Chapter One
Harry was scared—well, more like frightened. He had blown up Aunt Marge like a balloon, and the look Uncle Vernon had given him was a promise. A promise that if Harry were still there by the time Vernon returned, he would be killed.
Harry didn’t think much as he ran as quickly as he could upstairs, releasing Hedwig from her cage and telling her to go somewhere safe. With a single hoot, Hedwig was gone. Harry grabbed his wand and money pouch, glancing around to see if there was anything he might need or something sentimental worth taking. Then, without another moment of hesitation, he bolted out the door of Number 4 Privet Drive, knowing it would be the last time he ever set foot in that house.
He ran for what felt like ages. The aches in his body from the beatings he’d already endured were no longer dull throbs but instead sharp, constant pains. Eventually, he couldn’t run any farther and collapsed onto a curb several blocks away, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He needed to go further—to get away faster.
What had Ron talked about not that many months ago? he thought desperately. There’s some sort of wizard bus, right? Not the smoothest ride, Ron said, but what other option do I have?
“Think, Harry!” he muttered to himself, frustrated. “What did Ron say?” He groaned and tugged at his hair, willing his memory to cooperate.
After a moment, it came to him. He pulled out his wand and held it out, mimicking the way a hitchhiker would stick out their thumb. Suddenly, with a loud BANG, a double-decker bus screeched around the corner and stopped directly in front of him.
“Emergency transport for a stranded witch or wizard—blimey, aren’t you—?” The conductor started to ask before taking in Harry’s disheveled state. He shook his head and continued instead, “11 Sickles, and we’ll take you anywhere you need.”
Harry fumbled with his money pouch and pulled out a Galleon. “Erm—” He hesitated, realizing he hadn’t thought about where to go. In a panic, he blurted, “Cokeworth, please. You can keep the change.”
The conductor nodded. “You’re third in line. Get comfortable—it’ll be a fast trip.”
Harry climbed aboard and glanced around, his confusion mounting when he noticed the beds instead of seats. Why beds? He didn’t have much time to think about it before the bus jolted forward, sending him face-first into a window before he tumbled onto one of the beds. Ron had been absolutely right—this bus was mad.
The ride was over almost as soon as it began. Harry barely had time to collect his thoughts before the conductor called out, “Cokeworth!” He stumbled off the bus, a little green from the journey, and looked around at his surroundings.
The town was bleak and rundown, the buildings old and grimy. How did I manage to pick a place that looks like the Knockturn Alley of the Muggle world? he thought bitterly. But it was too late to change his mind now. He adjusted his bangs to cover his scar and began walking in a random direction, hoping to find the town’s center.
As night fell and the streets grew darker, Harry realized the full weight of his situation: he was homeless. How was he supposed to get back to Hogwarts? He had no food, no plan, and no way for Hedwig or any school owls to find him. He was furious at himself for not grabbing his invisibility cloak or more of his belongings before fleeing. Would Uncle Vernon burn his things out of spite? Would he ever see his school supplies or photo album again?
The streets of Cokeworth grew darker and colder as Harry wandered aimlessly, his feet aching from hours of walking. He clutched his wand that was staying hidden in his pocket, and tried to ignore the gnawing hunger in his stomach. The occasional street lamp flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the crumbling brick buildings.
It was the sort of town where you could vanish without a trace, and Harry wondered if that might be a blessing or a curse.
As he turned another corner, he realized he was no closer to figuring out where to go. The ache in his legs had become unbearable, his ribs throbbed from Uncle Vernon’s earlier blows, and he knew he couldn’t go much farther. His heart sank as he spotted what looked like a small alleyway tucked between two narrow buildings.
At least it’s out of sight, he thought grimly.
Harry slipped into the alley, wincing at the smell of damp and rot. The space was narrow and littered with broken crates, shards of glass, and bits of rubbish. At the far end was a dead end—brick walls towering over him with no way out but the way he’d come in.
He sighed in defeat, slumping down against the cold, grimy wall. His back ached, and his entire body screamed for rest. Harry knew this wasn’t safe, but he didn’t care anymore. He was too tired to think, too tired to plan.
The night grew colder as the hours stretched on. Harry pulled his knees to his chest, trying to conserve what little warmth he had. He thought of Hogwarts, of Ron and Hermione, of the feasts in the Great Hall. His stomach growled loudly at the thought, and he buried his face in his knees, willing the hunger to go away.
As the minutes ticked by, Harry began to drift in and out of a restless sleep, every sound—whether it was the rustle of leaves or the distant shuffle of footsteps—jerking him back to full alertness. He gripped his wand tightly, ready to defend himself if anyone approached.
The sky was pitch black now, only a sliver of moonlight illuminating the alley. Harry shivered violently, the thin shirt he wore doing little to protect him from the biting cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to let the rising fear consume him.
What am I going to do tomorrow? he wondered. I’ve got no food, no place to go… what if I can’t find a way to Hogwarts?
Doubts and fears swirled in his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. He thought of Hedwig, of her safe somewhere out there, far from this miserable alley. He thought of his belongings left behind at the Dursleys, of his invisibility cloak, his photo album—things he could never replace.
For the first time in hours, tears pricked his eyes. He quickly wiped them away, angry at himself for feeling so helpless. He couldn’t cry. Crying wouldn’t solve anything.
As the night dragged on, exhaustion finally overtook him. Harry leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, hoping—praying—that he’d wake up and find that all of this had been a bad dream.
But deep down, he knew this was his reality now. And he had no idea how to fix it.
__________
His days passed like that, he would wake up in whatever dirty alleyway after a fitful night of sleep before sometimes walking around, going to the park or going into Tesco and using just enough magic to direct people away from him until he stole something to eat from the reduced section. Every few days he would do the same for the local but rundown gym so he could have a shower with the little travel bottles of soap from the store once he got ballsy enough to steal something from a corner store. The showers here were surprisingly better than the ones he took at his relatives as he would only have 5 minutes and could barely use soap.
Harry kept his head low as he walked down yet another unfamiliar street, his stomach twisting with hunger and his legs aching from days of wandering. He had managed to survive so far, but just barely. Every stolen bite of food, every quick shower at the rundown gym, and every restless night in alleyways was beginning to take its toll. He had started to wonder if it would have been better to just go to the Dursleys and get killed instead.
The thought of wearing the same filthy clothes for yet another day made his skin crawl. He needed something clean, something warm, and the charity shop a few doors down looked like it might have what he needed.
Harry hesitated outside, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to him. The shop was small, tucked between two boarded-up storefronts, and the windows were dusty and cracked. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, his heart pounding as the little bell above the door jingled softly.
The interior smelled of mothballs and old fabric. Clothes were crammed onto racks, and boxes of mismatched shoes sat on the floor. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. She didn’t even glance up as Harry entered, which was a small relief.
He kept his head down, pretending to browse as he made his way to the back of the shop. Most of the clothes were too big or too small, but eventually, he spotted a plain, dark hoodie that looked like it might fit. He also grabbed a pair of jeans that, while a little long, weren’t in terrible shape. He wasn’t against it as surely wasn’t above it right at this moment so he nicked a pair of boxers and tore a new pair of socks from a pack.
Harry’s hands shook as he folded the clothes over his arm and glanced toward the front counter. The woman was still absorbed in her magazine, her back to him. A pang of guilt stabbed at his chest, but he quickly shoved it down. He didn’t have a choice—he couldn’t afford to keep wearing the same dirty, torn clothes.
He edged toward the door, careful to keep his movements slow and casual. Harry used as much magic as he could feel tugging his navel to make himself as invisible as possible. When the woman shifted in her chair, Harry froze, his heart hammering. But she didn’t look up, and after a few agonizing seconds, he reached the door.
The bell jingled softly as he stepped outside, and Harry’s chest heaved with relief. He ducked into a nearby alley, clutching the clothes to his chest as if they might vanish if he let go.
Once he was certain no one had followed him, Harry slumped against the wall and let out a shaky breath. He ran all the way back to the gym and slipped into the bathrooms where he changed into his new outfit. He unfolded the hoodie and pulled it on over his thin body, sighing at the feeling of clean fabric against his skin. The jeans were a little loose at the waist, but they were dry and didn’t smell like mildew, which was all that mattered.
For the first time in a week, when he slid to sit on the floor of his usual alleyway, he had been able to sleep better with his hood pulled up and cleaner than previously. Not peacefully but better than before.