Well guys, I know I kinda promised a sequel, but it turned into a prequel instead. So, hopefully you won't murder me that much and you'll enjoy this story. Gimme ideas and reviews, both are pretty awesome. I don't bite!
A meaty fist crashed into the side of the messy haired, green eyed boy that lived in the second bedroom upstairs in house #4 Privet Drive. The resounding fleshy smack was the only noise that broke the heavy, muggy silence of the warm June night, and the boy, just Harry, found his head smashing into the side of the broken desk that sat in the corner, littered with scraps of parchment and broken quill tips. The corner cut a sharp line down Harry's face and he felt the blood well up in the wound instantly.
The arm attached to the fist led to a rather large whale of a man who had beady eyes and a bristling mustache. Harry's Uncle Vernon, as the whale was known, spat at the boy before turning on his heel and slamming the door closed, taking time to refasten all of the locks on the front of the door, trapping Harry inside, injured and bleeding.
Harry waited until his uncle's footsteps faded away before pulling himself to his feet and shuffling over to the bare scrap of a mattress. He collapsed on the bed exhausted and curled into a small ball of misery, desperately missing Sirius and Remus, his godfathers. He'd stayed with them during the school year, rebuilding the fragile bonds of family that had once been lost. Harry had hoped with half of his heart that he could have gone to live with them permanently, but of course Dumbledore had insisted that Harry go back to his Aunt and Uncle's house, where he was 'safe'.
Harry had never hated the old man as much as he did in that moment and laying there on the mattress, bloody, beaten and broken, Harry felt the anger at the Headmaster, his 'family', and his lot in life swell in his chest. Harry let it rise and thought of his broken childhood and thought of what it should have been. Harry couldn't help but to dwell on the life he would never have and felt a strange tightening in his chest, but thought nothing of it as he continued to image could bes and what ifs . He remembered when he was young trying so desperately to gain his Aunt and Uncle's love. He worked and worked to no avail; at the end of the day Petunia couldn't see past her dead sister and Vernon couldn't see past the freakishness.
Harry's hatred continued to spike and the tightening feeling in his chest continued until it felt as if someone were sitting on his chest. Harry soon found it hard to breathe and the distress made him angrier still until with a great pressure the feeling in his chest vanished with a pop. Almost instantly, Harry could feel a difference. Before, he could always feel a sort of invisible weight on his skin around the house, and he'd always assumed the weight was because of the blood wards.
Now, however that weight was gone and Harry sat up abruptly, panicked. If the wards were down Dumbledore would know and would come for him. Harry looked around his room and after deciding nothing was irreplaceable, grabbed his wand and started tugging at the rusted bars over his window.
The bars were cheap and weren't properly fitted in, so Harry easily tugged them away, even in his weakened state. Harry jumped into the hedges that bordered the neighbors house and stole away as quietly as he could, trying desperately to form a plan in his mind. He broke into a light jog, trying to get away from the house as quickly as possible.
He decided against going to Diagon Alley, knowing that would be one of the first places Dumbledore and the Order would look for him. He walked on; heading in the general direction of what he hoped was London, stopping to rest only once he was a good half hour from Privet Drive. He curled up under a picnic table and talked through the rest of his plan, resolving to hit London the next day and go on from there.
In a castle in Scotland, tucked away in its sleepy moors and not nearly so grandiose looking now that its occupants were gone, in the Headmaster's office a curious device started whirling around quite quickly, startling awake the brilliant Phoenix from his evening snooze. Fawkes, ever the wise creature, trilled and tilted his head. Knowing that the old fart had spent numerous hours poring over the device, Fawkes made a snap decision and broke the trinket with his foot. Fawkes managed to hump up again and look asleep as Dumbledore shuffled through in an electric blue housecoat with matching puke green slippers.
"Fawkes? Was that you shuffling around and making noise?" Dumbledore asked, rubbing the top of Fawkes's head. Fawkes trilled innocently and shuffled a bit to hide more of the broken glass. Dumbledore hummed, swept his eyes over his office once more, popped a lemon drop in and shuffled back off to bed. Fawkes waited until the old coot left, then trilled in laughter as he swept out of the office and down into the Forbidden Forest.
Dawn broke over Harry and for a few terrifying minutes; he thought he was back in the second bedroom waiting on Petunia to free him to weed the yard. Harry wrenched his eyes open with a small cry of fear and sat up, immediately bonking his head on the underside of the picnic table.
Harry cursed and quickly stole to his feet, brushing the morning dew off of his clothes. He checked to make sure his wand was secure and hurried off before the morning crowd hit the park. He nicked an abandoned coffee and bagel in the quaint village and while wandering the streets Harry found it ridiculously easy to swipe a few pounds. When he deemed he had enough money to survive on for at least a day or two, he flagged down a cab and paid the fare to get to London. Harry was going to survive this war, Dumbledore and his prophecy be damned.