Harry rolled over the side of his small, narrow bed until he was sitting up, his eyes darting around the room frantically as he gasped raggedly for breath, his heart beating a mile a minute as he tried to calm himself down.
He swallowed back the acidic bile that was climbing its way up his constricting throat, his uncle would be absolutely furious if he actually vomited on any floor of his house. Not to mention that it would likely be him cleaning it all up, after he'd been shouted at and sprayed with saliva for an hour, that was. Not a thought he relished.
He was drenched in a cold sweat that made him shiver uncontrollably, even as he furiously kicked the thin, tangled blanket that he had covered himself with last night from his body, ripping it from where it was pinned underneath himself, even though it made him shiver harder to be uncovered. He swallowed hard, past a fear clogged throat, and he breathed slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. His mind was racing around the nightmare that he'd been forced to suffer through.
Dragging a hand over his face to get rid of the chilling sweat, Harry's hand found its way up to his damp hair. The messy tufts were sticking up even more than normal through the amount of sweat he'd produced, which had slicked it in all angles while he'd tossed and turned, caught in the nightmare that he'd been unable to wake from.
The reoccurring, horrific dream had been about Sirius, his beloved godfather, who had died just days before the end of the last school year, only a few short weeks ago, and the memories of it, the emotions he felt, were still so raw and painful. It plagued him.
He swallowed hard and stood up from where he was sitting on the side of the tiny bed. He had to get out of this house. He had to get out, being trapped and locked up in this place with his disgusting, hateful relatives was driving him insane. He no longer cared that he'd been told explicitly that he was not allowed to leave the safety of Privet Drive by Dumbledore at the end of the last year. He was in no mood to listen to anyone. He had also seen for himself the guard that he had continuously around the clock, more than likely Order of the Phoenix people, who were always watching the house, always watching him and likely reporting every single move and sound that he made back to Dumbledore.
Harry wondered how heavy his night guard was when they logically thought that he was in his bed, fast asleep. He kicked open his trunk and dug out some clean clothes, stripping off the sweat soaked, overlarge shirt and jeans he'd slept in, before dressing himself quickly in more of Dudley's cast-offs. He grabbed his wand from the rickety desk and his money pouch, making sure that he had his Gringotts vault key in his pocket twice, just in case.
He needed to get out of here. Out of this horrid, clinical, hateful house, just for a few hours. A bit of retail therapy around Diagon Alley, having a bit of exposure to the magical world that he'd all but been cut off from, and he'd feel less trapped, less enclosed, he was sure.
He slipped his peeling trainers onto his feet, both socks had holes in them, and he cracked open his bedroom door. His uncle had stopped locking him in when Harry had 'casually' mentioned that he had a guard watching him at all hours, day and night. Harry first went into Dudley's bedroom. His cousin's snoring was so loud that Harry didn't even bother being quiet as he crossed the large bedroom to his cousin's dresser. He eased open the top drawer and snatched a few of the notes lying crumpled up inside. He didn't take too many, if he had taken them all then Dudley would have known, but if he only took a few then Dudley wouldn't even notice them missing, which was sad as Harry would have given anything for a few pennies as a child, even if he couldn't have spent them, he could have still played with them and known that he had something of monetary value, even if it was just a penny.
Harry walked back out of Dudley's room and slipped down the stairs; he knew logically that his guard wouldn't be sat on the doorstep or behind his aunt's begonia bushes; they were more likely going to be in the corner of the front garden, where the two garden walls met, where they weren't likely to be found or accidentally trodden on and they'd be under one of Moody's invisibility cloaks so they wouldn't be seen by anyone who cared to look into the Dursleys' front garden. Harry easily outsmarted them. He went out of the back door and fence hopped over the Dursleys' fence, over the neighbour's fence, going around Wisteria Walk, thus avoiding Mrs Arabella Figg, not that he expected her to be up at five in the morning, but it was better to be cautious, just in case, and he set off in the direction of Surrey town.
The only thing that could ruin his break for freedom now would be if it was Moody himself who was on guard tonight, thus he'd probably have his magical eye trained on him, but he'd gotten this far already, so he hoped that it wasn't Moody on guard duty tonight. He really needed this moment of rebellious freedom.
Harry slipped down Magnolia Road and past the park and he revelled in the early morning air. He was feeling better already and the lingering effects of his reoccurring nightmares that had been plaguing him for the last month were eased away with the fresh air. He couldn't believe that he was out in the open and as he walked further and further away from Privet Drive, he found his breath coming easier and more steady from the attack of emotions that had woken him up early that morning. Pain, fear, and horror had grown and grown inside of him as he tossed and turned in his dreams until he had woken like a shot, only to be confronted with the lingering emotions and the pain of his reality.
He still couldn't believe that Sirius was gone, his last official family member and he had nothing to remember him by, just a few memories and his beloved Firebolt, which he took excessively good care of. He treated it at least once a week and waxed it until he was sure he would slide right off of it if he were to actually fly it, but the polished ebony handle gleamed in the light and he made sure to buff the goblin made ironwork on the frame until his elbows ached and it always looked utterly pristine with not a birch tail twig out of place. Every time he so much as looked at it he would smile and he could see Sirius in his mind and he would remember fondly that Sirius had bought this for him, he had touched it and he had wanted him to have it. It helped him feel closer to the memory of the man that he could no longer see, touch or talk to.
It was nearing quarter past six in the morning when he made it to Surrey town from his leisurely walk and he went into the nearest open café and got himself a coffee. Sirius had always drank coffee, from morning until night, and Harry hardly ever saw him drinking anything else when he actually had a choice in the matter, and when Harry had asked why he drank so much of it, his godfather had let out that bark-like laugh that always made Harry smile and told him that it was to keep himself awake and functioning. His ordered coffee was hot and bitter, despite how much sugar he'd put into it, but he forced it down and went to the train station, he was going to stay in London for as long as he possibly could and he was going to need the coffee to keep himself awake while he shopped. He hadn't been getting a lot of sleep lately, so he was going to need a lot of coffee.