Chapter Text
Harry squinted up at the sun, hunger gnawing at his gut. It couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes since the Dursleys had left him but it felt like an eternity longer. Harry’s day had started like any other woken by his aunt who demanded breakfast be made. There was however something that set this day apart from the rest–today was Dudley’s birthday. Who, once hearing that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, kicked up a fuss about Harry ruining his special day. So Harry had been kicked out and left to wander away from the house lest the neighbors saw him.
That’s how ended up here at the small park not far from his house, stomach tumbling as he pushed himself higher and higher on the old swing set that creaked with each swing. The wind whipped his hair every which way as Harry thought he barely noticed it as he closed his eyes to focus on the feeling swinging gave him.
Freedom.
It was almost as if he could fly. As if he only had closed his eyes hard enough and focused solely on the sound of the wind rushing through his ears to be soaring over an endless ocean of clouds. Then when he opened his eyes high in the air–seconds before gravity brought him down–Harry felt like he could rule the world and no one–not even Dudley–could stop him.
Harry yearned to be free, to be loved, and cared for. Free to have friends, to get good grades, and not get punished for it. He wanted so many things that a simple swing set could not give him and so slowed to a stop, beat-up sneakers dragging through the mulch.
Good mood now gone, Harry started to make his way back to the Dursleys’ house–not his home, no it hadn’t ever been his and never would be–only to stop at the corner of the park. Aunt Petunia after all had made it very clear to stay away from the house so the neighbors wouldn’t spot him. If there was something she hated more than him it was gossip about her ‘perfectly normal family.’
Harry heaved a sigh, he could of course ignore his aunt and go back and break in through the back door but the punishment for doing so would likely be severe–no food for a week at least. His stomach gave another grumble twinging painfully as Harry wrapped his arms around his stomach. No, he couldn’t go another week without eating, so he turned away from the neighborhood and started his way down the street.
Harry wandered for a while until he came across a more populated area. Buildings lined the street and families milled about no doubt enjoying the beautiful day. His attention however was immediately drawn by a grand building, beautiful roman columns and arches lined the front with sleek stone steps leading up to a set of mahogany doors. Hurrying across the street and up the steps, he squinted up through his cracked glasses at the engraving trying to make out what it said.
Lion-berry, it read.
Harry paled, could he have read it wrong? He looked again. No, that definitely said lion, and he couldn’t remember the exact name of the zoo the Dursleys had gone to but he did remember Dudly mentioning something about a lion.
He whipped his head around, fast enough that his neck popped, as he searched for his uncle’s new car. His eyes scanned the parking lot but didn’t see anything resembling his uncle’s new bright red car, though to be fair he could see much with or without his glasses. Deciding not to risk it he hurried down the steps only the grab with enough force that had him stumbling face-first into the stranger’s chest.
"What's wrong, kid? You lost?"
Glancing up at the man Harry sucked in a sharp breath only to promptly start coughing. Tall and thin with hair splattered with gray. The man who grabbed him looked like he had a fight with a razor and lost. Nasty stubble formed patches along his jaw, jagged and crusty looking. Harry’s nose stung as the smell of smoke invaded his senses and his eyes began to water.
"You are lost, aren't you?” The man leered down at him, paying no attention to his coughing fit. “Don't worry I'll help," Yanking his arm the man started to drag him off towards an alley wincing only slightly as Harry dug his nails into the man’s arm.
"Stop moving,” the man snapped suddenly, snatching Harry’s free hand off his arm.
Panic surged through Harry as the man’s grip tightened to the point where he feared the man would break his wrists. "I’ll get ya back to your family I will,” the man said not looking back as he dragged Harry closer to the alley. “After they pay of course. Nothing but walking money banks around these parts. I’m sure someone will pay a nice fee to have you back."
Now at the mouth of the alley, Harry fought harder. Pigs would sooner fly before the Dursleys gave this man money to get him back. Having no desire to live in some alley with this man he struggled some more, the man trying to drag him into the alley while Harry desperately fought to get free.
The dark mouth of the alley loomed above them like the mouth of a monster, with trash bins and broken glass that reminded him of teeth. Momentarily distracted, Harry felt himself get yanked by the man into the alley. He fell to the floor with a thud. Pebbles dug into his palms as pain shot through his shoulder. Darkness clouded the edges of Harry’s vision as once again the man latched onto his arm. Harry let out a cry as the man tugged at his injured arm, the pain making his brain go fuzzy with panic.
He knew rationally that the man could not pull off his arm but the pain overrode any logic. The man tugged again and again trying to haul Harry to his feet but his legs felt like jello and his arm must be on fire because it hurt. And he just wanted it to stop!
Crack!
Something thumped to the grown and Harry opened his eyes unsure of when he had closed them. Cautiously he turned his head to the side and his eyes widened in shock. There right in front of him laid the man's hand, blood leaking out and forming a small puddle. Harry stared horrified as the man came back to his senses.
"My hand! My hand!" The now one-handed man screeched. He cradled his handless arm to his chest, stepping back in fear. "What the hell did you do to my hand? You chopped it off! You- you devil! Freak!"
That was enough to jolt Harry out of his own stupor and he pushed himself to his feet–arm twinging in protest–and ran. He heard the man give chase too though but didn't dare look back. Instead, he raced up the steps to the building he had been admiring earlier and crashed through the doors.
He took a second to regain his breath, the man wouldn't follow him into a place as public as a zoo. Too many witnesses to see what would happen. It's the same reason Uncle Vernon never hurt him where others could see. His eyes widened at the thought of his uncle, if his uncle saw him in the zoo then it wouldn’t matter that he just got away from a kidnapper, he’d be locked in his cupboard faster than he could say ‘lion.’
He looked around as he tried to make out the blurry shapes his glasses produced. He didn't need to squint to know this wasn't the zoo. No cages lined the walls, no only shelves of what he knew to be books. Only one place had so many books; a library.
He let out a breathy laugh of relief. A library of course that made much more sense. His relief was short-lived however when he realized that he wasn't allowed to be in any library because the librarians always seemed to know his aunt. If one of them found Harry here then they would go running to his aunt.
At school whenever he went into the library the mean old librarian would look over at him, like some sort of vulture waiting to do something wrong so she could kick him out. It’s why he never went to the library unless it was absolutely necessary. Like when Dudley and his gang chased Harry through the school, but even that was rare as they preferred ‘Harry Hunting’ in places he couldn't hide.
Harry made his way to the window and peered out. He saw no one, it was as if the man had simply vanished into thin air. Then something caught his eye. A row of bushes seemed to be leaking a shimmering puddle of something. He bit his lip, glancing back at the books. He would love to stay but that was too risky, so with a deep breath pushed the doors of the library open and made his way over to the bushes.
Warily, he approached the bushes only to see the man's handless arm poking out of the bush, slowly leaking blood. Not wanting to touch the man for fear that he might wake up, he grabbed a nearby stick and poked the man. The man didn't react, did not spring up and grab him like Harry thought he would, instead he laid there deathly still. Looking at his chest confirmed it.
The man was dead.
Panicking, Harry dropped the stick, bile rising his throat. Had he really just killed a man? Glancing around Harry observed the street. There was no one around, no one had noticed this man in the bush. He glanced back at the handless arm, took a deep breath, and ducked into the bushes.
On a whim, he started to pat the man down. He fished out the man's sunglasses and wallet which contained about twenty pounds and the man's ID, John Darkwood, age 22, out of one pocket. Then he leaned over the man, far calmer than he had been a minute ago, and searched his other pocket taking out a lighter, a Mars bar, and a pack of cigars. Lastly, he took the man's watch from the arm that still had a hand attached to it.
Stuffing the Mars bar into his mouth, he threw down the rapper, collected everything except for cigarettes, and walked away as if nothing had happened. When he felt he was far enough from the man and the library he ran. Blood rushed through his ears loud enough that if Harry didn't know better he would say it was storming. He ran back to the park looking for a place to hide before dashing under the old metallic slide as he struggled to regain his breath.
The previous shock wore away as Harry took in what had just happened. He just committed murder, but more importantly, he broke two of the Dursley's rules.
After all, those rules were the most important things, drilled into his head since before he could even speak. Don't steal, don't be ungrateful, freaks like you shouldn’t be seen or heard, and so on, but the most important: never ever use his freakiness. However, nowhere on this extensive list was that he could not kill, and so Harry worried less about the dead man in some bushes, but instead about newly acquired items in his pocket.