|Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones
Author: Littleforest PM
Harry Potter would never regret running away as a child, but two years living on the hard streets of London had taken its toll. Now almost thirteen, Harry is still struggling to survive when a split-second decision gives him a chance at happiness. But will he take that chance, or will his past haunt him forever? AU story.Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Family - Harry P. - Chapters: 20 - Words: 86,748 - Reviews: 435 - Favs: 443 - Follows: 742 - Updated: 03-08-13 - Published: 07-19-12 - id: 8337535
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.
Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will break my spirit.
He was running. Always running.
Being on the move had kept him safe for as long as he could remember. If he was moving, nothing could catch him.
If he was running, he couldn't be hurt.
His natural self-preservation instincts had been honed by his cousin mostly. Being chased around the streets of Little Whinging had become the prominent memory of his childhood. His Uncle had contributed occasionally within the confines of Number Four of course, but in those instances he had soon learnt that it was actually better not to run. The pain in the short run had always been easier to take than the consequences of running.
But soon his Uncle wouldn't be here anymore. Or at least, he wasn't going to be with his Uncle.
Ten year old Harry Potter brushed messy black hair out of his eyes and picked up the battered school bag he was carrying. He turned slowly from his position in the cold, dark street, his dimmed green eyes finally resting on the outside of the unremarkable house that should've been his home from the moment his parents had been killed.
He had never been welcome there; always ignored, always on the fringes of family life but never part of it. It had never been home, and now, it would never have the chance to be.
He was sick of being forced to take every word spat at him in anger; every slap, kick or punch. He was sick of being scared to walk around every street corner, half-expecting to get beaten up by his cousin's gang.
He was sick of being scared to go home.
Harry was leaving, carrying every battered thing he owned in an old school bag that he had stolen from his cousin Dudley's second bedroom. His own had been second-hand, equally battered, and stolen from him on his first day of primary school, never to be replaced.
He wouldn't miss school, nor would he miss the near-constant bullying he suffered there. He definitely wouldn't miss living at Number Four, Privet Drive.
And what was worse, he wouldn't be missed either.
Harry closed his eyes, and slowly turned to the darkened street that led onto Magnolia Crescent, his expression showing no doubt, no regret and no fear.
Wherever he ended up, it had to be better than the life he was leaving behind.
Without looking back, he opened his eyes and walked quickly down the street, picking up the pace gradually until his battered body was flying through the darkness as fast as his legs would take him.
He was running.
This time, he wouldn't stop.
A/N- So, this is a short prologue to a story I have been thinking of starting for a while. I know it seems like a cliché 'Harry runs away' story at the moment, but I do hope to write an original storyline to keep it new and interesting.
There will obviously be more explanations and background later in the story, but for now I just wanted to get an idea of whether or not people would like me to continue this.
So, does anybody out there want to read more? If there is enough interest, a new chapter will be added soon. For now though, thanks for reading!