A/N: the characters and places do not belong to me they belong to J.K Rowling, I am just using them in a way she didn't. This story contains child abuse.) Thanks to my beta for this story: lovebites123.
Chapter One: Running away.
The late September sun was setting on the immaculate lawns of Privet Drive, everything seemed perfectly normal, except in one house, number four. A Mercedes had just pulled into number four's drive, and a large beefy man, with hardly any neck and an equally large moustache eased himself out of his brand new car. Vernon Dursley then proceeded to let himself into the house. When they entered the living-room, Vernon saw his large, seven year old son Dudley watching a program on the television. Petunia then proceeded to tell Vernon about what had happened earlier that day; where Harry had somehow, mysteriously broken Dudley's favourite remote-control car, after Harry had shouted at Dudley to stop doing something, and that he is now in his cupboard, but not before Petunia herself had shouted at him and hit him around the head and with a promise that Vernon would know as soon as he came home from work. During Petunia's recount on what had happened earlier that day, Vernon's face had gone redder and redder with each recollection and now his face was a nasty, sickly colour of puce and the vein in his right temple was throbbing almost painfully. Vernon then growled out, "How dare that nasty, ungrateful freak do that to my son, he will pay dearly for that. Petunia, dear, fetch my largest and thickest leather belt, it is time that toe-rag is punished properly." Petunia nodded and hurried off upstairs, to fetch Vernon's largest and thickest leather belt from their bedroom. She returned a few seconds later with said belt in hand and, seeing her husband waiting outside the living-room door, handed it to him she then turned and entered the living-room, there was no need for her to punish the boy, and Vernon can do a well enough job of that on his own, she thought. She then shut the door behind her and sat on the sofa to watch the television with Dudley. After Vernon heard the living-room door close, he proceeded down the hall to the cupboard under the stairs. He wrenched the door of the cupboard open to see Harry looking at him with large fear-filled emerald-green eyes. "I-I'm s-sorry u-uncle V-Vernon." Harry stammered.
"SORRY DOESN'T CUT IT BOY!" roared uncle Vernon. "YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO DUDLEY, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE CREATURE!" Vernon continued and lifted the belt threateningly at Harry. Harry then tried to back away from his uncle, but with no such luck as the cupboard under the stairs was tiny. Vernon punched Harry in the ribs when he saw that Harry was trying to back away from him. The force of his uncle's punch made Harry gasp out in pain and to curl up into a ball, which unfortunately gave his uncle access to his back. Vernon then brought the belt down onto Harry's extremely small back, making Harry scream in pain. This only made Vernon hit Harry harder with the belt, he carried on doing this three or four times getting harder with each hit, with only Harry's cries and sobs to stop and the crack of the belt as Vernon raised it in the air to strike again breaking the silence. Harry could feel a warm substance seeping through his extremely baggy and faded shirt and he knew his back was bleeding profusely. Vernon then used the buckle of the belt on Harry's small ankles, and after he finished with the belt he put it into his pocket. Harry should have known that it wasn't over so soon, because Vernon then proceeded to punch every bit of Harry he could reach. After two and a half hours, or so it felt like to Harry, Vernon stopped punching him and Harry chanced a glance at his uncle. "If you ever do anything...anything at all, again to Dudley or anything to our possessions, I promise you boy, your punishment will be much, much worse, and to make sure you don't do anything again, we will continue with this after dinner." the brute of a man promised.
With that said he exited the cupboard and went to join his wife and son in the living-room to watch the television. Harry knew then that he couldn't stay here. He forced his aching body to get up off the small fraying bed, and reach for the old rucksack that was on the shelf above his bed. He then packed his old and fraying blanket into the rucksack, and then reached for the book that was under the bed, (he had taken it from Dudley's second bedroom the other day), and packed that into the rucksack as well. Harry Potter was an unusual boy: he didn't have any friends thanks to Dudley and his gang, he didn't have anything belongings to Harry only his blanket which he had had for as long as he could remember-but he also made strange things happen around him like earlier that day. But he liked reading and spent most of his time reading and spending his lunch and break times in the library teaching himself to read as he knew his aunt and uncle would never teach him, but he also knew that while at school Dudley and his friends would never set foot in the library so he was safe, while he was in there. He then pulled on some fading old socks, and trainers with their souls peeling from their uppers, carefully put the rucksack onto his back, wincing as it made contact with the fresh wounds he had just obtained. He then pulled on some fading old socks, and trainers with their souls peeling from their uppers, carefully put the rucksack onto his back, wincing as it made contact with the fresh wounds he had just obtained, and, quietly as he could, opened the door to the cupboard and crept out, carefully shutting it so it didn't make a sound, otherwise he would be in even more trouble.
He carefully crept down the hall to the front door, his heart beating almost painfully in his chest. He had reached the front door, and, pausing to listen to see if his aunt, uncle or cousin were coming out of the living-room, quietly opened the door, thankful that uncle Vernon always had the television on extremely loud so they wouldn't hear the front door clicking in the then began his walk up Privet Drive. Night had already fallen and all of the street lamps were making everything glow amber in the early evening. He could see Mrs Figg's house opposite, but he wasn't stopping there. He carried on up the street without knowing where he was or where he was going, he carried on until he came to a fork in the road. Up the right path he thought he could hear the distant rumble of passing cars; however he didn't want anyone to see him and take him back to the Dursleys, so he took the left chilly wind decided to make itself known on the early September evening and he wrapped his arms around his small frame, trying to keep himself warm. He wished his overly baggy and faded shirt was warmer than what it was. His cuts on his back and ankles were stinging in the cold, as well as his split lip but he ignored it and pushed his broken glasses further up his nose. He carried on up the path and could see a park that had a swing park at the edge of it. He almost ran to the park and carefully sat down on the swing; he placed his rucksack on the ground and coiled his small arms around the chains of the swing. How long he sat there he did not know, but he was brought back to his surroundings by a twig cracking and he realised he was not alone and that there was someone else there just standing outside his range of vision.