Much like that morning — which felt like it had been days ago by then, rather than hours — Harry sprinted out the end of Privet Drive as fast as his little legs could carry him, away from house number four. The difference being that this time, Harry had no intentions of ever returning to that dreadful place. Never again would he waste hours of his life forced to do chores for a house that was never his home, or see the inside of that small cupboard beneath the stairs, and sleep on that mouldy, sock-scented mattress. Harry was not only escaping that house, but the hellish life he had lived up to that point.
It had gotten so late outside that the streets were devoid of people, meaning that there was no one to see Harry blitz his way across Little Whinging. He dodged beneath the light of streetlamps so quickly that they barely had time to illuminate him, until soon, he reached the outskirts of the town, and such things as streetlamps and houses became fewer and fewer. As he ran, Harry strained his ears, expecting to hear the wail of police sirens any minute then as they began their hunt for him, but so far, he'd heard nothing except the occasional distant car horn.
With the idea of being dragged away in handcuffs deeply unsatisfying to him, Harry knew that he either had to keep on running, and not stop until he was far away from Little Whinging, or find a place to hide for a while, until any heat died down. His legs chose for him, already growing weak and his strides becoming shorter, but where could he go? The library, his usual spot, was out of the question: ignoring the fact that it was closed, it was bang in the middle of town. No, he needed somewhere else, and as he turned the corner around a dense lot of bushes, Harry might've stumbled upon just the place.
Hidden in its own little space — that even Harry had no idea existed — was an old, worn-down park. He could just about make out a double swing set that was missing one of its swings, and a collapsed climbing frame that had been reclaimed by nature, covered in ivy and other green plants. Standing vigil above it all was a single, forgotten lamppost that flickered in a way that reminded Harry of the light in his old cupboard. It was as good a place as any, he decided, and quickly ducked inside.
Heart trying to thump its way out of his chest, Harry listened out for any sounds coming in his direction. Time felt non-existent in that dark little park; it could've been five minutes or five hours, but nothing changed. The park was completely still, frozen in time, and enveloped in an eerie silence that was only broken by Harry's heavy breaths. Distracting himself by taking a look around, Harry got the feeling that the park had been left undisturbed for many years until he came along. It was quite spooky, if he was being honest, making him wonder what it was like during the day, and if it was any different.
Harry took a seat on one of two metal benches, careful not to catch himself on the rust that had infected it. He hadn't been sat for more than a minute when there was a soft swoosh, and the barn owl landed on the back of the bench, making Harry jump.
"Oh, it's only you," he said, sitting back down with a relieved sigh, his eyes closing for a moment. All was peaceful until Harry felt a sudden, sharp pain in his ear. "OW!" The owl had shuffled along the bench and nipped his ear hard. "What was that for?!"
Harry held his ear tight, surprised that there was no blood. He stared at his feathery friend in betrayal, but that's when he noticed the twigs caught in the owl's ruffled feather coat, like it had flown through a dozen or so bushes.
"What happened to you?" he asked, and the owl hooted loudly, turning its head around 180 degrees, gesturing to the park. It then cuffed Harry in the back of the head with one of its large wings. "Alright, I get it! I'm sorry! It's not like I knew I was going to leave, was it! No, I didn't lie to you!" The owl glared back, not believing him. But Harry had told the truth; he hadn't expected to run away from the Dursleys that night, it's just the circumstances worked out that way.
Standing up, Harry began to pace back and forth. "Listen, you're not the only one that's angry, alright? I'm the one that just found out he was being lied to his entire life. As if I didn't need any more reasons to hate the Dursleys, but there they go, proving once again that they are the worst humans to ever live! Yes, yes — I know there's probably been worse, but they were supposed to be my family — they were supposed to love and care about me! But no, they lied and abused me because of some stupid vendetta they held against my parents, as if being orphaned at the age of one wasn't bad enough already!"
The owl watched Harry, its head moving side-to-side to keep track of his movements whilst the rest of its body stayed still. Harry continued his rant, waving his hands about in anger.
"I should've … I … I don't know. I should've done something — they deserved to feel some of the suffering I have! I was right there too! It would've been so easy to just … end them!" Harry let out a cry of frustration, collapsing back onto the bench. "But what would that have even done… Turn me into a murderer, that's what … just like…"
Harry fell silent, a shudder rocking him as he recalled the chill that had invaded his body back in Privet Drive, and the presence of his parent's murderer standing right behind him, urging him to kill the Dursleys. It had all been in his head — he knew that — but did that make it any less real? Whenever Harry closed his eyes, he could still see his mother's terrified face staring up at him, like he was the monster about to take her life. It was one of the worst sights he'd ever seen.
"I can't let that happen," said Harry with conviction, making a promise not to himself, but to his parents. "I can't ever let myself turn into that kind of monster."
Harry had been lucky enough to be born with magic, and all these incredible powers, but twice now — the zoo and then tonight — he'd lost control. Both times the outcome could've been disastrous; he needed to keep control of himself, especially his emotions. Who knows if the next time he'll be able to pull himself back from the edge in time.
The owl hopped along the back of the bench and stopped next to him, resting its wing around his shoulder as a show of support.
"Thanks," said Harry, chuckling before exhaling a deep, uncertain sigh. "Then there's Hogwarts … I have no idea what I'm going to do about that." The owl tilted its head. Harry took out the Hogwarts letter, which now had a number of creases running across it, and stains from Dudley's greasy fingers. "Did you know it was the headmaster that left me at the Dursleys?"—the owl shook its head, eyes going wide—"I know right, it shocked me as well." Harry paused, thinking hard. "Do you think he knew what he was leaving me to? The abuse, I mean. Even if he didn't, I don't understand why he never came to check up on me — or send someone to check on me — over the last ten years. My mind's running in circles trying to figure it out, and I can't help but wonder - what if he did know. How can I go to a school if there's a chance its headmaster knew about the Dursleys abusing me, but chose to do nothing about it?"
Although it felt good to vent his thoughts and worries, it brought Harry no closer to figuring out what he was going to do. The owl was no help either — not that Harry expected it to be; it had returned to staring at the letter, as it had whenever Harry took it out over the past day. Harry was alone in deciding what to do, and like for most of his life — since he first realised the weird and wonderful things he could do — he lacked the information he crucially needed, and had little to no idea how to go about getting it.
"I suppose the only real option is to head to London," stated Harry. "Try and find that alley Petunia spoke about, and get the stuff I need to learn more about magic. Even if I don't go to Hogwarts, the books on the equipment list should be a good place to start my own studies, don't you think?"
The owl flapped its wings once and hooted, as if to shrug and say, 'I suppose so'. But how was Harry going to himself to get to London? Whilst he'd never assumed that he'd leave the Dursleys owning many belongings, he had thought he'd come away with more than just the clothes on his back — at least some money or something. As it currently went, he couldn't afford a bottle of water, let alone pay for a taxi. There was always the train, he supposed, confident in his ability to stow away and get a free trip. After brainstorming for a few more minutes, this remained his best idea, so, having no clue what time it was, and whether any trains would still be running this late, Harry ventured out of the abandoned park and began walking to the train station. As he was leaving, the owl flew over and settled on his shoulder.
"Guess you don't feel like flying after me again," said Harry. The owl nodded, sending Harry a look, daring him to try and remove it from his shoulder.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Harry made his way to the Little Whinging train station — slinking from shadow to shadow, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could whilst have a big, brown barn owl sitting on his shoulder. He kept his eyes especially peeled for any police travelling around, but he still couldn't hear any sirens. Harry wondered if they were searching around Privet Drive, which was on the other side of town, or whether the Dursley's had called the police at all. Now that he'd calmed down a bit, he thought about it logically and realised that the Dursleys couldn't call the police on him, lest they want to risk their own abuse coming to light. The owl shot Harry a very confused look when he suddenly stopped and facepalmed hard.
Luck was finally on his side when he got to the station. There was a big clock that let him know the time was just after half eleven, and the last train was scheduled to come into the station any second then. No one else was waiting for it, so he didn't have to have an awkward conversation about why there was an owl on his shoulder. And when the train finally arrived — five minutes late — he was quick to step into the toilet and lock the door, doing so before anyone saw him.
Harry absently stroked the owl, smoothing out its feathers, when the train lurched and set off. The only exciting thing to happen during the journey was the arrival of the ticket inspector, who tried to open the toilet door.
"Anyone in there?" they asked, it sounded like a man. Harry said nothing, and the owl copied him, staying silent. The door rattled again. Quietly, Harry unlocked the door, but held it shut with his telekinesis, letting it give way just a bit when the inspector tried to open it again, but not enough to see inside.
"Damn door," said the inspector. "Thought it'd been fixed last week."
They left, satisfied that no one was in there hiding. Soon after, the breaks hissed and slowed the train to a stop, signifying their arrival in London. Harry stuck his head out of the toilet, looking both ways to check that no one was there, before sneaking out of the nearest exit doors. As soon as he stepped out, Harry heard a shout.
"Hey, you!" Harry spun around; the ticket inspector was storming his way from the other end of the platform looking rather unhappy. Harry took off in the opposite direction, ignoring the man's shouts for him to stop. People turned, pointing at the owl hanging onto his shoulder, but none of them made to stop him as Harry left the station, disappearing into London's streets; a remarkably easy thing to do, even for a boy with an owl.
Unlike Little Whinging where the streets had been emptied as the sun went down, London was the opposite; the city seemed to have come alive under the night sky. Walking around with an owl gained Harry a lot of attention, but thanks to Dudley's old clothes and the few heated glares he threw out, no one approached him, thinking that he was some crazy, homeless owl-kid. This suited Harry just fine, who undisturbed, had already been able to search five alleys in the half an hour he'd been in the city. Sadly, none of them turned out to be the alley Petunia had told him about, so Harry's search continued.
"Don't suppose you know where this magic alley is?" Harry asked the owl on his shoulder, walking out of alley number nine. "No? Well then, this is going to be a long night."
By the time the sun peeked over the top of London's skyline, Harry felt like he'd gone through and checked half the alleys in London, yet he'd found no mention of magic, except from that one guy selling mushrooms. That wasn't the kind of magic Harry was looking for. He'd also learned the hard way not to venture down the alleys beside nightclubs; even his owl friend turned its head around to avoid watching that old guy railing a girl half his age up against the alley's brick wall. Harry buried that memory as deep into his mind as it could go.
"This could take weeks!" cried Harry in frustration, dragging his feet down the street. "I get why it's so hard to find — can't have normal people finding it and all that — but couldn't they put up a sign or something for those who can do magic."
Harry's stomach rumbled, reminding him that he'd not eaten anything for a couple of days, and that too was just a single slice of non-buttered bread; Petunia was feeling extra generous that day. Deciding that he wasn't going to find the alley anytime soon, Harry turned his focus to his immediate problems — finding something to eat and drink, as well as a place to stay. Sleeping on the streets might be the only thing Harry considered a downgrade from the Dursley's cupboard, if only marginally. Both of these problems boiled down to one thing, money, which he remained to have none of. Vernon's frequent rants and complaints about bills and costs made much more sense to Harry now; money really did make the world go round, and anyone that didn't have it was shit out of luck.
A sudden commotion on the pavement ahead drew Harry's attention. The streets had started to fill with people beginning their days — some were just finishing their nights — and what Harry saw not far in front of him was a grumpy man in a pin-striped suit walking away from a blonde-haired woman, having just barged rudely past her.
"Hey!" the woman called, looking quite pissed off.
The man didn't stop, but did glance over his shoulder. "Watch where you're going, bitch."
"Fucking douchebag!"
Harry agreed; this guy was a dickhead. He fought the urge to stick a foot out as the man walked past, instead Harry settled for following him with a nasty glare. Harry was about to let it go when noticed the wallet bulging in man's back pocket, and had a thought — this guy obviously had some decent money, if going by his clothes. Harry could really do with some money right now.
The man went to take another step, raising his foot into the air when suddenly he tripped forward, as if he'd kicked something hard. Harry had grabbed the guy's foot with telekinesis, and basically pulled it out from under him, as Harry had been practicing on Dudley over the last month. With a cry of surprise, the man plummeted to the ground, but quickly jumped back to his feet, ears red in embarrassment which spread down to his neck when the woman burst out laughing. He hurried away so fast that he failed to notice his wallet wiggle itself out of his pocket and stash itself under the bin next to where he'd fallen.
"Serves that bastard right," laughed the woman, mesmerising Harry with the way her sizeable chest shook and bounced in her sundress. Was she wearing a bra, he wondered, looking closer — to see if she was or not — no other reason. Harry continued to watch her as she strutted away, hips swaying, until she turned down a different street.
Giving his head a thorough shake, but storing that particular memory somewhere safe, Harry slowly made his way over to the stashed wallet. Checking that no one was watching him — which was quite often with the owl sitting on his shoulder — he bent down and picked it up. Inside the wallet was a various assortment of cards that were useless to Harry, but he hit the jackpot with cash; his hasty count came out to around £400, give or take. No where near enough for long term, but as his grumbling stomach pointed out, it was plenty enough for getting something to eat. There was a cafe nearby that he recalled going past last night. Harry headed there, hoping that it would now be open.
Shutters up and doors open, Harry gave his order to the bald man behind the counter, who he assumed was called Richard because the cafe itself was called Richard's Cafe. He then took a seat at one of the outdoor tables. The barn owl finally climbed off him and onto the table, allowing Harry to roll and stretch the muscles in his shoulder.
"Are you sure you don't know where the alley is?" Harry asked the owl after a shirt while. The owl stared at him blankly, then proceeded to preen its feathers. "You're not very helpful, you know that, right?"
The owl hooted indignantly, but Harry was distracted by Richard arriving with his food. The cafe owner set the food on the table, giving the angry owl a cautious look and wide berth.
"Here you go, kid," said Richard, but then lingered. "That your owl?"
"Er, yeah … something like that," replied Harry, not sure what else to say. It would've been stranger if he said no. He reached out to stroke the owl, but it wasn't yet over his previous comment and nipped at his fingers.
"Hmm," grunted Richard. "Don't most kids your age have a dog, or a cat?"
"And? Don't most adults have hair?" snapped Harry, venting a bit of the frustration he'd gathered over last night from his fruitless search.
"Cheeky brat. You won't have all that hair forever, you know. I'm just saying, a boy with an owl, s'not somethin' you see often."
The cafe owner walked away, leaving Harry alone to eat the hot sandwich he'd ordered. Before he could dig in, the owl hopped along the table and stabbed its beak into the sandwich, coming out with an entire slice of bacon.
"Help yourself why don't you," said Harry sarcastically. The owl didn't dignify him with a response, ripping into its pilfered bacon.
Harry ate what was remaining, delighting in the taste and the warm fullness settling in his stomach. This was the first meal freed of his old life; Harry took a moment to bask in that knowledge, the sandwich tasting much better to him than it probably was. Waiting for the owl to finish gobbling down the last of its bacon, Harry counted what was left of his money, coming to a total of £368, so he'd been off with his original quick count.
"Is this even enough to buy everything I'd need," Harry wondered aloud. Sure, it was enough to let him eat well for a little while, maybe stay somewhere warm for a few days, as long as it was somewhere cheap, but how expensive were magic things going to be? Harry couldn't imagine something as important as a wand being cheap, but combine that with the books…
Harry needed more money, that was the bottom line. He looked out at the street, thinking of ways to get money fast, and as he did this, he noticed how many suit wearing men and expensively dressed women were walking about. Three well-dressed men had just gone past the cafe, talking adamantly to one another, and Harry noticed that two of them had their wallets exposed much like that rude guy from earlier. Without needing much further thought, he used telekinesis to pluck the wallets out of their pockets, dragged them across the floor, under chairs and tables out of view, and up into his hand. That one act brought Harry's bank balance all the way up to £1024. Was it morally wrong? Sure, but Harry didn't care. He deserved some leeway from the universe after the shit he'd been through.
"Want another sandwich?" Harry asked his owl friend, who bobbed its head excitedly, and whilst eating their second round of food — the owl enjoying its own bacon sandwich this time — Harry decided he could make better use of these rich people's money.
As Harry left the cafe, owl back on his shoulder, he was stopped by Richard. Harry panicked, thinking that the cafe owner had seen him using telekinesis and stealing the wallets. Had he already called the police? Instead of holding him there for authorities to arrive, Richard handed Harry a bag, which when he looked inside held another couple of sandwiches and drinks.
"Why are you giving me this?"
Richard shrugged. "You look like you could use it. No — you don' have to pay me — just come back at some point … let me know you're doing alright."
Harry was struck dumb by the unexpected kindness. "I will, thank you … and I'm sorry, you know, for snapping at you earlier."
"Don' worry about it, brat," laughed Richard. "I've raised four kids of my own, heard far worse than that, I have."
Feeling much better than when he first walked into the cafe, Harry set out to enact his devious plan to accumulate wealth. Stalking London's streets, Harry slyly sought out his victims, examining them closely to identify those who were richer, before using his telekinesis to rob them blind. He always made sure to be nowhere near the person he was stealing from, sometimes hiding around a corner, or sitting on a bench at the other side of the street. It meant that even if someone did realise that they were missing their wallet or purse, they never once looked Harry's way. Meanwhile, he would carefully bring the stolen items back to him, making sure that no one saw them, and stash everything in the bag Richard had given him.
When police started patrolling the streets, looking for this widespread pick pocketing gang — for it had to be a group doing this, what with the number of thefts taking place — Harry had to send his feathery friend away. Even if he was being careful, someone would've eventually noticed the boy with an owl that was lurking nearby whenever a theft took place, but no one ever looked twice at a homeless kid.
Harry was relentless, stacking up on stolen loot and having more fun than he expected to as he filled his bag to the point it was almost bursting. He finally stopped when the sun went down. Harry ducked into one of London's many alleys to count what he'd collected. This particular alley was quite wide, allowing plenty of light from the street to come in and letting Harry see clearly, even as he hid behind a big green bin (but it still wasn't the magic alley!). Harry tipped his bag out, grinning at the heaping pile of wallets and purses, of which there were a lot more of the former. He fell into a rhythm — opening them, stripping them of everything valuable, before lastly dumping the remains in the bin he was hiding behind. After the tenth wallet, Harry got so efficient that he started using his telekinesis to do a couple at the same time.
The final total came to a staggering thirteen and half thousand pounds. Not bad for a single day's work, Harry joked, but it wasn't only money that he got. There were a few rings and other pieces of jewellery, courtesy of the purses he had pilfered. He would need to find somewhere to sell them, a place that wouldn't ask questions about where he got it all. Out of curiosity more than anything, he did have a look at the rings to see if any of them were worth keeping, but none of them were particularly special.
With two out of three of his immediate concerns taken care off, that being food and money, Harry scooped his loot back into the bag and made to leave the alley, wanting to find a hotel to stay at. A nice, big, soft bed was something he really wanted to experience after being cramped in that small cupboard for so many years, but as Harry stood, the sound of approaching laughter reached his ears, coming from the mouth of the alley. Whether it was the bag full of money making him more cautious, or his instinctual avoidance of other people, Harry crouched back down behind the bin.
A small group of men stumbled into view at the mouth of the alley, three of them to be exact, talking to one another with slurred words. They were clearly drunk, some more than others, and from Harry's years of experience dealing with a drunk Vernon Dursley, he knew it was best to avoid people who were heavily intoxicated. He stayed silent as the drunkest looking one, a thin guy of average height wearing a red shirt, stepped into the alley, but not far enough to see Harry in his hiding spot.
"Stop here a minute," he said.
One of the other guys, similar in stature but wearing blue, voiced his confusion. "Come on, Dave. Why're we stoppin' here?"
"I need a piss," came Dave's blunt reply, fumbling with the zipper of his pants.
"Ben's place is jus' around the corner," stated blue guy.
"Well, I need one now," snapped Dave. "Just fucking wait for me."
Giving up the argument, blue guy rolled his eyes and turned away. The third guy, who was shorter and fatter than the other two, and had yet to speak, needed smacking before he too faced away, his square glasses almost falling off in process. Harry could tell that glasses guy was more of a nervous tag along than anything else, likely kept around for the other's entertainment.
Not wanting to watch a guy take a leak, Harry shuffled further back behind bin, willing to wait there until the group moved on. He rested his head back against the metal, closing his eyes and passing the time by imaging what it would feel to crawl into a bed and sleep for a few days.
"Wait, what was that?" said Dave suddenly.
Harry's eyes snapped back open, his heart skipping a beat.
"W-What was what?" said a squeaky voice Harry didn't recognise. It must've been glasses guy, but Harry didn't peak back out to confirm this.
"I think I saw something move," said Dave.
Harry sucked in a breath and held it. How had he been seen?
"There's nothing there," said blue guy, sounding annoyed. "Just shut up and piss already, or I'm walking on to Ben's."
"I fucking saw something, OK!" barked Dave.
Harry did his best to stay completely still as Dave's footsteps got louder. Any closer and Dave would be able to see around the bin.
"'Course, you did," grumbled blue guy in a way that showed exactly how much he didn't believe Dave.
Dave stepped next to the bin. The only thing keeping Harry hidden was the shadows he'd submerged himself in, but even they wouldn't be able to keep doing that if Dave took just one more step, which he was about do.
Screw this, Harry decided. He gripped his bag of money tight, and like he was shot out of a cannon, he leapt to his feet — making Dave jump — and ran further into the darkness of the alley.
"See! I told you I saw something. Come on!" Harry heard Dave yelling behind him, instructing the group to give chase. Maybe this could've been avoided if Harry hadn't bothered hiding in the first place, but he had other things to worry about in that moment than what might have been.
Harry caused a ruckus as ran, kicking empty cans and other rubbish that he just couldn't see, not with how the alley was getting darker and darker the farther away from the street he got. At least Harry could tell how close his pursuers were because they, in their drunkenness, were running into more things than he was. At last, Harry could make out a light in the distance, which he hoped was the other end of the alley, and his escape route. It got brighter the closer he got. Harry thought he was going to make it, when suddenly he was met with a wall; no, not a brick one — a metal one — a high metal fenced wall with a gate to allow access, but this was chained up and locked with a padlock.
What was he going to do? Harry stepped back, debating his ability to quickly scale the fence, but it was so very high. Whoever put this up did not want people getting through here. He wondered if he might instead be able to break the chain or the padlock with his telekinesis, but he'd never tried breaking something so strong before, and had no idea how long it would take, or if he could even do it. Harry was trapped.
It didn't take much longer for the three men to finally catch up, though they each looked like they'd been running a marathon, covered in sweat and short of breath. Glasses guy was the first to see Harry, speaking in his gasping, squeaky voice.
"It's … just … a kid."
Blue guy was next to recover enough to speak, shooting an irritated look towards his red-shirted companion. "Fucking hell, Dave. Why've you got us wastin' our time chasin' a bloody street urchin?"
"Shut up, Jerry," said Dave, looking disappointed that Harry hadn't turned out to be something more interesting. "I didn' know it was just a stupid kid, did I?"
"Whatever … let's get out of here," said Jerry, previously known as blue guy.
Harry wished that would've been the end of it, but he recognised the look in Dave's eye; it was the same look Vernon got whenever he thought Harry was hiding something.
"No, wait a sec," said Dave. Then he smiled at Harry, displaying crooked yellow teeth. "Hey, kid. What've you got there?"
Harry moved his bag behind him, but this was a mistake. Dave's eyes got brighter, shining with curiosity and most of all, greed.
"Jesus christ, Dave. What are you gonna do? Mug the kid?" said glasses guy in disbelief. "That's a new low, even for you."
"Fuck off, Fred! No one asked what you think," said Dave irritably. "Besides, it's only fair we get something out of this for the kid wasting our time." Dave paused to see if either of his friends were going to argue, but they didn't, so he turned back to Harry, flashing that same yellow smile again. Harry honestly couldn't tell if it was supposed to look friendly or not.
"So, kid — what's in the bag?" asked Dave.
Harry said nothing, in fact, he never so much as deigned Dave with a glance. Instead, he was paying attention to his friends, who had gathered together and leaned against the wall, still catching their breath as they waited for Dave to finish shaking Harry down. They had started their own, not so quiet conversation.
"Fucking hell … Can you believe this, Jerry?" said Fred, shoving his glasses further up his nose.
Jerry shrugged. "Dave's been like this since we were kids. He's usually right about this sort of thing though — I mean, why else would the kid run?"
"Maybe cause three grown men started chasing him?" answered Fred, stating the obvious. "I'd run if that happened to me."
"Yeah, but you're a coward, Fred."
The conversation stopped, with Jerry chuckling to himself as Fred stood there offended, but lacking the spine to refute Jerry's words, thus proving them to be true. Their quick talk told Harry what he needed to know; he was unlikely to get out of this without a fight breaking out. As if to confirm this, Dave's patience ran out, sick of being ignored.
"Are you deaf or something? I asked you a question!" When Harry again didn't speak, Dave's anger reached a new height. "Alright, kid. If you're not gonna tell me, then I'll come and see for myself."
Harry's eyes sharpened as Dave took two stumbling steps towards him. "Don't come any closer. I'm warning you."
"So, you can speak!" Dave took another step, then called over his shoulder to his friends. "Did you hear that? Little shit threatened me."
"He's got more balls than Fred here," said Jerry with a laugh as Fred let out an incensed 'Hey!'.
Harry's mouth curled into a snarl, like an animal baring its teeth. "Leave me alone, or else you won't like what happens." Harry really couldn't be bothered getting into a fight, but it was becoming more inevitable by the moment.
"Alright, kid," said Dave, putting his hands up in mock surrender, but taking another step forward. "We don't have to have a problem here, do we? We'll leave you alone. Just give me the bag, and we'll go."
"I'm not giving you shit," growled Harry.
"Oh. Then I guess we do have a problem." Dave cracked his knuckles and gestured for his friends to join him. Jerry kicked off the wall, but Fred stayed where he was, trembling and turning every which way, checking that no one was watching what they were doing.
"This all could've been avoided, kid," sighed Dave, shaking his head but not looking at all regretful. "But you know what, I like you — I do — you've got guts. I'll try not to rough you up too much."
Dave closed the remaining distance and reached out to grab Harry by the neck. Harry had a momentary flashback to all the times Vernon had done the same thing; it made his own anger increase tenfold. Dave's outstretched hand stopped abruptly. Dave's grin faltered as he tried to push forward, grunting from the effort, but it was like he'd hit an invisible wall.
"What are you doing, Dave?" hissed Jerry. "Hurry up and deal with the punk before someone comes!"
"I-I can't move…" said Dave, panic creeping into his voice.
"What do you mean you can't fucking move!"
"I d-don't know what's happening!" Dave tried to pull his hand back, but he couldn't do that either. Something held him there, encompassing his entire arm, locking him in place. Dave looked past his arm to see Harry smirking. "W-What are you d-doing to me? Let me g-go!"
"I tried to warn you," stated Harry.
Harry commanded his telekinesis, using the hold he already had on Dave to send the drunkard flying over Jerry's head. Dave crashed into a huddle of bins, disappearing under the contents that spilled out of them as a result of his sudden arrival.
"DAVE!" shouted Jerry, staring open mouthed at where Dave landed, before he turned to Harry enraged. "I'm gonna fuck you up, kid! No one does that to my brother!"
"You're brothers?" said Harry, nodding. "I should have known that you two were related. It makes sense — you are both as dumb as each other, after all."
"ARGH!"
Jerry's wild charge was cut short when Harry took control of two metal bin lids, floating them up from behind him and sending them shooting towards Jerry. The drunk managed to dodge the first, quite proud of his accomplishment, but the second caught him straight in the stomach. Spittle flew out of his mouth and he bent over, clutching his gut. Harry redirected the first lid, the one he let Jerry dodge, to circle back and come up through Jerry's legs to smash into his chin. A crack echoed down the alley and Jerry fell like a sack of potatoes.
"Oh, shit … might've overdone it." Harry crouched beside Jerry's crumpled form, and though the man was bound to have an extremely sore chin for a while, he would be alright … maybe… Perhaps he'll need a trip to the hospital…
"W-What the h-hell are you?"
"Hmm?" Harry turned to the voice to find Dave struggling to his feet. There was a massive, angry bump in the middle of his forehead, but Harry's eyes were drawn to the item in his hand. "What do you expect to accomplish with that?"
Dave looked from Harry to his hand, checking that he hadn't gone crazy — a child did just send him flying without touching him — but no, Dave wasn't crazy, there was a gun in his hand. "I-I'll fucking s-shoot you!"
Harry hummed, considering the possibility, and came to the conclusion that that was very unlikely to happen. First, the gun — a very old revolver — was covered in rust, every surface was that reddish-brown colour, like the bench back in that park in Little Whinging, except this gun might be worse than that. It had probably been passed down in the family, or found in a landfill. Harry doubted it could even shoot, not that he was going to risk his life on such an assumption. That brought him to the second reason — Harry extended his telekinesis and took hold of the revolver, but did nothing, not yet.
Taking a slow, deliberate step forward, Harry smirked as Dave reacted like Satan himself was approaching. "No! S-Stay back, demon! Stay back!"
Dave scrambled backwards, falling further away from the light on the other side of the metal fence and back into the thick shadows towards the middle of the alley. His finger flexed on the gun's trigger, but the mechanism jammed; it wouldn't budge no matter how much pressure Dave applied. Harry held the trigger with telekinesis; just because he didn't think the gun could shoot, didn't mean he was going to test his ability to catch a speeding bullet with his telekinesis. Though that was something to test in the future.
The closer Dave got to the shadows, the more they reached out for him, like an abyssal entity curling its claws around its next victim. However fun it was to strike fear into the guy's soul, Harry was tired and above all, he just wanted to go find a nice hotel and sleep. About to finish this so-called fight, Harry prepared his telekinesis when suddenly, a giant hand emerged from the shadows of the alley. There really was an eldritch beast waiting in the darkness!
The hand grabbed Dave's arm, the outstretched one holding the gun, and hoisted the him high into the air. Harry retreated backwards as a giant stepped out into the light, shadows falling off its body like water. It was metres taller than the tallest man Harry had ever seen. Something else then emerged from the darkness, and Harry saw that in the giant's other hand was the unconscious form of Fred, being dragged along the floor. Harry hadn't even noticed the coward run away at the start of the fight, but he evidently hadn't gotten far.
The giant hoisted Dave even higher, towards what Harry assumed was its face, but he couldn't tell; it was covered by what appeared to be hair, except for the two, glinting eyes that were glaring into Dave. Then it spoke, in a deep, gruff voice that was distinctly male.
"What yeh doin' pointing tha' at a child?! I ought to feed yeh to Fluffy!"
It was obvious the giant meant the gun, but whatever this Fluffy was, Harry had a feeling that being fed to it was not a pleasant way to die. Dave must've agreed, whimpering hysterically and trying to turn his wrist to aim the gun at the giant, but the angle wouldn't let him. Harry had released his telekinetic hold on the weapon upon the giant's shocking arrival, so when Dave squeezed the trigger in panic, a bullet exploded from the barrel and bounced against the brick walls either side of the alley.
The giant didn't flinch at all, and in reply, shook Dave side-to-side roughly. Dave screamed, but the giant succeeded in making him drop the gun. Without his weapon, Dave's fear reached new heights and it soon became too much. His pants gained a large wet patch — he finally had that piss he'd needed so bad — and then Dave fainted. The giant sniffed the air, taking one whiff of Dave and the new stench emanating from his pants before dropping him, doing the same with Fred.
"Disgustin' muggle."
Harry had no idea what a muggle was, but he had other concerns at the moment. He stood completely still, praying to whatever gods might be out there that this behemoth of a man would forget he was there. They either didn't hear his prayers, or didn't care, because the giant looked directly at Harry, who wished in that second that he was back in the cupboard beneath the stairs of the Dursley's house; anywhere else but in front of this giant.
"Harry! Thank Merlin yer alright!"
Wait … what? Harry stared back at the giant in stunned silence. Out of all the things he might have expected to hear — if the giant chose to speak at all — this was not one of those things. The giant stepped further into the light, and as he did, the scary, dangerous aura that surrounded him melted away. Harry could better see the giant's face, and he looked worried, but also relieved, beneath all that hair.
"H-How do you know my name?" Harry asked, though he didn't know how his mouth managed to form a coherent sentence.
"'Course I know yer name," said the giant, roaring with laughter and acting like Harry's question had been a good joke rather than an actual question. He then continued on excitedly, gesturing for Harry to come closer, which Harry did not do. "Let meh have a good look at yeh then — wow, you've grown good in teh las' ten years. Yeh look jus' like yer dad, you do — but yer eyes … those are Lily's eyes, there's no mistakin' that."
"You … You knew my parents?" said Harry, mind whirling. Before the giant had the chance to respond, which Harry guessed would've been another round of booming laughter, Harry continued, asking the question ricocheting around his skull. "Who are you?"
The giant opened its mouth to speak, but then stopped himself. He turned bashful, scratching the back of its head. "Ah — right — yeh wouldn't remember, would yeh — wha' with bein' just a babe at the time. Should introduce meself, shouldn't I. Rude of meh not to, sorry about that. Be''er late than never — I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Ground at Hogwarts School."
Harry's heart leapt into his throat, his instincts screaming out all sorts of warnings. This giant man … he was a wizard. But was he a good one, or a bad one?