I've started making blocks of detailed chapter outlines moving forward with this story, making the writing process much faster. Hopefully, the trend can continue :)
EDIT: Sorry for the delay, there was something screwy going on on my end and I needed to fix it before reuploading the chapter.
Over the next three months, Harry trudged his way to the barn to meet up with Saul each weekend so that they could implement their plans. Harry was able to scrounge up two hundred pounds in loose money littered around the Dursley household, but while it was a promising start, it wasn't enough. The first thing the boys set out to do was to determine what they needed to gather in the first place, so sought to expand their knowledge of survival.
They swiped books from the local library and bookstore that would be useful for the future ahead. Survivalist manuals, gardening books, and hunter's guides were placed under Harry's baggy shirt and hauled away while Saul talked up the person behind the service desks. Saul planned to make a homemade bow and arrows to hunt rabbits, while Harry thought that all the hard work and skill he had made in the Dursley's flowerbed that his aunt put him through should be put to good use.
From there they learned how to improve Saul's generator and sink, as well as how to build a working water heater, outhouse, and basic shower. The parts they would need to build these appliances however would prove a challenge to obtain, so the first place they searched was the local junkyard.
Garald's Salvage and Sales was a conventional junkyard dump that was located on the very edge of Little Whinging, which was also conveniently at the entrance to the country road that led to the barn. It was a private-owned business run by Garald Bezman, a grumpy old man with a glass eye who'd take a switch to your ass if he caught you stealing from his yard. Fortunately, his vision had gotten so bad that he wouldn't see you if you were hunched over in a pile of junk staying perfectly still while he was looking right at you.
What kids looking for treasures among the scrap had to worry about was Garald's dog, Milo. Milo was one hundred and thirty pounds of lean-muscled bullmastiff who would chase you down and chomp on your leg like an alligator and wouldn't let go until Mr. Bezman got you out, which tended to be around the time the switch came out. He was a mean sort, only liking Mr. Bezman himself, and would only restrain himself if his master directed him to. If a kid who wasn't aware of the dog tried to loot the yard, they'd be limping and rubbing their backside for weeks.
The one strategy that seemed to work getting the dog off your back long enough to grab whatever you wanted was to distract him with a hunk of bloody meat, which the boys took advantage of by gathering as many rabbits as they could. They would first scout out the yard from the outside to find the piles that held the most promise, spotting parts they needed from a list they made up from the survivalist manual. Then, while Harry would shimmy his way through a torn bit of fence on the overgrown side of the yard, Saul would make enough noise on the opposite end of the property to draw Milo's attention and keep him distracted by throwing over chucks of rabbit meat over the fence. Harry would then dig through the piles collecting what they needed into a hip satchel and high tail it out of there with Mr. Bezman and his dog oblivious to the thefts.
This worked out productively in their favor, as they fixed up the generator to work twice as long with the same amount of gas, which they bought with cash as they couldn't get away with stealing it. The barn now had controlled heating and a working shower, which amounted to a stall in the corner of the barn with a latch door and an overhang faucet that sprayed water from a water pressure tank, draining out of the barn through a dug-out incline and hole on the bottom of the wall. What parts they couldn't find in the junkyard they stole from hardware stores, while seeds were taken from the farmer's supply or dug out from thrown-out produce.
Harry sometimes wondered if he would have been so impartial to stealing had he been raised by his parents. Granted, if the Dursleys were telling the truth about Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and it went without saying that that was a big if, perhaps he would be more of a juvenile delinquent than he was now.
On the other hand, perhaps Mr. Potter would have taught Harry how to ride a bike or catch a ball, and Mrs. Potter would have sung to him before bed. But there was no place for sentimental setpieces in his life, no lullabies were sung to him at night, and the need to sneak food from the Dursley fridge when he was being punished dulled the guilt from stealing parts from junkyards and strip malls.
Saul was ever thankful for having Harry as a partner in crime, as it made life much easier with two pairs of hands to delegate the work. Harry even came up with a gig to squeeze money out of the bullies who terrorized the schoolyard. While Saul was used to mugging children smaller than him, Harry was adamant that the kids who got picked on should be left alone. He felt that he could relate to the 'little guy' as he had found himself filling the role so many times before. He reasoned that they should hand the money over to the victims, a prospect Saul was reluctant to agree on. The boys had bickered over the details one afternoon, where Saul was adamant that they'd lose a lot of needed cash that way.
Harry, however, proved to be much smarter and more calculated than Saul had first judged him to be. He reasoned that the kids Saul was looking to mug would have little to offer, because really, what normal kid ran around with more than loose change in their pockets? Instead, Harry would stake out the bullies who stole money from the younger children and ended up accumulating a large sum of cash by the time school let out. Harry would then direct Saul to which kid was a prime target, then ambush them on their way back home.
The genius of this was that Saul would then give Harry the money to present to the children it was stolen from, who then began to treat Harry with a certain gratitude and reverence that he could have only imagined a few months prior. And for that gratitude, those children would then present him with gifts on occasion, ranging from a percentage of the cash returned, to food, clothing, and toys.
If a child couldn't give a token of their appreciation in a typical fashion, Harry was inclined to request a little favor to be called upon on some occasion. These varied, from giving Harry the answers to homework assignments that would have taken too much time away from their preparation work, to helping Harry and Saul lift a stolen good from a store to swiping various tools found around their houses, such as can-openers or screwdrivers.
Despite the shadiness of some of the requests, the child who was asked would take one look across the lunch room to the bruise swelling in the eye of their tormentor and accept enthusiastically. So it was that this network of righteous retribution and favors operated in secret among the smaller children, and the bullies were none the wiser.
Then again, despite the strides they had made, progress was still slow. The fact that Harry still had to spend most of the week in school meant that Saul often spent five days alone to work on their various projects.
However, luck would seem to turn in their favor as the year rolled into April. On the night before school would let out for the Easter Holidays, Vernon loudly announced at the dinner table that he planned for the family to spend the hols duck hunting on the isle of Anglesey near Snowdonia in Wales. As he put it, "It's time his boy took his first steps into becoming a man!" Of course, Harry wasn't allowed to go, as Vernon snidely pointed out that freaks didn't get to participate in 'men's sports'.
Never mind that Petunia was coming along as well, Harry didn't bother to question it as his eyes lit up at the prospect of being rid of the Dursleys for two whole weeks. Because of the short notice, the Dursleys were in a mad rush to get everything underway. Therefore Petunia ordered Harry rather rudely to make the call to inform Mrs. Figg that he would be staying with her while they were away. If he just so happened to forget to dial the number before making that call, she didn't bother to check.
The family left the house the moment Harry and Dudley returned from school, with Vernon making a point of locking the front door right in front of Harry. He ordered him to march over to Wisteria Walk and stay with Mrs. Figg during that time, but Harry had other plans.
The moment the bumper lights of the 1985 Vauxhall Cavalier turned the corner of the street out of view, Harry dashed down the street and ran all the way to the barn to tell Saul the news. To say that the boys were thrilled that they would get to spend the next two weeks together uninterrupted would be the understatement of the century.
The world seemed brighter to them that day, able to cast off their cares even for a short time and hang out as normal kids would. The future could wait a few weeks, the visage of youth making it seem as though they had the time to spare to make fate their own.
Fate, however, was known for its dramatic turns. What might seem in the moment to be an inconsequential event, can spiral into a series of actions and reactions that would dictate a new path forward that would never have happened under the parameters of the status quo.
As it so happened, one such turn came about on a crisp, spring morning on the seventh of April.
-/ↀ\-
Harry and Saul sat on the bank of the Thames, lazily casting their fishing lines into the water hoping for a bite. Saul had brought out a pack of sandwiches and some sodas along with a handheld radio, kicking his feet in the air as the melody of Rock the Night echoed through the trees.
Harry, who was one who found that he enjoyed the peace and quiet of the outdoors, sat with his knee under his chin, wearing a white and blue striped collar shirt and a pair of jeans that actually fit him. He had bought the jeans with his own money, whereas the shirt was given to him by Stewart O'Sullivan for returning his prized collection of Team Spirits trading cards that were swiped by Dennis Williams.
Harry had a good laugh at that one, spotting Dennis in school the next day after Saul had gotten through with him, sporting a closed-up black eye and a bloody upper lip. Harry didn't feel bad for the bully in the slightest. If he wanted to stop getting clobbered by someone like Saul he should have stopped harassing little kids like him a long time ago. It wasn't his fault the boys in Dudley's gang were too stupid to turn a new leaf. Or figure out that they were being spied on, but that was neither here nor there.
Harry was currently in a debate with Saul over the local gossip of the town. Saul liked to fill him in on the dirty little secrets of the uptight assholes living in their imaginary suburban fantasy, looking down from their noses on everyone else while they were knee-deep in shit. Though Harry had to admit, some of the stories Saul would share seemed a bit outlandish, even by their standards.
"I'm tellin' ya, man! Mrs. Anderson on Wilmont Way is screwin' the neighbor!" Saul waved his hands in the air, exasperated that Harry wasn't buying it.
"Bullshit," Harry said, popping open a can of orange Tango between puffs on a Winston pressed between his lips.
Harry had loosened up since New Year's, no longer caring about the standards of decorum the Dursleys expected of him. As such, over time Saul imparted some of his many quarks onto Harry, including an appreciation for smoking and a proficiency in cursing. While he would never be as colorful in his use of the English language as Saul was want to be, he caught himself saying things like 'bullshit' and 'asshole' more often than before.
"No man, listen. Two weeks back I caught her in Mr. Durwell's house through the kitchen window while diggin' through her bins. Had his tongue scraping the back of her throat and a hand hicked up under her apron squeezin' her tits-!"
Harry shook his head in disbelief, holding his cig between his fingers like he'd seen Kurt Russel hold them in his movies, not those pussy Disney-made ones like The Strongest Man in the World or The Barefoot Executive, but the good and bloody films like Escape from New York, "Saul, Mrs. Anderson's eighty-seven, she's a fossil. Why would Mr. Durwell want something to do with that?"
Saul huffed, "I don't know, maybe he's got a thing for old birds like that. They say the older a lady gets, the better she gets in the sack. Maybe at her age, she knows things that'll make your balls turn pale."
"You're crazy." Harry pulled an apple out of the box Saul had brought down full of food, biting into it with a loud crunch to try and drown out Saul's speculations.
"I bet when he goes down on her, he finds more dust than the pyramids."
"That's sick." Harry gagged, a grimace spreading over his face.
Saul laughed at Harry's disgust, flicking the butt of his cigarette away into the water, "How many have we got?"
Harry looked down at the water basket, where a school of chubs and perch swam in circles looking for a way to get out, "five, fat lot of good they'll do. Couldn't feed Aunt Marge's bulldog with these."
"Yeah, little tripes should have attracted the bigger fish. Probably don't care for the worms."
A thought came to Saul. Reaching down into the water basket he plunked a chub out and tossed it on the grass beside him. After he had reeled in his hook and, while ignoring Harry's protests for taking one of his caught fish, cracked it over the head with a rock, he hooked it on the end of his line before casting it back in the water.
"What did you do that for?" Harry complained, thinking of the tasty fish that just got thrown back into the river.
"If the big fish don't want worms, maybe they'll sniff out the blood oozing out of his mug."
Sure enough, a tug on his line pulled his attention away as he had to put some muscle into keeping the pole in his hand. He pulled on the line and then gave a little, reeling every time before repeating the cycle. A moment later the surface of the river rippled and broke, the distinctive sail of a carp thrashing out of the water.
"Holy shit, that's huge! Get the net!" Saul ordered as Harry scurried up from where he sat and grabbed a pole net that was leaning against a tree, crouching with anticipation with the net thrust outward. Saul was struggling against the beast, beginning to suspect that the carp had tiger shark blood in him as he almost lost his footing in the fight against the great fish's strength.
"Shit! Forget the net, help me!" Saul cried. Harry threw the net away and grabbed hold of Saul's rod, the two boys digging their heels into the grass and then the sand as they fought against the big fish. There they were, two young warriors more men than boys, blood pumping and muscles tightened, teeth clinched into snarls, as they heaved back with all their weight and might against the monster of the river.
Then there was a snap, and the two boys fell flat on their asses.
"Goddamnit!" Saul screamed even as he watched as the dorsal fin of the Great Thame's Carp sank under the current, driving his right fist down against the ground. Harry sprung up looking around as if figuring out what happened, looking up at Saul and the grimace on his face.
"You okay?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, but the line broke!" Saul complained, holding up the cord of fishing line that had indeed snapped in two.
"Well, I'll just go back up to the barn and get a roll." Harry offered, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.
Saul shook his head, "Can't, this was the last of it. Shit." He tossed the pole onto the ground, his hands on his hips as he looked up at Harry, "Wanna head up to the Sports Goods up in town?"
Harry shrugged, tossing the apple core into the bushes, "Better than waiting all day for your sorry mug to get back." He snarked.
"Oh, I've gotta sorry mug, do I?" Saul said in mock offense before grabbing Harry and trapping his head under his arm, giving him noogies to the boy's squirming laughter.
The boys headed into town, giving a wave on occasion to a kid who they had helped in the past. That happened more often as time went on, and while Harry wasn't one who cared too much for attention, he did appreciate being recognized for his works and being appreciated. They followed the sidewalk of the main strip all the way up to Harter's Sporting Goods, the shopkeeper's bell tinkling as they entered.
The store was antique in its interior design, very golf lodge with its wooden borders and fallow head hanging behind the counter.
Harry began to look around the store, wide-eyed by the various traps, trophies, picture frames, and stuffed game decorating the walls while Saul made a beeline for the fishing section, singling out a box of Dupont Stren's 250 Yard. Tossing the box in the air and catching it in his palm, he brought it over to the counter where the owner, Jacob Harter, waited on him.
"Fishing boys, eh? Be interested in some bait?" Mr. Harter asked, pawing the box in his hand to delay the transaction as long as possible. This was a practice Mr. Harter was privy to try and squeeze a few extra dollars out of his customers.
"No thanks, Mister Harther. Just the fishing line today." Saul answered politely, smelling a shakedown a mile away.
"Custom lures?" Mr. Harter offered, brushing his hand through his thinning hairline.
"Just the line, thanks," Saul said firmly.
He nodded, conceding, "Be around fifteen quid."
Saul pulled out the cash and handed it over, waiting to get his change back as a group of teenage boys entered the store. Saul gave them a moment's glance, noting the fidgety way they held themselves and the way they eyed him making his purchase as if hoping he'd vanish into thin air by the force of their impatient glares.
Mr. Harter handed over a couple of one-pound notes and a handful of pence. Nodding his head after counting the exact change, Saul whistled to Harry that he was done, the boys slipping out the door as the leader of the group of teens stepped up to the register.
"Yes, can I help y-?" Mr. Harter began, quieting as the four-inch barrel of a gun was shoved under his coke-bottle glasses.
"Shut the fuck up. Hand over all the cash in the register."
-/ↀ\-
"So do you wanna hit up the grocery? I could go for a tub of rocky road." Saul suggested as they walked into the entrance to an alleyway across the street from the sports shop.
"Eh, I don't know, I kinda wanna get back and make sure our stuff is okay," Harry answered.
Saul scoffed. "Ain't shit you gotta worry about that. Not like anyone ever comes out that way."
"Yeah, but-"
The boys were interrupted as the door to the sports shop banged open, the gang of teens scrambling out of the door with Mr. Harter right on their heels screaming thief. Harry and Saul watched on in wide-eyed fascination, witnessing the way everything seemed to unravel from there felt like an SNL skit.
One of the teens, wielding a revolver in his hand, twisted around and aimed at Mr. Harter to get him to shut up when the group was startled by the shout and whistle of a fast-approaching officer who had come out from a deli shop during his lunch break.
The teens panicked, the leader shouting "Shit! Scatter!" as the member fled in different directions. Harry equated it to chickens running around after a dog found its way into a hen house. The officer took off in the direction of the leader who had the gun as he presented the most danger.
And as it just so happened, they were running right toward them.
"Oh, fuck me, run!" Saul shouted, grabbing hold of Harry's arm and dragging him along with him, both boys sprinting to get away from the chase in progress. They'd seen too many crime movies where some schmuck bystander ended up with a gun to his head as he played hostage to some dickhead with an itchy trigger finger.
The boys ended up separating, Saul veering off into a side alley while Harry jumped into a dumpster as a tried and true method of hiding. Harry ignored the stench and peeked over the rim of the dumpster, watching in anxious excitement as the officer caught up with the teen wrestling him against the brink wall of the alley.
The teen wasn't going down without a fight, elbowing the cop in the jaw before swinging the revolver around to aim it at him. The officer saw it just in time, however, grabbing his aiming arm as they twisted around for control of the gun. They fell backward with the gun held in the air, Harry dropping back down out of sight as they crashed into the side of the dumpster, the teen losing his grip as his arm smacked hard into the metal.
Something metal struck Harry in the back, electing a surprised squawk out of him as he looked to see what had hit him and froze. There, resting on top of a banana peel and a used pack of Piccadilly cigs, was the glimmering metal of the teen's revolver.
Harry quickly looked back up over the edge, watching as the teen squirmed his way out of the officer's grasp and kicked him in the ribs, stumbling a few feet forward before bolting out of the alley, the officer picking himself off the ground to chase after him.
"Harry, are you okay?" Harry startled as his head whipped around to look at Saul, who must have been watching from the side alley until the action was over. He looked uneasy, likely worried Harry had gotten hurt during the scuffle into the smelly dumpster.
"Y-Yeah I'm fine," Harry responded shakingly.
Saul nodded as he swallowed, "We better get out of here, I don't wanna answer questions for the bobbies." He looked down the alley toward the direction the officer had run, before hurrying off in the opposite direction. Harry paused, his eyes drifting down the shiny metal glinting in the reflection of his eyes.
"Harry, what's taking ya so long, come on!" Saul shouted, growing impatient as his eyes kept darting around on the lookout for more officers.
"Be right behind you!" Harry called back, making up his mind, reaching down into the dumpster before cawing his way out, running off after Saul.
The boys ran all the way back to the barn, Saul dead ahead of Harry who had to hold up his pants all the way. When they got to the field they fell over to catch their breath, holding their heads between their knees just in case they threw up. Saul started to laugh once the adrenaline had passed.
"Oh man, that was awesome! Who'da thought somethin' like that would happen in this backwater town?" Saul cackled "Oh, I bet the housewives will be clucking away moaning about the rates of crimes that are sure to spike!"
"Yeah, it was…" "Saul, I gotta show you something." He said nervously, excitement and nausea taking hold of him as he reached under his shirt into the front of his pants.
"Yo, hold up. You're not 'bout to whip out your dick, are ya?" Saul said it as a joke, though he had a look in his eye as though he was worried Harry might actually do something weird like that.
"Shut up." Harry rolled his eyes, wrapping his hand around what he was grabbing for. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, holding out a revolver with dark wooden griping.
"Holy shit, dude! How the fuck did you get that?!"
"The officer wrestled it out of the guy's hand. Fell right on top of me in the dumpster, so I took it. Finders keepers, right?"
"Sweet baby Jesus, Harry, you're on another level, man." Saul breathed out, folding his hands behind his head as he came to grips with the situation. He reached out his hand and place it on Harry's shoulder, looking him dead in the eye.
"You can't tell anyone about this, got it? The bobs will probably want that as evidence, we could get in a lot of trouble if they catch us with it." He said pointing his finger at him to help get his point across.
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." "Pretty fucking cool though, right?"
"Fuckin' A!" Saul put his arm around the smaller boy, the two laughing as they walked gingerly to the barn to make new plans on what they were going to do with their new trophy.
-/ↀ\-
Saul's birthday came around on the Seventeenth of April two days before the Dursleys would return from Anglesey as the boys headed out to a target range they had set up in the field to practice their aim with the gun. While they felt safe living in the barn, their young minds imagined the possibility of getting robbed by a pack of hobos, so they reasoned they needed to learn how to defend their home.
Using a firearms magazine Saul had fished out of the garbage they had worked out that the small gun they had procured was what was known as a Snubnose .38 Special manufactured by Smith & Wesson. The gun was light, easy to conceal and carry, and could fire six rounds of .357 Magnums.
Harry and Saul had gone back into town a few days prior to scout out any place that carried those types of rounds in their stores. As it turned out, while Mr. Harter didn't carry any firearms he did sell the caliber they needed in twenty-count boxes. From there, it was a simple matter of distracting Mr. Harter, who was still a bit shaken up from his ordeal, long enough for Harry to sneak about three boxes into his pants.
Today they had been celebrating Saul's twelfth birthday, having the money to buy a small cake while Harry made some fried fish. Their bellies full Saul had dragged Harry out of the barn with the gun in hand, wanting to get in some first-time practice.
They didn't have to worry about anyone hearing the gun going off, as they were far enough out of Little Whinging that anyone who did hear it would assume some hunter was shooting at rabbits.
Saul held the gun up to his eye, checking the chamber like he'd seen Dirty Harry do it before handing it to Harry. The younger boy held the gun aloft in his hands, pointing it clumsily toward the stack of bottles and cans set on a wooden stool.
"You're aiming it wrong."
"No, I'm not. My aim's just fine." Harry insisted, fixing his grip on the handle.
Saul smirked knowingly, "You're gonna land on your ass holding it like that."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, that doesn't happen." He aimed the gun at an old can of Branston baked beans, breathing in to prepare himself for the noise the gun would make as he squeezed on the trigger.
He also, indeed, fell right on his ass, much to Saul's amused cackling.
"See? I told ya you were holdin' it wrong!" Saul laughed as he picked up the gun, holding it correctly and confidently as he aimed at the same can and fired. He hit his target, no question, but the recoil of the gun caused it to jerk in his hand and smack him right in the face.
"Ow! My fuckin'nose!" Saul held his hand over his nostrils, startled when he looked down and saw blood on his fingers. "Is it broken?!"
Harry looked up, inspecting Saul's nose through the trickle of blood flowing down his lip, "Naw, your face is just as butt-ugly as usual."
"Har-Har." Saul whacked him in the arm, holding the pistol up to fire it again, this time holding it firmly to prevent the recoil from swinging back again.
The two remained outside even as the sun began to set on the lazy Friday afternoon, firing the gun off and joking around until the spring moon began to rise even with the light of day still present. Saul eventually grew tired of messing around with target practicing, looking up at the sky to measure the time.
"I'm goin' back in. Ya comin'?" Saul asked.
"I'll be in after a while, just wanna sit in the grass for a while."
"Sure, man. Go for it." He waved him away as he marched up to the barn, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and the sparkling stars above.
-/ↀ\-
It was dark when Harry returned to the barn, hunger gnawing at him as he entered inside. Upon stepping through the door, he noticed Saul was laying on the couch near the tv, a half-empty bottle of liquor resting on the coffee table next to him.
"Saul?"
Saul looked up from where he lay and smiled dully at Harry, "Hey, Harry, how's it hangin'?" He asked louder than necessary, giggling at his own question.
"Where'd you get the booze?" Harry asked wearily, seeing that his friend was clearly drunk. Saul took his tone in stride.
"Ahh, found this while I was on the road lookin' for a place to sleep after I left mum's apartment. Kept it in case there was somethin' to celebrate about." He looked down at the bottle and back at Harry, picking up the liquid and handing it toward him with a shake, "You want some?"
Harry waved in dismissal, a question left unsaid on his mind. He was sure Saul had said that he ran away from his parent's house rather than an apartment, but didn't think to press the matter as the presence of alcohol made him uneasy. Saul shrugged his shoulders and took a swig.
"Ya know Harry, I haven' had this good a bir'day in a long time?" Saul slurred, belching halfway through his sentence and wincing at the taste of cheap whiskey on his lips.
Harry was somewhat reluctant to answer, fearful that Saul might fly into a drunken rage like uncle Vernon would if he said the wrong thing. Fortunately, Saul seemed to be more of a chatty drunk than a violent one, leaning forward with a crooked smile on his face.
"I'm so glad I tried to mug you, you're a great friend." He said, overly friendly.
Harry smiled and nodded his head, "I think you're a great friend, too." He said in what he thought would be an assuring gesture, but Saul seemed to take it differently as a pained expression marred his features.
"Am I? I can't tell sometimes."
Harry was set back by that, "You shouldn't think like that, Saul, you're great."
Saul looked away, his voice warbling as he croaked, "Naw. Naw, fuck that, man. I'm a bad friend."
Harry sighed, walking over to help Saul up to take him to his bed, "You're not a bad friend."
Saull shook his head, feebly fighting Harry's efforts to get him up from the couch, "Yes, I am. I lied to you. Friends don't lie to each other, that makes me a bad friend."
Harry stopped what he was doing and looked up at Saul.
"What are you talking about Saul? You've been square the whole time." Harry asked, his attention now given fully to Saul's drunken ramblings.
"Noo." Saul moaned, then perked up as he asked, "Did I ever tell you about my old man?"
Harry blinked, wondering where the conversation was going as it seemed to veer off in a completely different direction than what it was a second ago. Harry slowly shook his head, deciding Saul wasn't going to cooperate so placed a pillow behind his head. Saul sniffed, sighing wistfully at his memories.
"Now he was great, my old man. Taught me how to fish and how to handle a knife and live off that land an' everythin'. Best dad in the world." Saul smiled, a queer look in his eyes as they seemed to sparkle with something as he looked at Harry with his brow raised, "He was an army man, ya know? Got shipped out to the Falklands about five years ago over some bullshit with the Argentinians. Great guy…"
"He didn't come back. Money stopped coming in and we lost the house. All because of some bullshit, pointless war. Anyway, we ended up havin' to move to a poorer neighborhood, and mom got desperate and ended up with this piece of shit named Mitch Sarkin. Fuck, I hated Mitch. I think he hated us, too, what with the way he slapped mum around."
Saul frowned in thought. "Maybe it was the drugs he loved so much that made him bad, maybe he was just no good. But mum should have stayed away from him. But she didn't, guess she didn't know where else to go. Then one night he goes nuts. Guess he wasn't too keen on mum paying so much attention to me that day, even though it was my Ninth. Shit, I was so scared, I hid under the sink like a pussy." Saul smiled at his own joke, oblivious to the wide-eyed look Harry was giving him. Then he frowned, his voice growing serious and flat, "While I was pissing myself under there, he bashed her head in with a skillet."
Saul seemed caught in his own morbid nostalgia, while Harry listened in stunned horror, "I stayed under that sink all night, hopin' to God he wouldn't think to look under there for me and end up like mum. 'Course, what I didn't know was that Mitch had passed out at some point during the night and choked on his own vomit. Never been scared like that before. Never been since…"
"Shit, what a sight. I was piss-scared and didn't know what to do, but I knew I didn't want to go to no orphanage, one more sad sack of shit lost in the system. So I took what I could and ran. Went without a home for three whole months until I found this place. Didn't trust anyone else, thought I'd be alone for good."
"And then I met you. Life's been much better then." He smiled, then a look of panic appeared on his face as he grabbed hold of Harry's arm, "Promise me you won't end up like mum?"
Harry swallowed, nodding his head. "I promise."
Saul smiled in satisfaction, leaning back into the pillow. "See? You're a good friend." And just like that, he was out like a light, snoring loudly as Harry sat by him in silence.
-/ↀ\-
Saul woke up the next day with a raging hangover and seemingly no recollection of the night before, much to Harry's relief. Harry didn't think he could handle Saul blubbering all day in embarrassment for airing his dirty laundry in front of him.
That said, harry felt that they were now closer in a way, as though an unspoken barrier that had stood between the two of them had broken down. Saul definitely seemed to be upset that Hary would have to leave to go back to Number Four before the Dursleys returned. He had to change back into his regular clothes, of course, not wanting his aunt and uncle to ask questions.
Before Harry left to go back, Saul pulled him aside and placed the revolver in his hand. Harry looked up at him in shock. He began to protest before Saul shut him down.
"Harry, I know you don't want to hurt them, that's not what I'm asking. But I don't want to see you hurt like what happened back on Christmas." He forced Harry's fingers to close around the pistol, "With this, you'll even the odds. If they try and put their hands on you again, I want you to use this to scare 'em enough to let you go. Please?"
Harry looked down at the gun, the memories of the night before occupying his thoughts. Slowly he nodded his head, placing the gun into his pocket. Saul smiled and drew Harry into a hug, patting him on the back before he had to release him so he could head on his way.
Harry sighed as he stepped out the door, reflecting on the past two weeks. He felt his life would never be the same after all that had happened since meeting Saul, and was looking forward to what came next, heading back into Little Whinging as dark clouds rolled in.
-/ↀ\-
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please Read and Review! :)
Shoutout to my friend AlexWoundedSide, who I've helped post his reviews. I'm happy that you enjoyed listening to my story so far!