Chapter Text
It was a little past midday and Harry just wanted to go inside. The sun was burning his neck and his body ached and he didn’t want to be here, doing this – or doing anything for that matter. He wanted to be dead. He wanted it to have been him in that graveyard. He wanted to bleed, and suffer, and die all at the same time.
He yanked another weed out of the dried out soil. When would it be his turn to die? When would Dumbledore put him out of his misery? You know you deserve to be here, whispered the voice in his head. You deserve to feel this, to feel each beating, to constantly be tormented: to feel guilty. You killed him. You killed Cedric. He’s dead and you are very much unscathed for the punishment you deserve. How could he feel so tired of the pain and yet desire more? He stood up, forgetting about the effects his meagre diet consisting of vegetable soup and a slice of bread had taken on his health, promptly walking in the general direction of the back corner of the garden, hoping the black spots that crowded his vision and the muscle weakness would fade soon. He took the bucket half filled with weeds and chucked them in, returning the bucket to the shed afterwards.
Sometimes, if he thought really deeply, which was about all he’d do these days, he would wonder which ways would be the best to kill himself. Couldn’t he just walk out on the road and let Voldemort take him? No, you idiot. You’ll kill more people by doing that.
“You’ve got more chores to do, boy, you’d best do then before Vernon gets home.” Aunt Petunia had taken a pause from baking Dudley’s cake and was now staring at Harry with almost pity. Almost because Aunt Petunia couldn’t actually care less if Harry didn’t do his chores and just got thrashed by Vernon instead. Wrong. Vernon getting mad inconveniences her too. It ruins the whole mood in the house. You ruin everything, you always do.
After a brief nod, he walked briskly up to his room and shut the door. He slid down to the floor. He was so tired. He didn’t want to get another beating, but he didn’t feel like ever getting up either. He felt like being no-one and nothing.
* * *
He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the window, only that the sky which had previously been a bright blue was now a nautical twilight. Harry assumed they’d gone out with Dudley for his birthday tonight since he was spending it with his friends on his actual birthday. And as usual, he had not been informed. And he didn’t really care. He stood up and checked Vernon’s car was out the driveway, before trudging downstairs.
21.37. The pixelated glow of the oven clock glared at him. He didn’t want to be here when the Dursleys got home. He wanted to be far gone, somewhere only he knew, where he could do nothing and be nothing forever. It gave a sort of piece only he understood. Maybe he could go to Hogwarts. No, they’d probably check there. Hagrid? No, he’d probably tell someone. He didn’t really have much of a plan, but he knew that he needed to go now and figure something out later, before the consequences of doing nothing all afternoon caught up to him.
With a new found motivation, he headed to his room, digging out one of Dudley’s old backpacks and shoving his best pair of Dudley’s clothes in, trying to find shirts with minimal rips and trousers which weren’t grass stained or hung too loosely. He had to get his trunk too. He had to get a few things, like a pair of his uniform to wear if he got to Hogwarts and….
A sudden thought came into his mind: Am I a fugitive? Running away like this, hoping to avoid all attention from anyone who would bring him back? Would Hogwarts even accept fugitives? I guess he’d have to find out.
He now just had to solve one problem: how was he supposed to get his stuff? They were all locked up in the cupboard under the stairs, his childhood room, and he didn’t want to use magic. Maybe smash it? He thought. Yes, that sounded like the right idea. Without processing what he was doing much, he unlocked the back door and ran towards the shed, grabbing the handle and twisting it before he tried to remember where he’d put the hammer when he had fixed the shed roof last week. It was also incredibly dark now and he had to go based off of his memory on where he’d put it.
After a few long minutes of using his hands like a blind man and tracing the shelves in the shed, he found the tool box, which inside had a hammer. Quickly turning, he mistook the distance he was standing away from the shed door and tripped over the step, dropping the hammer onto his left hand as he tried to break his fall. Pain shot through his arm. Shit. That hurt. Harry tried to move his hand into a fist, but just as he began closing his fingers in, a shooting pain ricocheted through his backhand. God he hoped he hadn’t broken a bone, because the way his hand pulsated, it sure felt like he had.
Getting to his knees and trying to stand up, he took a deep breath, the fresh summer air greeting his lungs. Stay focussed. Get out, worry about injuries later. He exhaled slowly. Okay, he could do this. He didn’t bother to use his right hand to shut the shed door, and then walked back to the house, hammer in his right hand.
Approaching the cupboard under the stairs again, he agonizingly brought his left arm to enclose around the lock, grimacing as the movement shot rhythmic pulses of pain up his arm. Harry brought the hammer to smash down onto the part that had looped it shut. A wave of nausea came over him as he released his grip. Deep breath in. And out. In. Out. Okay. Dropping the hammer, he fumbled to get the lock off and swung the door open, his trunk and broom laying uselessly inside.
He had to sacrifice items that he knew. So one set of robes and uniform it was and maybe his potions knife for self defense, so he wouldn’t have to use magic and get expelled pointlessly. He briefly looked at the cage in the far corner, but Hedwig was safe with the Weasley’s so it wasn’t necessary to bring something that would weigh him down so much.
Suddenly, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway sent Harry into a panic. He had to go now. Now and forever. He had to leave everything else behind. Otherwise Vernon might kill him this summer. Or maybe he would kill himself. This house was driving him crazy, trapping him full of guilt. He was of course guilty, but this house made Cedric’s death so much worse, because he had a family who cared for him, and Harry did not, which really just made everything worse. The voices of Aunt Petunia got close. Harry picked up his backpack, checked his wand was safely stowed in his pocket and,ignoring the throbbing in his left hand, he ran out the back door, slamming it shut just as the Durselys entered through the front.
Without time to waste, he wretched open the lock on the fence and sprinted down the alleyway that ran behind the houses of Privet Drive. He didn’t really know how long he’d been running, only that running seemed so much harder than it previously had, and he hadn’t actually taken any food, which was an issue future him would have to solve.
Turning the corner, he found that he’d automatically gone to the park which was sort of good, so he could figure out some sort of plan. The dark tendrils of night seem to cast a very unpleasant shadow upon the playground, the bushes near which traced the path sending mixed signals of danger and shielding him at the same time. Pushing open the gate, a high-pitched screech echoed in the empty field. Harry sat down on the bench, trying to think of a solid plan.
If he were to go to Hogwarts, it would be a long journey and Dumbledore would probably send him back. You should have stayed. You deserved those beatings. A boy is dead because of you and everyone is pitying you. Cedric is dead and you deserved to be punished. Harry pushed those thoughts out of his mind. It was too late to rethink his decision. If he went back now, Vernon would surely get in such a rage he’d end up in a graveyard – dead. But living was his punishment. And in order to suffer he had to stay alive. So back to the plan. Hogwarts? The Weasleys? No, he couldn’t go to the Weasleys. They had too many children and Harry couldn’t add to their burden. The streets seemed like a bad plan, being that he would be least protected there. So Hogwarts it would be. The only problem was that he was in Surrey, and Hogwarts, well Hogwarts was in Scotland, which was very far away. How did he even get started on this journey without any money? He only had a few galleons from the change he’d gotten after getting his school stuff third year. Which didn’t really work for muggle transport. Maybe he’d stop by Diagon Alley to change some money, but that seemed unnecessarily dangerous. He could of course hop on some trains. He’d already be committing crimes by having to steal food soon, so he might as well.
Making up his mind, he picked up his bag, and began heading for the train station. It was late, which meant that sneaking on a train couldn’t be easier. His whole left arm felt the stabbing sensation which jolted through it, but he did his best to ignore it. He had a long journey ahead of him, and pain was all an hallucination of the brain, right? If he tried hard enough, sometimes the pain of his wounds decreased after Vernon went a bit over, so by applying the same logic, he could minimise the pain that spread through him. Walking through the Surrey town centre, the previously quiet he’d become accustomed to in Privet Drive was gone, now even at 11pm the town was bustling with movement. Teenagers hanging out at corners smoking, dealers selling all sorts of drugs on dark alleyways, and cars rushing past the side walk he was on.
Finally, after a strenuous trek, he made it to the train station. Looking at the timetable, a train due to go to London Waterloo was leaving at 11, so he was fortunately early by 20 minutes, which gave him time to figure out how to get past the barriers. Luckily, it wasn’t a hard feat. Being the less popular train station on the other side of Surrey, it hadn’t adhered to many security details, so as he snuck around the main building, he found himself on the platform, waiting for the train.
The train eventually got there, and he quickly climbed on, hoping no-one would ask for his ticket. No one did, probably because it was late at night and all the workers couldn't be bothered to do their job any more. Good for Harry, bad for their business.
1 hour and 3 minutes on the train. Then he’d have to find a new one.
The train began to move, a gentle rocking making his eyes slip shut.
* * *
“Young man? Young man? This is the final station sir.” Harry jolted awake, clutching his backpack violently as a man with an oddly cut mustache, imitating a classical cartoon character he’d seen on the TV as a kid when Dudley had been watching in the living room, stared at him kindly.
Harry, in his newly awakened state, stared blankly at him. “Young man, you have to leave. I will have to call security if not sir.”
“Oh, right, sorry. Thank you. I just was a bit out of it sir.” Harry pushed himself up, forgetting that his hand was injured, making him wince at the pain pulsating through his arm.
“Young man, are you quite alright?” the odd mustache man asked. “What’s a kid like you doing out on a train this late at night?”
Harry turned back around and grimaced a smile. “Oh, um, I’m just coming back home from my cousins’. I missed the first train so I’m a bit late. I best head off before my mother gets worried. She probably already is. Have a nice night, sir.” With that, Harry took off down a tunnel and up some stairs. He needed to see when the next train would be.
Finding the notice board, he observed that he’d not quite thought his plan through. No trains ran later than 12, which put him in a bit of a pickle. He’d have to wait till five for the next train by the South Western Railway, which would lead him to Glasgow the fastest. How fast would death eaters find him? He hoped they were slow, but knowing Voldemort’s relentless need to kill him, he doubted his followers would slack off the reward marking him. Maybe he should walk there to Euston station. It would definitely save him some time and some sneaking onto trains.
As he climbed a final set of stairs, the harsh breeze of London welcomed him. Right. Now he just had to figure out which direction to walk.
“Excuse me ma’am?” Harry took a deep breath in as he faced a woman carrying her son. The woman looked at him, and by instinct she had a worried glance on her face.
“Yes, are you alright?” She responded.
“Sorry, could you point me in the direction of… umm… Euston Station?” Harry began to fidget with the hem of his shirt.
“You alright? What’s a young boy like you doing out here? At this time as well. It gets dangerous round these streets at night, you’d best save such long excursions for the morning and go back home.”
Harry began to panic. He needed instructions, and he didn’t particularly want to ask any of the other grumpy men passing the road. “Umm… I’m trying to get home but I left my cousin’s house late and the train to Euston isn’t running. My mum’s waiting for me there.” The lies slipped easily off his tongue. He wished his mum was waiting to hug him, to embrace him at the platform.
“Well, be safe then. If you head north, so, down that road.” She pointed behind him. “Then you mostly stick to that direction and–.” She abruptly cut herself off and bit her lip, looking at Harry with pity and worry. The look of a mother. “Oh, you know what, maybe I can take you. I don’t feel it's right to leave you alone at this time of night. We’ll take the next bus straight there if that's alright?”
Harry felt guilt wash over him. He hadn’t really expected the woman to want to take him. “Ma’am really there is no need. I can make it by myself.”
“I’m not letting a 13 year old roam London streets alone with no knowledge of the city.” She took out of her pocket a small mobile phone and began to search for something on it.
“Ma’am, really, I know I may not look at it but I’m 15, so I can go. I wouldn’t want to cause such trouble. And I haven’t got any money. Please, ma’am, there’s no need to inconvenience yourself.” Harry tried.
“No young man. I will not have you be a statistic of another knife crime. Now, the next bus is in five minutes if we wait at the stop around there.” She pointed down the road, and Harry understood that she wanted him to walk. She followed behind, adjusting the grip she had on her son to make him more comfortable as he slept on her shoulder. He was maybe two years old.
Harry wanted to apologise and leave. He hadn’t really expected someone to care so much about him, a stranger especially. Thats what mother did though, right? They worried and cared and had the instinct to protect any cub, even if they weren’t theirs. With the combination of his injured arm and the random heartfelt safety a stranger was giving him, his emotions were going haywire. He tried desperately not to cry. Was this what he was missing out on? Was this what Lily would have done for him? He looked away as a tear dropped from his eye, trying to avoid the woman, who was constantly glancing at him. He didn’t avoid her.
“What’s wrong?” She asked, putting her spare hand over his shoulder.
“Nothing. You’re just really nice.” He blurted it out before he could stop himself.
“My name's Veronica. This is my son Ben. He’s a bit of a napper, so you probably won’t see him wake up in the next 20 minutes.” She smiled, hugging Harry.
“Umm… my name’s umm…” Harry quickly sifted through names. He couldn’t tell the truth. “Neville.”
“That’s a really nice name, quite unique, to be honest, you’re the first I’ve heard with that name. It's wonderful.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
Time passed. He didn’t really know when. It was mostly silent, but as always, the buses were running late and they finally made it to Euston station at around 1am. Harry had somehow managed to convince the woman to not walk him down to the station platform, saying he’d been there plenty of times and that she’d have to pay for a ticket to get onto the platform his mum was waiting at. Surprisingly, she had let Harry go.
“Alright then. You take care, and be safe. Call the police if your mum isn’t there, alright Neville?” She waited for Harry to nod. “Okay, you best be off, you’ve probably given your mother quite a scare.”
“Thank you ma’am.” Harry turned to go down the stairs. He’d have to find a way to stay down here all night, and train stations weren’t the safest of places.
* * *
Harry walked down the tunnel, to find himself at a barrier requesting for his ticket– something which he very much did not have. To make matters worse, a security guard was standing a couple feet away, supervising the area, meaning he couldn’t really jump. Of course, he’d already raised suspicion, so he needed to come up with a plan fast. Ideas swirled in and out as he stood frozen at the machine.
“No trains this time of night kid.” the officer spoke from behind. Harry hitched a breath, unsure what to do. He turned around to face the man. Great, you’ve managed to get yourself caught. You idiotic bastard.
“You can’t get on that platform kid without a ticket.” The man gruffed, walking closer to Harry. Once he was standing a foot away from Harry he eyed him up and down suspiciously. “Nah, you know what, I’m done with you kids thinkin’ you can just come and go as you please and avoid payin’. You’re comin’ with me kid.” The man grabbed Harry by the upper arm and pushed him forward. Harry tried to fight the man as he grabbed his wrists but a fiery pain shot through him, radiating through his left arm. He doubled over, gritting his teeth as the man stopped handcuffing his right arm and let it dangle loosely on his left bony wrist. Harry’s vision went slightly blurry and he felt he might collapse right there and then.
“What’s wrong?” The man kneeled next to Harry trying to make him stand. Harry said nothing. The pain in his left hand felt worse than ever, making his mouth full of saliva. “Kid, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’ll just put the cuffs on and take you down to the station.”
“My hand.” Harry struggled to spit the words out. Everything in his body seemed to amplify the pain in his hand. He could feel all the wounds from Vernon’s belt, and it felt like someone was dropping the hammer over and over again on his hand. “It hurts.” He exhaled, spitting out saliva. He sat there for a moment, waiting for the pain to pass.
“Alright kid, can you get up?” Harry took in a deep breath and nodded as the officer put a hand under his shoulders to help him up. Once he was standing the officer looked at him thoughtfully. “Kid, we’ll get that sorted at the station, alright? Now, I am gonna take that cuff off, and put it on your right arm. Then, I’m gonna hold it and you will follow, got it kid?” Harry nodded, still trying to ignore the nausea.
Once in the police station, Harry was placed in an interrogation room, his right wrist cuffed to the table. His backpack had been confiscated at the train station and they were waiting for a first aider to come help him with his hand since he’d not given an identity, and medical was more important apparently, which was good for Harry.
The door opened and a police officer with brown hair in a messy bun came in, carrying a medical kit with FIRST AID written in big letters. “Hello, my name’s Eva, I’m gonna help you with that hand of yours. Ethan told me you hurt it, can you tell me how?” Harry stared blankly at the woman. He didn’t particularly want to talk at all. From the moment he’d been caught, he’d known he should have just stayed home and get the shit beaten out of him at home. There was no point in this whole excursion now he’d gotten in this huge mess, if he spoke some more so they could send him back.
“Could you give me your hand?” He lifted his left hand in response. The lady had a soft voice, which made Harry feel as though she could be trusted. But she couldn’t. The moment they knew who he was, he’d be sent right back to Privet Drive and the Durselys and he’d be lucky if he made it to the end of the summer with the rage Vernon would be in for his escapade.
Eva examined his arm. A bruise had already formed, making the back of his hand look purple and red. She then took out an ice pack and shook it for a moment, placing it on his hand. “I think some ice could ease that swelling before we bandage it. You might have to go to the hospital with that. Looks like it could be broken.”
Harry nodded.
“Look, I’m not here to scare you, I’m here to help. You’ve clearl—”
The woman was cut off as the officer who had arrested him came to bring an evidence bag with his potion knife. Shit. Harry was absolutely screwed.