(A.N.) Hi!

This is my first Harry Potter story (though certainly not my first Doctor Who story, check my profile for more Who-related tales), and I'm planning another 2 chapters, so be sure to drop me a review and let me know what you think. :)

Strange things happened to Harry Potter. They just did. He'd be standing around, minding his own business, and then, out of nowhere, something bizarre and unexplainable would play out right in front of him. Afterwards, his aunt and uncle would somehow find a way to blame it on him, despite them having no explanation as to how he could have caused it. And eventually, much like the treatment he received from his aunt and uncle, he got used to it. Learned to take disappearing windows and magically re-growing hair in his stride.

One occasion, however, was harder to forget about. One time, something happened to him that he couldn't just shrug, take the blame for, and move on from. One incident haunted him from that point forwards.

It was a rainy day, and Harry had been dragged into town by his Aunt Petunia to carry her bags. He wasn't bothered, really. Harry was just happy to be out of his cupboard and away from Dudley. He was standing outside of a shop that sold very expensive statues and ornaments. Aunt Petunia had said she didn't trust him to be careful and wouldn't pay for anything he broke. So he'd been left there, in the rain, alone.

Again, Harry wasn't too bothered. He'd rather be outside in the rain than silently following his aunt around while she inspected boring sculptures. Besides, he was across the road from the town hall. A grand, majestic building, with stone steps leading up to it, and a beautiful statue of an Angel on the roof, which covered its eyes in despair. He liked this building. It reminded him of a castle, with its two tall spires on either side, and Harry had always liked castles.

Harry saw some other children his age walking past. Their parents were making sure they were properly covered up, lest they catch a cold. With a stab of jealousy, Harry turned back to the town hall. It had been up to him to grab a coat as they left the house, and all he had to grab was an old one of Dudley's that barely even…

Harry's little rant died in his head. Something else had caught his attention.

Hadn't that been…? Wasn't it just…? How could it of…?

He tried to rewind his brain and remember what he'd seen. Because he could of sworn, just a second ago, that the Angel statue had been on the other side of the roof.

Yes, it was. He was certain of it. While previously the Angel had been stood in the centre of the roof, it now sat at the bottom of one of the spires, with one hand raised, as if ready to climb. But that was impossible. Stone statues didn't just move. And it had all happened too fast for it to have been moved by anyone else. It didn't make any sense.

Add it to the list, he thought. Another child might have spent longer wondering how the angel had moved, but, of course, Harry had seen stranger things. He was just glad neither his Aunt or his Uncle had witnessed the event, and so wouldn't be able to blame and/or punish him for it.

On that thought, he turned and glanced through the window to see if his Aunt Petunia looked to be coming out any time soon. Sadly, she was still browsing the ornaments, a sales assistant at her side and talking away in what Harry was sure was a boring explanation of why that particular ornament was perfect for his Aunt.

With a sigh, Harry turned back around, and gasped.

The Angel had moved again. It was facing him now, and it wasn't covering its face anymore. A pair of blank, grey eyes gazed across the street, directly at Harry.

Harry stared back, not sure if he was imagining things. He looked at the people passing by, to see if anyone else had noticed. But no, they continued walking along, with their heads bowed down against the ever worsening rain.

Harry looked back at the Angel, to see it pointing, undeniably, at him.

Harry didn't scare easily; growing up in a dark, spider-infested cupboard does that to a person. But this was scaring him. That statue was looking right at him, and its finger was aimed right at his heart.

And without thinking, Harry blinked.

His eyes were closed for the tiniest fraction of a second, but when they opened again, the Angel didn't look like an Angel anymore. It's facial expression had turned feral. It's mouth had opened wide to reveal fang-like teeth, and stone eyebrows narrowed downwards, enraged.

At the same time, a few drops of rain landed on his glasses, blurring his vision. He quickly took them off, wiped them on his jacket, and put them back.

The Angel was gone.

Harry scanned the roof, the spires, searching for it. He found it halfway down the town hall's steps, glaring at him.

And Harry realised, the statue was moving towards him.

This was impossible, Harry thought frantically. How could the statue be moving at all, let alone moving that fast?

He blinked again.

The Angel was at the bottom of the steps now, clawed hands stretched out in front of it, trying desperately to get to Harry

Harry backed up against the wall of the shop. How was this happening? What did the Angel want with him?

A large lorry drove in front of Harry. When it passed, the Angel was on the other side of road, ready to lunge. All it needed was one more blink.

Harry decided there was nothing else for it. Without taking his eyes off the Angel, he edged his way along the wall, until he had his back against the door of the shop. With a shaky hand he felt around for the handle behind him.

He'd have to be quick. The Angel would cross the road and be at his side as soon as he turned away, Harry was sure of it.

With a deep breath, and a last look at Angel, Harry threw himself through the door and slammed it shut behind him. He found Aunt Petunia a few feet away and ran straight towards her, not caring if he knocked anything over.

"Aunt Petunia!" he gasped when he reached her. "There's a - "

"What are you doing in here?" his Aunt shrieked. "I told you to wait outside."

"I'm sorry, but there's a statue - "

"Go back outside, you stupid boy. Now."

"But Aunt Petunia, it moves when I - "

"I'm terribly sorry, madam," said the shop assistant, looking at Harry in disgust. "But he's getting water on our carpet."

"I'm so sorry," said Aunt Petunia, mortified. "Outside. Now!" she snarled at Harry

Harry just stood there, staring with pleading eyes.

"Now!" she snapped.

Terrified, Harry turned back towards the shop entrance, and gasped again. The Angel was creeping around the side of the window, following Harry with its eyes. Harry looked around in desperation for another way out. He saw another door on the other side of the room, next to the till. His Aunt had returned to negotiating with the shop assistant, so he ran for it.

Bursting through the heavy metal door, he found himself in the dirty alleyway around the side of the antique shop. To his left led back to the street, and where the Angel was. So Harry set off to the right, heart falling when he came face to face with a large metal gate. He pointlessly tried pulling on it a few times, but it was locked solid, too high to climb.

Once again, he tried not to panic. With no other option, he would have to hope that the Angel was still looking through the window, allowing him to slip past unseen and run as fast as he could to somewhere it couldn't find him

With one last tug on the metal gate, he sighed and turned to run.

Except the Angel was in front of him. It's hand was inches away from him, reaching for his throat

Harry was pinned against the gate. There was no way he could squeeze around without coming into actual, physical contact with the Angel.

He tried to think, desperately he tried to work out what to do next. But it was hard to concentrate when he was so scared, and trying with every inch of himself not to blink. Because he knew. This time, if he took eyes off of the Angel for one split second, it would have him.

His eyes began to water, partly because they'd been open too long, partly because he was crying. He was going to die. This Angel was going to kill him, and his Aunt probably wouldn't even notice. She'd forget all about him, just go home with whatever expensive item she'd purchased, while he was killed here in this alley.

At the age of 8, Harry Potter was going to die.

"Oh, God." he whispered. He could feel it coming in the corner of his eyelids. His body was going to betray him, and they would close any second. "Please." he begged, to no one in particular.

His eyes began to twitch uncontrollably. He sobbed, hoped he would see his Mum and Dad soon, and felt his eyes blink shut.

There was a loud smash, and afterwards Harry was surprised to find himself still very much alive.

"What," said a shrill, furious voice. "on Earth, do you think you're doing, you stupid child!"

Harry opened his eyes, and felt something he'd never felt before and would never feel again. Unbelievable, uncontrollable, unimaginable joy at the sight of his Aunt Petunia.

It didn't matter that she, and the snooty shop assistant both looked enraged. He didn't care. There were now three people looking at the Angel, who Harry saw had returned to covering its face with its hands, and turning away from them.

His Aunt Petunia marched over to him and grabbed him by the scruff of his coat, dragging him back towards the large metal door that she'd thrown open seconds before.

"How dare you waltz into this area of the shop?" she roared. "You were breaking and entering, like a common thug! You'll spend a month under the stairs for this! And you had better wipe that smirk off of your face, or I'll wipe it off for you."

But as Harry was dragged back through the shop and towards a whole month in his cupboard, he couldn't help but smile. It was a smile of relief, and exhaustion, and elation at actually being alive. It was life spent in an unhappy home, in a murky cupboard with a horrible Aunt and Uncle, but he didn't care.

Harry Potter was alive!

He was so happy, he barely noticed that the shop assistant hadn't followed them back into the shop.

Instead, the man was still admiring at the beautiful stone statue in his back alley. He was certain it had not been in his back alley when he'd took the bins out an hour ago. Had it been dumped here? Did it have something to do with the boy? And then he realised he didn't care really. There was no owner in sight, and that meant it was his to sell.

It was too heavy to lift himself, he supposed, walking around the sculpture. He would have to fetch some of the young apprentices to shift it for him.

He turned back to the shop, and away from the Angel, but only made it a few steps.

He was never seen again.