every detail of his surroundings. Because while he couldn't see it, he could feel it. Something had changed when that pop went off. Something or someone in the area had done something that sent fear into his bones. Carefully, he surveyed his surroundings one last time before he set his eyes on his destination.

And he froze at what he saw.

Into the light emerged a man. Despite being in the light, the man's face was but a shadow as his head hung low, tucked into the collar of his trench coat. From the man's lips burned a cigarette, and a puff of smoke rose into the light above.

Harry backstepped.

The man raised his right arm as he pointed at the child; a red glow formed at the end of his reach.

Is this how I die? Harry wondered, meeting the shadows of the man's face.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

The red light flew forward, and before the ten-year-old could react, his eyes rolled back.

:P LINE BREAK d:

Harry Potter woke up in the cupboard under the stairs of Privet Drive. His shoulder stung something awful, but he did not remember from when. No, the last thing he remembered was planning his escape. He was going to wait till they were distracted, shoveling food into their mouths, and he would go out the front door.

Yet, he was still in his bedroom as the sunlight peeked through the hallway just outside his door.

Why was he not in London? Why could he not remember where the night went? Did his Uncle find him before he got too far? Did he hit his head? His shoulder did hurt….

Harry peeked between the slots of the grate on the cupboard door.

He could hear the telly playing in the sitting room. Unfortunately, any number of the family could be there, even no one. If he were to sneak out, he would have to be careful and sure that they would not notice him slip out.

"Mum!" his cousin, Dudley, yelled from beyond the top of the steps.

The whale call bounced across this hallway and into the sitting room, where Harry heard the movement of someone approaching. Aunt Petunia's thin form and floral outfit passed by the cupboard, casting Harry's eyes into her shadow and darkness for a brief moment.

"Yes, dudie-kins?" she called up the stairs.

The steps groaned, echoing their woes into the cupboard below as Dudley stormed down the steps.

"I'm off to the park with my mates."

"Of course, dearie. Come back for lunch, honey bun. I'll have something for you and the boys."

"Thanks, Mum. You're the best."

The front door opened as the sounds of birds crowing untethered in the skies above entered the house.

"Love you, sweetie."

"Love you, mum."

The door clicked closed, sealing away the sound of freedom.

Petunia's footfalls and shadow quickly passed by the cupboard as the woman entered the kitchen. Harry could begin to hear her open the fridge and begin to make the other children lunch.

Lunch…. He didn't even recall dinner.

Harry opened the cupboard door and quietly stepped out. He glanced to the kitchen, where his Aunt was not paying attention to him, and he quietly made his way to the door. As his hand grasped the door handle, the mail flapped and dinked as it was pushed back, and the day's mail was pushed through.

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia called out. "Mail."

Harry grimaced. He wasso close to escaping her notice.

"Boy! Get the bloody mail already!"

Harry sighed and bent over to grab the papers, "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

As he inched his way to the gallows, Harry flipped through each of the pieces of mail. Yet, as always, they were only bills and ads for his Aunt and Uncle.

"Hurry along, boy!"

Harry entered the kitchen, where the means to make sandwiches was spread out amongst the countertops. His Aunt, in her garish outfit, looked down upon him from her long face.

He quietly handed the papers over.

"Not talking again, are we?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia," he instinctively apologized.

"Care to tell me why you were star-fished out in the yard like some hoodlum last night? Trying to sneak out, were you?"

"I don't know, Aunt Petunia," Harry mumbled, frowning. He couldn't recall a thing that had happened last night, and it wasn't the first time this phenomenon had happened either.

"At least you seem to be of your mind today," she snarked. "You kept blabbering like some fool when Vernon dragged you in. Thankfully for you, none of the neighbors saw."

"I'm sorry?"

"You best be." She shuffled about the kitchen and placed the mail down before glaring at him. "What were you doing out there?"

"I don't know."

"You've said that already. Find me a reason, not an excuse. Vernon will be home at his usual time tonight since he doesn't have to work overtime. You best have an answer by then."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Be out of my sight now." She shooed him away.

Harry didn't dare to respond as he hurried away. She had given him an exit, whether she realized it or not, and he was willing to take it.

He opened the front door and went past the perfectly managed flowers. He would never have to cut his hand on another thorn again. He stepped through the lawn where the grass was two centimeters away from Uncle Vernon needing it mowed again. His foot met the cement of the sidewalk. The bus stop was so close….

He jogged onward. The slides and swings of the park neared as he closed in on his destination. He was going to be free!

He would be free of the nights beneath the stairs. He would be free of the days of belittlement. He would be free of the evenings of pain. He would be free of the mornings of being a servant. He would be free….

"Oi!" a kid shouted from the park. "It's Potter! Let's get him!"

Harry did not stop to turn to the speaker. He knew who it was. He did not need to turn to see how many there were. He only needed to get away, far away. So, he ran.

Past the park and the bus stop, Harry ran from his cousin and his friends. They were honestly worse than his Uncle. Vernon at least kept the bruising beneath the clothes. Dudley, however, had no problem swinging for the face, and Petunia always looked the other way as if she was the one who could not see when the bleeding had stopped.

Such hate…. It was all Harry truly understood. He was their outlet for their imperfections.

Which is why he would rather grow up in an orphanage in London than another night under the Dursley's fist and spiteful eyes.

"I'm going to get you!"

Harry pushed himself faster, but his legs were short, and his body was malnourished. Yet, his determination and drive were unmatched. He would be free!

He would never be beaten down again. He would find a family to love him. He would find a place where he belonged. He would –

He smacked into the ground headfirst.

"Nice tackle, mate!"

"Way to go!"

The world was blurry as the bigger boys surrounded Harry. His already broken glasses were gone, somewhere on the concrete nearby.

Harry looked at his legs, where he could feel another boy moving around. He tried to kick him away, but the bigger boy had his legs locked down.

"He's fighting back!" one of them laughed.

"I'll teach him." Dudley appeared in Harry's face. His cold blue eyes met Harry's own emerald. "You upset Father last night, and he had to watch an extra hour of his shows. Which meant I didn't get to watch mine."

Harry watched the first punch get cocked back.

Please, anywhere but here. I want to be free! Harry pleaded to the universe.

The fist slammed into his stomach, stealing his breath. The fist slammed again into his bruised arm, reigniting pain he did not remember collecting from the night before. Another fist turned his face as he felt his nose take the brunt of the blow.

Warm blood leaked through his lips, across his teeth, and onto his tongue.

Please! He begged once more as the blur of another punch approached his eye.

He could only watch in slow motion as the slightly fuzzy fist became clearer and sharper. He watched as his own blood came down to make him bleed more. He readied himself for the pain….

POP!

Harry's gut turned inside out. His brain was compacted into a single ball. His very body was spun a thousand times. His feet flailed in the sky.

Or at least that is what it felt like.

He slammed into the ground, back first.

He didn't move. He couldn't move.

Harry Potter just lay there staring at the blurry, overcast sky ahead.

Yet, the smell of smog and the noise of cars and pedestrians did not register to his dazzled mind. No, the small boy remained only an idle body on the ground as the world moved around him. He didn't even hear the clicking of heels approach him.

His mind did not register a change in circumstances until a woman's long, flowing black hair knelt over him. Her gloved hand rested gently upon his cheek as she carefully got a closer look at the boy.

As their eyes met. It was then that Harry Potter woke back to reality.

The blurry angel spoke something, but his ears were too busy taking in the noise of London.

She turned her head behind her and then forward as she pulled something from her pocket. It was dark and long. Whatever it was, she pointed it at him, and she twirled it.

The boy felt a jolt of energy flood his very being as he sprang up to a sitting position. His right hand came to his nose and pulled away with fresh blood. He turned to the woman who kept a steady hand on his shoulder, and slowly, her face became focused as he squinted his eyes.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" she calmly whispered. "Do you know where you are at?"

He glanced around her. This wasn't Privet Drive or anywhere near it. This was the city…. How was he here?

"You are in London, sweetheart," she provided for him.

He made it! He was free from them!

"Do you know your name?" the woman prodded.

Yet, he did not answer as he looked around once more. He would have to find his way to an orphanage for them to take him in.

"Sweetheart?"

He turned to the woman.

"My name is Narcissa. Cissy is fine if that is easier. You can trust me. I want to help you. Okay?"

AN: Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

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-Manke