Chapter 2: Memory Fallacy and a Tree

Sunday ended in a whirlwind of chores, as Harry Potter did the laundry, cooked a delicious meal for the Dursleys, ate some leftovers from their plates when they weren't looking, and cleaned up the table.

The Dursleys were in an especially positive mood, and Harry was left alone to sweep, mop, do the laundry, and take out the trash without much attention spent on him. Harry was in a good mood himself when he settled down to sleep in his tiny cupboard under the stairs that night. His dreams were gentle and sweet, his tired body getting a much-deserved rest with no vivid bad dreams that night.

The next morning, Harry awoke to the muffled sounds of voices drifting up from the kitchen. He rubbed his bleary eyes and stretched as much as he could, his arms over his head as he listened.

Harry heard an uncharacteristic agitation in the usually predictable routine of the Dursleys. It was too early for them to be out in the kitchen, and Harry usually awoke early to make breakfast and arrange everything for the Dursleys before they headed off to work and school.

Harry quietly left his closet, tiptoeing to the kitchen, trying to overhear what the Dursleys were talking about.

"Strange noises all night long, Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying, her voice tight with irritation. "Scratching, scuttling—it's as if we've got a rat infestation!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Petunia," Uncle Vernon grumbled. "We'll sort it out. Probably just a squirrel on the roof."

Harry listened, intrigued and slightly worried. The idea of something else creeping around the house during the night made his skin prickle. Pushing those thoughts aside, Harry entered the kitchen and began frying up some eggs and bacon, while simultaneously setting up the table and doing a sweep so that the Dursleys would not complain that he was moving too slowly. There was certainly nothing to sweep on the floor, because Harry had swept and mopped late last night, but Harry knew the game he had to play to survive.

Afterwards, he got ready for school knowing he had to face another day of torment at the hands of his classmates.

At school, things were as bleak as ever. Though Harry loved learning, the teacher Mr. Bradford a boring-looking man in a brown suit and pants and a grey tie. He had one of those faces that was almost impossible to remember, with a voice that droned and a bored and uninterested attitude.

Harry tried to keep to himself, focusing on his work, but it wasn't long before the familiar jeers of the older bullies reached his ears. He'd just finished his math homework during one of his class breaks, when Piers Polkiss, one of Dudley's friends, snatched the paper from his hands.

"What's this, Potter? Trying to be a smarty-pants?" Piers sneered before tearing the homework into shreds and scattering the pieces.

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat but said nothing. He knew better than to protest.

The school day crawled by, each minute feeling like an eternity. When the final bell rang, Harry hurried home, hoping for a few moments of peace.

As he stepped through the front door, he was greeted by the high-pitched shriek of Aunt Petunia. "Vernon! There's a rat in the house! We need to get rid of it!"

Uncle Vernon, red-faced and scowling, turned his ire on Harry. "You, boy! Get upstairs and deal with it. There's a bucket and a trap in the cupboard. Don't come down until you've caught that blasted thing!"

Harry reluctantly collected the bucket and the rat trap that Uncle Vernon had purchased, then made his way upstairs. The house was unnervingly quiet as he tiptoed from room to room, eyes scanning for any sign of the unwelcome intruder. Despite his best efforts, he found nothing. After what felt like hours, he descended the stairs, dejected.

"There's nothing up there," Harry said, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. His voice was quiet and slightly hoarse, worried that his uncle was going to react badly to his defeat at the hands of a rat.

Just as he spoke, a loud scratching noise echoed from above, causing everyone to freeze. Uncle Vernon's face darkened with anger as he grabbed Harry by the arm, dragging him back upstairs.

"You're going to find that rat, and you're going to do it now," his uncle growled, his grip tightening, causing Harry to wince.

The fear and frustration were clear in Harry's eyes as they ascended the stairs once more, the house around them filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional ominous scratch from the unseen creature.

What happened next would haunt Harry for many years to come.

One moment Harry James Potter was being dragged upstairs by an angry Uncle Vernon, his hand clutching Harry's biceps hard enough to bruise, and a moment later Harry was standing in the bathroom, feeling dazed and confused, standing over the body of Uncle Vernon Dursley.

Harry could not remember how his uncle got on the floor. He could not remember even going into the bathroom! Harry did not see his uncle fall, nor could he understand why his hands were so red!

Blood seemed to pool underneath his uncle's body, and Harry's hands were slick with blood.

'Did I just kill him?' Harry's brain asked himself, feeling overwhelmed and dazed.

Harry did not wish his Uncle Vernon dead, though he often fantasized about such thoughts after his uncle was particularly nasty and abusive.

However, Harry was even more terrified of being on his own. He had no friends, no family other than the Dursleys, and he had no money or ways in which to support himself. He HATED the Dursleys, sure, but he also NEEDED them.

Harry stood there, still as ice for a full minute before a voice from downstairs broke the silence.

Something snapped within Harry, and his brain seemed to kick into high gear. He did not know what to do, but if Uncle Vernon was dead (and Harry was terrified to check, though he wasn't fully sure how he would tell for certain) Harry had to run, and run fast!

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the hot feeling he sometimes got in his stomach, willing something useful to happen. His heart hammered in his chest as time seemed to slow down.

Harry opened his eyes when he felt a prickle of something in his chest, and sure enough, in front of him was a piece of paper with a small note in blue ink that said simply 'I am innocent".

'Did I just do that' Harry thought absently, his mind sluggish and drunk.

Harry wasn't sure why he was leaving the note and marveled at the handwriting on the note. It was fascinating what the human mind focused on during moments of stress. Harry recognized the handwriting from somewhere, but he could not remember from where.

Harry crept out of the bathroom, and peaked down the stairs, on his hands and knees as he heard another call from downstairs, this one more urgent. "Vernon dear, is everything all right? Did you get the rat? I heard a crash"

Harry realized that he would not be able to escape from the front or back door and that his only chance was going out of a window. Harry was not sure he could survive the jump, but he had to try.

Harry crept into Dudley's room and winced when a floorboard made a loud squeaking noise. He quickly rushed to the window and opened it with another creak and a small "thump" sound.

Harry looked out the window and tried to calculate. The neighbor's yard had grass, a bush, and some flowers, but that would not soften his fall enough to consider that option.

Harry frantically looked around for options, but he knew in his gut that he was running out of time and that he needed to act.

He closed his eyes and scrunched them up hard, willing his strange ability to save him. He focused and focused, praying that his powers would not elude him like they often did in moments of need.

It was no good, and tears of fear and confusion began to leak from his closed eyes. The horrifying thought that he might have just somehow killed his uncle consumed him! His hands were shaking at his side, but he was still feeling confused and lost from whatever had made him lose his memories.

He felt like he was dreaming, and he began to instead wish with all his might that this was some kind of strange, deranged dream. He would never kill Uncle Vernon! He would never kill anyone!

Harry's tiny frame vibrated with silent sobs, his malnourished frame shaking with pain and fear, his young brain unable to cope with the strange things happening around him.

Harry felt a soft gust of wind on his face and smelled a strange sweet smell. He wondered why he was suddenly colder than before, and he could swear he felt the sun directly on his neck!

Harry opened his emerald eyes glistening with tears and gasped when he saw that he was no longer standing on the second floor in Dudley Dursley's room, but was now standing in an empty parking lot, a small forest behind him, and a couple of office buildings in front. Harry turned around, looking for something familiar.

There did seem to be something about this place..something he remembered, as if he had seen it in a picture.

Harry wiped his tear-streaked face and carried his six-year-old body towards the forest. He was not sure of anything, but he had a feeling that if he was hiding from the law, he should really be hiding. A forest seemed like a good place to hide, at least that's what Harry hoped.

Harry wished he knew what to do next, wished he had a plan, or had an adult to help him. How was he going to survive without food, without water, without anyone?

Harry Potter stumbled into the forest, his legs taking him forward one step at a time, as his brain replayed the scene he had just left over and over again. He could not recall ever losing his memory before, except for that one time the night before. That had been weird!

Harry wondered if he was going crazy, and if he had actually killed his uncle somehow. It seemed so unlikely that he could even kill him if he tried! Harry was tiny, and Uncle Vernon was huge! Harry's mind conjured an image of Harry as a giant superhero with a blue and red cape, his hair streaming out of a shining helmet. If Harry had been a superhero, maybe he could have done it!

But Harry was not a superhero…and anyway, a superhero would not kill innocent people! Even horrible ones like his uncle!

It felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes before Harry stopped and panted, looking around. He felt exhausted! Maybe it was emotional, but Harry was not exactly an athlete either! He did not know it, but malnutrition probably played a role in his lack of stamina and exhaustion.

Harry sat down next to a large tree with a thick gnarled trunk, resting his back against the cool rough bark.

He looked up and noticed that dark clouds were slowly moving in to cover the little blue that remained. The day was shifting from sunny to stormy, and Harry was now stuck outside.

Harry did not even consider the rain that was coming. Harry did not think about making a shelter, or how he would survive the wet and cold of a rainy night.

Harry simply closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore appeared at Number 4, Privet Drive hidden by a Disillusionment Charm, a small puff of dirt the only indication that he had just appeared on the street at the edge of the sidewalk.

He was in a rush but he had a duty to perform and he was not one to avoid responsibility. Albus scanned his pocket watch and nodded at the strange constellation moving around with whirls and what seemed like random movements.

He looked up at the home, his eyes scanning the windows, and looked for anything out of the ordinary.

He smiled widely when he looked at the dining room window. He saw the Dursleys sitting around a wooden table, and a lively conversation was clearly at hand. Harry Potter was speaking, his young six-year-old voice carrying lightly to Dumbledore, too quiet to hear specifics. Whatever he had said, it caused Harry's Uncle Vernon to laugh loudly, a barking sound.

Dumbledore smiled again, feeling glad that the boy who lived was able to enjoy himself while he was young and innocent.

Dumbledore had been coming to the house around supper time for the last four or five years, and even more at the beginning. He never went inside, though he usually waited until he saw signs of life before leaving. He almost always caught a lively dinner in progress, and it was a highlight of many of his days.

Dumbledore was about to leave the home, satisfied that his work was done, when he suddenly felt something odd. It was a strange feeling deep in his being, a feeling that his experience and age told him to listen to. He paused, cocking his head, trying to see what had caused him such unease.

The Dursleys were laughing again, as their son Dudley cracked a joke or two, his loud voice more clear to Dumbledore as he said, "—scarecrow win an award?!"

Dumbledore's wand leaped to his hand as he turned slowly, scanning the street. The back of his neck tingled as he turned, wondering what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

A roaring Dudley yelled "Because he was outstanding in his field!" as Dumbledore paused and began staring at the Dursley's home.

Something was wrong, but what could it be?

Dumbledore cast a spell, and then another. Every spell he cast came up empty. There was nobody around, nothing dangerous to detect.

His electric blue eyes looked up at the sky, noticing a storm cloud gathering quickly. It was going to rain soon, but he was hardly affected by such a thing. Nevertheless, the rain reminded him of what he needed to do before bed tonight, and he considered leaving.

Harry Potter was safe with his loving relatives, what more could he do?

Dumbledore did a slow turn again, scanning the street, and then shrugged. He could at least cast some spells on the home, extra protection and warding spells. Maybe that would be sufficient if he detected no other danger. He would also send Minerva McGonagall down to check in a bit.

Dumbledore nodded to himself and vanished with a small "pop".

Harry Potter woke up when the rain hit his cheeks like cold shards of ice. He sputtered as he felt himself getting soaked by the sudden downpour, and launched himself to his feet. His baggy clothes were not yet soaked, but he had no immediate plan to get dry.

Harry looked around in both directions, wondering if there was anything he could do.

He remembered seeing the office buildings and decided to give that a try. He was sure he could stay dry in a building, and he would find a way to stay inside, or just hide in the bathroom for a while.

Harry ran as fast as he could the way he had come earlier, his worn shoes quickly growing soaked and caked in thick mud. By the time he made it to the parking lot, Harry was drenched to the bone.

The parking lot was not empty anymore, with about nine cars parked in different spots now, about 10% of the lot filled up. Additionally, there was a red car out front that was on, its lights on, and a door half open.

Harry ran to the front door and tried the large glass door, pulling the metal hinge, but it was locked.

Behind him, a kindly woman's voice said, "Deary, why are you out in the rain by yourself?" and rushed towards him and the door. He looked at the woman in a short black business skirt and a black business suit with a ruffled white shirt, holding an umbrella rushing towards him with red high-heals.

She rushed to the door, inserted a brass key, and swung it open, holding the door for Harry while she fumbled with her umbrella.

By the time the lady had clattered into the main lobby area, Harry was already gone. There were two hallways on both sides and an elevator on the right.

Harry had darted into the right side hallway, following a clear "bathroom" sign.

He had been relieved when the men's washroom opened without a fuss, and he walked as quickly as possible to the last of the three stalls, past the three urinals.

Harry quickly locked the stall and clambered up onto the toilet tank. The toilet itself did not have a lid that he could sit on, but it did have a large flat lid on top of the tank that just barely fit Harry's bottom and legs as he pulled his knees into his chest.

Harry sat in the warm bathroom, shivering as his soaking clothes stuck to his back and arms.

Harry was relieved to be in a dry place, and he sat in that stall for what felt like days, only moving once in a while to stretch when his back hurt.

Occasionally someone would come inside, do their business, and then walk out. Harry marveled at how few of the men washed their hands after going to the washroom.

Eventually, a group of men walked in, Harry was not sure how many, and they were carrying on a conversation about some business or another. Harry tried to listen as they spoke, but his brain did not understand almost anything they said!

"—the technology sector is going to thrive for the next 100 years because of it" a deep voice was saying. Another man agreed with a sound in his throat, and a third responded, "I hear why you believe that, but this is a fad! You haven't named one useful company that generates an actual profit!"

Harry listened intently, hoping he would catch if they suspected he was there, but they left the bathroom a minute later and their voices faded.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling an exhaustion deeper than he had ever known.

The police removed Vernon's body in an ambulance, with Petunia and Dudley shrieking and crying in the den, holding each other for dear life. Petunia was so hysterical, she was hyperventilating, and a kind copper with deep brown eyes and an 80's mustache had his hand on her back, murmuring words of comfort.

"It makes no sensehhh" she would mumble every few minutes, her voice raw and choking on the last word.

The officers had found no evidence of foul play. Vernon had apparently hit the back of his head when he fell, and there did not seem to be any evidence of an attack.

It was true that the boy named Harry Potter had run away, but the officers who investigated found no other evidence that he was guilty. An autopsy would later reveal that Vernon had died of a heart attack, not the fall itself, though the investigation had revealed a strange chemical in his bloodstream.

Further investigation of the chemical had revealed it to be perfluorooctanoic acid, which was highly toxic, but not typically associated with heart attacks. It was also nearly impossible for so much of that chemical to end up in someone's bloodstream.

Perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA), or a synthetic chemical sometimes referred to as a "forever chemical". The doctor had concluded that the chemical had somehow been put into the bloodstream AFTER death.

Regardless of what had happened, the coroner had concluded that the death was an accident and that Harry Potter was likely innocent, and had run away from fear and shock.

Not everyone had believed the coroner's report. A man wearing a strange cloak and weird, out-of-fashion clothes had visited the coroner's office. He had mumbled some words, and not long afterward had left the office looking smug.

With an enigmatic arrival, the man had then materialized before the facade of the Dursley residence, an aura of mystery enveloping his every movement. His wand, a rich hue of brown-red, became an instrument of both artistry and deception as he meticulously wove intricate illusions and unleashed potent spells upon Number 4, Privet Drive.

Each incantation seemed to linger in the air, leaving a trace of ethereal energy in its wake. And then, with a soft yet unmistakable "pop," he vanished into the ether, his departure accompanied by the faint echo of muttered words, a cryptic reference to outsmarting none other than Dumbledore himself.

The coroner's office no longer remembered or had records of any chemicals, and the conclusion was an obvious death by heart attack and the ensuing fall had been as a result, not the cause of death.

Additionally, the missing person report was removed and all evidence and documents containing the name Harry Potter were gone.

David Fletcher hummed to himself as he swept the end of the lobby, his motions smooth with practice. He swept the bits of dust into the pan and quickly moved to the final part of his cleanup, the bathrooms. He continued to hum as he entered the men's bathroom, checking to make sure the paper towels were stocked, and then beginning work on the sinks.

He noticed through the mirror that one of the stalls was closed, and sighed to himself. It was very annoying when people closed the stall doors after they used them because you couldn't quite tell if the stalls were occupied, or if someone had just closed the door fully after use.

David knocked on the door politely, and when he heard nothing, he tried the handle.

It didn't budge.

"Ahem, is someone still in here?" He asked, and almost immediately a small young boy's voice croaked out, "Eee-yes, I'm..I'm almost done"

David started at the voice, wondering how in the world a little boy got in there, if it was a boy, he could not quite be certain it was from the cracked high-pitched voice.

David knew that once in a while the people who worked in the offices in the building brought family members, but never past 7 pm!

"Who are you?" David asked, his lips close to the door, trying to sound kind and gentle.

The boy did not answer.

"How did you get in here?" David asked again, wondering if the child would break and tell him what was going on.

After a few more minutes of questions and no answers, eventually David firmly but kindly said, "Please open the door at once"

A full minute passed, and then he heard the boy jump and land on the floor. David backed up slightly, and the door swung open to reveal a pale boy with messy black hair, tear-streaked puffy eyes, and extremely muddy ragged grey clothes that were a few sizes too large.

David immediately realized that this boy must be one of those homeless children he had heard about on the radio recently. David lived in a small town nearby and rarely went farther than this job site, but this was clearly one of those homeless kids the political guy had been complaining about.

"Son, you can't be in here," David said, feeling helpless. He fished into his pocket when he saw the boy's sad expression and pulled out a 50-pence coin. He handed it to the boy, who took it with wide eyes and wordlessly stared at it in his tiny hands.

"Do you have somewhere to go son?" Asked David, unsure what to do next.

Harry nodded wordlessly, afraid to tell the truth. He wasn't sure what would happen if he admitted that he did not, but he was scared the man would call the police, and then Harry would really be in trouble!

David led Harry outside the bathroom, and they walked slowly to the front of the building together.

The parking lot was wet, though the rain had stopped a little while earlier, and though it was cloudy and dark, the air did not feel nearly as cold as it had been earlier in the day when Harry had been soaked through.

David pointed to the main road, which was apparently on the other side of the building, making the parking lot behind the building.

Harry walked to the front of the building without a word, David watching him looking conflicted. Finally, David turned around and went back to his work, no longer humming.

After a few minutes of walking, Harry made a wide circle and marched back into the forest, searching for his tree that he had slept against earlier.

After a while of stumbling through the forest in a relatively straight line, Harry found the tree, and slumped against it, his dry shirt getting wet as it slid against the wet bark.

Harry curled in a ball and closed his eyes.

Sleep evaded him, and he eventually gave up, too uncomfortable to even try sleeping anymore.

He sat against the trunk, staring up the the dark clouds, wondering what was happening now at Number 4 Privet Drive. He felt terrible, imagining how Petunia and Dudley must have felt when they discovered Uncle Vernon's body.

It was not long after that, that Harry heard it. A sound like snarling. Harry started and began looking around, fearing what animals might be lurking in the dark shadows of the trees.

With trembling hands, Harry climbed onto a branch that was hanging pretty low on his tree, and with every ounce of his strength began to climb.

It took him longer than he would have liked, but eventually, he was almost 10 feet off the ground, between two thick branches. Harry lounged his body onto the two branches, using a third small branch to prop up his feet and anchor his body.

Harry did not sleep that night but instead watched the barely visible clouds overhead, and tried to avoid looking at the pitch-dark floor of his new home.

A/N: Please review and let me know if you find any grammar, spelling, or technical errors. The story should pick up soon, and I think you are going to enjoy!