Sunday, 28th July

It had been an entire week since the first letter had arrived - the letter addressed to Mr H Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs - and it was safe to say that Vernon Dursley was slowly but surely losing his mind.

The letters had only been doubling ever since. There'd been one on Wednesday, three on Thursday, twelve on Friday, and an entire twenty-four letters yesterday. Dudley had been mocking him when he'd asked who on earth wanted to talk to Harry this badly, but the younger boy secretly agreed with him. Either way, it didn't matter if the letters had also doubled today or not, because-

"No post on Sundays" Uncle Vernon announced happily as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "No damn letters today-"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. The next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one-

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, he slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it" Uncle Vernon said, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time, "I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue.

Heading for the stairs, Dudley clambering up ahead of him, Harry had barely taken three steps when the man suddenly spoke again.

"No! No, wait a minute! Hang on!"

They all slowly, cautiously, turned back to him, but his beady little eyes were focused solely on Harry.

"It's you that they want" he said, "And they won't stop coming after us until you're… gone".

He didn't like the sound of that.

"Right then!" Uncle Vernon seemed to come to a decision. "Out of the way".

Harry was roughly shoved to the side as he passed, taking the stairs two at a time which, quite frankly, Harry didn't realise was even possible for a man of his size. They all followed him upstairs, although, for Petunia and Dudley, it was out of curiosity more so than alarm.

He trailed after his uncle down to the smallest bedroom, where the man found a backpack that had a torn strap and started throwing his meagre belongings into it.

It didn't take him very long.

"Vernon?" Petunia asked, somewhat nervous, "What are you doing?"

"I'm doing what I should have done years ago!" he snapped, ripping the paper sign reading Harry's room off the wardrobe door.

Harry himself felt a pang of fear at that, which greatly overclouded his annoyance. Why was his uncle removing all traces of him from the house? He wasn't going to… to kill him, was he?

"The freaks keep sending those bloody letters to him wherever he goes, so it's about damn time that we were done with him!"

Dudley started cheering from the hallway behind them, but they all ignored him.

"But- But Vernon, we can't! You heard what that- that despicable old man told us!"

"He only told us to keep the boy in this house until he turned eleven! So as far as I'm concerned, we've done our part!" the man continued, finally straightening up with the old backpack in one hand and the crumbled paper sign balled up in the other. "I promised, I- I swore that when we took him in there would be no- no- no bloody freakishness in our house! So if I can't beat it out of the boy, then we're just going to have to get rid of him!"

Petunia still looked unconvinced, as well as vaguely worried, although Harry was more than sure that it was concern about what the neighbours would think when her nephew disappeared than it was concern about her nephew himself.

"Don't worry, pet" Uncle Vernon finished, his nasty grin triumphant, "I'll leave him someplace so far away that those freaks will never trace him back to us. There's an institute up north for these- these hopeless cases and whatnot. I'll leave him there, and then we can get back to our nice, normal life".

Her pale eyes flickered to Harry, and for a split second, he actually considered the possibility of her speaking up on his behalf for the first time in his life and then-

-and then the moment passed, and she turned back to Vernon with a steely gaze and gave a single, sharp nod.

"Good" the man finished, before turning his somewhat manic eyes to Harry, "You! Get in the car!"

Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up door and were in the car, speeding towards the motorway.

They drove.

And they drove.

Harry was too scared to ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off" he would mutter whenever he did this, but still, flocks of owls flew overhead, carrying thick yellowish parchment in their beaks.

It was one of the most incredible things Harry had ever seen, and he wondered who had trained them. Sometimes there was only one of them, more times there were dozens, and Harry found himself desperately wishing that they would just swoop down on the car and fly away with him.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall, his stomach was in knots, and he distantly wondered just how Uncle Vernon was holding up - Harry was used to going without food more often than not, after all, but he doubted that this walrus of a man had ever missed a meal a day in his life.

They spent the night in the car after finally stopping for fuel, coffee, and two bags of crisps. Harry was surprised his uncle had even gotten him anything - but that thought, of course, led to much darker thoughts as he started to wonder if a handful of stale salt and vinegar Walkers was going to end up being his last ever meal.

Monday, 29th July

After once more driving all day, Vernon finally stopped the car outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city, sometime late the following afternoon. They shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. His uncle snored, but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…

Maybe he should just run away. There was nothing stopping him, after all - this cheap hotel only had a deadbolt as a lock on the inside of the door, and Uncle Vernon was practically comatose. Harry could grab his bag and sneak out like a thief in the night before the man even knew he was awake.

But then what?

He wasn't stupid; he knew he wouldn't get very far. Either the police would catch him, or his uncle would, and honestly, Harry would prefer to be arrested. A ten-year-old boy travelling alone would get a lot of attention, and he'd been told enough horror stories by Aunt Petunia about what happened to runaways growing up that he didn't want to chance it.

If Uncle Vernon really was going to kill him, then surely he'd have done so by now, right? He wouldn't have packed a bag with all of Harry's things, and he definitely wouldn't have let the receptionist of the hotel see them together.

So maybe he was just… bringing him somewhere else. He'd mentioned an institute - maybe it was some sort of boarding school, a place far far away from the Dursleys where Dudley's gang couldn't chase away all his friends.

But who would even pay for such a school? His aunt had made it perfectly clear that the only reason he wasn't joining Dudley at Smeltings was because he wasn't worth paying the tuition for. So who would pay for this school, if that really was where his uncle was taking him?

Harry watched the lights of passing cars and eventually, at long last, fell into a fitful sleep.

Tuesday, 30th July

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had almost finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk".

She held up an envelope so they could read the green ink address. Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them" the man said, standing up quickly and following her from the dining-room, while Harry mulishly scooped up his last spoonful of soggy cereal.

He wondered what Aunt Petunia and Dudley were doing now, as they continued to drive.

They were probably celebrating, Harry thought bitterly, throwing a fancy party now that the freak was gone.

There were fewer owls today, he noticed, peering out of the car window - only a handful of Tawny birds and a few with lighter colouring. He was getting more and more nervous as time went on and Uncle Vernon continued to drive, often doubling back on their route and taking multiple, unnecessary detours.

Harry wondered if maybe he should mention that the owls weren't following behind them, and could still easily track their journey from the air, but then he took one look at the man's half-missing moustache and wide, feverish eyes, and decided maybe not.

They drove for what felt like hours, although Harry had no watch, and he often went hungry so that wasn't a good judge of time either. Uncle Vernon kept muttering to himself about someplace called St Brutus and something else about criminal boys and hopeless cases.

Finally, just as the sky started darkening once more, they pulled off of the main road onto a much smaller lane that was bordered by thick green trees that towered overhead. It was a long driveway, one filled with potholes and loose gravel, and just as Harry started to wonder if his uncle really was leading him somewhere remote to kill him after all, the road suddenly opened up into a large concrete car park, directly in front of a surprisingly modern looking yellow-brick building.

The sign above the door read St Brutus Secure Centre for Boys.

Uncle Vernon pulled up right in front of the door and switched off the engine.

"Right" he said, terrifyingly cheerful, "Out you get, then".

Harry slowly pushed open the door, his other hand tightly clutching his backpack, scared that the man was just going to leave him there alone.

Thankfully - or, at least, as thankful as he could be in a situation like this - Uncle Vernon got out of the car too and took hold of his arm to march him towards the glass double doors. As a last resort, Harry glanced back over his shoulder just before they went in, but the owls that had been following him all day were strangely absent and he found himself missing them terribly.

The lights were on inside, bright and warm and doing no favours for the mustard-coloured walls. There didn't appear to be any sort of reception area, but a glance at the fire exit map on the wall had Vernon yanking him down one of the many identical corridors.

They passed only a handful of boys along the way; older than him, bruised, and mean-looking. Even his uncle seemed frightened of them - which would have been amusing if Harry didn't know he was about to be left here with them.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a light wooden door, and a sharp rap-rap-rap later had a somewhat confused voice calling out, "Come in!"

Uncle Vernon put a hand on the door handle but then paused and gave Harry a vicious look.

"If you mess this up for me, freak, then I'll leave you at the side of the road with a tyre iron in your skull! Got it?"

He quickly nodded.

"Good!"

The door opened to reveal a rather plain office inside - all soft lights and neutral colours and fake potted plants. In the centre of the room was a desk with two chairs, and behind that desk, was a surprisingly kind-looking man with a rather bewildered smile and an open folder in front of him.

"Hello" he said, "Please forgive me, but I wasn't aware I was due to meet with anyone now".

"Apologies for the interruption, sir" Uncle Vernon said, and it took all Harry had not to stare incredulously at the man, "My name is Vernon Dursley. We didn't ring ahead, but I'm afraid we just- we just couldn't take it anymore!"

"... I see" he replied, very obviously not seeing a damn thing, before curious brown eyes drifted down to Harry, "And who might you be, hm?"

His uncle gave him a subtle jab in the back, and he stumbled forward.

"Uh, I'm- I'm Harry, sir. H-Harry P-"

"Evans!" Vernon interrupted, "This is my nephew, Harry Evans".

Now, the boy actually did give him a sceptical look, but another painful jab to the spine had him quickly jerking back around.

"Mr Dursley and Mr… Evans, then" the man behind the desk said, "I'm Abel Hayward, the principal of St Brutus. Please, take a seat. What can I do for you this evening?"

And so it began.

For the next half hour, Harry listened in furious silence as Uncle Vernon proceeded to call him a liar, a thief, and a violent aggressive child who had already run away numerous times and had attacked his poor innocent cousin on multiple occasions.

Vernon and his wife had taken him in out of the goodness of their hearts after his good-for-nothing parents had killed themselves in a drunken car accident, only for Harry to throw their kindness and generosity back in their faces by skipping school, stealing money, and bullying their own wonderful son.

Apparently, they were at their wits end with him, and after he'd threatened to stab Dudley, they were simply left with no other choice than to pack up his things and enrol Harry in a boarding school that was better equipped to handle his delicate state.

"We're just so scared that if he continues like this, then he'll end up in a police station, or even worse, dead!" Uncle Vernon finished, obnoxiously blowing his nose into a tissue taken from the principal's desk without asking, "And we don't want to get the courts involved and send him to a secure children's home or institution in case it goes on his permanent record. He's not a bad child, Mr Hayward, he just needs a firm hand to guide him back to the straight and narrow".

"Which is why you want to enrol him here, at St Brutus".

He nodded and reached for another tissue, and Harry was reluctantly impressed with his uncle's acting, even if he was seething on the inside.

Mr Hayward slowly leant back in his chair and gave the boy a considering look.

"... And what about you, Mr Evans? What do you want?"

To read my own bloody letters, he thought bitterly, but a large hand clamping down on his leg beneath the table quickly put an end to that trail of thought.

"It's like my uncle said, sir" he replied evenly, "I'll end up in jail if I stay in Surrey, and… well, I'd rather not".

He gave him a small smile before turning back to Uncle Vernon.

"I take it you'd wish to enrol him under full board, then?"

"Full board?"

"Yes. We offer a… summer program if you will. Most of the boys here return to their families for the summer - some even go home every weekend, depending on their situation. But there is also a third option where Mr Evans would remain here full time. Christmas, summer, midterm… He would stay here. You and your family would, naturally, be allowed to visit-"

"Full board sounds perfect!" Uncle Vernon interrupted, his face turning red with glee, and Harry wanted nothing more than for the lying walrus to get a piano dropped on his head.

"Well then". Mr Hayward clapped his hands together with a somewhat strained smile. "There is, of course, the matter of paperwork and fees and such, but if young Mr Evans here really is as troubled as you've said, then… Well, I see no harm in him staying here tonight while you and I discuss matters further in the morning. You have his birth certificate, I assume? Medical records, school report cards, that sort of thing?"

"Yes, yes, of course!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed, positively trembling in delight, "And whatever disclaimers or- or, uh, waivers that you need me to sign, I'll be happy to do so!"

"... I'm sorry, any waivers?"

Mr Hayward sounded as confused as Harry felt.

"Yes. Waivers, contracts, documents, or whatever" his uncle continued, seemingly oblivious, "I've heard that you don't shy away from the use of corporal punishments in places such as these, so whatever you need me to sign to allow that to happen, I'll gladly do so!"

Harry felt sick, but thankfully, the principal looked vaguely ill as well.

"Mr Dursley-"

"Vernon, please".

"Mr Dursley" he repeated, a tad more forcefully, "I'm not sure where you got that information from, but I assure you that corporal punishment is the very last thing that any challenged young man needs!"

Uncle Vernon's face fell, and Harry briefly wondered if the lack of a cane would be enough for him to decide not to go through with this entire ordeal.

"No, no, no, there will be no such thing as that happening inside these walls as long as I'm around!" Hayward continued, "Numerous studies have found that positive reinforcement and therapy sessions are far more effective than any sort of physical punishment, so there will be no occurrences of- of beating up children by the staff of this school!"

And as much as he felt relief, Harry couldn't help but remember the mean-looking boys with black eyes and split lips that he passed on the way in and think that the students did a good enough job at beating up each other themselves.

"Right. Er… yes, of course". Uncle Vernon quickly tried to backpedal, but the damage was already done. "I'll just, uh… return tomorrow morning then, shall I?"

"Yes, Mr Dursley, you shall" Hayward replied, his voice clipped, "We still need to go through an intake process with young Mr Evans here, as well as deal with the necessary paperwork, our fee structure, health assessments, and catalogue his belongings before assigning him a permanent room. I trust that he's up to date with his inoculations?"

"Oh. Uh, innocu- inoculations?"

"Injections. Vaccines. Jabs. For MMR and the flu and whatnot?"

Uncle Vernon had turned red again, but this time it was out of embarrassment rather than glee.

"My, er, my wife usually deals with that sort of thing…"

Mr Hayward barely refrained from sighing and instead turned back to Harry, who dutifully shook his head, because if the Dursleys didn't bring him to the doctor's that time he broke his arm after Dudley pushed him down the stairs, then they sure as hell didn't bring him to get a flu shot.

"... Right" the man replied at length, before abruptly standing up, "Well then. It's getting late, and I still need to find a room for Mr Evans here, so why don't we continue this conversation tomorrow morning? It'll also give you time to… ring your wife".

"Oh, uh, yes, yes, of course!" Uncle Vernon stuttered, also stumbling to his feet, "Is there a- a B&B or some sort of hotel nearby?"

He gave him a bland smile and gestured at the door. "I'm sure you'll find something".

The man didn't seem to notice the principal's cool tone, and instead nodded and smiled and reached out to shake his hand, before turning to leave.

"Mr Dursley? Aren't you forgetting something?"

He spun back around and flushed when he saw the man's rather pointed gaze on Harry.

"Oh! Er, right. Yes… Boy- uh, I mean, Harry". It was the first time he'd ever heard his uncle use his name. "You… behave yourself, do you hear me? None of that… monkey business that you do at home".

He wondered distantly if "monkey business" referred to the strange things that sometimes happened around him, or to the owls that had followed them here. Harry nodded anyway.

"Good". Uncle Vernon gave a firm nod as if to say that's that then, and then, with another sickly sweet smile in the principal's direction, he left. Mr Hayward followed him out and watched him walk down the mustard-coloured corridor, before slowly closing the door and turning back to Harry.

His brown eyes were surprisingly warm all of a sudden, and the cool indifferent look that had spread across his face while Uncle Vernon had been talking was gone. In its place was a kind smile that made him look ten years younger.

Instead of returning to the chair behind the desk, he walked over and took the seat next to him, turning it so that he could face the boy directly.

"Don't worry about your family, Harry" he said, voice gentle, "I know this is a big change for you, and I know that you're probably scared right now, but everything's going to work out for the better, I promise. I want you to know that I'm here to support you, as is the rest of the staff at St Brutus. Your well-being is our top priority, do you understand?"

Not really.

"Yes sir" he replied quietly, focusing on a painting of a ship just behind the man's head instead of making direct eye contact.

"Good. Well, I'm sure you've had a tiring day, so how about I show you where you can stay tonight, hm? The room already has everything that you might need".

He nodded again and dutifully followed the principal back out into the hideously yellow halls, passing fewer boys this time, but boys who still looked mean, until the man finally came to a stop in front of a wooden door and pushed it open for him.

Inside was a small room with blue walls and beech furnishings. A single bed was next to a desk and chair while a wardrobe was directly opposite. It was cold and impersonal and there was only one window, although it was too dark to see out of right now, but despite all of this, Harry couldn't help but think - it's a far sight better than my cupboard.

"Get some sleep, Mr Evans" Hayward said quietly, "I can answer any questions you have tomorrow morning".

The door shut with a click behind the man, and Harry found himself alone for the first time in days. He went through the motions of getting ready for bed - changing into a different set of Dudley's old clothes, brushing his teeth with the brand-new toothbrush he found in the cabinet beneath the sink, and putting his backpack under his pillow within easy reach just in case.

It seemed like Uncle Vernon's plan was going to work after all, and he didn't know whether to be happy or not that he'd likely never see the Dursleys again.

The principal seemed nice enough, and he'd definitely seen straight through some of Uncle Vernon's rubbish, but that could just be a lie, too - like how Aunt Petunia always laughed with and spoke kindly to the neighbours but then ridiculed them in private.

How would Mr Hayward act behind closed doors?

Harry turned off the lights, closed his eyes tightly, and rolled over so that his back was to the wall, memories of the bruised, angry teenagers they'd passed in the front of his mind.

What if he'd just traded one kind of hell for another?

He felt a tear escape the corner of his eye and dampen the cheap cotton pillowcase beneath him.

That year was the first year that he didn't stay up until midnight to celebrate his birthday.

A few hundred miles away in a large circular room sat a just-as-troubled old man.

The letters had been sent out throughout July to wizarding children and muggle-borns alike, by owl and professor respectively, and all but one had been responded to - and the owls that had returned those unopened letters had been particularly snarky about it too.

Dumbledore looked at the towering pile of sealed envelopes on his desk, sorted by address.

Mr H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Mr H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Mr H. Potter, Room 17, Railview Hotel, Cokeworth

He reached up and removed his glasses with a sigh, running a hand over his tired face.

It would appear that the Dursleys were being… stubborn when it came to young Harry's birthright. He hadn't expected them to be overjoyed, as such, but he'd certainly never thought that Petunia, at least, would refuse to give the boy his letter - and the cut-off date for accepting was tomorrow!

The addresses on the letters themselves were also rather… worrisome.

He'd written to Arabella of course, who'd informed him that the Dursleys were acting just the same as ever - although the car had been missing since yesterday, but this she put down to Mr Dursley having been sent on a work trip for a few days, something which wasn't all that uncommon.

Harry's constantly changing address suggested otherwise.

Hopefully, it was all just a misunderstanding, and Mr Dursley was actually bringing Harry to some sort of summer camp or sports event or the like - something that would explain their stay in the hotel last night as well as their constant travelling.

Although that still didn't explain the cupboard under the stairs…

Perhaps he'd send Hagrid along to visit the Dursleys tomorrow morning. He was going to be in England anyway; in Diagon Alley to collect the stone, so it wouldn't be too far out of his way to check in on Harry.

Yes, he decided, he'd give Hagrid a Hogwarts letter to pass onto the boy, and he could bring him to London with him to collect his school things too - it should be a fairly simple affair if Petunia had done right by her nephew, after all.

Yet as satisfied as he was with this plan, Dumbledore still couldn't shake the gnawing, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that suggested that something was about to go terribly, horribly wrong.

Wednesday, 31st July

The roar of a motorcycle through the night echoed loudly through deserted streets, only coming to a stop when it reached Number 4, Privet Drive. Hagrid awkwardly dismounted and then strode up to the Dursley's front door, the yellow parchment held tightly in his massive hand.

Three thunderous knocks later, the door swung open, revealing Petunia Dursley in a dressing gown and hair rollers.

"Who on earth are you?! Do you have any idea what time it is?!"

"Rubeus 'agrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at 'ogwarts" he introduced, "Apologies for the early mornin' visit ma'am, but I'm afraid it can't wait. I'm 'ere to deliver Harry's letter to 'im".

"He's not here, so go away!"

"'e's not- Now wait jus' a minute! He's not 'ere? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means he's not here!" Petunia spat, her pale eyes narrowed, "He's not getting his letter and he's most certainly not going with you!"

"Harry Potter? Not goin' to Hogwarts? I'd like to see a great Muggle like you stop him! Now where is 'e?"

There was the creak of a floorboard from inside the house, and a moment later, a rather rotund young boy stuck his head around the door.

"Mum? Who's here?"

"Nobody, sweetums, just go back to bed and mummy will deal with it".

"Wow". The boy's eyes had landed on Hagrid. "You're massive!"

"Not too small yerself, lad". The half-giant turned back to Petunia. "Harry Potter is goin' to 'ogwarts and that's final! His name's been down ever since 'e was born, and I'm 'ere to give 'im his letter and take 'im to get his school things. So where is 'e?"

"I already told you, he's not here!"

She made to shut the door in his face but he quickly held out his umbrella to stop her.

"Now listen 'ere, Dursley. Harry should be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest 'eadmaster 'ogwarts ever 'ad, Albus Dumbled-"

"I am not paying for some crackpot old fool to teach him magic tricks!"

Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head.

"Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley. There was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, he was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, there was a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Petunia screeched and shoved her son back inside, but once again, Hagrid prevented her from shutting the door.

"Where is Harry Potter?!"

"He's not here!" Her eyes flashed with anger. "My husband got rid of him! We don't want anything to do with your- your- your freakish kind! Now, I'm calling the police, and if you know what's good for you, you'll be long gone before they show up! Come on, Duddydums, let's call your father and-"

The door shut in his face, cutting off the rest of her sentence, and Hagrid growled loudly, before spinning around and stomping away.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper" he muttered, "Not supposed to do magic".

Returning to the motorcycle, he reached into his overcoat and pulled out a rather ruffled-looking owl, a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth, he started to scribble out a note.

Dear Professor Dumbledore…